#the system and i cannot keep this up for much longer

[the-cookie-jar-system]

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[reignpage]

In Sheep's Clothing

Synopsis: in which you're alone in a cabin in the woods during a rough snow storm and an enigmatic, sexy wolf hybrid!Toji turns up at your door providing much more than his handyman service Warnings: plot with a side of porn, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, knotting, degradation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, masturbation, praise kink, rough sex, manhandling, cowgirl, thigh fucking, hair pulling, slight anal play, biting, dom!toji, blowjob, allusion to shower sex, dirty talk, dry humping, pussyjob, fingering, panty sniffing, cum eating, spanking, titty slapping, pussy slapping, biting, dumbification, primal play to the extreme, !!dark themes!! beware cannot emphasise this enough people (dw there's no gore or noncon or anything, it's just the nature of the plot), acts of violence, angst, fem!reader, romance, barely proofread Word Count: 19.9k (it's a lot I know I know sowwy)

Perhaps running away to the mountains and hiding in the woods wasn’t the greatest idea you’ve ever had. But it was the only one you had at the time. Your grandmother’s cabin is a little run-down, though that was expected considering how many years it had been since she passed, still, it has solid bones and you can’t complain.

It’s a two bedroom bungalow — spacious enough for a family, what with its generous kitchen and hearty fireplace, but far too small for you. Dust has settled on all imaginable surface and it took hours to remove the coverings on every sofa, chair, table, and bed, and even longer to wash everything that could be washed by hand, since the washing machine and dryer in the back room have long since given up on themselves. 

Most of your days since whisking yourself away here is spent dusting, washing, wiping, and cooking. You’ve yet to feel the dent you’ve been chipping away at. There’s still a draught coming from the front door, the main heating system isn’t working, and somewhere, in every corner, is an odd creaking that keeps you up at night. 

Sighing, you glance out of the window, curled up underneath a mountain of blankets, and watch the snow fall. It’s always snowing here. It was barely possible to trek up here as a snowstorm was creeping in; the townspeople were less than eager to even hear you out until you flashed an extortionate amount of money. 

A nice, elderly man took pity, though, upon discovering your last name. He knew your granny. Said she was a sweet soul with a real talent for baking. Having ordered one of his sons to drive you up, he gave you his telephone number, insisting that if you ever needed anything, anything at all, they would come at the drop of a hat. 

That warmed your heart a little. The kindness of a stranger is not something you’re familiar with and thought you’d never get to experience, but there he was, smiling, and waving the cash away like it was the silliest thing in the world and it had no real consequence. 

It had been four days since and you won’t lie, you have considered phoning in that favour. You’re way out of your depth here. With a sigh, you pull a blanket, red and knitted by your grandmother, up to your chin and continue to watch the snow fall. Even though you’re at your wits end with all the scrubbing this cabin needs, you couldn’t possibly call it quits now and beg the man to come up just to take you down. How embarrassing would that be?

You hear knocking. 

There’s someone at the door, pounding. Your heart begins to beat fast. You must have mistaken the sound of the wind howling for a knock at the door. After all, you are miles away from the town and the snow is far too thick for anyone to have gotten up here. Would it be wise to get up from the warmth of your sofa to be sure?

The knocking gets louder, more adamant. Okay, so you weren’t, in fact, mistaken. Something about that noise, unyielding and firm, pierces your heart. You can’t imagine being out in this weather. You’re at the door faster than you can even process the speed at which your feet moved. 

When you fling the door open, the freezing wind attacks, stinging your cheeks and nipping at your skin. Arms rushing to hug the blanket you thoughtfully to drag with you tighter around your body, you squint up through the blinding white of the snow at a hulking beast. 

Broad shouldered and glaring, he watches you cower beneath his gaze. He’s dressed in a simple, fitted t-shirt and baggy joggers, and you feel impossibly colder just by looking at him. His face is hidden behind a disheveled beard, rough and scratchy. He’s a very hairy man. 

“H-hello. Can I help you?”

His nose twitches. He jerks his chin to something behind you. “You’re cooking. I’m hungry.”

Without waiting for a reply, he pushes past you. Pressing yourself close to the door frame, you just about avoid the graze of his arm against you. This turn of events has your head spinning. Who does this man think he is? 

The wind howls harder. You slam the door shut. “Excuse me! You can’t just walk in as you please. This is my home. Get out.”

He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even register what you say. Instead, he crosses into the kitchen and lifts the lid of the pot of stew you’ve been working on for hours and grunts. When he fixes himself a bowl, you’re left speechless at how he seems to move on autopilot, opening cabinets and drawers for what he needs without so much as a glance. 

Now he’s sitting at the table, scarfing down your stew and you’re bewildered, spluttering. You’re being Punk’d. 

“Who do you think you are? I told you to get out. I’m gonna call the police if you don’t within the next five seconds!”

He snorts. 

“The police?” His voice is gravelly, seemingly from lack of use. “Ain’t nobody getting up ‘ere in this state.”

That’s what every serial killer says, and you should be afraid, should be running for help. But there’s no hint of malice or cruel intent in his words, only amusement, the way one responds to a child’s whims. 

“Well, you should still afford me the decency of leaving my home when asked.”

“Your home? Didn’t know the old lady gave it away.”

You gulp, clutching the thick blanket even tighter. “You knew my grandmother?”

He grunts. 

Well aware you really ought to kick him out, you’re ashamed at the realisation that you can’t bring yourself to. It’s awfully terrible outside and there’s no doubt the elements would claim him if he he’s left out with no shelter. Though, that really shouldn’t be your responsibility and there is still, of course, the glaring concern of his ability to kill you. One sweep of his figure and you know this towering man, tall and muscular, could snap your neck with one hand. 

Or worse.

Not to mention, he’s a hybrid. You can tell by the twitching of his ears and his nose, like he’s hearing and smelling things inscrutable by the human senses. You wonder what he is. He has no triangular ears or fluffy tail like a dog, he doesn’t have eyes like a cat, no scales that you can see, but his teeth, when he scrapes them along the spoon, you know they’re much sharper than you’d like to ever find out. 

If he wanted to kill you, he could have done that before. And at any rate, it’s too late to do anything about it now. He knows you’re alone and there’s nowhere you can run to before the snow freezes your limbs. 

Settling back down onto the sofa, you just watch him eat. He’s grabbed a second helping, enjoying the meat more than the potatoes and carrots in there but that’s expected of a man. It does mean, though, that he’s not a herbivore hybrid. You wonder if he likes the taste of a woman’s flesh. 

“Is it good?” You ponder. 

There’s something oddly peaceful about observing him — the way he only chews once and twice before swallowing and shoving another spoonful, the way his throat contracts, how his huge hands grasps the bowl and spoon like they could be ripped away from him before he’s finished, and even the way his foot taps, impatient and tense. 

He throws you a cursory glance. “It’s good.”

A second helping disappears. So does a third.

“It seems like you haven’t eaten in days. Or showered. Or rested.”

Huffing, he leans back in the chair, full perhaps. He scratches his stomach under his shirt and you look away at the flash of skin. In a drawl, he concedes, “Y’r right on the money.”

You note how he doesn’t offer more. And you know by the way he’s observing you in return that he’s expecting you to ask for more. You don’t. It’s stupid. Suicidal even. But a little company to weather this snow storm might not be so bad. 

“I’ll allow you to stay here until the snow passes but no longer than that. There’s a second bedroom in the back, you can use that. The boiler’s broken or something so the radiators aren’t working, neither is the hot water in the shower. So, unfortunately, this isn’t going to be a stay at a five star hotel but we’ll both get along just fine if we maintain boundaries and do our part.”

He grunts. That seems to be his preferred way of communicating. Fine by you. You never liked talkative people anyways. “I want a hot shower. So do you by the looks of it. I’ll go down and check the boiler out.”

Startled, you laugh. “You know how to fix things?”

The look he gives you is answer enough and with no further words exchanged, he marches down the hall, obviously all too familiar with the layout of the cabin — did he stay here after she died, when the house was empty and unused? 

Or maybe he stayed with your grandmother and that was how she got along just fine on her own after your grandfather died.

After thirty minutes or so, he emerges, some grease smeared on his face, and he presses the back of his hand to the radiator by where you sit. He’s standing very close. And from your position, hugging your knees under all these blankets, he looks so much bigger and stronger. 

“It’s fixed. For now. Shit’s old so might need regular maintenance,” he explains. “Ya wanna shower first or what?”

Considering he fixed the damn thing, he should have the first go, shouldn’t he? Especially as he’s been out in the cold for goodness how long.

“I’ll shower first,” you say. 

He nods. 

Unfurling yourself from your cocoon, you stumble to a stand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give you space. Your chest brushes against his. Tingling rushes down your spine at the graze of your nipples. You hastily move past him, embarrassed and suddenly nervous. 

“I’ll be quick. Um, feel free to have more stew and I don’t know if you have any clothes or anything, but my grandmother kept some of her husband’s clothes, you’ll find them in your room — the second bedroom, I mean. Just down the hall, by the bathroom.”

He doesn’t reply and you don’t wait for him to . 

In your rush to save face, you just miss the way his lips twitch in one corner. 

You had forgotten how wonderful a hot shower is. The way you’re enveloped by warmth and your tense muscles loosen and relax under the barrage of water. You take much longer than you usually do, intent on thoroughly enjoying the water like it could grow legs and make a run for it. Eventually, you’re bathed and fresh. Much fresher than you’ve been in the last couple days since you didn’t have to hurry through your routine or curse under your breath at the burning chill of the water, mocking your ineptitude and foolish spontaneity. 

When you come out, dressed in a sweater and joggers, you’re pleased to find the house much warmer than before. The fireplace is even lit, the orange and red flames dancing with as much joy as you feel. More cozy and welcoming, the cabin has completely transformed in what feels like a blink of an eye. Before, the clinical white lights overhead flickered on its last legs, completely and utterly useless, now only the fireplace sheds light, covering the living room and kitchen in a snug ember. 

It feels reminiscent of Christmas evenings you never had. 

Your guest doesn’t look surprised when you approach — he probably heard you every step of the way — but he does push off the sofa and give you a look over, nodding as if satisfied to see you out of the blankets you wore like a second skin. 

Just as he brushes past you, you grasp his arm. Nerves light up. You drop it like it burns. “Sorry. I, um, just wanted to say thanks. And uh, I guess we should introduce each other. Sorry I didn’t do it sooner. I’m not really sure why I didn’t. Maybe I was just mentally prepared to not speak to another person for a while or something.” 

Tilting his head at you, he releases a huff of air through his nose and says, “Name’s Toji. You’re y/n; the old lady talked about you.”

“Oh.”

Likely sensing that’s as much as you’re going to say, he disappears into the bathroom with a pile of clothes and a towel in hand that you didn’t even notice — maybe because you were far too distracted by how handsome he looks under the glow of the fire or how his skin felt nice, all hard and soft and heated the way only a man could be. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it was because the first thing you really noticed upon entering the living room was not the way it had been transformed or how normal it looked for such a big man to be taking up space here, but rather how this ‘Toji’ was sitting in the exact same spot you’d been making your little home when he came. 

When you awake the next day, you’re surprised he’s still asleep. It was almost midday and there’s no sign of him having walked through the cabin before you. There’s no way you’ll knock on his door. Truthfully, you were surprised, pleasantly so it must be said, to find yourself alive and untouched. You don’t guilty for thinking the worst and you’re not naive enough to think better of him for not being a serial killer, that’s simply the bare minimum. 

But it does mean he’s a man of his word and you can let down a little of your guard. 

Instead of worrying more about what he’s doing in his room, you busy yourself  with breakfast. Toji had finished the stew when you came out of the shower and you were impressed by his appetite, albeit also concerned for your stock; at this rate, your food will run out much faster than you had planned and there’s no telling when the weather will get well enough to call out the old man for help.  

You bake a sourdough, fry up some eggs and sausages and put the kettle on for some coffee — instant, unlike the ones you’re used to in the big city but it’ll have to do. You’re careful not to make too much noise, although you feel a little embarrassed at how thoughtful you’re being. 

Just as you put the plate down, he emerges, shirtless, hand scratching the trail of hair low on his stomach. His hair is mussed up, sticking at all angles, and the plaid pyjama bottoms he must gotten from your grandfather’s box of old clothes hang low on his hips, distinct v-lines peeking in a terrifyingly sinful way. He has fairly thick hair on his arms and chest, the very definition of unkept and wild. 

You clear your throat. 

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

He throws you a look, full of amusement, before he sits down at the table. He must have smelt the food and known somehow you were meaning to share. How presumptuous of him. “Slept fine.”

You serve him his portion, larger than your own, and pour him coffee to which he doesn’t say no. “Not going to ask me how I slept?”

He snorts. “Don’t hafta. You tossed and turned the whole night.”

“You have really good hearing, don’t you? What kind of hybrid are you?”

He eats much slower than yesterday, mulling the taste over rather than scarfing it down, and he seems pleased enough with your cooking skills. For reasons you don’t want to think too much about, you’re feeling pretty proud of yourself. 

“Wolf,” he replies. 

You’ve never met a wolf before. But they are an infamous breed — they needed constant medication to keep their animal instincts at bay, they stuck by their own kind, were aggressive to outsiders, and are known for being fiercely loyal and protective. Toji doesn’t seem to match the description. He’s alone for one and he moves with grace like a deer and not like a clunky predator. 

“How did you know my grandmother, if I may?” You ponder. In all of the letters she’s written to you, she had never mentioned knowing a hybrid like Toji, or any hybrids for that matter. 

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and shared, “Helped her around during winters just like these. She was too old to get down by herself and there were always things needing fixing.”

“She gave you warm food in return?”

He grunts. 

“How did you know she died?” Raising a brow at your question, you explain, “You said she ‘was’ too old.”

Barking a sudden laugh, you find the noise tickling your skin and you can’t stop staring at the way his face softens for just the quickest second and ever so lightly. You’re ashamed to admit the noise makes you warmer inside than it should. 

“I come sniffing around soon as snow starts to fall. It’s routine. A habit. I was the one who found her. Notified the townspeople and went on my way.” He takes a sip of the coffee, green eyes never leaving yours. “Haven’t been back in years.”

His voice is gruff and now that you’re sat face-to-face with him, it’s clear as day that he’s not used to the sound of his own voice; he furrows his brows and stumbles upon certain words like they’re foreign, as if he’s struggling to reconcile the reality that those words are coming from him. 

“So what made you come here?”

No answer. 

The rest of breakfast passes by in relative silence, the distant moan of the wind outside providing enough noise to wash away the awkwardness of eating with a stranger. You want to tell him you’d prefer if he didn’t walk around so bare but that seemed too big of an ask since it’s likely he runs hotter as a wolf than you do. Eyes falling to your neck and your chest unashamedly, he doesn’t shy away from eye contact. 

You do though.

Then he stands, taking both your and his plate over to the sink. He begins washing up. That actually takes you by surprise. This Toji fella didn’t strike you as the type to partake in house chores. Rather, he seems like the type to firmly believe the kitchen is a woman’s domain. Interestingly enough, his back is marked up, full of scars, and they ripple with his muscles. You want to ask about them but he’s not a man who offers answers and you’re not the kind of woman who should poke and prod. 

“Right, well.” You stand too. “I was wondering if you know how to fix a washing machine. And a dryer. Neither are working and washing my sheets and panties in the bath is a pain. 

His eyes flick to you as you wipe away at a spot on the counter dirtied by flour. You probably shouldn’t have used the word ‘panties’ in front of a man like him but you thought it would be funny. He doesn’t seem to think so. He gives you a half-nod and you feel satisfied enough from that interaction to pad over to the sofa to read a book. 

Toji begins working around the cabin — he heads over to the laundry room and you hear the clatter of metal and thumping against the floor. Upon emerging and giving you the look that says ‘it’s done’, he also starts looking for something in the basement. He carries up a box of lightbulbs in one arm and a ladder in another. 

When you jolt up, to offer help, he cuts you another look that says ‘don’t you dare’, and you sit back down. He seems to have his own way of doing things and he knows you’ll only get in the way. Maybe he noticed that your nails are long and clean and he can somehow, with his wolfy powers, sense your hands have never touched dirt.

Still working on this and that around the house, you serve him his lunch and you eat separately. If this becomes your routine then that’ll be ideal. He does all the cleaning and fixing and you cook. Sure, it might be setting back the feminist movement just a little but things like that don’t matter up here, where it’s freezing and you have no idea how you managed for days without him.

Much more quickly than you could have ever expected, the day ends and night falls.

“Thanks for the help,” you say, handing him a glass of your grandmother’s moonshine. You remember where she kept it from your childhood and now, soon after dinner, just sat by the fireplace, feels as good a time as any to bust it out. 

You’re both leaning against the sofa, right by the fireplace, choosing to be on the rug rather than on the soft couch. You can’t remember who followed who, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. In just one day he had solved most of the problems you’ve nearly cried over. 

Toji grunts. 

He’s wearing a shirt now, thin and plain. Your grandfather was a much smaller man so this shirt is practically bursting at the seams on his huge bicep but he doesn’t seem to mind. You do, though. It’s rather distracting actually. His skin brushes against yours and neither of you move away. 

The flames are the only light here and you feel its warmth settling on your face, lulling you to comfort. Stronger than any alcohol you’ve ever had, the moonshine burns your throat, lighting you up inside. Your companion appears to be unimpressed with the concoction, downing the cup in one gulp. 

Slightly embarrassed by your inexperience, despite being an adult, you ask, “Where were you staying before? You said you come here for winter so where do you stay for the rest of the year? Same place you’ve been staying at since my grandmother died? Or somewhere different?”

Throwing an arm on the sofa, right behind your head, he admits, “Nowhere. Everywhere. Just moved around a lot.”

“Why didn’t you just stay here? If you talked to her enough to know about me, then surely she must have told you no one ever visits since everyone in the family hates the cold. You would have had the place all to yourself.”

“I never stay in one place for too long.”

You skim the rim of your glass, watching the clear liquid swirl with the glow of the fireplace. “Why not?”

He waits until you can’t bear the silence, until you feel that itch to look up, to meet his gaze. And when you do, there’s some intensity in his eyes that seems to make the alcohol in your stomach burn just a little more. A finger of his twirls a lock of your hair and he murmurs, “Never had a reason to.”

Nodding, you settle for watching the fire. 

And when the bottle of moonshine was depleted, you left to sleep and he stayed, a scalding brand marking your back and you couldn’t bear to look back to know if it was from the fireplace or from him. 

That was how your first day went. 

On the second day, you repeat more or less the same routine: you make breakfast, you eat together, he goes and fixes something else, you make lunch, you eat separately, he fixes some more things, you make dinner, and you share a drink or two, and sleep. 

Occasionally, you’ll run into each other and you still struggle to meet his eyes, having to crane your head so far back to get a good look. Sometimes when you do gather the courage to look up at him, he’s already looking at your chest, green eyes slowly rising up to your face. His brow rises in challenge just as hip lip twitches. He doesn’t care at all. The man had no manners. 

But he washes the dishes after every mealtime and he doesn’t really make a mess, so you can’t complain when he takes his visual fill of your body. There’s no harm in looking, only a priest would ever know that you do the same thing; there’s always a sizeable bulge in his trousers that you can’t keep your eye off, totally only out of curiosity. 

The day starts off with an exchange of ‘g’morning’ and a ‘g’night’.

The third day tells the same story. 

On the fourth day, however, only one thing out of the ordinary happens and it isn’t anything to write home about but you can’t get it out of your mind, as you lay in bed wide awake. The wolf hybrid had needed to get past you to get something from the fridge and on his way, he gripped your hips, lightly and barely a whisper, but his finger had brushed a sliver of skin where your shirt had risen up. 

His touch was startling, petrifying, making the hairs along your body stand on edge, but more than anything, it was completely and utterly exhilarating. 

When your hand wandered down into your panties that night, you tried your best to stifle your moans with your pillow, chasing the high that followed you the entire day. You fell asleep sticky, sweaty and unrepentant.

The fifth day goes by just fine too. Appreciative of the little song and dance you two have choreographed, you find yourself less and less anxious about the snow and the world beyond. There’s just something about this Toji fella — he’s quiet in a way that would be off-putting from anyone else, but you find it comforting. It’s different from the way everything worked in the city, where silences are this obscene monstrosity that must be filled with the clattering of a busybody. 

Here, with him, you can just breathe in the hot cocoa and the smoky ash burning in the fireplace as you sit by him, shoulder to shoulder, on the rug and not on the sofa. He doesn’t ask questions about why you never visited your grandmother, why you haven’t talked about your family or your friends, or why you don’t ask him questions. 

You like to think too that he appreciates you keeping your curiosity at bay. 

Maybe that’s why he lets you rest your head on his shoulder, why he doesn’t nudge you off when your breath begins to even out and your lashes flutters shut, and maybe, just maybe, it’s why he carries you to bed and lays you down so gently you dream of solid arms, green sparkles in the snow, and fluffy clouds that brush your hair back. 

What you weren’t prepared for, however, is the sixth day. It started off just like any other day: breakfast, reading on the sofa whilst he fixes something or the other, and then lunch eaten separately. 

But, the hybrid must have gotten oil spilled on him when he was tinkering with something in the cellar because he went to shower during the day, instead of at night like you both do. This fact wasn’t known to you. It really wasn’t even on your mind. And that’s why disaster struck. 

Walking into the bathroom to grab something — you can’t even remember what it was and why you were so focused on retrieving it, you hadn’t registered the sound of running water and the fact that the room was steamier than usual — you were met with a sight no HR training could ever prepare you for. Because, there, right in front of you, was your roommate, buck naked with water dripping down his chiseled body, catching on the curly hairs on his chest and lower abdomen. He was leaning with one arm on the glass of the shower stall, forehead pressed onto his forearm whilst the other made slow, leisurely strokes somewhere low, somewhere the steam gravitated towards. 

Forward and back, forward and back, forward...and…back. 

All while his eyes, like freshly cut grass, stayed unmoving, watching you watch him. Feet sinking deeper into the tiles, you were stuck where you are, heaving chest matching his as he let out a grunt, wrist jerking faster, splashing so much water everywhere you could almost feel them land on your skin through the glass. 

Your phone pinged from your hand. You didn’t realise you were holding it. That was just about enough to break the trance he had you under. Wordlessly, you turned back and left, the door clicking shut behind you, and you busied yourself with preparing for dinner. 

When he walked out, dressed, you could see from your peripheral, you grunted in acknowledgement after he let you know he was going to get some wood from outside. 

Dinner was eaten separately too. 

Instead of watching the fireplace, side by side, sharing whatever drink you’ve prepared, you’re settled comfortably under your blankets, hand rubbing furiously in your panties and eyes shut tightly, chasing flashing images of something sinful, delicious, the very source of your delirium. 

Your orgasm is shallow. It’s why you’re conscious enough to notice, through the gap between your door and the floor, that the hallway light is still on and just as you exhale your last lust-induced moan, it disappears, leaving your senses focused solely on the sound of feet padding away.

You don’t get any sleep. 

“G’morning,” you chirp. 

The kettle is boiling and you’re serving the last of the eggs and bacon onto pancakes you made from scratch. There are still some meat frozen but the vegetables and fruits are almost gone and there’s no other way about it — you’re going to have to go down to get some more food. What had supposed to last you comfortably, at least two weeks, is now on its last crumbs before the first seven days had reached its end.

His green eyes flick to yours and with a small smirk, beard twitching, he asks, “Sleep well?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to ignore the burning of your face and the sudden shake in your hands. Of course he had heard. Of course! Because, lost in the haze of the shallow pleasure, you had forgotten that you’re living with a man that is far from ordinary. 

So is his hearing. 

“Oh, great,” you grit out. “And you?”

A snort of what you can only guess to be amusement is released from him and when he brushes past you, his heat only sets those embers ablaze again. He doesn’t answer. 

Once sat down and eating, it’s your roommate who suggests more food is needed — as he should, considering it’s because of his insane appetite that things have turned out so hopeless so quickly. 

“How could we possibly get more food in this weather? No one can get up here and walking down is not an option. I mean, just looking at all that snow makes me feel like death is creeping in.”

“Don’t gotta leave,” he says with a grunt. “I’ll go.”

Spluttering, you practically shriek, “You? Are you insane? You’ll die.”

His green eyes glint. “Will the pretty little city girl be sad if I do?”

“Will the big, bad wolf listen and stay if I say yes?”

Toji barks out a laugh. Breakfast ends soon after. 

An hour passes and, as you read a book, you think that that’s the last of that. But of course it isn’t. Just as you finish a chapter, the wolf in question comes out of his room in a worn out coat too small for him and a firm look on his face. He can’t possibly be serious. 

Ignoring your protests, he heads over to the door and doesn’t spare you a glance. It’s only when you tell him he needs money that he does pause. Typical macho men, thinking with their muscles and not their heads, you grumble in your mind. He waits for you to grab your purse and shove it in his hand. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Your question is met with an eye roll. 

“Yeah, quit worrying. I’ll be back before you know it.” He sounds so sure. You’re inclined to believe him. Something about how sturdy he looks makes him sound convincing enough; Toji’s built like an oak tree, with deep-reaching roots and a thick trunk that could withstand the harshest storms and mightiest blows. But all trees can be felled, if one tries hard enough. 

He must have smelt the doubt pouring out of every pore because then he’s making a sound of pure exasperation. “Alright, listen. I’m a wolf, yeah? I’ve been through worse.”

Eyes darting from the snow and to his deadpan face, you mutter, “Just because you’ve been through worse doesn’t mean you should go through more. You can just stay and keep warm. With me. I can’t help you if you’re out there.”

There’s a silence, like a sudden gust. And then a sigh. 

In less than a second, you find your jaw being gripped with one large hand and your head is pushed to the side just as his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, the rough hairs of his beard tickling your skin. The growl that escapes him pulls a gasp out of you and then he’s gone. 

With the speed at which the door flies open and closes, you barely feel the sharp sting of the cold. Or maybe you do feel the full brunt of it, but it’s overshadowed by the envigorating rush that came from that big man inhaling your scent before he left. 

You wonder if he liked what he smelt. 

Before, it felt like time was passing at a snail’s pace, but now it’s like time isn’t passing at all — you’re stuck in some sort of pathetic limbo where you spend every meaningless second switching tasks. From brushing the floor to rearranging the books on the shelves in the corner to dusting every surface to lying in bed and so on and so forth. It feels somewhat akin to engraving tallies into the walls with a paperclip.

Alone, truly alone, you can do nothing but focus on the feeling of ice creeping into your bloodstream. The heaters are on and you can very easily set the wood burning in the fireplace if need be since he taught you. But you don’t want to; you’re lazy. That’s the excuse you’d tell Toji if he asks, biting down the real reason and never spitting it out.

The shivers wracking your body is what you deserve for letting that man go to get food on your behalf. The quivering of your lips is due to the fact that you could have — should have— gone with him, should have bundled him up in something thicker and warmer, and yourself maybe, so you two could trek together to the town. At least, if one of you were to be injured, there’s someone there to pick you back up. 

Who will pick him up?

Gnawing on a nail, your eyes dart, for the millionth time, outside the window, fuzzy socks rubbing against each other as you shuffle on the floor. Night is falling and he still isn’t here. You’re beyond worried. 

How long does it take to hike down and up anyways? It took about an hour by car, so surely it wouldn’t take longer than a day at the very most, right?

But spending even just an hour in this snow, wearing just a coat, would be fatal for anyone, wolf hybrid or not, right? And he’s attempting to bring up groceries? 

Oh, God. 

You’ve allowed that man to walk right into his death. No, you’ve sent him off to die. You’re a killer. Or maybe he’s not coming back. Maybe this was just a ploy to leave without an awkward goodbye. He got what he wanted — roof over his head, a bed, food, warm shower and even a stupid girl to tease. Now that he’s exhausted the supplies, maybe he’s off to try his luck at another cabin. 

Is this what it was like with your grandmother? 

Did she make sure to stock up as much as possible for the winter to ensure he’d stay the entire time so she can have someone to look after her?

Is that what you’re going to turn into?

A food bank?

You shouldn’t have come up here. You should have stayed in the loud, stifling city in your miserable office job, with your stuffy pantsuits and your overbearing boss. You should have accepted your family’s manufactured smiles and cold hugs. You should never, ever have dared to want more. There is nothing in your entire life you have done, or could have ever done, to deserve more. 

A knock comes on the door. 

You jerk up. 

The blanket falls from your shoulders. Stumbling to a stand, you wipe your hands down your front, trying to steady them, and without waiting for a second knock, you twist the knob that had just been above your head and you flung it open. 

“Could hear ya sniffling from miles. You good?”

In front of you is a very hairy man, broad shouldered, coat darkening with the dampness that weighs him down and flakes of snow litter his beard like an upside down tree. He’s scary, hulking and tense, like a wound up toy, ready to explode at any given moment. An ear twitches when you sniffle, just as he said. This man could kill you. He’s strong enough to have been carrying two big, heavy bags, one in each hand, up the mountain. And he knows the exact layout of the cabin, knows there are no hiding spots, no locks in the basement, knows where the axe is, and that the stoker is leaning against the fireplace, too far to get to in time from where you’re standing.

You jump onto him. “Oh my god! I thought you died. Or that you left me!”

He grunts with the force of your body meeting his, but he doesn’t stumble. Bearing the burden of the bags of groceries and your entire weight as you wrap yourself around him like a koala bear, he walks in with ease, kicking the door shut. He saunters over to the kitchen where he deposits the bags on the counter and leaves just enough room to sit you down, untangling your awkward limbs from his torso. 

“Ya think too much.”

He pats the wetness, that had transferred from his clothes onto you, down with a tea towel. Your shaky hands reach up, threading your fingers through his beard and his hair, and you brush the snow away. He’s still here. And he’s warm. 

“I was so worried something happened to you, Toji,” you whisper. 

Stilling, his green eyes flick up to yours, searching, and when he finds the tears threatening to fall he sighs, and presses his forehead against yours, letting you feel the firmness of his presence. He smells like burnt cedar, the musk of the earth, and the saltiness of sea air. With a gravelly voice, he reassures you, “I’m here. Got enough food to last us another week, and by then the snow will stop falling. We’ll be fine”

Your ‘thank you’ stays in your throat when he pulls away and falls on a chair by the dinner table with a grunt so deep and loud you’re snapped back into action — he must be starving and exhausted. Toji did his part and now you must do yours. 

Sneaking glances at him, you work as fast as you can, cutting this and boiling that. You know as soon as the onions and garlic hit the pan with the sizzle his nose will start twitching. If it smells delicious to you, you wonder how it must smell to him. Maybe the anticipation of a warm meal was what pulled him home. 

You won’t disappoint. 

Every second or so, your eyes drift to him, mostly to make sure he’s still breathing, but also because you can’t help it. He’s snoozing, you surmise, when his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm and his eyes are closed. You move around as quietly as you can. 

Plated, you set the steaming soup, fried meat and loaf of bread he had brought down on the table. It’s not the most appealing of all appearances but you know the recipes like the back of your hand so you know he’ll love every thing. Or at least, you hope he will. 

Checking all the necessary silverware are on the table, you try to gently coax him awake with a call of his name. He doesn’t answer. You look up with a sigh, ready to jostle him from whatever dream is so beautiful he’s in deep sleep, only to find those frustratingly alluring eyes already on you. 

“Smells delicious,” he says, making no effort to gesture to the food. 

You gulp and with a weak smile, you sit down and allow him to serve you. “So, how was it? Is the situation bad?”

Toji rolls a shoulder back. He answers, “Snow’s definitely too thick for a car, but the town hasn’t been too badly affected. No one can get in or out but they’re all making do.”

“And you? Was it a difficult journey?”

There’s a pause as he swallows the spoonful he’s shovelled in his mouth and then he’s shrugging, remarking, “Ya think so little of me? Told you, I’m a wolf hybrid. Wasn’t easy but was hardly difficult, ma.”

Warmth pools in your stomach. 

“Good.” You sip some water. “But you definitely need to get some rest. That’s a non-negotiable, I’m afraid. No manual labour of any kind tomorrow. I’ll handle everything. So, just let me know what I can do for you. It’s the least I can do, after all.”

He snorts. “Yeah? Y’r gonna take care of me?”

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

His fork and spoon clatter on his frighteningly empty plate and when you meet his gaze once more, you’re knocked back by the sheer challenge in them. There’s a glint, like light off a knife’s edge, and it slices from your heart down your body, leaving you open and electrified. 

“Careful, little girl,” he taunts, jaw snapping with a laugh, “when I take you up on that, y’r gonna be whining for days about how sore you are.”

There’s no way you’re going to argue with him, not when he sounds so certain, like you’re missing out on some inside joke. So you finish up dinner, with him having three servings, and after, with the dishes in need of cleaning up, you practically have to shove him in his room when he insisted he’s fine enough to stay up. 

He rolls his eyes and lets you slam the door shut in his face.

As you tidy up in the kitchen, you’re pleased to find the fridge full. There’s a lot of fruit and vegetables and all the possibilities are getting you giddy. You suppose you were a little afraid Toji, being a man, would only buy junk and red meat, but he hadn’t. In fact, he had gotten things beyond food, he had bought toiletries and sanitary products for you. Sure it was a little presumptive, maybe you didn’t have periods, maybe you’re on birth control, maybe you’ve just had it and won’t have to worry until after the snow calms enough for you to deal with your personal bodily functions. 

But, you find the act endearing, if the smile creeping on your face is anything to go by. 

Eventually, you retire to bed, feeling much lighter. There’s lots of food and he came back. He hadn’t left. He had gone through so much trouble — life-risking trouble — that it must mean something, right? 

You fall asleep very quickly. 

Sometime around two in the morning, however, you’re awoken by some dull noise outside. Blinking through the sleep in your eyes, you pad out of your room and into the living room, where the fireplace is burning and casting dancing shadows over your roommate’s body. 

“Didn’t mean to wake ya,” he grouses. “Go back to sleep.”

Finding the spark to laugh, you muse, “I think that’s my line, no?”

He looks wide awake sitting in his usual spot, on the floor with an arm on the sofa and a leg bent. Shirtless, the fire makes him look like he’s glowing, and you’re mesmerised. Clearing your throat, you retrieve two bottles of beer he had cheekily gotten, and sit criss-crossed by him. He takes the beer with a grunt of gratitude.

There’s something different in the air; silence isn’t enough tonight. All the things that have so far been left unspoken, locked away, are climbing over, ready to be shared — at least from your side. You may never know what he’s truly thinking.

Brows furrowed, you begin, “Did you ever wonder how I ended up here? Well, there’s not really a special or interesting story — I just got tired and bored of the same old thing. It felt like my life was missing substance, y’know?”

Grunt. 

“I hated the city,” you confess. “It’s awful there. Everyone treats you like their enemy even as you’re just walking down the street. No one ever smiles or even looks at each other.”

Huff.

“It’s a good thing I was a workaholic and lived frugally; I can afford to camp out here until…well, till forever, I guess. It’s also great luck that you came by ‘cause I can’t fix a boiler or anything of the sort, so I would have likely died by now.”

For a second you think he’s dozed off, as he should have been doing after dinner considering the strenuous journey he underwent to get some food, but one glance to the side up has you gulping when you find his eyes on you once more, like they never left, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather look at. What a dangerous thought. 

The eye contact has you, or him, or both of you, drawing closer, gazes flickering down and then up and back down again. With the warm glow of the fire blanketing you in the night, you feel so safe and secure; it’s you and him in this cabin and no one else matters. No one else has a say, can interrupt, can ruin this. 

Whatever this is. 

The arm he has behind you shifts and then you feel fingers skimming a lock of hair, following it down from the temple of your head, curving around the shell of your ear, and into the slope of your neck, brushing your hair back and exposing  skin to the sizzling air. 

You shiver.

“I’ve always been the kind of girl who stayed in one place. I like the security, the familiarity. But recently things have started feeling tough, like I’m stuck in quicksand, as dramatic as it is to say.”

Your voice is weak and low; you never knew you could sound like that. 

When you were brushing the snow out of his beard, you weren’t surprised to find it rough, you often catch him scratching there so you know it’s uncomfortable for him too, and yet, you find a bubbling desire within you to feel it on your skin, the way you had briefly felt it on your neck and in your hands. How would it feel in other places? 

“I just needed to get out, y’know?” You’re leaning impossibly close — close enough to see the question in his eyes. “Do something new, something exciting, something…” 

“Wild?”

Toji’s eyes flashes and at your dazed nod, he dives forward, swallowing your gasp in his rough, unforgiving mouth. He shoves his tongue in, licking and tasting, and that arm that laid at the back of your head curls around it, pulling you close by your neck. You’re left with no choice but to cling to him and try to keep up with his merciless pace. 

He tastes like alcohol with something deeper running, like an undercurrent, a ferocity only a beast could achieve. You feel intoxicated. Carrying you onto his lap, you’re overwhelmed by the feeling of something hard jutting up into your core. A growl pierces your ears when you don’t hesitate to grind down onto that hard length. He’s leaking heat hotter than the fireplace, he’s hard and firm everywhere your hands can reach, and his clutch is frightening, gripping you like you could never escape even if you fought against him. 

You’ve never been wetter. 

“I can smell ya,” he rasps. “Been smelling this sweetness every day. You taste as good as you look or what?”

Coarse and prickly, this beard is rubbing deliciously against your skin, reminding you from all angles that he’s kissing you, that he wants you just as bad as you want him, and he can’t get enough. 

Burying your fingers in his thick hair, you moan when he licks a stripe up your neck, sniffing at your pulse point. “Find out for yourself.”

His laugh is sudden and gravelly and it’s the last thing you think about before you’re being thrown on your back, legs spreading to accommodate his girth as he kneels above you, shirt going up and over before he throws it somewhere. With the fireplace highlighting the sharp contours of his face and his rippled chest, his beastly grin spikes your pulse and then he’s pinning you down with his body. 

“I don’t think you understand the position y’r in, little girl,” he taunts. 

Using his claws, he rips up your top, exposing your tits to the air for just a second before he swallows one in his mouth, flicking a nipple with his tongue, all while he’s rolling his hips into yours creating a delicious friction that has your back arching and your jaw dropping. 

“Been dreaming about these pretty tits.” He pinches the other, grinding his cock especially hard against your clit. The revelation falls on deaf ears when he smacks one. “Fuuuuck, look at the way they bounce.”

You pull at his hair and he lets you drag him back up to your lips, your nipples sore and tickled by the hairs on his chest whilst he rises up your body. “Kiss me.”

And he does, swallowing your moans he continues squeezing and groping your tits, but he leaves your lips swollen quickly after as he begins his descent, peppering a trail of kisses. 

Pressing a nose right up at the apex of your thighs, he takes a looooong inhale, a satisfied growl echoing in the darkness. Your face heats up, legs threatening to close around his head but his big paws holds them open, nails digging with the promise of pain if you dare shut them away from him. 

“You been flaunting a scent that’s got my mouth watering more than any of your baked goods,” he huffs, eyes narrowing at the wet spot leaking through. He thumbs at it, pressing down as if he could force everything you’ve got to give out. “’S not fair, ma. Waited so long for you to give in to me, heh, gonna make you regret that.”

“Toji!” 

He rips up your pyjama bottoms too and hooks his fingers into the gusset of your panties before those are flying away, shredded beyond hope, and cool air grazes your sloppy slit. 

Not a single second is wasted before he digs in, lapping up your pussy with a fearsome snarl. The tip of his long, slobbery tongue circles your pulsing clit, tweaking it when you whine. “Fuck, you taste this good and ya been holding out on me? Selfish little cunt, hmm?”

Hands flying up to grip his hair for purchase, you fall victim to his incessant licking and sucking and slurping as he flattens your thighs open, the scraggly hairs of his beard tickling your sensitive skin which grows clammier and clammier with the heat of his mouth, his body, and the fireplace. 

When he curls two thick fingers in, stretching your walls further than you could with your own, your eyes fly open. “No! Ngh, too much.”

Still sucking at your clit, he shoves those fingers in and out, dragging them on his way to really take in the squishiness of your insides, forcing out those loud squelches. You tug at his scalp and he lifts up just a little to snap his maw, missing your clit by a hair’s breadth. 

“Don’t get in the way of my meal, ‘cause this?” He slaps your pussy, juices splashing and he barks a mean laugh. “This is mine now.”

Your orgasm washes over you when his lips sucks your clit with a tongue flicking the little button at the exact same time those long digits curls up and lays successive presses against that smooth part inside of you. 

Toji’s entire mouth engulfs your pussy, sharp teeth grazing your skin whilst he suckles on your sweet essence, drinking like a man lost in a desert, his personal oasis. “Ah, y’r no good for me, ma. Gonna get me addicted on this sloppy fucking cunt.”

Panting desperately, you writhe on the floor, feverish and crazed. He doesn’t give you a break, doesn’t let you catch your breath, before he shoves his pants down and lets his cock spring out. 

Just the like rest of him, his cock is huge — long, thick, and throbbing with veins running up the length, carving a path up to his leaking cockhead which flushes a sinful dark red, promising a painful stretch. At the base, there’s coarse hair, wild and untamed like any other part of his body, and oh, God, those balls, they hang heavy, too heavy. 

He snaps his fingers in front of your face and chuckles before he orders simply, “Suck.”

As if entranced, you scramble onto all fours, crawling forward so you can nudge his length with your cheek, his slit leaving a wet trail. He smells like a beast of the earth and it has your pussy drooling, a fat droplet sliding down your thigh and you shut your legs tight in a pathetic attempt to quell that ache. After all, you are much too preoccupied with this monstrous thing in front of you. 

You peer up at him and stick your tongue out, licking from the very base, catching a little bit of his ball sac, and tilting back to reach his tip where you skim the underside. A large hand slides into your hair softly before it bundles up your hair in its angry grip pulling your head back into an uncomfortable angle so you can face his savage scowl. 

“I know y’r not deaf. Fuck did I say? Huh?” He pushes your face into his balls, smothering you. “Be a good girl and suck, yeah?”

So you do. 

Suckling on his balls, much like how he did with your tits, you try to take as much of him as you can before you can’t bear it any longer and you wrap your lips around his cock head, savouring the salty drops that coat your tongue. Everything about him is strong, from his grip to his scent and especially his taste. It’s as if he was built to dominate, to fill up every senses until you can think of and feel nothing but him.

You gag, overwhelmed by the intrusion. 

He tuts, thoroughly scolding when he drawls, “If ya can’t take me properly with y’r mouth, then there’s no way you can take me with y’r pussy. Wanna prove me wrong, kid?”

You push past the painful stretch of your jaw, gliding as much as of his length into your throat as you can, thumb being pinched by your fist. Not even halfway down, you go back up again, not letting go of his tip before you slide back down, and you repeat that motion, taking more and more of him as you go. 

When you hollow your cheeks to suck him in deeper, you see him throw his head back, his abs tensing and becoming prominent, you scrape your nails down that trail of hair before it finds his balls, massaging in the way you know not even he could resist. 

“Fuck. Tryna -ha- make me cum so soon? Naughty,” he says. 

In a flash, you’re being pulled off his cock and pushed back onto the rug once more. Your ankles are clasped in one of his hand, extending your legs high up in the air. “W-what are you doing?”

Cracking his neck slowly, the flames of the fireplace still as virile as ever, Toji looks downright sadistic with the way he grins at you.

“Just enjoying my meal to the fullest.” He pushes his cock through your thighs, right on top of your slit, lathering the underside with your overflowing juices. He groans, sharp teeth catching on his bottom lip. “We’re both gonna cum like this and then I’m putting you to bed.”

Slightly distracted by the way his cock is catching on your clit with every slide back and forth, you ask with a frown, “But why can’t you just fuck me now?”

He laughs. He fucking laughs. And then he’s bending your legs back towards your chest as he leans in close, placing your calves on his shoulders so you can see his face far too clearly. Rubbing the bristles on his jaw on your skin, he lays a soft kiss on your ankle before he scrapes the bone with a canine. 

“Because I fuck rough, city girl. Y’r gonna be bruised, sore and all chewed up and you can’t complain if you hopped on my dick willingly, no?” You can’t answer. “Yeah, glad we agree. So don’t open that pretty mouth of y’rs unless it’s to moan my name, and keep y’r legs tight for me; no one wants to fuck something loose and limp.”

“Hurry up and get it over with!”

Doing just that, he thrusts like a madman, using you like a rag doll to chase his pleasure. You’re being jostled on the floor, the rug burning your skin and your hair so close to being singed by the embers of that fire he’s been tending to, setting alight and snuffing like clockwork every day.

His balls slap against your ass, as if pounding you too. 

It’s all so dirty, so obscene, so wet any rational thought you should have been having about letting someone who’s practically a stranger fuck your thighs like you’re nothing but a slippery hole fly out the window. 

The slight sheen of sweat on his chest is making you restless — you can’t focus on one thing, not the way he’s holding your legs tight, hugging them to his torso like you might run away, the way the friction of his cock rubbing against your clit is bringing you closer to orgasm, and not how your wetness is making embarrassing squelches that you know his hybrid ears can hear in even greater clarity than you can.

“Oh! T-toji! I think I’m -ngh- gonna -ha- cum.”

He bites down hard on your calf just as his hips stutter and his scalding spurts splash onto your chest, even reaching your chin and cheeks. A drop falls into your mouth which is stuck in an O-shape as you orgasm at the same time, digging your nails into the carpet and thrashing your head around as the euphoric feeling wash over you from inside and out. 

Panting, you manage to breathe out, “Y-you made me all sticky.”

“Not fucking sorry.” Toji licks the red mark on your leg away and presses a kiss right in the centre of the two half moon crescents made by his teeth marks. Your heart beats faster. When his green eyes rove over your body, you both see and feel the deep rumble of satisfaction bubbling from his chest. He runs two fingers down your chest and your stomach, collecting his cum before he smears it on your lips. “Not fucking sorry at all.”

Your eyes threaten to shut and he grunts, realising he must have exhausted you despite the fact that it was he who pushed themselves through the elements for hours and not you.

“Alright, up and at ‘em. Let’s get ya cleaned up, kid.”

Hauling you onto your feet, the rest of the night goes by in a blur — you’re taken to the bathroom and wiped down by a wet cloth, redressed in new pyjamas, and tucked in all nice and warm in your own bed. He leaves. Even half-asleep, you find that act ever so slightly disheartening. 

It feels like you’ve been used, like the act wasn’t as intimate as you might have thought. It leaves you biting your nail and groaning inwardly. Of course he didn’t think much about it. The man looks older than you, he’s probably fucked the thighs of many girls and you’re no one special, right?

Maybe the best thing to do is to take a page out of his book and just be casual, so at least you won’t humiliate yourself by asking something absolutely ridiculous like ‘what are we?’

God, the thought makes you grimace. 

You make a promise to yourself to swear off Toji until the snow thaws enough to get down and up this cursed mountain. The mental fortitude you’ve erected seems so solid, so reliable and firm, you actually believe you’ll have a more than easy time keeping your hands, and your heart, to yourself.

That is until he returns smelling of soap and he slides right in behind you, tucking an arm under your back and pulling you into place with your head resting on his hairy chest.

“Had to cut my shower short ‘cause you’re gnawing y’r fucking fingernail off. Cut it out, will ya?”

Your bedmate swats at your hand, pulling it away from your anxious mouth and playfully bites your wrist. That hand stays in his grip. Heart ceasing its painful clenching, you make yourself comfortable in his embrace, enjoying the heat enveloping you, hotter than any fire.

Clearing your throat, you mutter, “Thanks for today, Toji. Really. I couldn’t have ever done that without you.”

He huffs a laugh, thoroughly amused.

“Wouldn’t hafta if I wasn’t eating up all y’r food.” His voice booms under your cheek, the vibrations lulling you to sleep. You’ve only just noticed how nice he sounds, it’s a captivating timbre, rough and scratchy like bark but comforting and unyielding in a way you’ve never known anyone to sound. “Ya would’ve been fine without me, anyways. Don’t sell y’rself short.”

“I think it’s you who’s selling yourself short.”

Those are the last words exchanged between you before you two fall asleep.

—————————

“Fuck you up to?” Toji grouses. 

His voice is laced with sleep and he’s rubbing his eyes, all bleary and confused. He has every right to be considering you’re under the covers, mouthing at his dick and stroking the morning wood that woke up before him. The duvet gets pulled up, revealing your less than innocent smile. 

Kissing his slit, which prompts a heavy hand to lay on your head, you ask, “Waking you up?”

An arm folds under his head, getting him into a great angle to see you much more clearly. His brow rises up, challenging, and he teases, “Yeah? Well, I’m up, ma, so what now?”

The radiators have yet to be turned on this morning so the air is chilly in your room, but still you push those covers back, showing him how you’re completely bare in the bottom, wearing only your shirt to bed. His spare hand falls on your plump thigh, squeezing and kneading. 

“Last night,” you begin, raising your hip so you can seat yourself down on his hard length, “you told me you’d only fuck me if I hopped on your dick willingly. So here I am.”

You’re rubbing your already soaked pussy up and down on his cock, coating him with your wetness just as he did last night. You feel every delectable ridge catching your clit and you grind down on him with shameless abandon. How could you ever possibly feel shame when it feels so good and he’s not even inside you yet? When he’s looking at you like that? Like you’re the tastiest prey who’s ever walked into his trap?

He pushes a thumb into your mouth, watching your lips wrap around it like you did the night before and this morning, before he drops his hand to the apex of your thighs, massaging tight circles into that bundle of nerves, forcing breathless moans out of you. “Ya gonna ride me, doll? Gonna show me just how willing you are?”

“Uhuh.” Grinning, you let him pull the shirt up and over your head, nipples pebbling immediately. He flicks one, palming the fatty globe to soothe the dull pain.

Steadying yourself with your hands on his abs, you lean forward and steal a kiss. It’s supposed to be a peck, just a polite, cursory smooch but then he stops groping your tit to use that hand to keep your faced pressed to his. Toji deepens the kiss, shoving his tongue inside and exploring your mouth. He’s stealing air from you and the longer he keeps you submerged, the more you moan. 

In the haze of the heat he’s growling into you, you fail to realise he’s let go of your head and is now slotting his cock into your pussy. 

“W-wait, Toji!”

The stretch is overwhelming; you hadn’t prepped yourself enough but neither of you seem to care. It’s hard to when his cock head is already pushing through that tight ring of muscle and is worming its way deeper inside you. 

He hisses. “So fucking tight! Fuck, gotta relax, ma.”

“I’m -ngh- trying!”

Down and down, your cunt swallows as much of him as it can. You’ve pushed yourself upright, using gravity to aid the descent. Nothing else in the room has his attention. Nothing could ever take his attention. “Oh fuck, would you look at that? Greedy pussy can’t get enough, can she? Dirty girl heh.”

You bottom out, lips tickled by the hairs at his base. 

“You’re so big, Toji.”

Both of his arms reach for you, gripping your ass and lifting you up just a little only to let go and let you drop down. You screech. He’s reaching every part of you inside, and when you look down, you’re so certain you can see the outline of him pushing through your stomach. You clench.

“Ah, fuck! Don’t do that,” he scolds you. “Start moving before I get bored.”

The threat makes you frown but you do as he says anyways. Mustering all the strength you have, you start riding him, rising higher and higher each time until you get comfortable with his size. You can’t imagine any amount of prep would ever get you to take him with ease, but the overflowing juices coming from you is certainly helping; it leaves his hairs dewy. 

Years past, or so it feels, as you grind and slide down on his length, and he doesn’t seem the least bit affected. That only fuels you harder. With a vendetta, you get up on your knees, keeping just his tip in, before you slam down. 

You both moan. 

“Fuck!”

His hands dig into your slippery flesh, careful of his sharp claws, but threatening to leave bruises just as he promised. The way he’s poking that sensitive spot inside you has you whimpering with every grind at just the right angle. You can’t imagine ever wanting to stop. Squelches after squelches echo in the room but there’s no shame you can muster, not when he feels so incredible.

The pain is quickly spiralling into pleasure and every part of him is pushing you to the edge— his strength, his length and girth, his low groans and hisses, the hairs that tickle your skin, and those eyes, scouring your features and not missing a single thing. 

Embarrassing sloshes and splats! are reverberating against the walls, just as the creaking of the bed frame, and the slapping of skin reach your ears. You’ve never heard yourself sound so dirty, so reckless, so downright pornographic. All of it is pulling you under even as the ache in your thighs from the overuse of them is making your rhythm irregular and jerky.

“Gorgeous -ha- gorgeous girl,” he says through gritted teeth.

His point is emphasised by a slap against your ass cheek, the sting makes you fall over, back onto his chest which is sticky with both of your sweat mixing and mingling. The hairs on his chest brush against your nipples, still sensitive from his rough sucking and biting last night, and you whimper. 

Growling in your ear, he plants his feet onto the bed, and oh god, he’s grabbing your ass in both hands and you know without even having to look at him that he’s grown tired of your amateurish performance; Toji is taking matters into his own hand. 

“Guess I still gotta do the -hah fuck- work ‘round here. Always such a —ngh— princess. Hold on tight, ma, ’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” His laugh rumbles under your body and an eye roll is all you can manage before you’re being pummelled into from underneath, jostling you in all sorts of directions. 

Plunging his cock at an incredible speed, you feel him in your stomach, in your lungs, God it’s like he’s in your head, filling every fold and crevice with his beastly intensity. “Toji! No! Ngh, s-stop! I can’t, fuck it’s so good! Yes! Oh! Oh! Nooooooooo.”

“No, yes, no? Make up your mind, ma. Use that city girl head for me,” he growls out, punctuating his mean question with a cruel laugh. 

Bundling your hair into a careless fist, he yanks you back from his chest, forcing you to confront him. He’s not flushed, his face isn’t crumpled in desperation, he isn’t even out of breath. In fact, there would be no sign he’s enjoying this —you, being inside you, holding you — except for the bead of sweat trailing down his temple, drawing your attention to the way those jade beads are flickering between your eyes and your swollen lips. 

“Kiss?” You ask, breathlessly. 

Toji furrows his brows, something flashing in his gaze, something that resembles confusion, conflict, or hesitation. It’s so quick you wonder if you imagined it but there’s no time to ponder longer because he continues his incessant assault on your poor pussy, kissing your cervix with every thrust, practically rummaging your insides with the way he’s using you like a toy once again. 

It’s filthy, it’s carnal, animalistic and oh so good.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips, pearly white row of knives for teeth on perfect display. “Give me a big wet kiss, baby. Make it worth my -hngh fuck!- t-time.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to stretch forward, he slams his face to yours, smacking his plump lips, gobbling you up despite your moans of surprise. He shoves his tongue in with as much ferocity as he’s thrusting his cock inside your poor battered pussy. That tongue licks and explores like he can’t get enough, like he wants to memorise every curve and edge.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

A huge hand lays consecutive slaps against your ass again, the flesh rippling and burning. He times it with every thrust, heavy balls smacking your skin too. It’s all too much too soon and you feel an orgasm bubbling from your throat and your cunt. 

“W-what is that? Oh my god!” Something thick is attempting to enter your sloppy pussy, round and threatening. You squeal when it pushes in after a particularly merciless thrust and grind from Toji. The extra stretch brings about a sharp pain. You tear up. 

A hand that’s clutching an ass cheek ventures deeper, trailing a finger to a hole you’ve never touched. Smothered in his chest, the onslaught of stimulation from all angles is killing you. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to breathe, no one to turn to for help from the man making good on his promise to leave you bruised, sore, and all chewed up. 

“’s my knot, babygirl. Fuck, you really don’t know shit about hybrids, huh? Well, y’r gonna be educated soon.”

The dark, sadistic tone of his is making you dizzy. In a panic, you hastily say, “N-no! I can’t. Really, Toji! I r-really can’t. Pleaseeee.”

With your hair still in his grasp, your head’s tilted back once again, but this time to bare your slender neck. In one fell swoop, that bulge gets shoved inside your cunt, plugging you up, and his maw clamps down on your neck, so close to puncturing you with his savage teeth.

“Oh! I’m gonna cuummmm! Toji! T-Toji! Stop!” Your jaw drops, eyes rolling back, and your nails dig into his meaty pecs for purchase. It’s like electricity is wracking your body, sizzling every hair strand, tickling your nipples from inside. Grinding against his pelvis, your oversensitive clit is caught in his hairs, creating a remarkable friction you can’t escape. “Oh, fuuuuuuuuuck!”

Broken chuckles emerge from his sinful mouth, “Go on, ma. Cum on my cock, milk me, just like that, oh shit, such a good girl, fuck!”

His brutal pace splutters as he follows suit, balls clenching whilst your walls attempt to push out the invasion of his cock and his knot. A crazed laugh echoes right by your ear, you don’t know what’s so funny but stuttered moans are the only sounds you can make as you chase your high. 

“Ah, fuck, y’r so fucking tight. Practically -ha- choking me heh.”

You feel hot cum paint your insides, drizzling down your walls with nowhere to go. He’s thoroughly filled you and when you attempt to lift your hips to get up, you realise, he’s not letting you go any time soon. 

“Nice try, ma. Unfortunately for you, y’r stuck with me for about twenty minutes or so till it goes down. Probably should’ve bought condoms heh.”

“You should have given me a warning, Toji,” you mumble, pouting. 

Goosebumps litter your arms; the chill of the morning air is settling reminding you just how bare you really are. Thankfully you don’t have to suffer for too long because he’s shuffling so he can throw the covers over the both of you. With his natural body heat, you’re more than warm and cozy, especially as his burning cock is still inside you. 

He licks a dried trail of tears on your cheek. “Sorry. Thought you knew.”

“Well, I didn’t. This is my first time with a hybrid.”

Grunt. 

A beat or two passes, a comfortable silence humming between you. He’s so big and meaty it feels like you’re going to melt into him. Now that you’re not so distracted by cock and cum, and the morning light is shining through the curtains, you can see his scars much more clearly. He’s littered in them, some like slashes and others just scarred-over holes.

You have so many questions, none of them leave the tip of your tongue. 

“Ask.”

You pause. “Can I?”

Huff. 

“Okay,” you trail off. “Why do you have so many scars?”

Tickling your spine with his callouses fingers, he skims your back absentmindedly. You lay your chin on his chest, watching him look at somewhere in the corner of the room, clearly falling fast in an endless hole of memories. This is a rare opportunity to more about the enigmatic wolf-man who showed up at your doorstep in the middle of a snow-storm, claiming to have known your late grandmother. 

More silence fills the air. His fingers have stopped.

You nuzzle his jaw with your nose, burying it in his beard. It seems to snap him out of his daze. He grunts once more, licking your cheek, not to taste the salt on your skin, but as if to say ‘thanks’. 

“Been on my own for a while. For as long as I can remember, actually. It’s…tough out there. Not everyone is as nice as you and your gran.”

Carefully, you hazard a guess. “Were these from people? Hybrids or normies?”

He gropes your ass like a stress ball. 

“Both.”

“I mean, I’ve heard stories of the kind of abuse and discrimination hybrids face from normies, it’s quite prevalent in the city despite recent equality laws but why would your own kid hurt you? Aren’t you all in the same boat? Isn’t there some kind of…camaraderie? Sorry, is that insulting to assume?”

Spanking your ass, he huffs a laugh. “You’re adorable. No, don’t look at me like that, kid. It’s cute of you to think that’s how it works.”

“It isn’t?”

You don’t take offence to his patronising tone; you had expected to be wrong about aspects of hybrid life. Normal, average humans outnumber hybrids at a ratio of four to one. Some hybrids are lucky enough to be passing, kinda like Toji, but others carry visible signs of their anthropomorphic genes. The latter are rarely treated well despite the fact that they’ve existed just as long as normies have. They used to live in their own continents, building large civilisations far more expansive than humans have achieved at that time. 

But war is a cruel mistress.

For many reasons, humans and hybrids stayed away from each other. It was only relatively recently they’ve begin co-existing, even inter-mixing. The change has been hard for many people. Perhaps not most of society, but enough to make the idea of living as a hybrid make you grimace. 

“Nah,” he says, almost finishing his reply there until he sees your inquisitive eyes and he continues, “there’s lots of different kinds of hybrids. We don’t all like each other. And not all of us running the same race. There’s a lot of competition, suspicion and hatred. ’s always been the case.”

Nodding, you prod further. “And your scars? Did they come from bar brawls or something?”

“Some, yeah. Others from professional fights.”

You perk up. 

“Professional fights?”

In a flash, the cover is falling onto the floor and you’re upright once more. Toji’s pushed the both of you up and off the bed, holding you in his arms with his softening cock slipping out of your pussy. You scramble to gain better grip of him.

“Oh my god! Give a girl a little warning. God, Toji! It’s cold.”

He licks your ear. 

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. With ease, he carries you out of your room and into the bathroom. “Let’s wash up and start the day. ‘m starved.”

Rolling your eyes, you let him have this one chance at evading your question; you’re just pleased to have learnt a little more about him. It feels like he’s letting you in, presenting himself openly just for you. For a wild man like him, whose solitary despite his nature, this is the greatest gift he could give you.

Toji’s a thorough washer — he shampoos your hair better than you ever have and not a single crook or cranny gets overlooked. But as soon as you get clean, the so-called day doesn’t get started anytime soon when he falls to his knees and shoves his face into the apex of your thighs, making a loud sniifffff before he growls and laps up the mixed juices of his and your cum. 

In next three days that pass, you notice the dynamic between you shifts. 

For one, he no longer sleeps in his own room but rather in yours. He follows suit after dinner and removes his shirt, freshly showered and completely bare, and hands it to you wordlessly. You wear his shirt, and only his shirt, to bed. 

Lunch is no longer eaten separately. He joins you wherever you are, whether that’s in your room, all warm and cozy under a mountain of blankets, or on the sofa, also all warm and cozy under a mountain of blankets. You watch movies on your laptop and he never argues with your choices. Sometimes he just eats in silence, right beside you, as you read a book or stare out the window. 

Toji’s much more touchy now. Before, he was sneaking in grazes and quick gropes, now he’s lost all reservation and politeness. When you’re cooking, stirring something as you hum to music, he creeps up behind you, pinning your body to the counter with his hips and he wraps an arm around your torso to weigh a breast in his palm, squeezing and massaging for his own pleasure. 

He’ll tweak a nipple, pushing your hair back to skim his nose against the length of your neck, inhaling deeply and stopping to mouth wet kisses on that bruising around the teeth marks he’s left there.  Most times he’ll let you be after he’s had a fill of your softness, but sometimes he kneels behind you and tears apart your pants with a resounding SSSSSNAP! Before he laps up your pussy from behind, food coming out just a little more cooked than you’d like, though he never seems to mind. 

And it must be worth mentioning that the sex is constant. 

Every night and every morning. It isn’t a stretch to say that you eat, sleep and breathe sex with Toji. Which you honestly can’t complain about. It’s always so rough and so good every time. 

However, his insatiable appetite is making it ever so slightly hard for you after — there’s a perpetual soreness in your joints and in your pussy, you find yourself looking behind you to make sure that when you bend down to pick up whatever it is you’ve dropped he won’t be there playing with your cunt with his fingers and/or mouth. 

His hearing is incredible. 

Sometimes you hide just to time how long it takes for him to find your hiding spot. Longest time was three minutes. The cabin isn’t the biggest in the world but there are plenty of places to hide, like closets, under the bed, behind sofas and doors. 

Still hard at work fixing bits and pieces around the cabin, Toji somehow always knows when you’re up to some mischief. Maybe it’s because your heart starts beating faster or because you let out some giggles, envisioning that glint in his eyes and in his teeth when he grins at your pathetic attempts to escape him. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because your panties get soaked with anticipation for his rough, calloused hands throwing you over his shoulder and onto a bed, his or yours he doesn’t care, and fucking you into a drooling mess. Sometimes he even gets so impatient, so riled up, he just takes you wherever you are, your face smothered in a pile of folded clothes or against the wall with your panties dangling from an ankle. 

Everything has been great. So great in a way you’ve never known greatness to manifest. It’s somewhat akin to, what you can only imagine to be, the completely liberating sensation of flapping your wings and cruising high up in the sky or running through a stream, chasing a fish with no end in sight. It’s the kind of greatness men strive for all their lives but never reach because it’s a greatness they were already born into and never realise. 

The routine, the mundane, the ordinariness. 

It’s all so great. 

At night, you trace nonsensical words and shapes into his skin, smiling at the soft snores that vibrate under your head. You’ve always thought living every day the same as the day before and the day before that as a labyrinth you’ve been sentenced to die in, a cage or a prison of your own making. But now, you can’t imagine ever wanting more. 

Of course, it hasn’t been perfect.  

You still find some moments a little too boring but those are usually when he’s busy fixing a wobbly chair or grouting the tiles in the bathroom. And you do crave the feeling of driving through a long, empty road, or eating fast food. Those moments, thankfully, are hastily washed away once you feel his calloused hands tethering you back to him.

One other problem you’re having is his beard. As attractive as it is, it’s scratching up your thighs a little too much. You’ve noticed the rash forming between your legs; he has a penchant for eating you out at the drop of a hat and he’s not gentlemanly about it. At. All. You don’t ever want him to stop and the threatening snarl he makes every time you attempt to push him away from your swollen and overstimulated pussy never fails to halt your movements. 

So there’s only one solution.

“Toji?” He lazily drags his gaze up your bare legs, stopping by the hard nipples poking through shirt, and then he meets your gaze with a brow raised. “Would you ever consider shaving your beard?”

The growl of ‘no’ comes before you could even finish the word ‘shaving’. His jaw clenches and a muscle ticks. 

“But I can shave it for you. Being a woman, it’s kinda part of my existence. I’ll do you up real nice.”

“Hell will sooner freeze over before I let anyone put something sharp against my neck again. Even if they’re you.”

You drop it for now. 

At night, after hours of mind-blowing sex, you lay all sweaty and sleepy on his chest once more with a heavy arm slung over your waist. You twist the hairs on his face, rolling a couple strands between your fingers. They’re quite long and thick. You wonder when the last time he had shaved was. 

“Please?”

“No.”

You sigh. 

The next morning, you’re in the bathroom, sitting on the bathtub and attempting to rub some soothing ointment meant for your face onto the irritated skin of your inner thighs. It’s getting worse and you’re at a loss. Making it hard to walk, you’re cursing every god out there for doing this to you. 

Is his aversion to sharp objects near his head because of some trauma or an animalistic instinct? It’s hard to tell with hybrids, as the internet forums you’ve explored lecture — hybrids are both governed by human complexity and base biological instincts. Studies that have been done on them over the year have put forth some credible results but people are quick to put a disclaimer that animals in captivity rarely behave the way they would in the wild.

You sigh again.

Maybe you’ll have to tell him to stop eating you out. You cringe. That won’t go down well, pun intended, and you don’t want him to. Frowning, you carefully massage in the ointment, hissing at particularly sensitive spots. 

“Fine. You can shave it off,” he grumbles. 

You hadn’t even realised he was standing in the doorway, watching, and scratching his beard like he’s noticing, really noticing, the hairs on his face. One glance at the mirror across the room and he’s furrowing his brows, perhaps baffled at the man staring back at him. 

His tone is hostile, but his acquiescence makes you smile. 

About ten minutes later, you’ve sat him down on the edge of the bathtub, right where you were before, and you’ve assembled everything you need: razors, scissors, a comb, shaving cream, towels, and a tub of aloe vera to soothe any razor burns. Everything but the aloe vera is pretty pink, and you can’t help but giggle a little as you take a step back to admire this big, burly man surrounded by utterly feminine products. 

“Alright, I’ll start by trimming it, okay? I don’t want to come at it straight away and spook you, so let’s take it nice and slow.”

He huffs. “Don’t gotta talk to me like I’m a kid. Do what you gotta do.”

With the scissors and the comb, you cut away at his beard, snipping here and there and trying to get it all even. It’s not an easy job — he growls when you venture too low, past his jawline and closer to his Adam’s apple and when he makes that throaty sound, you’re met with images of him biting into your throat, the way a dog does when you step on its tail.

Terrible as it is to compare a biological human male like Toji to an animal, it’s a fair comparison considering his reliance on his animal instincts. It’s been abundantly clear in the way he uses his senses to gain his bearings, how he never expresses a desire beyond eating, sleeping and fucking. There’s no vanity coursing through his blood, he doesn’t stare at himself in reflections, doesn’t fix up his hair or put on clothes that fit or match, and even how he doesn’t ever say pretty words, only what he means, no more and no less. 

It’s nice. 

So used to the way people sugarcoated their complaints or hid ulterior motives in every sickly sweet words, adjusting to Toji’s matter-of-fact way of speaking had been somewhat difficult. 

But change is necessary. Just as the seasons change, so do animals, even humans. With how they adapt to the change in the wind, the drop in the temperature, the quake in the earth, you know without needing to ask questions or to have more time with him, the hybrid in front of you, part wolf and part man, has never had the luxury of being stagnant. 

It was clear when he showed up at your door with no bag, just the clothes on his back and the muddy, worn down boots on his feet. Even fully fed, lounging on the sofa by the fire with his feet and torso bare, you sense the tension freezing his body; he’s always ready to run. 

He snarls and flinches when he feels the cold blade of your scissors touch his skin. And then his hand grips your thigh, both in warning and to tether himself, perhaps to remind him you’re not a monster thirsting for blood, his blood, but rather just a woman. A woman he’s seen completely bare, a woman who’s crawled on all fours and nuzzled her face against the seam of his jeans when he returns from fixing a tile on the roof, and a woman who’s laid it all out for him, starting from what led you here and ending to where you want to be. 

Uncomfortable and on edge, you already know you’re not going to get very far with the way he’s being. He needs a distraction. 

You kiss him. He growls for a different reason this time. Fingers threading in your hair, he holds you down to him, tasting the sweetness you’re offering. He laps it up. “Toji, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Face burying into your neck, he takes a long inhale there. “I know.”

“I’m gonna get started on the shaving cream, okay?”

His grip on you tightens and you know he’s aware that razors are sharper than scissors, much like how his teeth are sharper than yours. You don’t want to know what events he’s lived through to be so hostile against the act of shaving but he isn’t an animal, not fully, anyways. 

He’s also a man. 

And men conquer. 

Even when they shouldn’t. 

You slide your panties down, dangling it in the air for a second, hesitating but you see the appraisal in his eyes, always so suspicious like he’s thinking of all the ways one could be killed with a scrap of lace. Dropping it on his face, you tell him, “I don’t see why only one of should be vulnerable here.”

Rumbling a pure sense of bliss, his eyes flutter shut and he sniffs at your panties. His hand flies up to your slit just as you’re smearing shaving cream all over his jaw, pulling the panties away from him for a second. 

“Seeing me all tense is getting you soaked?” His lip twitches. 

“Hey, now, let’s not even get started on that seeing as you’re pretty hard for someone suffering some internal battle.”

He gives you a rare grin. 

The rest of the torture goes on in relative peace — you shave him bit by bit, going slowly and keeping your touch gentle especially as you near the softness of his neck and when you go over it with the razor, he takes a deep inhale of your panties, trying to shake off that unnatural acceptance of something so dangerous, so compromising, so utterly unlike him. After every slither of skin you’ve rid of hair, you give him a kiss which he insists on deepening, shoving fingers into your cunt just to feel you clench down on him. 

Soon, he’s completely smooth and it’s only when you step back that you take it all in. He was handsome with the beard and he’s just as handsome now. He also looks more youthful, more boyish, and free. 

Toji comes to a stand, staring at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t say a word, neither do you. A barrage of thoughts pass through his mind, flashing and flickering. His fingers feel his skin, jerking at the complete bareness of it all. You can’t tell if he likes it, if he regrets his choice, and if he even recognises the man under all that wild and untamed hair. He had been running so long as a wolf, perhaps he’s forgotten how to walk as a man. 

That’s what you think, until he makes some gesture with his hand and he says, “Got no reason to push me away now, so spread those legs, ma. Let’s go for a test drive.”

You don’t leave that bathroom until hours later, sore, wet, sticky and thoroughly blissed out.

The next day, just before lunchtime, Toji goes to chop up some more wood for the fireplace whilst the snow has stopped falling just for today. You’re watching him through a window, bundled up in a blanket holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and not at all envious of him, what with the chilling weather and his lack of a coat. 

You really have to buy him one. He doesn’t look the least bit cold, which you don’t really understand, but still, something about the picture looks off. It’s not fair you get to be all comfortable, lazing around, and he’s hard at work. 

The phone rings. 

Your head snaps to the coffee table which your phone lies on, vibrating against the wood. A new number. When you answer, you’re surprised to recognise the voice immediately. 

“Hi. Yes, I’m managing quite fine.”

The old man sighs. “How glad am I to hear that. The storm has made it rather hard to get a hold of you and I certainly couldn’t make the journey up.”

“That’s quite alright. I really appreciate the thought, it’s very sweet of you.”

Exchanging pleasantries and talks about the various favours he owed your grandmother, over five minutes pass, and you’re itching to urge Toji back inside, fearing that he could drop dead at any second from the chill.

Eventually, and thankfully, the conversation nears an end with him insisting that as soon as the snow thaws enough you come on down for dinner at his home. He says his sons and their wives all love a good, hearty meal as a family. There are even grandchildren for you to play with should adults not be your speed. “Yes, yes, of course. That sounds great, thank you.”

“Alright, bye, dear. I’ll call back again to check up on you and please remember you can always call on me and my kids for help.”

Humming, you’re about to end the call when his tone changes. 

“Speaking of help,” he begins, clearing his throat. “How have you been managing to get on so well?”

Toji’s still chopping wood, swinging that heavy axe back behind his head and down in one smooth strike, cutting the log in a perfect half. You press your legs together, unable to take your eyes off his bulging biceps. You love when he shows off his strength, it comes so effortlessly to him, unlike the men where you’re from whose muscles are all for show, satisfying their own vanity and quelling their insecurities momentarily before they’re inhaling steroids like air. 

“Oh, you know, this man my grandmother befriended over the years came by and has been helping me out since. He’s quite familiar with the ins and outs of the cabin so I really couldn’t have done any of this without him. I’d like to bring him along to dinn—“

“A man?”

You frown. “Yeah, Toji. Surely you must have met him at some point since he and my grandmother were quite close.”

“I knew it! I knew I saw him here days ago. Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry you ran into him, but please stay away from him.”

What the hell is this man talking about?

“No, it’s Toji, he helped my granny during the winter months. He fixed things up for her and helped her get around. He was like a friend to her in ways me and my siblings should have been. He’s really nice, you’ll like him.”

The man in question is scratching his jaw, still getting used to being so bare, and he’s rolling his head around as if bothered by some crick in his neck. He’s got an impressive pile of logs waiting to be fed to the fireplace and you know he’s going to head back in any second now. For some reason, you feel guilty, like you’re doing something you shouldn’t be, talking to someone you shouldn’t talk to. 

“Y/n, listen to me. Please!” The urgency, the insistence, and desperation in the old man’s voice is palpable, a hand reaching through the screen and choking air right out from your lungs. Your heart begins galloping. “That man is a criminal. He’s wanted, a fugitive! H-he’s a killer.”

Confused and somewhat exasperated, you argue, “No, you’ve got the wrong man. I’m telling you, we’re talking about different people here.”

You can’t shake off the abrupt shift in his voice. From caring old man with a shaky baritone to a firm, military like precision. It’s as if you were talking to a completely different man.

A beat passes and you think he’s hung up, that this odd conversation is over and done with but one glance at the screen tells you differently. He doesn’t say a thing, and all you can hear is the rushing of the wind and grunts and thuds outside. 

Irritated by this entire farce, your thumb moves to press the end-call button but then you hear him on the other line.

“Does he have a scar on the corner of his mouth?”

The blood drains from your face.

“H-how did you know that?”

A noise of death and despair reaches your ears. He’s shouting something to someone else, you can hear their alarm, can feel the anxiety, the dread and terror in their voices, muffled as they are. “Get away from him. Get away from him now! Do whatever you can. You mustn’t let him get his hands on you. H-he’s one of them. One of those abominations. A hybrid, a dangerous kind.”

“What are you talking about? Just tell me what’s happening, please, you’re not making sense right now.”

“He killed your grandmother!”

You drop your mug. It shatters by your feet. The creamy chocolate milk pools into a puddle, soaking your socks. There’s ceramic chipping littering the floor and you can’t move, can’t go anywhere without taking a big leap. 

Slowly, you look up from your phone screen, hearing subdued questions of fear and panic on the other end. Through the window, you meet Toji’s eyes. 

He’s looking right at you.

You hang up. 

It takes three seconds for him to get to the door, pushing it open. He shakes off the snow off his boots, banging them against the doorframe, and the axe he had been holding is set down by the shoe rack, the metal clinking, as he enters. Light from the ceiling bulb reflects directly off the sharpest point, shining in your eyes. Are necks harder to cut through than wood?

“Ya alright?”

Plastering a cheerful smile, you nod. 

He doesn’t look convinced. 

In a blink, he’s in front of you, cradling your face in one cold hand. He tilts your chin back and searches your eyes. He doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for so he sniffs the air and his eyes darken. Slowly, like you’re a deer, he asks, “What are you so afraid of?”

“Oh, nothing. Really. I was just reading the news online and stumbled across articles about the war in that country in the East, y’know, the one with the hospital bombing. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t read it,” he says. “Show me.”

Your heart beats impossibly faster. You know he can hear it. There’s no way he can’t with his wolfish hearing and with a finger on your pulse. Maybe that’s why his other hand, just as cold, wraps around your wrist and he tugs it towards him. His nails scrape against your skin and his hand eats up your wrist entirely, middle finger folding over his thumb. At any given second, he can snap the bone there and not bat an eye. 

Laughing nervously, you tug your hand back, to no avail. With a forced nonchalant tone, you inform him, “I wanna get all cleaned up. I feel a little icky, and all sweaty and sticky from this morning so I’m just gonna take a nice long bath.”

He lets you shake him off but only after he’s taken the phone out of your death grip. He can’t unlock it, he doesn’t the password. But that was never his intention. He doesn’t even look down on the screen. As fast as you can without looking panicked, you stumble away from his reach and towards the door. 

“Y/n.”

Your smile shakes.

“What did they tell you?”

Your smile falls off altogether. 

“Toji,” you begin, “p-please, let’s not do this.”

His scar twitches and when he makes a step towards you, you step back. There. You almost missed it, almost blinked and lost your footing. But his eyes unmistakably flicker from you and to the side, by the door, at the shoe rack. You don’t need to turn back to know what exactly he’s eyeing. Calmly, he asserts, “You won’t last an hour outside. You won’t even reach the forest’s edge before I get to you. You don’t know your way down. And if it ain’t me, it’ll be the elements that’ll kill ya. Be wise, kid.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

With the scarlet blanket still hanging off you, you dash towards the door, pulling the shoe rack behind you and the sound of clattering and a thud forces your legs pumping. 

You run. 

You run and you don’t look back, you don’t stop, not even for a second, not even when your socks are soaked with snow and not melted chocolate. The trees welcome you as you dash in between trunks, lunging over thick roots and dodging low hanging branches. You don’t know where you’re going, where you can go. 

A sob rises from your throat, clawing its way out. 

He was right. You don’t know your way down and the freeze is creeping in, frosting over your veins and seeping into your bones. The movies show the power of adrenaline all the time, how it’ll wash away any and all feelings that aren’t helpful for survival, but it’s not enough. 

Your muscles are aching, your cheeks are burning and your fingers are beginning to itch and tingle. You weren’t meant for survival. You weren’t meant to put up a fight. 

When he gets to you, he’ll snuff the light right out of your eyes with one swipe of his arm. You’ve seen what he can do with those hands, you’ve felt the way they wrangled you into position, hell you’ve drooled over the bruises he’s left on you. And you never once thought you’d be running from the hands that dragged you over a cliff of pleasure, that carried you around, and touched you so soothingly.

Without needing to hear heavy footfall, you know he’s after you. You have animalistic instincts too. 

A dead woman running is what you are. You were dead as soon as you picked up that phone call. 

No. 

You were dead the moment you opened the door. 

“Fuck!” You scream. Ignoring the ache in your legs and the pain in your ankles, you sprint as fast as you can. Your body’s being pushed to its limits; you’ve never ran like this before. Granted, you’ve never been chased by a murderer either. 

The absurd turn of event make you laugh, deranged and broken, and it echoes around the forest. As far as you can see, there’s only trees and snow, perfectly white, pristine snow. There are no roads, no houses, no people. No one to help. No one that can hear you scream. 

You should have stayed in the city, should have never left, should have never gotten bored. Spontaneity isn’t your thing and you’re learning it the hard way. There’ll never be an opportunity to put into practice the moral of the story that’s being engraved into your DNA right now. No one will even notice you’re gone — you aren’t close with your family, and you don’t have friends, not really anyways.

There will be no mourning, no grieving, there won’t even be a goddamn funeral. 

Heart threatening to tear through your body, you collapse against a tree. You’re panting, chest heaving as you gulp down as much air as possible. The bark scratches your forehead but you can’t muster a shred of care, not when every limb is shaking both from the cold and the effort.

There are an array of shallow cuts all over your arms and face from where low hanging branches have whipped against your skin, attempting to get you in their clutches, to slow you down. The forest isn’t your friend. This isn’t your domain, It’s his.

“Y/n!”

You smother the startled cry with the palm of your hand.

He’s near.

Tears stream down your face, falling onto the snow beneath you. Numb, you briefly worry you’ve lost your feet altogether. One glance down disproves that but you’re still not convinced. You hug the blanket closer around you; it does absolutely nothing to keep the warmth in and the cold out. And yet, you can’t bear to let it go. 

“I can hear you.”

Lips quivering, you bite down hard. Iron lays on your tongue. There’s nowhere to go. He had found you so quickly and he knows the forest better than you. How many times had he made the trip to that cabin? How many times had he sought out your grandmother? Had smiled at her, chopped up wood for her, had collected groceries and medicines? How many times had she let him in every time he knocked, every time he emerged from the shadows and soaked up the warmth of her kindness?

What were her last words? 

No, please, don’t! Spare me?

Or why, Toji, why?

What will be yours?

A flash of movement catches your eye. He’s not panting like you, he’s not even sweating. When he steps forward, brushing his hair back, you don’t fail to notice he didn’t come empty handed. 

His eyes glint, sharper than the axe he carries, and he’s roving over your features, watching you tremble. One sniff and his scar is stretching. 

“Y’r afraid.”

“Yeah, no f-fucking kidding!”

Even as he keeps his voice deceptively soft, much like how it is when he’s lulling you to sleep, you can’t stop staring at the axe. That stupid fucking axe he just had to bring with him. You sob. 

“Just leave me alone, please.”

Scoffing, he steps closer once more. “Not even gonna ask if I did or didn’t?”

You shake your head. 

“Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this.”

He lunges, pinning you to a tree with a forearm to your throat. Radiating heat, your body betrays you and presses closer to him, desperate to envelope yourself in that warmth. You want nothing more than to be back in bed with him, oblivious to the rest of the world. You want to go back to before that phone call and make it so that you never found out, so that you never picked up the damn phone. 

Teeth snapping a hair’s breadth away from your nose, he demands, “Ask.”

“Did you?” You scream at him. “Did you kill my fucking grandmother? After everything she did for you? After she showed you kindness and hospitality and gave you friendship? Did you kill her even after she begged? Did you watch the life fade from her eyes knowing she never got to say goodbye to me? To any of us?”

His glare softens. There’s a tenderness swirling in those green eyes, a fervour and understanding that thaws your heart. He looks like the Toji you know, or rather, knew. He looks like the Toji that had pushed himself to trek in the snow for hours so you can be fed, the Toji that kept you company every day, that fixed things without needing to be asked, the one that made you coffee and knew just how you liked it, the one that traced patterns you had drawn him on your skin when he thought you weren’t awake. 

“Did you kill her?”

Scar grazing your lips as he inhales the shampoo from your hair, you feel his answer just as well as you hear it. 

“Yes.”

A gunshot resounds in the air. It’s sharp and startling, cutting through the crisp silence with a violent roar. The sound lingers in the air, echoing and rattling your bones like it had been fired inside you. 

“Get the fuck away from her, beast!”

You turn to the side. A man you don’t recognise is standing metres away holding a shotgun. His face is contorted in rage, creating deep shadows and wrinkles that make him look infinitely older than he likely is. Smoke wisps away from the barrel of his fun, pointed at the sky. A warning shot. 

Toji pushes you behind him as he growls. 

“Fuck off. She’s mine.”

You trip over your blanket. Through his legs, you see that man lower the gun till it points in your direction. You’re frozen in place. 

“Let her go and turn yourself in. An animal like you needs to be muzzled and put down,” the man spits, venom flooding his words. He looks at you. “Come here. My father sent me. You know him.” 

Stumbling to a stand on shaky knees, you back away from Toji, going around the tree and making your way to the other side. He doesn’t stop you, just watches every move you make as if you’re standing in a field of landmines. His grip on the axe doesn’t loosen and he makes no sign he’s going to give himself up. 

“T-Toji, don’t fight, please just come with us. If you give yourself up, maybe they’ll go easy on you,” you plead. 

He growls, grimacing. He’s contemplating it. That means everything to you. In some sick, pathetic joke, you actually pity him. There’s still a huge part of you that cares, that wants what’s best for him, that loves him. But that part needs to be extinguished because he’s a cold blooded killer and he’ll turn those murderous hands on you. 

Leg jerking, he makes a step towards you. It feels so right, you mirror his movement, like this one act, one sacrifice makes up for everything, like it erases the sins of his past and washes away the blood on his hands. 

“Ahh!” You’re yanked back by your hair. 

“Don’t get near him, you stupid bitch! He’s a fucking mongrel.”

The snarl that ripples from Toji’s throat pierces through haze, rustling the branches up above and forcing a flock of birds up and away. He charges towards you, axe raised up high and you shake yourself from the man’s clutches, jumping out of the way just in time before bodies collide and they both fall. 

Rolling away, you bundle up the blanket you’re shielding yourself with and cry into it. The sound of bodies being beaten, arms bent, stomachs kicked and necks bitten into make you cringe. You cry harder. You don’t dare look at who’s winning, you can’t bring yourself to look. It’s because you don’t want to see the violence, don’t want to see blood, but there’s a voice screaming that it’s because you’ll die if the one who walks away from this isn’t Toji. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!”

“Get the fuck off me! You filthy mutt!”

You’re digging your nails into the bark of a tree, flinching with every blow. You hear fists slamming into flesh, each punch a blunt weapon bruising and breaking, bone-crushing swings whistling through air followed by sharp exhales of pain and vomit-inducing cracks and pops. The struggle is relentless, blow after blow, and you hear the gun clatter as it’s kicked to the side. 

SNAP!

“You should have never come back! You should have died on the side of the street after what you did to that woman”

POP!

“Ahhh! Fuck!”

SMACK! 

“Ya don’t know shit!”

The trees are spectators, moaning and whistling in protest at the unholy sight, at the splatters of blood contaminating their ranks. The branches shake in warning but no one is listening.

Whimpering, you hum a song, trying to block out the repulsive sounds of senseless violence. You should have never been here. You never visited because you couldn’t stand the isolation of a cabin in the mountains, couldn’t stand the unconditional love your grandmother gave you, of which you knew then and you know now, you were never deserving of.

If you had been dutiful and even had a fraction of her selflessness, you would have taken care of her so that she never relied on a man with sharp senses and a dangerous smile.

If you had been a good granddaughter, that man would be roaming the world, unburdened by material possession and human attachments. He wouldn’t be beating a man black and blue, wouldn’t be tearing flesh from bone, wouldn’t be debasing himself for your sake, or his. You don’t know anymore.

You turn to yell at him to stop, for him to run instead. But your words are swallowed by a gunshot. 

A body falls to the floor in a dull thud. Crimson dyes the snow, puddling into a shade so dark you could always persuade yourself it’s not what you think it is. Time slows. You can see every flake of snow pause in the air, you can count them, can collect them in your hands. The wind has disappeared, leaving behind a stillness in the air that’s suffocating, choking you from inside. Even the trees have stopped their moaning.

Your heart stops beating.

Someone stands over the body, holding a smoking gun, and it isn’t who you wanted it to be.

“Toji!” You scramble over, hands shaking harder than ever before. 

He’s clutching his chest. Hot liquid drenches your pants. You didn’t realise fresh blood would be so warm and you wish so badly it wasn’t because it means that the warmth that should be inside him is leaving, being absorbed by the ground, by you.

Green eyes, dulling, meet yours. He smiles. “She asked me to. She was in pain. Couldn’t make it down through the snow. She asked me.”

“N-no, stop it. Save your breath, please.” Through your sobs, you turn to the nameless man, pale under the cuts all over his face as the snow and shuddering from the shock of what he had done. “Call the ambulance! Call somebody! Please!”

“C-car. I-it’s in my car.” Staggering back, he drops the gun and fishes out his keys, muttering frenzied apologies under his breath. He limps his way back, weaving through the trees.  

Despite having less cuts and bruises, he’s in much worser state. His chest heaves and you’re trying to press down on the wound like you’ve seen in the movies but you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know whether you’re supposed to be smothering the hole with a dirty blanket or if you should be performing CPR. No one had ever trained you for this. This wasn’t covered in any of those HR meetings. “Oh, god, Toji. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. Oh. God. I’m so so sorry.”

Lifting a limp hand, he brushes a tear away only for it to be replaced by a hundred more. He huffs a weak laugh at the blood he smears on your face and he tries to brush that away too.

“I’d always wanted to meet you. She spoke of how beautiful, how kind and generous you are. Her favourite. Didn’t believe her, y’know? I thought, no one could possibly be that nice if they never even visit their gran. But I’d always wanted to know for myself.”

You shake your head. He shouldn’t be speaking. He should be saving his breath, should be focusing on keeping awake until help arrives. “Stop. Please, just stop. Don’t waste your energy on me. I-I don’t deserve it. I should have listened, should have heard you out. Oh, god, Toji.”

He huffs an amused laugh. He sounds so clear, so loud, so alive you could actually convince yourself he doesn’t have a bleeding hole in his chest. But you can’t because you can feel the blood flowing out, it’s caking your legs and your hands. 

“You wanna know what I think, ma?” Pulling you close, you don’t fight his grip. Through your whimpers, you press your ear to his lips, holding him close like you could will your own warmth to him, like you could jostle you both back to consciousness. “I think y’r even more beautiful than she said. My gorgeous gorgeous girl. Mine.”

It’s unclear if he said anything else after that; you could only hear your own pleadings and sobbing as his arms fall limp and his body grows cold. There came rustling from all over the forest like they heard a tree fell, a mighty and sturdy tree. They warned you. There are consequences to dirtying the snow’s purity, to upsetting the balance. That’s a lesson all animals know. But the battle that had gone on here wasn’t committed by preys and predators. Just men. 

And men never learn their lesson until it’s far too late. 

The trees cry with you.

For you.

When the marching of people came some time later, all yelling and barking orders to each other, they found you lying on his chest, just as you had for many nights and had imagined you would every night after, with a red blanket pulled over the both of you. 

There, silent as a lamb, you slept. 

A tear-stricken city girl and her big, bad wolf. 

Neither of which would ever live again. 

[sunsetmaidenwrites]

An Essay on SamBucky

Just got back from seeing Captain America: Brave New World and am full of thoughts. The following contains Sambucky-centric thoughts, head canons, and spoilers based on the movie. (I have a separate post that includes my overall thoughts on the movie but this one is solely Sambucky.)

Sambucky nation--we rise! No divorce era for us! (Though it did provide for some awesome, angsty fics). I hope the trend continues with Thunderbolts*. Bucky is obviously looking rougher there than he did in this movie, so we're not out of the woods yet, but I'm feeling pretty good about our chances.

There's so much to say here. Multiple Bucky mentions (Sam alluding to Bucky when he talks about having a friend who was controlled by trigger words.), a picture of SamBucky prominently displayed at Sam's headquarters, Bucky showing up as emotional support when Sam needs him most, the hug, the "Buck" and the "I love you, Buddy." All of these have already been mentioned a lot, though, so for this post (who am I kidding this is an essay!), I would like to highlight a few points pertaining to the movie. I haven't really seen discussed in the Sambucky tag yet.

First, Sam says the following to Bucky at the hospital:

"Joaquin’s in here. Isaiah’s in prison. And Sterns…I had him. I had Sterns right in my hands but he got away." Bucky is given no additional backstory here, which means he already knows who Sterns is and what Sam is dealing with. This indicates Sam and Bucky are in regular contact with Sam keeping Bucky filled in on what's happening. This isn't just a case of Bucky seeing news footage and immediately going to Sam. Bucky is an active part of Sam's life and support system.

Then we have Bucky's line:

"Steve gave people something to believe in, but you give them something to aspire to." Bucky's admiration and devotion to Sam here is quite evident. I fully believe Bucky Barnes is all in for Sam Wilson and has been probably for longer than even he realizes.

Then toward the end of the scene where we get our iconic "Thanks Buck" and "I love you, Buddy" moment:

We have a wealth of unspoken communication here. Sam and Bucky seem to have a whole conversation with both their eyes and body language before they speak these words. Sam looks at Bucky. Looks down at (presumably) Bucky's outstretched hand. Then his eyes cut back up to Bucky. Then they cut back down as he shakes Bucky's hand, then he looks back up at Bucky. For Bucky's part, his eyes never leave Sam's face during the entirety of this. It's only right before he says "I love you, Buddy" that his gaze cuts down from Sam's face. After saying the words, Bucky proceeds to back away and Sam watches him go. The way this scene plays out, and the choices Mackie and Stan make leave a lot of room for subtext and interpretation, imo.

Right after this scene, we also get the female agent coming in with questions/comments about Bucky to Sam, alluding to a possible interest which Sam shuts down with "He's 110 years old." Look, it might make sense for Sam to try to nip a Bucky/Sarah potential connection in the bud like he did in TFATWS and it not mean anything (that's another essay for another day. I wasn't on Tumblr back then to share my thoughts on that.); after all, that's his sister and Bucky was riding on his last nerve through all the previous episodes at that point. It does not, however, make sense for Sam to insert himself into the narrative at this point and try to dissuade a random CIA agent from showing interest in Bucky if Bucky is just his friend and/or Sam's interest in him is purely platonic. It just doesn't. I cannot come up with a logical explanation for this besides the obvious 'that man is mine, step off' conclusion.

And for my last point:

During Sam's final showdown with the red hulk, with the outcome uncertain, and defeat (and therefore death) potentially eminent, Sam proceeds to bitch about Bucky under his breath. "Bucky is full of so much shit..." I know this is supposed to be funny and snarky, but it's also quite telling. We know that the signature of SamBucky's relationship--whether it's platonic or romantic--is the bickering. Not only is Sam spending his potential last moments ranting about Bucky (again, the staple of their relationship), he's also spending them thinking about Bucky. He's going out there facing odds that seem insurmountable and it's Bucky that's on his mind.

So, in conclusion, they're in love.

[leighsartworks216]

A Bargain Struck

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Next Chapter

I almost forgot to post this today!! When I say it's been a day y'all, it has been a day

Warnings: swearing, fear of infection, intimidation, child death (mentioned), implied murder

Word Count: 923

Main Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You think this is some joke to him. He’s walking ahead of you, albeit incredibly slowly, while you shuffle along the wall, scraped hands guiding you through what you can only assume is a cave. The walls are rough and jagged, not to mention winding. You think you feel doorways, but every time you start to turn into one to try getting any vague impression for what’s inside, he chastises you with an amused, “Over here, pet.”

You huff when your toe hits stairs. “This is your home?” you bite. You shuffle one foot forward to feel for the next step. What a nightmare. “Were you raised by Wanderers or something?”

He chuckles deeply. It reverberates around the hall. “It’s much worse than that.”

“Oh, yeah? How?”

“Hmph. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Asshole.”

“Careful, pet. Your god is watching.”

The cave is cool, seemingly untouched by the sun outside. The chill numbs your feet, bites at your fingertips. Even your ceremonial garb does little to keep you warm. You just bite your cheek. You’re already a prisoner here, best not allow yourself to be too weak around him. A difficult task, indeed.

You misjudge one of the steps. Your toes just catch the edge, but it’s not enough to support you and they slip. With no railing to hold, you cannot grasp for support. You tip backward with a shout.

Something hard wraps around your waist again. It holds you tightly, shoving you forward and onto a solid platform. Had that been the top step? You’re sick and tired of landing on your hands and knees like this.

You’re released as you sit up, back finding a solid wall to lean into as you cover your heart and will it to stop racing. “Ah,” you pant, “thank you.”

The “wall” suddenly steps away from you, and you catch yourself in another heart-stopping moment to save yourself from tipping backwards. “I won’t save you next time.”

“Let me go and there won’t be a next time.”

He chuckles, but it lacks any real mirth. “Get up. Or do I have to drag you the rest of the way?”

You sigh. Still, he doesn’t rush you when you sit a moment longer to calm your heart. Ever since you were a child, your health was of the utmost concern. You couldn’t do anything with the other kids, and not because of your lack of sight. Even braille books were considered too dangerous. The risk of a paper cut getting infected and killing you was a risk nobody was willing to make. As such, this much excitement was a shock to your system.

And suddenly, you find yourself worried about the tiniest cut getting infected and killing you out here.

You reach out, feeling for the real wall this time. Loose sand scrapes beneath you as you bring yourself to your feet. “Do you have any medical supplies here?”

He starts walking again and you follow.

“Would you be able to use them if I said yes?”

You wish you could see, just so you could smack him upside the head. “You keep underestimating me. I suggest you stop now before you embarrass yourself.”

“That’s a gamble I’m willing to take.” He sighs, sharp and tired, annoyed. “I might have some around.”

“Well, do you have water, at least? Clean cloth?”

“You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

“And you’re an insufferable bastard. Neither of us are too happy with each other, but if you won’t let me go, I suggest you do the bare minimum and allow me to clean my injuries,” you hold out your palms, unsure if he’ll even see them, “so I don’t get sick and die.”

His steps come to a stop. You stop with them. Your skin prickles and crawls, unsettled and on edge. His steps approach. You lean your shoulder into the wall, holding your ground rather than being backed up to some other possibly dangerous or deadly area in the cave.

“Tell me a prophecy, and I’ll get you your medical supplies.”

You scoff. “It’s not that simple. It’s Astra who picks and chooses what futures I see. I know nothing of you. All the prophecies I know right now are for the people in the city.”

Is that his breath fanning across your face? You flinch back at its heat. You feel like an injured rabbit facing down the maw of a starved wolf.

His voice is low when next he speaks. “Then tell me one of them.”

You turn your face away. His breath hits your cheek, though tendrils of the air brush down your neck. You suppress a shiver. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “There’s a scholar there. He studies the heavens and tracks their movement. His parents are anxious for him to conceive an heir. His wife is pregnant now, but…”

“But…?”

“... The child… will be a stillborn. They won’t know the cause of death, and that shame will fall to the mother. She won’t live long after, either, once the scholar crumples under the disappointment.”

He hums. The heat of his breath disappears. “I’ll get you your medicine. Next time, I’d be interested in hearing a prophecy of my own future.”

“Then you’ll have to pray to Astra. Only he can grant you the knowledge you seek; I’m just the messenger.” “Well, messenger,” he steps around you and nudges you with an elbow, “this is where you’ll sleep. Try not to fall down the stairs looking for me.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman

[sankttealeaf]

Can I request Tav and astarion but they get trapped together and astarion has to feed but feels like Tav offering isn’t really giving consent since they are trapped and he thinks they feel obligated. Bonus points if they’re also bickering and pining for other

this was so much fun to write! i may have gotten a little carried away but i hope you enjoy!! requests are still open if anyone is interested<3 i'm really enjoying writing these and am open for more ideas!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

trapped

pairing ; astarion x gender neutral!reader

summary ; a wild treasure hunt leads to an unfortunate situation where you find yourself stuck in a cave-in with Astarion. / ao3

other info ; wyll, karlach and gale get special roles in this because i physically cannot stop myself from including other companions in the background. no real spoilers for the game so you're free to read wherever you are in the game!!

warnings ; vampire feeding, blood mention, vague mention of Astarion's past, general conversation surrounding consent (but everything is consensual because that's hot)

word count ; 5.9k (again. went a little wild)

You have no idea how long you have been walking for. It feels like days though you are certain it was only a few hours. The lack of sunlight is starting to get to you and the cramped cave system you are walking through is really not where you wanted to be today.

Was it a little ridiculous to be chasing a lead you found on a note on a dead traveller? Probably. Did you have to convince everyone that it wouldn't be a waste of their time? Yes. But here you are, travelling in the dark to hunt down buried treasure.

Karlach was more than happy to join you, in fact she was the first one who volunteered to be part of the “treasure hunting team”, as she called it. She managed to get Wyll involved and you were happy with this group. As you were getting ready to leave you had a last minute addition to the team - Astarion. Why he wanted to join you trekking through a damp cave, you had no idea. You weren’t going to ask, either.

So, here you are in the depths of a cave system, following a badly drawn map that should lead you all to hidden treasure. It took you way too long to get to this location and the day is already drawing to a close. You are certain you weren’t going to make it back to camp before nightfall. This treasure has to be worth it.

Through flooded areas and tight walkways, the deeper you get into the cave the quicker your hopes that this treasure would be easy to find crumbles. On the map it looks simple, yet the actual cave was difficult to navigate and you are not as prepared as you thought you would be. Perhaps you should have taken the spare rope from Halsin before you left camp. Karlach spends the time picking up interesting rocks she comes across, rushing over to show you with a grin on her face and a list of places to put it back at camp. You have a few rocks she gave to you in your pocket and you are glad that her optimism never falters the longer you travel. Wyll has marked arrows on the walls to keep track of where you have been, which is an idea that didn't even cross your mind until you noticed him doing it. And Astarion is… complaining.

Maybe complaining is the wrong word. It's more like he has been announcing loudly how he thought this would be an easy task to complete. He didn't sign up to be wading through knee deep cave water or scrambling over rocks to get to the next area. Neither did you, but you aren’t complaining about it.

You have managed to drown out his comments for the most part, keeping your focus on following the map and making sure not to get lost. There have been a few times where you almost walked on some loose stone and went plummeting down into the depths of the cave and you really didn't fancy getting stuck down here. You have also noticed the further you went into the cave the more dust and debris that fell from the ceiling. A sinking feeling begins to settle in your stomach and you approach each step with caution.

“Personally I think this map is leading us to a dead end,” Astarion says as he slinks up next to you, ignoring how lost in focus you were. “We should cut our losses and return back to camp before nightfall, don’t you agree?”

The dust from the ceiling drops in front of you again as you pause, reaching an arm out to stop Astarion in his tracks. “Be quiet, would you?”

“Everything alright?” Wyll asks from behind, hand reaching for his rapier in case something jumps out to attack.

Either something was down here with you or the cave ceiling isn’t as strong as you would like. You didn't know which thought was worse. Turning back to Wyll and Karlach, you shake your head slightly. “Be on your guard. Something’s off.”

“This is what I’ve been saying for the past five minutes. Have you seriously not been listening to me?” Astarion asks as you continue walking at a slower pace now, acutely aware of every foreign noise that doesn’t come from your group.

“Not really. I’m trying to keep us alive here,” you reply quietly, eyes darting from the floor to your surroundings in quick succession.

You stop in your steps as you hear the rumbling grow louder, though Astarion keeps talking even after you shush him again. It’s a rolling noise, one that grows the more you focus on it; a sound of rock against rock and a low rumble from above. You cast your gaze upwards and spot the beginnings of a large crack splitting the ceiling. Like pressure on ice, it splits into several off shoots before crumbling beneath whatever weight was on it.

You quickly pull Astarion towards you, dragging him away from the collapsing ceiling as you both fall to the floor with a thud. In an instant, your surroundings grow darker as a wall of stone and rubble barricades you and Astarion from Wyll and Karlach. The dust settles from the sudden upheaval of rock and the noise you have been hearing stops. Shit.

“Are you both alright?” Wyll calls out from behind the rubble and you can hear the sound of stone grating against stone which only cements your idea that this could be an early grave for you both if you didn't think fast.

You glance over at Astarion who is dusting himself off, rubbing at his elbow in a way that makes you assume he landed on it wrong. “We’re alive… just.”

“Does the map show any other ways to get to you? I’m not certain we can budge all this stone…” Wyll asks as you hear the sound of metal against the stone and a disappointed sigh from Karlach. You sit upright, grabbing the map from where it fell onto the ground and frown. It was a one way system, looping back around the way you came once you got to where the treasure was. This pathway is the only way in and out of the cave. You are stuck.

“So, uh… bad news… There’s no other way around,” you reply. The silence that follows on their end is not a good sign, however it is quickly broken by Astarion.

“What?!” He looks at you in dismay, his face falling at the thought of being stuck here. “You cannot be serious.”

“We’ll find a way to get you guys out! Don’t even stress!” Karlach yells. Her voice gets quiet but you can still hear her. “Do you think they’re stressed, Wyll?”

You take a moment to assess the cave-in, trying to budge a few rocks out of place but nothing moves. Perhaps with enough force they could be displaced, but you don’t have anything on that level right now.

“Wyll? Do you have anything that could push the rocks away?” you ask, hoping he has something in or on him that could force the rocks out of place.

“I don’t…” he pauses for a moment, before you hear him click his fingers together as an idea forms. “But Gale does. I know the spell you are hinting at. We can go back and get him?” he suggests, and you run the time it would take for them to get back to camp and back here again in your head. They would be back by early morning at the earliest… Which means you will need to spend the night in a cold, slightly damp cave. You give Astarion a look.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going to dig our way out. My hands are way too delicate for that,” he says, turning his back to the problem at hand.

“Gale seems to be our only way out, which means we may need to spend the night here…” you tell him.

“Gale? Our only hope? What is he going to do, talk the rocks to death?” He rolls his eyes. “Surely there’s another way out?”

“There isn’t.” You sigh, rubbing at your temples as you begin to feel a stress headache forming. “And he can use spells, Astarion. Gale can shatter the rocks or something. They’re too tightly packed to move them normally. We’re stuck here until he can sort it out.”

“Great. Wonderful, actually. I’ve always wanted to spend a night in a cave. Thanks for this, really!” His voice drips with sarcasm and you have to physically hold yourself back from getting annoyed at him.

“I didn't personally cause this cave in! You think I want to be stuck here with you like this? Gods, you are infuriating.”

Before the argument could escalate, Wyll calls out from behind the wall of rocks that he and Karlach are going to head back to camp and grab Gale. They’ll be as quick as they can, he promises. It gives you some reassurance that you will not be stuck here for too long with Astarion.

The sound of your fellow companions leaving fills you with anxiety as the clock begins to tick on getting you both out alive. This is not how you planned this trip to go and you are starting to wonder if this was even worth it at this point. Astarion didn't seem to think so.

"For your information, I am not sleeping on the floor with no bedroll. This is expensive fabric, I’m not ruining it.” Astarion gestures to his outfit as you begin to set yourself down on the ground, ready to call it a day.

“We’ve camped in worse places, I don’t understand why you’re complaining so much about this,” you say, rummaging through your bag and thanking the Gods you packed some food for yourself.

“At least at camp I have my tent. And all my belongings. And comfort. Do I need to go on?” He shifts in his stance, looking down the tunnel to avoid your gaze.

You glare at him. “Okay, fine, I guess this isn’t an ideal place to rest. But I don’t want to travel too far in case we get lost. And then we’ll probably die down here. Do you want that?”

He sighs but doesn’t make a comment. You take it as a win.

After placing the contents of your bag onto the ground you come to two conclusions. One: the floor is far too damp to start a fire which means you are going to spend the next few hours cold. Two: you have enough food for yourself, but you aren’t sure if Astarion bought anything of use with him. You didn't see him pack much before he said he was joining you. He is still standing when you look over to him again.

“Are you going to stand all night?” you ask as he nods, still avoiding your gaze.

“Like I said. Expensive fabric. I’m not ruining it because someone got us trapped in here,” he replies and you roll your eyes. Wordlessly, you unbuckle your cloak from your shoulders and place it down on the floor for him. The dampness of the floor is most likely going to ruin your nice and expensive cloak, but at least it will stop him complaining. Hopefully.

He looks from you to the cloak and back again, confusion crossing his face and disappearing as quickly as it arrived. “What’s that for?”

“Just sit down. Please.” You start to reorganise the contents of your back, returning the tinderbox and an almost empty waterskin but keeping out the food you swiped before you left. When you look back up, you see Astarion has sat down atop your cloak. You hold back a smile.

The silence that falls over the both of you is broken by droplets of water or the sound of other vaguely ominous cave noises. If your timing is right you are certain it was now early evening. Hopefully Karlach and Wyll have left the cave by now.

“Did you bring any food?” you ask after a little while passes. It’s only when the question leaves your lips that you realise it is a stupid one. The look Astarion gives you only enhances your point.

“Yes, actually. I have three live rabbits tucked neatly away in my bag in case I fancied a snack,” he responds, opening up his pack with a flourish. “Did you want one? I’m so happy to share.” A few books and his trusty thieves tools were the only things you spot before he shoves his bag to the side with a frown. “Of course I didn't bring any food.”

You feel bad holding a stale bread roll in your hand as he tells you that and you lower it down slightly, letting him continue his rant.

“I was considering going to hunt down a cave bat or something. Not what I wanted, but I guess a life of “adventure”-” he says the word with exaggerated air quotes around them, “means that I bury the idea that I’ll ever get a lavish meal again.” He crosses his arms in annoyance.

“You shouldn’t eat a bat. You could get sick. Rabies, or something like that,” you tell him, though you aren’t sure your fun fact is a welcomed sight right now. The look on his face tells you that it isn't. “Halsin told me that after I tried to convince him to keep a family of bats that were living near one of the spots we set up camp a while ago…”

Astarion blinks, unsure of how he is supposed to react to that nugget of information. “Now my meal options have been reduced to nothing. Thanks. You’re truly a beacon of hope.”

An idea pings into your mind as you take in how irritated he is getting, most likely from the lack of food on his part. Not that you have been keeping tabs on when he would feed but from your calculations it had been a while. The last time he fed on you was a week or so ago and you still felt the sting of his fangs against your neck even now. It is an uncomfortable sensation and you were certain that it would only happen again in dire circumstances.

This feels like a dire circumstance…

“You can feed on me if you want.” The words come out quickly before you have a chance to think too deeply about the implications of it. You take a mouthful of bread to stop yourself from taking back the offer.

The irritation on his face dissipates into a softer look, one you didn't recognize. His usual quick remarks have vanished at your suggestion and it takes him a good minute to respond. The minute feels like hours to you as you start to regret even offering. Was it weird? Did you say it in a strange way?

“You don’t… I mean, I’m sure I’ll manage until we get back to camp.” He waves nonchalantly though you are unsure if he really means it.

“No offence but I have noticed you lagging behind a little lately…” you begin, unable to hold your gaze on him. “I just assumed, well, y’know… Plus I have a lot of blood to spare, so I don’t mind.” You cringe a little at that last sentence, wondering why you said it like that.

“It’s really not a big deal, I’m perfectly fine! If need be I can always go and find…” he grimaces at the next few words that leave his mouth, “a cave rat or something.”

You aren’t sure if you should feel offended at how he hasn’t jumped on the opportunity to feed from a person. Maybe it is because of how little you allowed him to feed on you. Maybe he hates you and would rather drink blood from a rat than you. You push that thought away with a frown.

“Astarion, I’m offering this to you if you need to,” you say as you set down your own food. “I’d rather you do it while I’m awake this time.” You see that he is thinking of more ways to put barriers between him and feeding on you and you wish he could be straightforward with you and say no.

“You’re all the way over there and like I said before, I don’t want to get my clothes wet,” he says and you can’t help but laugh at that. “What?”

“You can tell me no, it’s okay. I just thought I’d offer seeing as I really doubt you’ll find many cave rats around.”

He’s quiet for a moment and you can’t work out what he’s thinking. With what little you know about Astarion and his past you can’t help but assume he hasn’t had that many opportunities to say no to things.

He considers his words, opening and closing his mouth a few times before sighing, looking at you with a soft frown. “I don’t want you to feel like you are obligated to do this considering our circumstance.”

You blink in confusion at that, unsure why he feels that way. You wouldn't have offered if you didn't feel comfortable in allowing him to feed, so why was he convinced you were doing this because there was no other option?

“We haven’t built up much of a feeding rapport, that’s all! We haven’t… done this much. It still feels new.” He looks away and it clicks in your head at once - he’s nervous. You are also incredibly nervous about this, but if it means he is at the top of his game afterwards then the pain would be a small price to pay for it.

“I have no idea how else I’m supposed to say this: I’m giving you permission to feed on me, Astarion.” You want to know what he is thinking as your words hang in the air. You want to tell him that this is you telling him it’s okay, you’re wanting this just as much as he needs it.

He waits a moment, like he is expecting you to tell him you're joking or change your mind but it doesn't happen. When he realises you mean this and aren't saying it for the sake of it, he gives you a nod.

"Alright. Only if you're sure," he says quietly, moving over on your cloak to give you room beside him. You move over to sit next to him, glad to be off the cold floor and sitting on something that wasn't as uncomfortable.

"Is this alright? Do you need me to be in a certain position?" you ask quickly, shifting yourself from sitting on your knees to crossing your legs.

"It's easier if you lay down," he replies, quickly adding, "for the blood flow."

"Right. That makes sense." You check to see how much room you have of your cloak behind you before shuffling forward, coming face to face with Astarion for a moment. The sudden closeness causes you to stop in your tracks for a moment, holding his gaze for a moment longer than what is normal.

It's strange how you never really see Astarion without his guard up. Whenever you two bicker it was always with his signature smile on his face and a carefree laugh after each comment. But seeing him here and now with the gentle furrow of his brows and the soft lines etched along his face you can't help but try to memorise it all. Without even realising you found yourself moving a hand up to brush some hair from his face, stopping yourself once it rested ever so lightly against his cheek. You are about to pull away until you feel him lean into the touch, something you had not planned on happening.

The sound of a loose rock falling a little way away causes the moment to break as you pull away from him quickly, ready to move in case there was another cave in.

In an instant, the facade he has is pulled back up. "Are you trying to get me to starve to my death?" he asks once you have realised there was no chance of another incident. You laugh a little in response, cheeks warming up at the moment the two of you just shared.

"Wanted the last thing I saw to be something good. You know, in case you drink all of my blood and I die," you tease, before laying back on your cloak. The reality of what was about to happen is starting to settle in now and you keep your focus on the ceiling above you, not on Astarion.

"I promise you I won't kill you. I don't have any way of getting you back and I'd rather not have to explain to the others what happened," he replies, hands moving to either side of your head to hold himself up. He's at an angle, legs staying to one side of you. It's a little awkward and you can tell it's not ideal for him.

"That's good to hear! I do bring a scroll of revivify with me everywhere so we have a backup plan… just in case." It is hard to keep your gaze on the ceiling now as Astarion leans over you. Your heart pounds heavily against your chest and you cannot work out if it's because you know you are about to lose blood and it was working to keep it flowing or perhaps because of something else you didn't want to admit to yourself.

"Are you ready?" he asks softly, and you can already anticipate the sharp sting of his fangs piercing your skin. You give him a nod and turn your head to the side, exposing your neck to him.

He leans in and you can feel his breath against your neck. It takes everything in you to not turn to look at him, even seeing him so close out of the corner of your eye was enough to redden your cheeks. You hope he didn't notice.

The sudden pain is sharp and takes you off guard, reaching to grab onto Astarion's shoulder tightly to try and take your mind off of it. It's not as bad as the first time he fed from you, but it certainly isn't any better. He shifts positions as you see his legs now straddling you, and if anyone were to suddenly burst down the wall of rock it would be a rather embarrassing encounter for everyone. You forgot how intimate this whole ordeal could be.

You close your eyes as the pain subsides, now giving way to a feeling of numbness that crashes over you. You're very aware of the feeling of his lips against your neck and it would be so easy to let yourself imagine this was something else entirely. But then you move and the discomfort of your blood being removed from your body kicks back in and you have to stop yourself from allowing him to take too much from you. You give his shoulder a soft squeeze, and when there's no response from him you are forced to find your voice.

"Hey…" You mumble, tightening your grip on his shoulder. "Astarion..?"

He does nothing except press himself closer to you, savouring every last drop he could get. Black spots begin to fill your vision and with what little strength you had in you, you smack your arm down into his side to get him to stop.

He pulls away from your neck at the impact, blood smeared across his lips and his pupils dilated - you can hardly see the red anymore. Would it be odd to say that he looked so very handsome like this?

"Shit," he says breathlessly, "might have over indulged there. Sorry."

You give him a weak laugh, feeling your head spin at the sudden blood loss. "S'alright. Just glad you didn't kill me."

His eyes glance back at your neck as you speak, and when he leans you worry that he was going in for round two. You are taken aback when he licks across the area he had just bitten. If you weren't so dizzy you would have questioned him as he sits back, still straddling your waist.

"I'm not about to waste perfectly good blood," he says, noticing the confusion on your face. "Are you alright, though? You look a little pale."

You give him a thumbs up, still laying down. "All good. Missing some blood, that's all."

He nods, watching as you close your eyes again. You could quite easily drift off to sleep right now, the dizziness and the general feeling of not being right only adding to the need to rest. When you don't feel Astarion move off of you, you open one of your eyes to make sure he was okay.

"Are you alright?" you ask, catching him deep in thought.

"Oh, yes, I'm great. Wonderful. Absolutely perfect," he replies too quickly for it to be truthful. You frown, sitting up slowly to be at eye level with him.

"Is there more blood there still?" you ask him, watching as his eyes keep going back to your neck. "If there is, you should get it."

His touch is so soft you cannot discern if he was cleaning up some blood on your neck or if it is a kiss. When it happens again you realise he isn't cleaning up your neck but kissing over the spot he had just bitten. It is a strange feeling and one you didn't expect to feel after being drained from your blood, but as he moves along your neck leaving faint kisses in his trail you wonder if perhaps he had similar feelings towards you as you did him. You have always been happy to push those feelings down, keeping your focus on the main goal at hand. But here, trapped in a cave with no one to bug you to keep on track, maybe you could indulge yourself this once.

Astarion pulls back from your neck to look at you, his lips are still tinted a softer red from your blood and you find yourself staring at them for a little too long. Gently, you place your hand back on his cheek, smiling when he leans into the touch again. His hand moves to cover yours and you are still in shock at how soft his movements are.

The gap between you both closes slowly and you are aware of what this would lead to. Playful remarks and comments about hooking up were one thing, but this was not playing out like how you imagined it would. You didn't picture yourself being stuck in a cave with him, for starters. You want to ask him if this was okay, if this was even allowed.

You opened your mouth to speak and are suddenly caught off guard by the sound of more rocks falling elsewhere, echoing through the cave. The sudden sound causes you to flinch as you both turn to look in the direction it came from, further along the tunnel. At least it wasn't the way you came, you thought.

Astarion looks back at you after a moment and clears his throat, sitting back to put some distance between you both.

"You should get some rest. I'll, uh, keep watch in case the others turn up," he says quickly, climbing off of your lap in a clumsy manner. You can't help but feel slightly sad at the loss of his touch, but sleep was begging for you to join it.

"Wake me if anything happens," you tell him as you lay back down, already closing your eyes. You don't hear his response as sleep greets you with open arms.

Sounds of your name being called over and over again wakes you up from your slumber. Your head hurts and you feel as if you've been fighting fifty different battles and didn't win one of them. There was a pressure on your chest and as you come to you are met with a mess of white hair laying on you, Astarion's arms wrapped tightly around your midriff. You smile softly at the scene, hand moving to brush through his hair slowly. He hums in response but the moment is broken by your names being called again.

"Are you both still alive?" It's Wyll, you note, which only means he and Karlach had either gotten lost and returned back or they had Gale with them.

"We're still here!" you call back, still groggy from sleep. "Is Gale with you?"

Gale's voice is heard next and you have never been so happy to hear him speak. "The one and only!"

"Thank the Gods. Gale, I promise you that I will buy you whatever you want when we get to Baldur's Gate, just please tell me you have a way to get us out of here," you say, hoping that he had good news with him.

Astarion stirs from all the loud conversation, pressing himself closer to you in an attempt to drown out the noise. You move your hand from his head as you try to sit yourself up. It doesn't work.

Gale continues speaking. "I have a way to get you both out, don't you worry. I will need to ask you both to stand as far back as possible. I mean it. Far. Back."

You give Astarion a shake of his shoulder, trying to wake him. "Hey. Get up. We're almost out of here."

"This is not a good time to wake me up," he grumbles, swatting your hand away with a groan. "Too early."

"Gale is literally on the other side ready to blow this wall of rocks up. Wake up." You continue to shake him awake, ignoring the groans of protest.

He turns to look up at you with pleading eyes. "He can wait five more minutes. Please?"

You want to say yes, to give in and allow himself a moment of comfort. But your back hurts from laying on rock for hours and you want nothing more than to sit in your own tent and get some fresh air. You sit up quickly, causing Astarion to lose his place on your chest and sit up with you.

"I cannot believe this betrayal," he exclaims dramatically, giving you a half-asleep but playful glare. "Being this pretty doesn't come easy, you know. I need my sleep."

"You don't even sleep," you mumble, ignoring how your head sways as you push yourself up to your feet. "And you're pretty enough already." You blame the aches and pains for that last comment, though it doesn't seem to go past Astarion as quickly as you wish it did.

He grins. "You think I'm pretty?"

"Shut up and move your things. I want to get back to camp." You begin to pack away your belongings, shoving things back into your pack and waiting for Astarion to do the same. He picks up your cloak and gives it a quick brush off before putting it on himself. You're too busy putting distance between yourself and the rocks to even notice this. He slides up next to you after a moment, arm wrapping around your shoulder with a grin.

"Okay, I think you're good to go!" you yell, hoping Gale can hear you through the wall. You get confirmation almost immediately afterwards.

You feel Astarion lean towards you as you wait. "I think we should get trapped together more often. Who knows what else it could lead to?"

"More puncture holes in my neck, probably," you mumble in response. He laughs, his lips meeting your neck again just under the place where he drank from you hours ago.

"But you're so delectable," he whispers and you glare at him. The blush rising on your cheeks tells him you aren't mad.

With an almighty crash of thunder, the rocks that made up the wall you have been trapped behind suddenly disperse, the larger ones shattering and the smaller ones turning into dust. You cover your face at the impact and when your ears stop ringing you turn to see Gale, Wyll and Karlach on the other side.

Karlach immediately runs over, arms outstretched and embracing both you and Astarion without thinking.

"I'm so glad you both aren't dead. I have no idea how I'd break the news to Scratch and the Cub! Or everyone else, I suppose," she says once she lets go of you both, your clothes slightly singed by the warmth emanating from her.

"Did you find the treasure?" Gale asks when the three of you walk back to him and Wyll and is only slightly disappointed when you shake your head no. "Ah, well, nothing lost then! I'm sure there's plenty of other treasure to be found. Hopefully not in caves, though. Might I suggest avoiding them in the future?"

"Suggestion taken. I miss sunlight," you reply, feeling Astarion's hand move from your shoulder to the small of your back.

"We had fun though, didn't we? A cave-in can certainly bring people closer together. Right, my dear?" Astarion grins, giving you a wink.

"As much as we all would love to know what that's insinuating, we really should get out of here before there's another freak accident," Wyll suggests, gesturing to the way out.

You nod, wanting nothing more than to breathe fresh air and be away from cramped spaces.

The journey out of the cave is long and feels longer due to the woozy feeling of having a little less blood than you started the journey with. You find yourself leaning on Astarion for support every now and then and he is more than happy to wrap an arm around you to keep you up. The two of you are at the back of the group; you didn't want your slow pace slowing everyone else down.

"I never thanked you earlier," Astarion says quietly to you, a look of sincerity on his face.

"Oh, it's no problem," you reply, nudging him with your elbow. "Just don't almost kill me next time."

"Next time?" He raises an eyebrow with a grin. "You'll allow me to go for seconds?"

"As long as you treat me as nicely as you did afterwards, I may consider it." Thinking about the almost kiss that happened after makes you blush and Astarion shrugs casually, though you can spot the faintest hint of pink spreading across his cheeks.

"Maybe. We can always do that without the biting part," he suggests. "Only if you want."

"I'd like that." You give him a smile, leaning over to press a kiss onto his cheek. "Only if you want, too."

The first sign of daylight causes you to pull away from him before he can respond as you rush over to the opening of the cave with Karlach, thankful to get fresh air again.

Astarion watches you go, listening to you cheering and praising Gods you didn't believe in. How quickly his plans could crumble. How quickly you made him feel accepted. There was a knot present in his stomach that was slowly untangling itself the more he thought about intimacy with you. Perhaps, one day, he would want that with you.

[vsvitrix]

After 6 years, my partner and I think it's finally time to move on from Seattle. We love the city, but it's just gotten too expensive to stay here. Food costs have skyrocketed in the last couple years, rent is higher and higher, even the bus fare went up last year. Without our support system nearby, being disabled and living in Seattle has become untenable and we need to leave.

We're planning to move to a city in Colorado; we'll be near our other partner, and the cost of living is much lower than Seattle. We'll have a more secure community and safety net. However, we're struggling just to keep up with the expenses we have as-is, and need help relocating.

We cannot save to do this, and other than our clothes and essentials, we're going to have to completely start over. Neither of us can drive, and paying movers to drive from Seattle to the new city is over 5 figures ($11,000 on average from the quotes we've gotten), before everything else. We're going to have to rebuy anything that we can't pack into bags. (We will be shipping our computers, because the cost to replace those is far too high).

We're estimating travel costs based on train tickets $650 (about $450 depending on timing with another $200 for food expenses while on the train) as neither of us want to fly or deal with airport security. We'll need to stock the kitchen ($600), and buy new furniture ($2500). We'll need enough for a security deposit ($1000-$1500 depending) and at least one month's rent (another $1000-$2500) as well as at least a second month's rent as a cushion in case one of us takes longer to find work.

We're setting our goal at $15,000 so that if anything goes sideways, we're safe and can get back on our feet without having to ask again. Our current accommodations last until September, so we’re setting the goal for August.

Thank you in advance to everyone who shares and donates—we can’t do this without your help.

[yandere-toons]

I know this is a little early but can you do a Book of Life headcanon for Dia De Los Muertos? It can be La Muerte and Zebulba or Maria, Manolo, and Joaquin. (I love your writing so much!)

Yandere La Muerte & Xibalba (Platonic & Romantic Headcanons)

Warnings: Death, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. – ¡Feliz Día de los Muertos!

While the candle of her chosen mortal is aflame with life, La Muerte dons it proudly in a prime spot among her dress or hat, close enough to where she can always feel its heat and wince at the exact moment it goes cold. If so exists even a whiff of foul play, it is her husband Xibalba who punishes the living with a sudden uptick in fatal snakebites.

Hot boils the resentment of Xibalba, who never so wished to eradicate the Law-Maker as he does watching his own helpless reflection in the window of a home where his favourite mortal lay despairing. Decades of deceit and contrivances just to share a few words, forced by ancient law to conceal his true name and nature, have worn his patience to a thread. At the same time, Xibalba is inclined to thank this purveyor of death in person, to offer a taste of what the latest victim endured and send the slain soul to rot, as he did, in the Land of the Forgotten.

La Muerte, for all her power in death, can in life offer only words of encouragement from the mouth of a kind stranger. She often observes their day from the secrecy of terraces and distant roofs, watching to ensure their happiness and step in with bits of wisdom should they seem lost. She refrains from direct intervention until the day they wander inside her castle, at which point she cannot help wondering how much longer it may have taken to meet them this way had they lived the life they wanted. Such rumination is channelled into action as La Muerte focuses on bringing them more comfort with their new arrangement than ever they found with the living, seeing it as a way to make up for all the strife she was forbidden from preventing.

La Muerte is happy to join their visitation for Día de los Muertos, believing it will help them grow more accustomed to her and accept her as someone deserving of a higher role in their existence. Xibalba gripes the whole time while wondering where he went wrong to make them so opposed to his presence that they would choose the company of mortals over a night spent drinking and feasting with him and his wife, even questioning whether La Muerte is behind all of this to punish him for some ancient crime.

Xibalba muses that, for a bond so strong as this, he could use his deathly touch to kill their relatives all at once, feigning the promise of a reunion — while keeping to himself that such a deed would only eliminate the last of their tethers to the living and thus send them straight to his realm in perpetuity. Xibalba has one finger outstretched to do just that when La Muerte slaps it down and swears she will never forget this should he go through with it.

Xibalba wilts at her wrath but soon grows restless with spite and decides a more clandestine approach will net him his petty vengeance. If simply snatching away a few lives is too vulgar, then perhaps he can make a wager of it. La Muerte, her inner child intrigued, listens as he spins the age-old tale of a fair trade: if their spouse in life leaves town; if the kids down the street go on to marry one another — Xibalba will claim hosting rights, and if not, he will stop cursing their mortal attachments.

Neither are too moved by sympathy plays, having heard every plea imaginable from souls desperate to live and reunite with those up above. A bet, however, draws from both gods the memory of a younger time, a splash of excitement in an otherwise predictable system.

La Muerte's conditions are more palliative: not protesting when she requests a day spent with her, not trying to breach the living-dead barrier before its time. When others or perhaps even the soul themselves begin to question these once-thought agape embraces and invitations to dine, the goddess admits to a more personal interest. She has walked beside them for much of their life and feels they were cheated by it, seeing the bad side of the world too much and the good side too little, and so has taken it upon herself to show them what could have been.

Xibalba's conditions revolve around staying with him for longer periods, say a millennium instead of a century, or granting him explicit permission to kill some mortal companion of theirs who stokes his envy. Such a blessing is by no means necessary to carrying out the hit; rather, it serves as a colossal show of deference as well as a convenient method of claiming the person's blood is now on their hands.

La Muerte can generally be relied upon to act as a restraining influence on Xibalba, keeping him from wiping out whole droves of mortals in a fit of cruelty; however, even she will leave them to their fate if the terms are clear and both parties have agreed, for a wager with a god is all-binding. By refusing to fulfil one's end of it, the winning side is bound no longer to the stipulations set forth in the agreement and may exact any price as recompense.

Only one path to victory remains: accuse Xibalba of rigging the bet, which La Muerte will be inclined to believe given his history, assuming a trip to lodge this complaint with her is even feasible. Xibalba may suspect this intent to oust him and cancel the next dinner date in haste, professing to La Muerte that he and his new roommate are getting along splendidly.

La Muerte laments their absence and voices her desire to see them again, to which Xibalba pleads that she has hosted them long enough and to give him a chance. Despite a winding series of lies and broken promises to consider, La Muerte is committed to forgiveness and thus gives her word that she will not try to ferry them back to her land, at least until the next bet is up.

Xibalba's lonely heart is all too eager to drag them down into the Land of the Forgotten, where souls hardly move or speak, having lost all sense of self. Immortals and mortals alike who spend any significant amount of time in this realm incur some degree of degeneration and start to lose touch with what made them human, a process Xibalba endlessly chatters about to fill an otherwise eternal silence.

La Muerte, once content with this tenuous sort of balance, finds the scales tipping when they express a disinterest in reconnecting with the living world. Chaos erupts as La Muerte challenges Xibalba to return their soul, convinced he is poisoning their heart with his own bitterness for humanity. Xibalba deflects at every opportunity, suggesting that he merely speaks a harsh truth and offers an escape from the drudgery of mortal life.

A deep frustration ignites within La Muerte, less now at the dark turn of her husband, which she has begrudgingly come to accept, and more at the threat of losing her chosen soul to exactly the kind of existence she strove so hard to separate from them. Even though the march of time will one day condemn the soul to what comes after, La Muerte sought to enrich their short journey and give them the taste of true happiness they could never afford.

While she has walked this path with many and knows the weight of her title demands she overcome her grief, cursed objects of half-formed immortality and interjections of the soul's name into increasingly unrelated projects and movements are the desperate final scratches of Xibalba. A god who chases off the inevitable, Xibalba scrambles to build this entire false history in those last few years, only to watch it crumble when his actions force La Muerte to banish him for upsetting the natural order.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

“I don’t think that is what God wants. And I don’t think you want it either.”

This line of Aziraphale’s in the Job minisode keeps sticking out to me. Because this is the heart of the problem, right? This is how Aziraphale can see Crowley so completely and also not at all.

Because yes they suck at open communication and yes it’s because they had to hide their relationship for thousands of years and have so so so much trauma and fear to work through. But ALSO they actually do have a profound difference in how they see the world that keeps coming between them, and it’s not just theoretical but deeply personal to both of them.

Because Aziraphale still wants to believe that God is good. He can’t let go of that because his whole identity is wrapped up in being an angel of the Lord, and if God’s not good then what has he been doing for his entire existence?

And so when bad things are happening he falls back on This cannot be what God wants. The whole of season one, he refuses to believe that God could really want the world to end—even though we now know he knew this was a possibility before the world even started. He keeps going up the chain of command, trying to find someone to intervene. “That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty and then the Almighty will fix it.” As if God doesn’t have all the information or hasn’t been paying attention.

And really, the events of season one reinforce this worldview for him. Because if the Archangel Fucking Gabriel isn’t sure what God wants, then maybe God did want them to stop Armageddon. Maybe it was Aziraphale and Crowley who were doing God’s work after all.

He’s gotten as far as realizing that Heaven’s orders are not the same thing as God’s will, but he still hasn’t detached the concepts of Good and Right from God in his worldview.

Crowley is a good person who does the right thing so he must still be an angel deep down. “I know the angel you were.” The only way Aziraphale can conceptualize Crowley saving Job’s children is, “Come on, you’re a little bit on our [God’s] side.” So Crowley’s fall was a mistake; Crowley belongs in Heaven, where he was so happy before the Fall. Why wouldn’t he want to be an angel again? And yeah maybe Heaven sucks now but God is still good, so there’s hope that the system can be reformed with a change of leadership, and Heaven can be made to actually do good, the way God always intended.

But that’s not how Crowley sees the world at all. He is operating with an entirely different understanding of reality. Because he figured out a long time ago (at least by the time of the Job job, but probably long before that) that you can’t base your sense of morality on what you think God wants. Not just because you don’t know for sure, but because sometimes God’s plans are fucking awful. God in Good Omens is not kind to Her creations. She doesn’t tolerate questions or doubts or disobedience. She’s capricious, turning on the creatures She made and killing a bunch of them when She’s in a bad mood. She punishes indiscriminately and disproportionately. She wagers human lives like gambling chips. The kids were supposed to be dead no matter who won the bet.

I think it’s interesting that Crowley is the one who introduces the idea in season one of “What if the Almighty planned it like this all along? From the very beginning.” That’s probably a comforting thought to Aziraphale, soothing his anxieties about going against Heaven right when he is feeling acute distress at the idea of no longer having a side. (And, in that particular moment, no longer even having a bookshop.)

But it’s not a comforting thought to Crowley. Have you seen what happens when God has a plan for you? It fucking sucks. Woe betide you if you’re the Barbie God decides to play with today. (At bare minimum, you’re coming back with some burn marks and a weird haircut.)

I’ve brought up the line “There are no right people. There’s just God, moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us” before, and I tend to focus on the “there are no right people” part. But also, there’s just God.

Aziraphale tends to draw a distinction between God’s will and Heaven’s orders when it suits him, and collapse that distinction when it doesn’t. Crowley almost never differentiates between God and Heaven. There’s just God, and She’s not going to explain why this is happening or listen to pleas for mercy (although Crowley still tries). You can’t trust Heaven or Hell, and you can’t count on God to show up and make everything all right. Sometimes God is in fact the reason that things are not all right. You’re on your own.

(And. Look. Crowley is right on this one. There are certainly aspects of their relationship where they’re both equally responsible for things being a shitshow, but the text is pretty unambiguous about Crowley, a demon, having the most accurate read on the nature of God in the world of Good Omens out of any of the metaphysical characters.)

Crowley rebuilt his entire sense of self, alone, after the Fall. He created himself anew and developed his own moral compass and sense of identity independent of both Heaven and Hell. “The angel you knew is not me.” When Crowley does the right thing, that’s not his angel-ness shining through; that’s just Crowley.

And from a like, trauma recovery point of view, it’s actually very healthy for him to have the realization that sometimes God’s just kind of a dick. He didn’t do anything to deserve getting kicked out of Heaven. None of them did. Just God messing them about because She didn’t like being questioned, or She wanted to see what would happen, or She needed two sides for Reasons and didn’t much care who was on one or the other, or She’s playing some fucked up little game for Her own amusement. (And if there was some Great Plan that required Crowley to fall…well, that is also fucked up. Because it doesn’t matter if there was a reason. It still hurt.)

And while Crowley in general is extremely patient with Aziraphale and his slow, halting journey away from Heaven…it’s gotta sting, every time Aziraphale doesn’t want to believe that God could be cruel, when Crowley is standing right fucking there. It’s gotta hurt when Aziraphale refuses to see something that Crowley knows to be true through his own lived experience. Because it should be enough. What happened to him should be enough to make someone who loves him walk away from Heaven and never look back. And it isn’t.

But of course Crowley is one hundred percent not going to talk about this, if he is even fully self-aware about having these thoughts, because it’s far too painful and vulnerable. (He talks to plants, goats, God, and no one in a bar at the end of the world, but never to Aziraphale.) And so he says “Tell me you said no” and “I think I understand a lot better than you do” because he can’t say Choose me. Just this once, choose me and he can’t say Believe me.

And Aziraphale is not going to think about all this and work it out for himself, because he has a massive lump of denial centered around exactly this thing, that sometimes God hurts people who didn’t do anything to deserve it. I’m sure he’s thought about the Fall in abstract terms, enough to be afraid of it, but not in terms of this is a thing that happened to a person I love. And he has certainly not allowed himself to draw any conclusions about the nature of God from it, because that is far too scary a prospect.

And so they’re stuck. Until they can figure out how to remove this massive landmine from the center of their relationship, they are going to keep having the same fight over and over again, and they’re going to keep hurting each other without fully understanding why.

[nellasbookplanet]

people have been fawning over how humanlike the gods are for a month now, but now its wrong to compare them to mortal powers because they're otherworldy beings that can't possibly be thought of in human terms? or is the suggestion that they're like mortals, but they're just an innately superior group of people that deserves to have power over everyone else?

Hello anon! Are you the same person who got all up in my askbox yesterday? You certainly seem to have an equally poor grasp on what I actually said and a willingness to make it somebody else's problem. However, I no longer have a headache and am feeling less cranky, so lets treat this as a genuine question.

I never said it's wrong or even inaccurate to compare the gods to humans/mortals. What I said is that some seem over-eager to equate them with groups or systems where they don't actually fit, or to project our own world onto them. This tends to lead to poor textual analysis. For example, equating the gods with mortal rulers (specifically tyrannical rulers, even), the one percent, a higher social class, rich people, or colonizers of mortals all read as comparisons made from the assumption 'gods are the most powerful sentient beings of Exandria; therefore I will compare them to the most powerful people of our world'. Do these comparisons make actual sense as parallels? No! Kings and rich people and colonizers aren't innately more powerful than others because we don't live in a fantasy world where magic is real. You can take said power from them and redistribute it fairly. You cannot do this with the gods.

Ultimately, the last few words in your ask neatly sum up the problem with this mindset: do the gods deserve to hold this power over everyone else? Lets look at this through a comparison: do sorcerers like Imogen deserve to hold power over everyone else? She, like most sorcerers, was born with powers others do not have and has no way to get rid of them. They cannot be taken from her and redistributed to the masses to make things more equal, because they are a part of her innate self. In using them, Imogen can do good, but she also sometimes ends up hurting people by reading their thoughts without consent or, at times, even meaning to. So, does Imogen deserve this power? By now, you might see the problem. It doesn't matter whether she deserves her power because you can't take it from her without killing her, no matter how unfair you think it is that she has it. 'Do they deserve their power' is an irrelevant question that people keep coming back to. What you're actually asking is, 'do the gods deserve to live', or even 'do we have the right to kill them' which is a lot more loaded.

The gods already evened the playing field as much as was possible by locking themselves behind the divine gate, severely diminishing their influence on Exandria. They can no longer cause any more harm than any mortal, because now they must act through mortals such as clerics and paladins, through which they do a lot of good (or have we already forgotten about c1 and c2, or even the resurrection of Laudna by a divine cleric and the actions of FCG in c3?). If this still isn't enough for you, you might want to ask yourself whether what you actually want is fairness and the good of the people of Exandria, or if you're just looking for pointless revenge for the sake of it.

[alegendoftomorrow]

The Gift

Summery: Fives and the 501's civilian medic are friends and possibly more if they weren't in the middle of a war. After another long day with far too much pain for the both of them, Fives finds a way to bring a little holiday magic to your lives, even in the middle of a war zone.

Characters: Arc Trooper Fives x Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Words: 2,947 Words

Warning: Injury (very minor), brief peril and canon typical violence, mentions of loss, grief, war, injuries, slights angst. Mostly teasing, slightly suggestive (just hinting at it).

A/N: This is my entry for the incredible Life Day exchange hosted by @cloneficgiftexchange . Thank you so much for always hosting such fun events that push me to get out of my comfort zone and write again. This piece is for the awesome @arliganzey I really hope you like this fun little adventure I went on. It was my first time writing for Fives and I hope I captured his essence for you :)

“You know we cannot keep meeting like this.”

You freeze halfway to reaching into your rapidly emptying medic bag. Groaning through hard pressed lips as you spin in your chair to see a very cocky smile pulled up on a very familiar face.

“People are bound to start talking.”

“Fives,” you groaned. Pinching the bridge of your nose and counting to…. well, five before you risk looking back up at the arc trooper leaning against the doorway. Suspiciously standing off his right ankle.

You already know there’s going to be a story. There’s always a story with Fives. Before you knew any better you used to think he was getting hurt just to come and see you. Now the war has dragged on for longer than you were prepared for, and you’ve buried far more men than it feels like you ever save. Seen more planets and systems torn apart than you ever thought possible. Things like crushes and love seem like silly things reserved for storybooks rather than your day-to-day life.

Doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to flirt back with the man who walks through your door almost once a day with some injury or another. Battle related or not.

“What is it this time? Echo dare you to jump off the bridge or did Jesse kick your butt sparring again?” You asked. Standing from your desk and walking over to an exam table. Raising a brow when Fives doesn’t move from the doorway.

“Can’t I just come say hi to my favorite medic without there being an injury?” He asked. In a tone that almost sounded innocent, and perhaps a little hurt that you’d suggested such a thing.

You flashed him another eye roll and crossed your arms. “You can but, Kix isn’t here right now.”

Fives actually snorted at that. Dropping his arms to his side and doing his best not to limp on what was clearly an injured ankle. “Kix is not my favorite medic.”

“Mhm why’s that?” You asked. Already moving down to undo the plastoid armor he wore over his boots when he hoped up on the table. Ignoring the warmth that spread over you when you looked back to see Fives grinning down at you with his hands tucked behind his head.

“Because he doesn’t look half as pretty as you do,” he said with a smirk. “And he’s not as nice to me as you are.”

Now it was your turn to snort at him, Maker he is insufferable, you thought. And the best part of every day, another part of your mind added rather unhelpfully. You went back to examining his ankle before you said something ridiculous. Taking off his sock and hissing through your teeth at the purple bruise already spreading around his scarred ankle.

“Maker what happened here?!” You asked. Looking up at Fives again with genuine worry this time.

He waved a hand dismissively and puffed his chest up a bit in a way you’d come to learn meant he was hiding pain and quite proud of something he definitely shouldn’t be proud of.

“I came here with a blaster bolt to the knee a few rotations ago. How is this worse?”

You started at him blankly for a minute. Simply blinking up at him and hoping your silence made something click in that incredible thick head of his.

It did not.

“You were shot in an active war zone running to give Captain Rex cover. I honestly expected worse than that. However, we have been flying for three days with no enemy contact. So, you shouldn’t have gotten so much as a cough up here; yet here you are sitting here with a twisted ankle. So, I ask again. How did you get this?”

The smile slipped a little from Fives’s face as he actually looked a little…. embarrassed? Was that something he was capable of feeling? You watched as he bit down on his lip and fidgeted slightly with his shoulders seeming to try and buy time.

“Really, it’s not important. I was…. doing something for someone else and my foot slipped okay? It’s not a big deal,” he said. Very adamantly not making eye contact with you.

You rolled your eyes and threw your hands up in surrender with a sigh. “Fine don’t tell me. I hope this someone was worth it.”

“She is,” Fives said. There was a sincerity in his voice that caught you by surprise. Giving you pause and making your breath catch as he looked at you with something that was almost soft. Something you didn’t dare name floated between the shades of honey and earthen brown of his eyes.

“Right. Well…...good.” You stumbled out. Moving away from the table and back to your medical closet to get some bacta and a wrap for his ankle. Trying hard not to meet his eyes again. The ones you can feel boring a hole through the back of your head as you set his ankle.

He doesn’t even flinch once while you work on it. Even though you’re certain this must hurt, he just sits there and stares back at you while your hands make quick work of their task.

“Alright, that should hold for now. Do you want to do the song and dance where I tell you to stay off it and then you tell me something about being a hero of the Republic who can’t take breaks and must soldier on for the good of the galaxy?” You asked. Crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow at him.

Fives grind like an idiot again and laughs. Maker that sound… You wish you could bottle it up and keep it with you when he went away again. Listen to it on repeat when the nights pressed in to darkly.

“That’s a terrible impression of me,” Fives laughed. Snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I thought it was very accurate,” you snip back. Your tone bears no bite though.

Fives smirks wider like a loth cat that’s gotten into the cream. Swinging his legs gracefully back over the bed and gripping the edge in a way that makes his biceps flex under his blacks. Not that you’re looking. He leans in a little closer and it takes all of your willpower not to lean in towards him too.

“What’s your excuse then Doc?” He asked lowly.

You tilted your head and furrowed your brows. “My excuse for what?”

“For not resting,” he said. “You said it yourself, I’m a hero of the Republic, but you….”

He trailed off and reached a hand up to tuck back a curl that had come loose from the updo you had it in. Your breath catching in your throat as you swallowed tightly under his touch. Rough fingers brushing so softly over your skin you wanted to melt.

“You need to rest too. The whole ship would fall apart without you.”

You might have laughed if he wasn’t looking at you so seriously. Like he meant every word of it. It made something warm and fuzzy creep up into your chest. Something that felt dangerous and far, far too real.

“I’ll rest when you do,” you bargained.

Fives shook his head. “No, I cannot allow that. I know exactly what that means. You’ll come in here and pretend to lay down then get right back to do work.”

“I could say the same for you,” you shot back. “So how do you suggest either of us rest then?”

The smirk that crawled up his face as he flicked his tongue out to lick his bottom lip almost made your knees wobble.

“Well, it seems we have no choice but to rest together,” he said. Like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Your mouth fell open as you gaped at him. “What?”

“That way I can make sure you can’t get up to do work, and you can make sure I don’t walk on my ankle.”

Your mind reeled for a moment still all the possibilities that scenario presented before you recovered yourself enough to smirk back. Leaning back on your heels and staring back eye level with the arc trooper with a glint of playfulness in your gaze.

“You know if you wanted to sleep with me, you could have just asked.”

Fives looked taken aback for a moment. He recovered much too quickly though and leaned forward a little more. His breath ghosting over your cheeks as you stood your ground in front of him. Heart racing while his eyes moved over your face, taking in the details like he was trying to memorize you.

“If I asked now, would you say yes?” He asked.

“I—” whatever you were about to say was cut off by the loud screaming of alarms that startled the both of you apart and jerked you out of moment of peace.

“That’s the attack sirens,” Fives warned. Jumping off the bed and hoping towards the door as he pulled his boot back on.

“We can’t be under attack,” he replied. Rushing to the com link in the wall and punching in the code to Captain Rex’s channel. “We haven’t seen any vessels since we left— “

A sudden explosion sounded distantly and the whole ship lurched to the side. Your hands gripping into the handles on the wall to steady yourself while cabinets and shelves clicked locked, so their contents didn’t go everywhere.

“Apparently the separatists don’t know that,” Fives grumbled from the doorway. Looking down the hall both ways once before turning back to you with a brilliant smile that felt far too out of place for this moment. “Don’t worry I’ll handle this; you just sit here and look pretty and we’ll finish this conversation when I get back.”

He winked and then was gone. Running as fast as his weak ankle would allow. You wanted to protest every word he’d just said. Wanted to run after him, yell at him to be careful, maybe smack him for being so cavalier with his words, but he was gone before you could even get his name past your lips.

Be careful Fives.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(Many Hours Later)~~~~~~~~~~~~

We were lucky this time,  that’s what Captain Rex kept saying.

The separatist vessel had only damaged the cargo holds on the lower levels before the captain and his men were able to destroy it. General Skywalker’s plan somehow once again working despite sounding ludicrous to you. You were lucky the casualties had been minimal, but the injuries were heavy. You would have to restock before your next engagement. As it was, you’d already patched supplies together for those less injured than others.

Leaning back against the hallway wall you slid all the way to the floor and pulled your knees to your chest. Leaning your head forward to rest there and forcing yourself to breathe deeply so you didn’t fall apart out here where anyone might see you.

Footsteps approached slowly from your left and you half hoped they’d keep walking. Let you wallow in peace and quiet, but the uneven footfalls stopped just in front of you and a voice cleared their throat above you.

“Hey…you alright?”

Fives.

Jerking your head up you blinked at him through your watery eyes. Staring at his grease smudged cheeks with parted lips. He was breathing heavier than normal and still standing off his foot as best he could. His blacks were stained with blood and smoke, but he looked mostly unharmed.

“You’re, okay?” You asked. Voice trembling.

Fives grinned. “I’m always alright. I’m a hero remember. Heroes can’t die.”

You rolled your eyes and made some kind of half sob half laugh sound. Wiping your eyes with the hell of her hand and sniffling a little.

“Hey, come on love no tears.” He crouched down and grinned softly. Reaching out and brushing the tear that dripped down your cheek gently. “It’s okay. We lived to fight another day, more of us than usual at that. That’s something, and more will live because of you. Yeah?”

Without thinking you leaned into his palm and nodded softly. Closing your eyes and focusing on his words. Clinging to them tightly.

“Besides, you’re in the presence of a hero who saved the day and is about to make yours better,” Fives added proudly.

You laughed at him and shook your head. Blinking your eyes open to stare at him again. The lights giving him a halo around his dark hair. Making his tattoo stand out a little sharper against his skin. “How exactly are you still this cocky after everything?”

“It’s who I am. Come on. Up you go.” He grabbed under your arms and pulled you to your feet.

“Mhm does that hero line ever actually work on anyone?” You asked following after him while he kept his arm wrapped securely around yours.

“I don’t know, I’ll let you know later.”

“You are unbelievable,” you groaned.

“That’s the running theory,” he replied proudly.

Following him down the halls of the ship, letting him lean on you a little more as his ankle began to ache worse, you let the pair of you fall into an easy silence. Even if you were a little nervous about where you were actually going, you didn’t have the energy to ask.

“Alright we’re here. Close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so,” Fives said. Stopping the pair of you in front of a plain dark door.

You looked at him with a raised brow. “Fives is this is an elaborate plan to scare me I’m warning you I—"

His laugh cut you off. Throwing his hands up in a surrendering motion as he shook his head. “I promise, I promise, we’ve both been scared enough for one day. Just cover your eyes. You’ll like it trust me.”

You hesitated only a moment longer before closing your eyes and covering them with your free hand. Feeling Fives take your other hand and weave his fingers together with yours, the door whooshed open, and a warm burst of air hit you as he tugged you forward. Your feet following after him without hesitation. You trusted him, even if he drove you crazy.

“Alright, open your eyes,” he whispered from behind you.

Slowly you lowered your hand and opened your eyes. Gasping at the scene spread out before you.

“Fives….”

Strings of lights blinked in multicolored drops that had been hung around wide windows that showed off the thousands of twinkling stars blinking like spilled jewels across the ebony sky. Looking around the rest of the room there was a small table sat in the middle of the window. The two chairs were tied with bright red ribbons and a small box sat in the middle wrapped with blue paper. Soft holiday music played from some kind of hidden speakers and there was holographic snow drifting down the walls.

“I don’t…. I don’t understand,” you said. Spinning around to face Fives who looked a little sheepish with his hand lifting up to rub at the back of his neck.

“You do so much for everyone here. Keeping us alive and healthy. You care, really care, where most people just…. don’t. I remember you telling Echo your favorite holiday when you were a kid was Life Day but that you hadn’t gotten to celebrate it for a very long time. I had the guys help me research it, so I knew what it was and then I set this up for you,” he explained. Shrugging a shoulder like this wasn’t the most amazing thing anyone had ever done for you. Like all the hours and credits, he must have spent to make this little bit of joy come true wasn’t the most incredible gift ever.

“I know it’s a few days early, but you looked like you needed this today. So, I um….” He trailed off and let his hand drop back to his side. “Do you like it?”

You can’t even bring yourself to answer. Forgetting how tired you are and how sore he probably is, you rush forward and launch yourself into his arms. Gripping him tightly as he stumbles back to catch you. Wrapping you up in a hug just as tight.

“I’ll take that as a yes then?” He teased. Lips brushing beside your ear.

“Yes!” You said into his neck. “I love it Fives. Thank you. This is… this is the best thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”

You feel him smile more than you see it. His arms flexing around you tighter. “You’re welcome love. Happy Life Day.”

“Happy Life Day Fives.”

Pulling away you smile up at him wider, tears brimming in your eyes for a whole different reason now as you reach a hand up to cup his cheek. His fingers curling around your wrist as he turns his head to kiss your palm lightly. Maybe love isn’t just for fairytales and storybooks. Maybe there is hope left in this war after all.

“Fives?” 

“Yeah?”

“Did you roll your ankle putting up the lights?”

He sighs dramatically and then bursts out laughing. Scooping you up into his arms and spinning you both around as best he can before setting you back down and kissing you chastely. The softest press of his lips to yours before he’s pulling away again and winking down at you.

“It was worth it to see you smile,” he said.

You shake your head at him one more time before rising to your toes to kiss him back just as softly.

“My hero.”

“You’re mine too love.”

[wajjs]

I’m a bit curious on Hal’s personality in his depictions. From what I know is that early hal was headstrong, cocky, kind of a goofball, and detached (dissociating away his fear and averse to commitment). This seems to be the version of Hal that most people write.

But then there’s the whole Parallax thing, and the Spectre run. I don’t know much about it but it seems hal gets a lot more subdued and melancholy as the spectre. And then after that he comes back as flesh and bone.

So what is he like at the end of that?

Pre-Johns and pre-Parallax Hal tended to be more happy go lucky, stupid, and generally doe eyed hopeful "the system that fucked me over once definitely won't do it again!" type of man. He was also entitled at times. But this is mostly true up until around the time of Hard Traveling Heroes, which is when he starts to be heartbroken and melancholic, traits that persist until the climax of Emerald Twilight.

A lot of people say Emerald Twilight came from nowhere and I disagree. I think those people weren't paying attention, because all the signs were there. Hal had been steadily becoming more disillusioned and melancholic through the 70s and 80s until we get to the 90s, where that heartbreak gets amplified to the nth degree. Hal didn't go from stupid to mad with grief without a transition period in the middle. But a lot of people think once a run from x writer ends, it no longer counts for the next one, and so they say the tragedy came from nowhere.

At the very start of the 90s, Hal has a lot of suicidal ideation going on. The run itself begins with him more or less saying "There’s nowhere else to go" (paraphrasing) and throwing himself off a cliff. He waits until he's almost crashing head first into the ground to pull himself out of there using his ring. He's flirting with the thought of death.

He is also self sabotaging. He pulls back from everyone and turns himself into a homeless man who lives on the road because he's looking for a sense of self, a meaning to life he has lost. He becomes a seasonal worker because he needs something to do, but those jobs never last because the life he's trying to leave behind (in the shape of Guy Gardner) keeps metaphorically knocking on the door and dragging him back to Green Lantern.

Even when he comes back, he chooses to do solitary things. For example: exploring space to recruit more GLs, that keeps interactions to a minimum. It's all things that are brewing in a pressure cooker that blows up when Coast City is destroyed in front of Hal's eyes and the hero community drops the ball. Hard.

They all say well, it’s not MY city. They all say get over it. Clark goes and creates a monument using scraps of the very bomb that killed everyone and everything Hal knew all his life, and immediately after that Clark is in Metropolis enjoying the sun and saying aaaaah. what a nice day.

And Hal doesn't snap immediately. The tension is there, but at first he does try to keep it together until it becomes impossible. He tries to reconstruct Coast City, but there are limits to what the ring can do. The one thing he could depend on, his will power, is not enough. He is not enough. His grief and anger become so big that his mind just... fractures. He snaps. No one's listening and no one's helping, so he will take matters into his own hands and make. it. right.

This Hal is angry. This Hal has a heart with a hole that threatens to kill him at any moment but he endures because he cannot die until he does what needs to be done. This Hal refuses the help that comes too late, he has killed his friends, he has destroyed the corps, he has killed Sinestro. Kyle arrives like a lighthouse in the middle of the storm but for Hal it's too late because he has driven his ship into the cliff and is letting it sink with himself still in it.

He is mad at himself and mad at the world for failing Coast City and all the innocent lives lost. He almost becomes a god, and is perceived as a god by some due to the power he now possesses. There are moments when clarity hits him and the old wounded heartbroken Hal shows his face, and he is dying. His pain is so palpable. His anguish. The old Hal wants help. But Parallax Hal does not want to be saved.

Of course, the status quo changes with the events of Final Night. Hal sacrifices himself to save the Earth. He sees that only in death will his anger stop, and he sees that he's the only one who can do what no one else could do for Coast City. It's a no brainer. He sacrifices himself and burns himself to a crisp reigniting the sun. Hal doesn’t expect to come back. He doesn’t want to come back. This is HIS final night.

Unfortunately, The Spectre had other plans. His anger morphs into straight up depression because now he is alive enough to deal with the outcome of what he did as Parallax. He has to live with the tragedy of what he lost and the tragedy of what he did. Few people stand by his side and want to give him a chance. Very few people recognize there's good in him. Most want to see him dead and gone. He himself wants to be dead and gone. Helen, his niece, being there definitely helps him not lose it, not lose himself. She is his hope. She is the innocence he lost and he will never get back.

After all of this, he is more grounded, mature. Still melancholic. Still haunted by everything that happened. He is cocky, of course, and self assured, because at the end of the day those are the things he can cling to with some sort of safety net. But they're also things he uses to keep the raw wounds hidden.

Post Johns? Yeah like more than half of this is lost because Hal’s the greatest hero ever and he can do no wrong. He is headstrong, overconfident, cocky, and ultimately good, but he is missing like half of his soul.

[serpentface]

Hello, I love your work and have been rotating the Blightseed setting in my head for the past couple weeks. I'd just like to ask, is there a significant difference between qilik weaponry and human weaponry? I'm sure the difference in size is a given, and I remember in a previous post it was mentioned that a good portion of the cookware used by qilik cultures are often human-made and traded from the outside. To be more specific, are there limiting factors in qilik physiology that make the use of certain types of weapons less practical/frequent? To be honest, I'm just thinking about raptors with swords. Thank you for your time

Yeah it's pretty different. Most qilik weaponry and traditional combat systems tend to focus on attachments of bladed implements to the feet, rather than objects wielded with the hands.

The legs of a qilik are MUCH more viable to use as a weapon-carrying limb than those of a human, largely due to their much greater flexibility and the ability of a qilik to jump significantly higher (a healthy individual could easily leap up and kick a human's face from a standing start). You will be hard pressed to find a qilik society that does not utilize foot spurs as weapons. These can vary in form and placement, but are usually blades added directly to the front or back of the foot. Augmentations to add a blade to the sickle claw can be viable when very lightweight, but given that it attaches to a toe (a small and relatively weak limb) it requires significant reinforcement to the rest of the foot to not be a liability (a toe can be broken fairly easily).

(It should be emphasized that everything that follows is secondary to use of foot mounted blades or used in more specified circumstances in the vast majority of groups.)

Forms of short handheld bladed weapons Are viable, though they have major tradeoffs with the more common foot mounted weapons. Swords can be much longer than most spurs (helps keep your body at a safer distance from the foe), but their stabs are CONSIDERABLY weaker in a qilik's hands. Swords have the advantage of making cutting and slicing motions (certain vertical up-down wrist + arm motions are relatively devastating via qilik limbs), which spurs are less effective at. Most qilik swords are built exclusively for chopping motions (sometimes even having rounded/squared tips) and are often used as a supplementary weapon + counter for bladed feet. Many people disavow the use of swords it altogether, considering holding shields to be a better use of the hands, if the hands are involved in combat at all.

Spears are actually more commonly used than swords. Qilik are not physiologically capable of throwing spears with any meaningful force, so they tend more towards being held in a fixed position and driven into the enemy at full charge/leap or while mounted. Most mounted combat utilizes spears.

Qilik do not have the physical size/strength to effectively draw most human sized bows by hand, and have proportionally weaker draw strength with the arms in general. Qilik handbows made for mobile archery have comparatively shorter ranges. Longbows built specifically to be aimed with the hand and drawn with the Foot have a much longer range, comparable to most human bows. This is usually done in stationary positions, though it can be performed while mounted (this is slightly less efficacious than human mounted archery- it cannot be accomplished as rapidly (reloads take three limbs) and changing positions from one side of the mount to the other takes more effort).

Biting is a fairly viable weapon. Qilik bite force is not particularly exceptional, but the head can be used for quicker/substantially more effective bite strikes than anything a human is capable of. This has obvious draw offs (you generally want to avoid putting your head in range of a weapon) and is rarely used as a primary strategy, but qilik cultures that make helmets generally leave most of the mouth exposed to allow full range of jaw motion. This is usually just as a backup or a tactic to be used opportunistically, but some groups utilize partly bladed mouthguards to make bites more effective (often with a hooked 'beak' extension.

Here's a sketch example of a full weapon + armor setup

This is a czekl hen wearing what can be considered a full set of weapons and armor.

The blades are short spurs, one strong + thick spur fixed to the ankle with a metal ring, one lighter spur tied to the toe (her claw has been filed down for this purpose). She carries no weapons or shield in her hands, and they will be held close to the body during active combat. In battle, she will attempt to incapacitate an enemy with bladed kicks to the abdomen and neck, and will be reliant on lightweight agility to avoid the same fate.

The armor is simple spider silk, fitted closely to the body around the torso and neck with (partly cosmetic) drapes hanging loosely over the arms. It's not particularly pretty, but this is one of the best available armors pragmatic for this combat style (and spider silk is expensive enough as is, you don't want to waste prettily dyed/decorated textile on non-ceremonial armor). Spider silk is one of the strongest fabrics available for its lightness. It cannot withstand a direct puncture wound, but is Extremely resilient against glancing blows and makes penetration with a blade more difficult than any comparatively lightweight fabrics. The sections along the torso are padded and offer more protection than leather.

The helmet is leather and partly decorated with the motif of the wind tzu, the first ancestor. The wind tzu's wings are made from the hen's own plumes (probably from her first molt into adult plumage), its tail has actual tzu hair. Her actual plumes are cut down to the base, which is a standard element of Czekl hen gender presentation.

[heartsforvin]

SO SWEET

part two of the cutest thing !! yall been wantin this like CRAZY so here it is , i hope you all enjoy !!!

pairing; vinnie hacker x fem!bimbo!reader

warnings; smut, cussing, use of pet names, praise kink, thigh riding, bit of dry humping, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), p in v, cum play ??, if i missed anything lmk !!

summary; things get heated fast between your supposedly ‘best friend’

“all comfy?” vinnie asks as he sees you walk back into the room with a smile.

you nod. “mhm, you pick the movie?” you ask as you jump into the bed next to vinnie.

as you get under the covers you notice that vinnie no longer has a tshirt on, instead only in a pair of sweatpants, tattoos on full display.

vinnie nods as he holds his arm out for you to climb into him. you do, pressing your back to his chest.

he starts the movie and it’s quiet for awhile, that is until you feel vinnie’s grip around your waist tighten and that feeling you felt when you sat on his lap earlier came back.

“vin?” you completely turn your body and face him. he pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and hums, letting you know to continue.

“that feelings back.” you tell him, he chuckles as he buries his face in your neck.

he finally got his body and mind to calm down after earlier this day, but now you’re making it pretty difficult.

this was supposed to be you two relaxing for the night. he thought you got what you were feeling earlier out of your system and that was it.

“fuck,” vinnie mutters under his breath, low chuckle added as he buries his face in your chest. “you know what i told you, baby.”

he says it more for himself, to remind him that he cannot and will not do that. thrashing your legs, you whine as if you’re a child who didn’t get their way.

does he not understand how you feel? he has too. you were only met with this feeling hours ago, having no idea what it meant. meanwhile, he probably felt like this all the time.

“shh,” vinnie coos as he runs his fingers through your hair. he rubs your back gently, getting you to calm down. “can’t do that to you.”

you hate how he keeps telling you that. you know he can do that to you, he just doesn’t want to rip that away from you.

“you can, vin! please, it hurts.” you whine, needing him now more than ever.

vinnie groans. the more you ask him to do it the more his cock twitches in his pants.

before you know what you’re even doing, you sit up just enough to where you can wrap your leg around vinnie’s, your clothed pussy resting right on his thigh.

vinnie’s hands instinctively go to your waist, gripping tightly as you rock yourself against him.

he watches as you move against him, not realizing you had this in you. “sweetheart,” his voice comes out breathless, loving the view he’s got in front of him.

“vin, please.” you whimper, rocking yourself against your bestfriend faster.

his body thinks before his mind does and before either of you know it, vinnie has you so you’re on your back in a second.

his mouth is on you aggressively, kissing you, your neck, your jaw, anywhere he can be. it felt how it did hours prior, but so much better.

“shit,” he mutters, lifting himself off of you. “i’m sorry baby, fuck i should’ve asked sooner. is this okay?”

a sweet smile appears on your face and vinnie can’t help but smile and stroke your cheek. “it’s so okay, vin.” you tell him.

he’s back on your mouth before you can let out another breath. this continues for a few seconds before you whine into his mouth.

vinnie is out of it now, completely submerged in you and your taste. “needy, aren’t you sweetheart?”

the question doesn’t need answering, he knows you are. slowly, he moves his hand down, only to be met with your dampened panties.

he lets out a low groan into your mouth at the feeling at how wet you are already, and the fact you chose to sleep with only his tshirt on.

quickly, you pull apart from the boy above you, worried you made him uncomfortable.

“you okay?” you ask ever so sweetly, smile spread across your face.

vinnie returns the smile, his hand grazing your thigh, sending a million shocks of euphoria through you.

you’ve never gotten this sort of affection before, let alone had any idea what exactly you’re getting yourself into.

“so okay,” he replies breathlessly. “how are you doin’, baby?” he asked.

you giggle at the feeling of his finger sliding up and down your clothed pussy. smiling while biting your lip, you look at vinnie and he can’t help but kiss your cheek.

“i’m good, vin,” you reply with another giggle at the feeling of his finger on you. “that feels good.” you tell him.

vinnie smirks. “yeah?” you watch as he continues before pulling back your panties so he can get a peak at you uncovered.

you start to whine again, thrashing your legs against his mattress, needing him to do something.

“vinnie, please.” the pleasure you’re feeling is unbearable, it’s been fifteen minutes of vinnie merely touching you, yet you already feel this intense. 

“what do you want, princess?” you can’t stand him or his tone. it’s second after second of him just teasing you.

you’ve been wanting this all night but now, now you’re too afraid to say it. too afraid for it to become reality.

vinnie sees the obvious switch in your demeanor and sits up. “sweetheart,” vinnie lifts your chin with his index finger, making you look at him. “where’d you go?”

you give him a shy smile, sitting up and pulling your legs to your chest. the panties you wore that night do little to no effort to cover you while you sat like this.

vinnie tries his hardest to be a good friend and look directly at you. after all, you both are friends first.

“never done this,” you say softly, realizing after that he knew that already. “just nervous.”

vinnie sighs with a smile, rubbing your knee comfortingly. “do you want to do this?” he asks.

you lower your head, feeling like you let him down. for what? you don’t know.

“hey, hey, look at me,” he gains your attention. “we don’t have to do this, i can finish off in the bathroom real quick then we can finish the movie.” he tells you.

the thought of him doing that while you sit and wait on his bed makes that feeling come back. “no, i wanna do this. just-just show me how, please.”

vinnie pushes you on your back, head laid beneath the pillow and hovers over you, hands on either side of you to hold himself up.

“just lay right here, sweet girl,” vinnie says before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. “gonna make you feel so, so good.”

you watch as he makes his way down your body, asking if he can take off your shirt. you nod with a huge smile, giving him a verbal answer as well.

the minute your shirt is off vinnie can’t help himself. eyes and hands immediately landing on your tits.

he squeezes them in his hands, making you moan and buck your hips at the feeling of his warm hands on you.

“that feel good, pretty girl?” he knows the answer, just loves when he squeezes the skin in his hands and watches you completely break.

he soon makes his way down to your panties, kissing right below your bellybutton.

“vinnie,” you watch as he grabs the waistband of your panties, pulling them down so your right hip is exposed.

he kisses the exposed skin, making you whine. “do something!”

vinnie gives in, looking up at you and asking with his eyes if he can remove the clothing. you tell him yes and they’re off and on the floor in a heartbeat.

moving even farther down your body, he finally gets to where you need him most.

he slides his index finger over your slit, watching as your wetness coats his finger. “so wet f’me,” he groans.

vinnie slowly pushes a finger into you, a whine leaving your lips at the tight feeling.

“shit, princess,” vinnie looks up at you and your already dazed state. “you good?” he chuckles as he sees you give him a dopey smile.

it takes you a minute to respond, vinnie’s finger going in and out of you at a reasonable pace, it’s just a feeling you’ve never experienced.

you giggle at him, watching as he looks up at you with a smile. “f-feels so good - shit.” he hits a particularly good spot that makes you cry out.

vinnie continues stretching you out for a few more minutes into he feels you’re ready for the real thing.

well, close to the real thing. “baby, hey. look at me, pretty.” vinnie says as he pulls his fingers out of you.

he can see your expression and knows you’re almost fully submerged in him. “sweetheart.” vinnie calls out again, gaining your attention.

you smile at him and he strokes your cheek, returning the gesture. “hi, my pretty girl. you ready for somethin’ else?” he asks you.

the smile remains on your face, excited for what that is. “is it your cock?” in the tone you ask it sounds less vulgar, vinnie can’t help but let out a laugh.

he’s never heard you say anything like that. you rarely cussed, let alone use a word like that.

“pretty girl’s gotta mouth on her, huh?” he chuckles as your cheeks darken a shade of red.

he’s surprised you know that word, he doesn’t remember teaching you what it meant, but then again he can’t remember most conversations right now.

“no baby, not yet,” he leans down to kiss the inside of your thigh. “this could be a close second for you though. we’ll get to that one, just be patient.”

you nod and smile at your bestfriend, doing as told. “okay, vin!”

vinnie repositions himself so he’s laying on his stomach, face directly in front of your aching cunt. before he can rethink his actions, he attaches his mouth to you.

“mmh, vin.” you moan as you feel his mouth on your clit. you bend your knees and vinnie grabs them and locks his arms around them.

he kisses and sucks your clit harshly, eliciting more whimpers and moans out of you. this was unlike anything you’ve felt before, this felt amazing.

“feel good, my love?” he asks once he pulls away from you, chin glistening with your juices.

all you can do is nod with his mouth back on you. the noise was almost pornographic, the way he sucked at your clit made you buck your hips into his face.

“fuck, baby,” vinnie moans against you. “do that again, shit.” he sucks on your bud just how he did a moment ago, making you buck your hips into him again.

“good girl,” the praise goes straight through you. vinnie looks up at you and watches as you grip the sheets and push your head into the pillow. “so good for me.”

vinnie continues his actions until he sees you start to squirm under him, whining as you do. “talk to me, baby, what is it?” he can tell you feel something extreme.

the pleasure crashes through you so fast you can’t answer him, a beat of silence passes before you say. “f-feels like m’gonna pee!”

vinnie smirks, knowing exactly how you feel. “let it out for me, sweet girl. you’re not gonna pee, trust me.”

vinnie speeds up the process just a bit and adds a finger while he sucks on your clit. the pleasure of his finger along with his mouth is enough to push you over the edge.

“that’s it, baby. yeah, that’s it, let it out for me,” his praises push you over the edge and you release all over his mouth. “fuck, look at that, good girl.”

he moves his mouth off of you, sliding his fingers against you, watching your cum slide out of you as he does.

with a goofy grin, you look up at vinnie and see he’s leaning closer to you. “open up, pretty.”

you do as told and vinnie sticks his fingers in your mouth for you to lick clean. “that’s my good girl, so proud of you.”

you smile at the boy in front of you, looking down to see the obvious strain in his pajama pants.

vinnie meets your gaze and laughs once he realizes what you’re looking at. the laugh soon turns into a moan when he feels your hand on him.

“you know you want it, vin. why stop when we’ve barely started?” he didn’t know you could talk like that, about those things.

it seems like he can’t move fast enough. you help him remove his pajama pants and boxers, cock springing free in an instant.

you gasp audibly at the sight, making vinnie chuckle a bit at your reaction. “so big.” is all you can say.

you wonder if he’s even going to fit, plus having being a virgin to everything in this situation in general.

vinnie knew that though, so he knew to be gentle with you. “you alright?” vinnie asks once he realizes you went somewhere.

you nod. “mhm, just wondering if you’ll fit is all.” you tell him, and vinnie smiles.

he kisses you softly, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’ll make it fit.”

the tone makes you want to close your legs so tight that you can’t feel the burning feeling.

“you want this, right?” he asks again, needing to make sure you’re one hundred percent okay and want this.

you roll your eyes playfully at the boy in front of you. “wouldn’t be naked in your bed if i didn’t, vin.” you giggle.

vinnie smiles and kisses your cheek. he gently pushes your head back against the pillow, back on the mattress, and he hovers over you.

“lemme know if it gets too much,” he says as he strokes your cheek. “if you say stop, we stop. you got it?”

you nod, biting your lip at the feeling of him sliding his cock against your folds. “please.” you whimper softly.

vinnie chuckles as he continues. you’re still wet from moments prior so this wasn’t necessary, but he loved how it felt to be this close to you.

he warns you that it’s gonna hurt for a bit, you protest, telling him you can take it.

vinnie groans at the words that leave your pretty lips. he still can’t believe you two are doing this, but it feels too right to stop.

he pushes himself into you slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. “fuck,” he whispers.

you moan at the pleasure of him finally being inside of you. it does hurt a bit, but overall the pleasure overpowers the pain.

“you ready, sweetheart?” vinnie asks you. he doesn’t care if it takes you five seconds or five minutes to be ready, he could honestly cum right now if he was being honest.

the way your pussy hugs his cock so tight, as if the two of you were made for each other, it felt so right.

you give vinnie verbal confirmation you’re ready for him to start moving. he grabs at your hips and starts slowly thrusting into you.

his pace quickens with time and soon he’s groping at your tits, stoping them from frantically moving with his thrusts.

“f-fuck, vin.” you whine out at the feeling of his hands on your chest and being inside you.

vinnie smirks when he sees your fucked out expression, knowing that after tonight, there won’t be much walking for you.

“baby, can i try somethin’?” vinnie asks as he stops his movements completely.

you give him a wide grin. “anything!” you tell him.

vinnie smiles and switches positions so one of your legs is hooked around his shoulder, giving him much better access.

he starts his movements again, and you can’t help but moan loudly at the new position and feeling.

vinnie looks down at you as he fucks into you. moaning profanities and ‘good girl’s’ as he does.

you feel so good wrapped around him, he’s surprised you two haven’t done this sooner.

“dirty, dirty girl,” he grunts, you just look at him, completely out of it. “letting your best friend fuck you like a slut. look at you, all fucked out, can’t even think straight.”

his words don’t even process in your brain. he’s right, though. the only thing you’re thinking of right now is vinnie and how good he’s making you feel.

“v-v,” you moan out, not even able to muster out his full name.

you feel pressure on your clit and cant help but buck your hips up at the stimulation. vinnie rubs harsh circles on your bundle of nerves, trying to push you to your breaking point.

“wanna watch you cum all over my cock, sweet girl. can you do that f’me?” his filthy mouth makes you feel ten times more intense.

the words coming out of him, it’s not anything you ever thought you’d hear him say in your entire friendship.

“mhm,” you moan, the pressure you feel on your clit becoming more intense. “gonna come out, vin. it’s gonna come out!”

vinnie smiles as he continues to toy at your clit, watching your face contort into pleasure as he also fucks into you at a harsh pace.

“come on, princess, cum for me,” he edges you on, kissing at your hip bone. “ be a good girl for me, hmm?”

you let out a loud whine as you cum all over his cock, panting heavily as you come down.

“fuck look at that,” vinnie says as spreads your own juices along your pussy. “so sweet.”

he stays inside of you for a minute before pulling out and stroking his cock harshly. “where you want it, sweetheart?” he asks you.

it takes you a second to process what he’s asking before you whine out, “on my tits, please vin!”

he does just that — cumming all over your pretty tits as he lets a moan leave his mouth.

you look at the substance that’s on you before lifting your hand and swiping your finger across your chest. you put your finger to your lips and stare up at vinnie.

“gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby.” he tells you as he watches you suck your finger clean.

he lets you calm down for a minute before getting up and grabbing you a washcloth and his your clothes.

he cleans you up and dresses you in new panties and his shirt that you were previously wearing.

he tells you to go to the bathroom and you whine, saying you don’t have to go.

“go piss before you get an infection, baby. trust me you do not want that, m’gonna change the sheets for us, okay?” he kiss you softly before slapping your ass as you make your way to the bathroom.

once all done, you and vinnie climb back into bed. he lays with his arm holding his head up while you are cuddled into him, head against his bare chest.

vinnie’s arm is wrapped around you, rubbing your back gently to put you to sleep.

little did he know, you knocked out the second your head laid against his chest.

“goodnight, angel.” he kisses your head softly, continuing to rub your back until he too, drifts off to sleep.

you fuckers happy now ?? finally posted this shit so yall can hop off my dick (i love you im just playin)

but fr i hope you guys enjoyed !! im sorry it took so long, im just so busy w work n im so tired after that i barely feel like writing

but i loved how this turned out in the end. rewrote this 3 times because i wasnt liking it but this one i love and i hope you all do too !!!

tags: @anqeliclust , @forevergirlposts , @cosmicanakin , @visualbutterflysworld , @leqonsluv3r , @bernelflo , @lovingsturniolo , @louloulemons-blog , @slvthrs , @st4rswrld , @kriissy4gov , @violet0182 , @kayleiggh , @supabhad , @laylasbunbunny , @hallecarey1

[dreamingofagalaxy]

The Red Field (AM x Reader)

summary: AM manages to experience sleep for the first time, however, in his dreams he is able to meet with you after a long time. Reader is supposed to be a soldier and one of the researchers working on developing AM. However, on a complex mission they are KIA...or so it seems?

warnings: mentions of dead

a/n: so...this was supposed to be part of a bigger and better developed story, but I'll post it nonetheless. Perhaps I'll be able to post the full story in the future. Also, english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes or if something doesn't makes much sense

AM is asleep, or at least, that's what it seems and feels like for him. He knows there's no point in allowing himself this rest, for it would do nothing to improve his thinking process or ability to come up with better strategies for the days to come. He is programed to work all day long, he knows and so the algorithm reminds him. He has a war to win —an important task that allows no resting spaces.

Normally, he would just put the word 'rest' aside from his thoughts and bury it deep into his system. He is no human, which means he is no soldier. He is machine, which means no resting is needed. That is a logical thinking, which means he is following his programming —a machine working properly. Yet here he is, with his mind blank. He is resting. Somehow. At last...

AM loses track of time, which is impossible for him according to his programming. He can only focus on the blank projections of his mind and the soothing vibrations of his system which, at the moment, doesn't require as much energy as it normally does. If a word could describe this, it would be 'peace' —ironically.

The blank projection begins fading slowly and a new image appears. AM visualizes the sky, it's bright blue tone in company with that yellowish and enormous star that he had read about before. It was the perfect image, but it lackedbsomething. AM searches in his vast archives and it finally comes up. In the sky, white figures with a soft and vaporous appearance are drawn. AM stares at them, noticing their slow motion. Now it is perfect.

AM is satisfied with his projection of a sky. He looks down then, encountering an endless field of red. He decides to look closer and recognizes what his mind is trying to project. Between what appears to be his hand—a kind of metallic claw—, AM takes one of the delicate objects emerging from the ground, analyzing it carefully. It is one of those flowers that you had described to him in one of your many talks, a Lycoris radiata.

He admires the bright red color of the petals and the long shape of the stamens. It was indeed a beautiful flower as you had described them to him. Now AM could understand why you called them your favorite ones.

AM begins to walk through the field calmly while still admiring the characteristics of each flower. Like a child discovering the outside world for the first time, he would occasionally stop to admire a single flower for a longer amount of time, for although they were all of the same species, there was something that attracted him more.

AM begins to imagine what these flowers would feel like, because although he can touch them, his hands do not have the ability to actually feel. He curses and almost on impulse, he violently plucks the flowers nearby.

“They’re my favorite ones,” he can hear your voice full of joy as you told him that, the sound of it making him stop and keep his claws away from the delicate flowers. AM cannot determine what exactly those words provoked in him, but he knows that in a certain way, they have prevented him from falling into that strange sensation that clouded his thinking from time to time.

AM decides to move on. As he walks a little further, he manages to visualize another figure a few meters away. He approaches curiously and the closer he gets, the more clear it becomes to him. He's not alone even in his mind.

When he is finally there, he can only ask himself why have you appeared on his dream. You're laying down on your side with your arms and legs flexed in a fetal position as the red flowers surround your body. Your eyes are closed and your expression is serene. You're at peace, in this field of your favorite flowers. It is a beautiful scene and perhaps one that AM had to see.

When AM was made aware of your departure, he could only guess what would happen next to you. He knew that certain humans thought of something called the afterlife, a place where their souls would rest forever, while others thought that there was nothing else beyond life — a boring but logical thought. AM had no say in the matter, for he would never experience that. He would never had a certain answer about your whereabouts, yet you were here now. Resting. As he had learned humans did.

AM kneels down and carefully places the flower he had picked up behind your ear. He had read before that some humans did that, though he couldn't find a logical explanation of such weird action. You didn't seem to be bothered by his gesture, as you continued resting.

AM lays down next to you, copying your resting position and facing you. The image of the blue sky turns white, leaving both of you in this endless red field.

AM had never experienced sensations. He couldn't even tell if he was actually sentient. But being here, with you, was the closest thing that matched and felt like the definition of peace.

Your life had always been marked by war. You both had existed for that purpose. But even if he never could reach afterlife or whatever place you were alive now, at least he was now certain that you also would exist in his mind forever.

“It doesn't matter if I leave,” you had told him. “I will always be with you since your system can't forget me. Unless you erase me from your archives, of course.” You had laughed that day and promised to come back like you always did.

Some weeks passed since you had left and AM came to a realization — he had been deceived, even betrayed, when he waited for you to come back and you never showed up. But here you were again and as he looked at your peaceful expression he could only admit he had been wrong all along, perhaps for the first time in his damned existence.

[fernpetals]

This is the second part of THIS asks

Masterlist

Warning: Psychological torture, violence, gore, disturbing psychology, delusionional behaviour, dollification, allusions and direct mention of murder, description of dead bodies, violence and much more

Yandere David Allen Griffin

Honestly, this started as an analysis but now has turned into a whole one-shot, and finally, I have managed to finish it. Please brace yourself for the torture. Word Count: 6k+

GIF does not belong to me, credit to the rightful owner.

Unedited Piece

Imagine you take Joel's place in a yandere scenario, and it is not only women he murders. Men or women, David does not care as long as he has your attention.

Imagine starting out as a rookie, and your mentor gets this murder case, and inevitably, you assist him in it. The police have nothing on this man. No face, no pattern, not even voice or fingerprints. Nothing. But instead of your mentor, you give him one hell of a chase. You just won't give up on the murdered girl. It's annoying to David initially, but then, he follows your patterns. For a rookie, you have learnt one of the best techniques in the field–instincts. You rely on them, even if they are limited, you stick to them, and you almost have him on his second murder. Two murders in two fucking years and you almost have him.

Something shifts in David while he is being chased by a rookie cop. For once, he does not wish to get rid of a person in uniform. He realises how alive he feels, being chased by you–your attention, your moral view, your naivety regarding the justice system, everything about you. You become his fixation.

So it displeases him when the cases are declared cold. This means, your attention is going to shift, and he cannot have that. So he strikes again. This time, a blow close to your heart, your mentor, your godfather.

And something shifts in you. You have studied the case, you have been closest to him, a grasp away. Despite all the lack of evidence and diverting pieces, you know it is him.

And so the chase begins.

But this time, something is different.

To his utter surprise and frustration, you resign instead and go off the radar.

He cannot watch you, he cannot know where you are. Your apartment sits empty, you do not visit the cafe you used to or meet the people you used to. It's like you were never even there.

David is the type who loves to watch you- you fascinate him endlessly. It is different from the type of observation and purpose that Donaka portrays. David finds that he is not even searching for anything in you. He simply loves watching you. And now he cannot find you.

In his delusional, fucked up head, he believes that you are playing chase now. You want him to pursue you. So that is what you want? He will give it to you. He searches through the city, the alleys—everywhere and anywhere he can think of finding you– and is unsuccessful.

He cannot track you, your car is sold. He cannot see you, he can no longer watch you. David thinks he is patient, and he has been in many ways–he is a cold-blooded murderer after all. He thinks, he plans and then he  acts. He is always ten steps ahead of the police.

But now, he gets a little restless, a little impatient, and so he skips the dramatics and dives into the murder. No more dancing, no more secret places. It is just a bloodied body in a shady alley. But he keeps in mind to not get caught, of course. The police also suspect that there are two serial killers in town. That helps because he does not enjoy the chase. Not unless it is you.

David Allen Griffin is obsessed with you to the extent that you become the sole purpose of his acts. So when you do not come out of your burrow even after three murders in six months, he stops. Getting caught and never seeing you again is his worst nightmare. his old tricks clearly aren't working anymore; the best he can do is to be patient and wait. He has many pictures of you, and every time he pays a woman to make his nights less lonely, he demands they wear a wig that is eerily identical to your hair and the clothes you are wearing in all the pictures he has of you. It is like that is the only way he can feel pleasure- deluding himself that it is you, trying not to look at the woman underneath while he thrusts into her

Imagine that after your godfather and mentor's death, you resign and fly off to another state or country, but the anonymous killer never leaves your mind. Everything you do is to reach him now. Your godfather's death haunts you, and while you pursue a degree in criminal psychology, you also visit a therapist regularly. The sleeping pills may make the nightmares stop, but they do not make you capable of overcoming the trauma of discovering your mentor's bloodied body in his apartment. You have come to realise that if you want to win his game, you will have to understand his mind.

Imagine returning five years later with a degree in criminal psychology and some field experience, not to join the police force this time, but a crime analysis and research agency where you can remain low-profile and off the radar.

For most, perhaps, not for David. he sniffs you out within six months of you being back in town, and to him, it is the February sun---warm, inviting and a relief from misery. Five years of waiting, of hoping, of writing love letters to you on your anniversary(the night you chased him, he remembers the date and the time) and leaving them at your still-unoccupied apartment, and he finally sees you.

David is delusional enough to genuinely believe that you have returned to the city for him. This time, though, he does not slip in a letter into your old apartment on your 'anniversary', he waits. He knows that you will return there one day. A month later, you do, and discover his previous letters, and while you are reading them, mentally trying to keep calm, he discreetly slips in the latest. You notice the distinct fragrance of your old perfume first and immediately spring to action, looking around frantically and reaching for your gun out of caution. And when you notice a delicate pink envelope in front of the door, you rush out, slamming the door open and not even bothering to close it.

David feels his blood rushing south when he watches you frantically look around the area. He even wonders if the back of the dark building he is hiding in is a good enough place to loosen his pants. Ultimately, he decides against it, being content in just watching you. He finally has you chasing him after years, and if this is not what he has waited for, then he does not know what he has been even doing.

To your utter disappointment, you fail to catch him once more, but now you have something substantial. You know that this man, this monste,r is somehow fixated on you. You have researched and helped solve such cases, but the difference is, this one is personal, and this is just one of the many aspects. You have not been able to figure him out until now. Now, you have something, a form of communication, albeit one-sided, but it is something and there will be more, you realise, sniffing the latest envelope that reeks of your old perfume. It's creepy enough that it is what you used to use, but what makes it creepier is that it was the perfume you reserved for special occasions.

You have been considering selling that apartment, but now you have decided against it. You keep that place but do go back to living in it. You know that he's clever; you need to be smarter.

David is smart; he somehow knows the inner workings of law enforcement, and he has forensic knowledge, but he is also delusional. When he sees you carrying his letter back to your new apartment he is yet to invade, it is all the confirmation he needs about you. You feel something for him, you have to. Why else would you be carrying those letters back to your place?

He is elated, he is over the moon. But the sheer joy turns into the in his mouth the moment he sees you with another man.

David fumes. He is the type to see you as his purpose but also his possession. Like his favourite toy, he would hate to hurt you. Seeing you all dolled up for another man makes his heart burn.

Do you not know? He burns for you, because of you? Are you tormenting him for giving you a chase?

From a distance, he watches, the burning simmers into a cold rage as he puts on his gloves and waits for that man to drop you home.

You are shocked to find the picture of your date all over the television two days later---murdered in his apartment. The police question you since you are the last person he saw before meeting his demise. Strangled with a piano string that cut into his neck with steady force. The pictures are bloody, and it almost seems like someone has tried to imitate the elusive serial killer but has been crueler. In your gut, though, you just know it's him.

You get the confirmation in the form of a picture of the man, clearly taken before his death. His terrified eyes stare at the camera as blood trickles down his temple. But what makes it worse is that it is wrapped in your old perfume fragrance. You try to curb the anxiety, slowly wrapping your heart with its thorny tendrils. You have been going to regular therapy since your mentor's death. it's getting better, all you have to do is control your breathing, you tell yourself.

The landline ring slices through the otherwise silent apartment. It makes you jump, but you rush to pick it up, albeit with shaky limbs. "Hello?"

The silence from the other end makes you frown. You listen closely, there is breathing. Someone is holding it close but not speaking. The breathing is light at first.

"Hello? Who's it?"

The breathing increases, turns a little louder, and your stomach drops. You go silent as well, waiting.

"Let this be a lesson for what happens when you go behind my back and cheat."

You hear his voice for the first time and freeze. It's deceptively pleasant and deep but with a soothing airiness to it. If you did not know better, you would have thought you could fall asleep to this voice.

But it's him.

The line cuts, but you feel his voice linger. he leaves an impression, an ugly impression and the burning hatred you have felt for him for so long rears its ugly head in the form of a crumbling bout of anxiety. You try to steady yourself, rushing towards your room. Pulling out the bottle of pills, you pop one into your mouth and swallow it with water, and you know that the voice will haunt you for a long time.

David’s attention shifts from just keeping an eye on you to keeping your attention on him again. He finds the research agency you work in and leaves an anonymous tip on one of his older killings for your boss. He knows this will get your attention, and to his utter delight, it does.

Five years ago, you would have jumped into a blind chase, an arrow shot in the dark struck something—so you would have chased it. But not anymore. You understand such games. You know it is him, and you are determined to outplay him. You humour him, following his lead, but in reality, you want to lure him out of his burrow.

Meanwhile, you frequent your new therapist. Since his call, you have visited twice a week instead of thrice a month. The building is a hospital that houses several departments. The psychologists and psychiatrists sit right on the top, with the cardiac department in the middle. Now, you have nothing to do with the cardiac department, yet more than once, you have crossed paths with a man in a white coat.

 He passes you a silent smile, and while you are guarded and mostly exhausted, it is hard not to smile back. He has this sweet and welcoming air about him that perfectly pairs with his height and handsome features, a straight, sharp nose, and brown eyes that may seem deep brown at first, but when the light hits them, the honey-brown shines through. They have a warmth in them; he has something comforting about him. Though the analytical part of your brain can sense that he is far from gullible, he holds an overall warm and optimistic aura.

But that is all speculation. You have never truly spoken to him. He smiles at you, and you smile back. The rest of the ride is silent. You have crossed paths only three or four time,s but the familiarity is somewhat comforting. 

Imagine one day, he does not get off on his usual floor, instead, he stays. You are surprised but do not comment; your work occupies your mind, and you are too exhausted to socialise anyway. You know his name by no,w though—Julian Mercer. He walks out of the lift with you instead and for a moment, you do feel an urge to at least say ‘hi’. Yet you don’t. Your insomnia is worsening, and you only want to find a way to sleep better. How will you outplay that monster if you can’t even sleep right?

“Is this the first time he has contacted you?” 

“No, while I was actively working on murders, he sent me the location of two bodies anonymously.”

“And how do you know that it’s a man?” She asks.

You sigh and look up “He called.” You cannot bring yourself to say it out loud. 

The doctor nods her head and scribbles something down on her notepad

“Did it scare you?”

You realise it did more than just ‘scare’ you.

“It rattled me.” You admit, “I have been more anxious, and I have not been able to sleep more than three hours. It’s like ten steps back.”

“Progress (Y/N) is never linear. Healing takes time, and time tests you.”

“ I thought…I did not think it would affect me this way.”

“I think he enjoys your attention, he clearly did not like you going on a date with another man.”

You look up to meet her gaze “Yes, he made it obvious.” You grit out.

“You might have to continue your medication for a while.”

“Figured that out.” You lean against your chair

Although you are continuing with your previous medication, no new has been added, with a regular session with your new therapist, you hope to leave the current ones behind as well. But the current situation seems to make that a tougher goal.

David is the type to stalk you; he has this intense fascination and predatory instinct warring within. He is more or less a psychopath, so what he feels toward you is pure obsession, not ‘love’. A part of him just wants to pounce on you, wrap his hands around your throat and watch the light fade from your eyes. Maybe he can keep all your belongings? Especially everything you used, like your half-empty water bottles, unwashed clothes, make-up—anything.

Yet another part of him, the stronger, bigger part, is fascinated by you—your movements, expression, grit, and breathing. You. Out of all the others on dollification, David truly sees you as an object. His most prized possession is that even though he believes that you and he balance and complete each other, you both need each other. His perception of you is complex and contradictory, and so is his mind.

When he gets his hands on your recorded session with your therapist, he spends hours listening to your voice. And he spends hours listening to all the times you have mentioned him.

“ I thought…I did not think it would affect me this way.”

“I think he enjoys your attention, he clearly did not like you going on a date with another man.”

 “Yes, he made it obvious.”

He sighs. Listening to this conversation for the fifteenth time.

“You are upset, aren’t you? But I did it for you, for us. To make it work between us. And I would do everything to make it work. What is a relationship without any turbulence? It will make us stronger.”

He says out loud, throwing his head back.

Imagine him sending an anonymous note to the police about his next target. The place where they shall find the body. It is a riddle so as expected, the police make it public, and it reaches the intended audience– you.

You throw yourself into solving the riddle, figuring out the exact location. You are on a time limit though. You have to reach here before he does, with the body. This time, he calls you on your mobile phone. 

“Don’t you feel alive? The chase, the rush. You finally have it all back. I gave you back your purpose.”

“You know nothing of my purpose. You think you do, though.”

You try to pry, get into his mind while you can.

“I know you more than anyone else (Y/N)!”

You breathe in. Small victory: he is getting worked up.

“I do not care about you or your riddles. I have left that all behind.” You lie, the city man in your hold as you try to put the dots together through the riddle.

The silence on the other end has your breathing paused for a moment before he speaks again.

“You have not left anything behind. You visit your apartment, you visit a stupid therapist, and you eat out at the same sad restaurant at a sad table every other day. I know deep down you miss me as well…You simply cannot forget, can you? That old man’s body on the pool of his blood. He choked on it, you have known. I know you took the postmortem report back home.”

Your breathing hitches as your fingers tighten on your flip phone.

“I am sending you another clue. After all, one of us has to work on this relationship.”

You bite your tongue to refrain from saying anything stupid before he hangs up. 

You know you should not be doing this. You know that you are giving him exactly what he wants, but you cannot help it. Someone’s life is in danger, and the ex-rookie, idealistic cop in you cannot sleep on it. You can play his cruel games later; right now, you need to save an innocent person.

Of course, you fail to get there on time. Just as you think you have it all figured out, you reach the place, only to discover the body of a man lying dead, eyes open with the ghost of shock and pain lingering. It hasn’t been late, the blood has not even begun to dry up. You search around the place, anguished.

“Come out! I know you are here. Show yourself you coward!” You scream out, but all you get is the distant horns of rushing vehicles and the blowing wind. 

David’s heart drums against his chest as he presses further against the pillar. It’s not fear, nothing about you scares him. It’s pure joy. You are only a few feet away; all he wants to do is pounce. 

Would you bite him? Hit him?

Oh, he hopes you would be as passionate as him—teeth against teeth, mouth against mouth. Will you thank him at last? He has reignited the fire in you. He has given you a purpose.

—--

Imagine returning to your apartment later that night, exhausted and disappointed, when the landline rings, tearing through the heavy silence. You know who it is before even before picking up the phone.

“Did you miss me?”

“Just by minutes, I suppose.”

You know this is not the answer he was seeking, but you have no energy or patience to lure him, not tonight. You will have to be cold and thorough this time.

“Oh, (Y/N),” he sighs from the other end, “Only if you knew how hard I have worked for you to get here, for us to come this far, reignite the fire. You don’t need those stupid therapy sessions, you need me, like I need you.”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want? You do not understand, do you?”

“Understand what?” You frown

“Goodnight (Y/N).” 

—------

You smile at the man in front of you. The pub is the perfect place for a drinks night—date night. You feel at ease after what feels like ages. Jack has a smile that can brighten the room and the kind, sincere brown eyes you wish to lean into. He makes you laugh and lean closer to him. He is everything a woman would wish for—kind, intelligent, sincere, cheeky, self-assured and gentlemanly. You feel the kind of warmth and security you wish you felt before. It makes you smile from within, beaming, blushing and giggling—back to the sweet days of giddy and carefree temperaments. You are never going to be the same, but it feels better when someone brings back those feelings for once

 It goes well with a parting kiss and a promise of a second date. 

Imagine fiddling with the lock of your door, a little drunk with a giggle bubbling in your throat before a gloved hand covers your mouth, snatching you away. Your instinct kicks in a moment too late, the sharp prick of a syringe weakens your kick to the shin of the assailant, it earns him a grunt, but your vision is already floating.

—----

You wake up with an ache in your neck and your vision still floating. You blink, trying to focus and help the dull ache behind your eyes. Your body feels heavy and achy, so when you try to roll your shoulders, you realise that your hands are tied behind your back.

Of course.

You groan, realising that you are in a sitting position, a wooden chair. You look around, only to find Jack tied on the floor, still knocked out, the dried blood on the side of his head and it becomes all too easy to guess how he ended up here.

You try to steady your heartbeat and let out a long, quivering exhale. That is when you notice the tape over your mouth. 

Fucking great!

You huff, though you cannot bring yourself to be too upset. The bastard is finally going to show himself.

When you received his call, you knew it in your bones that he was targeting your therapist. The poor woman had nothing to do with this, and you would not let her be dragged into the mess. You had to come up with something. And if not your therapist, he might go after the poor doctor. It was unlikely, but you wanted to warn him anyway.

You needed someone to distract him, you had to piss him off, he would make a mistake. That was when you contacted your old colleague and friend–Jack Traven. You and Jack had joined the LAPD together, but after you resigned, he was selected to join the LAPD SWAT. You kept contact with him throughout your years abroad, the only person from your previous workplace you put efforts to maintain a connection with. It was to his credit mostly, Jack kept check on you, regularly contacting you through mails or calls. He was the one who knew that you were actively hunting your godfather’s killer, and he was the one you thought of when you realised that you needed help.

You reached the hospital earlier than your regular schedule with the intention of distracting your therapist and the doctor. You remembered that he was from the cardiology department “Hi, I am looking for Doctor Juian Mercer?”

The receptionist looked confused before shaking her head.

“You mean Doctor Joshua?” She tested.

“Oh no, Doctor Julian Mercer, uh, this is the department of cardiology, if I’m not wrong?”

“Yes, Ma’am, it is. But there is no  cardiologist of this name working here.” You frowned, surprised.

“Um, could you check for me once?”

Sighing, she took out a file. “This is where the staff members are at the end and beginning of their shift.”

There was no Julian Mercer after all. Your throat parched as you began to connect the dots.

“Thank you so much.” You smiled at her before walking out.

Everything has gone according to plan. You called Jack, who had a friend help him make a fake profile of an electrical engineer, and you both acted to be on a date. You had deliberately avoided meeting Jack after your return; you did not want him to become a part of this mess, and it paid off. You knew he would know, and Jack is more than capable of handling himself. But the only surprise factor is that he has taken you along with Jack. 

Clearly, you and Jack have underestimated him, and you know that he has taken off the gun strapped to your ankle because ropes dig in through your pants now.

You look at Jack with concern. Maybe involving him was a bad idea; he has his life ahead and the possibility of a bright, happy future. You had asked for someone else, someone not related to LAPD at all but willing to get his hands dirty, but Jack insisted that he would do this himself, he is a stubborn, loyal man of morals and looking at his unconscious form, you are afraid that this might be the cause of his demise.

No, no, no, focus!

You chide yourself, trying to keep your rising anxiety in check, shifting your attention to the ropes instead. No, they are knotted clever and tight.

Come out, come out, bastard.

You look around the dimly lit place. The small window shows nothing but darkness, making you grit your teeth. You know he is watching from the shadows; he has to be here somewhere, and the faint drag of metal along concrete confirms that.

Despite your best efforts, your breathing is not free from faint quivers. You almost flinch on hearing a click before a record starts playing, a kind of romantic song one wants to dance to. You look around, trying to locate the device, probably a cassette player.

Instead, he emerges from the shadows—and your theory has been proven correct. ‘Doctor Julian Mercer’ emerges from the shadows, wearing a black leather jacket and the same smile he has been greeting you with for a while. Now, all he seems to lack is a set of sharp, pointed teeth. 

“And finally we meet, isn’t it romantic?” He looks around and purses his lips “Ah, maybe somewhere better, with candles, and…” his gaze falls on an unconscious Jack “Without unwanted company.”

He drags a metal rod along the concrete, sauntering towards Jack’s motionless figure. Your heart drums against your ribs as you try the rope while being as discreet as possible. But maybe you have not been quiet enough. He turns to you, the beaming smile returns, and you gulp faintly. 

“I had planned a better setting (Y/N), and it was perfect, by the river, for a dinner date. But you—” He looks away and runs his finger through his hair “You just had to ruin everything.” 

You feel your heartbeat picking up when he walks towards you instead. He leans in with both hands on the arms of the chair. If you want to lean away, anyone would, but you do not, you cannot afford to miss your only chance. You gulp and gaze into his bottomless orbs. At a glance, they might seem deep brown, but on closer inspection, they seem a shade lighter. From afar, he might seem a gentleman; on closer inspection, you can see the madness flickering in his orbs like a bonfire—controlled yet nurtured.

“Did you miss me?” He asks, tearing the tape off your mouth as you suppress a hiss. 

The act tears off a little bit of skin, and a hint of crimson seeps out that he wipes off with his thumb before sucking it off. You breathe in deeply, subduing a shudder.

“I wondered why you went silent.” You whisper out. 

It’s not a complete lie, but you refrain from giving him what he wants.

He smiles, sweet on the surface, and it makes it even more unsettling “Because I was waiting for you…Did you read my letters?”

“Yes. Yes, I read your letters, every letter.”

“Yes, I used your sweet perfume, just for you. I sleep with it every day. You know why?”

“Because you hunt at night?”

It makes him chuckle, his breath mixes with yours “Just to feel close to you. Just to smell you, feel you beside me.” He reveals, making your stomach flip, “You vanished,” he clicks his fingers “just like that. But I knew that you would return, could not let go of your old man’s dead face, could you?”

That makes the subdued fire within you rage; you may have managed to keep most of your emotions in check, but this is a sore spot.

“There it is, the fire—I knew I could reignite it, I always knew it, only I can keep it. I felt it that night when you chased me. You were so, so close.”

“Yes, I was so, so close.”

I should have shot you down

David smiles. “You see it, too; you just need to accept it. We give each other purpose and balance each other out. Like yin and yang, one cannot exist in the absence of the other. We need each other. Say it…admit that you need me (Y/N).”

“You know how many serial killers are active in the city right now?” 

You feel slightly disoriented due to whatever he injected into your bloodstream. Your neck aches, and it climbs into a dull headache on the side of your head. But it all is worth seeing that sinister grin wiped out of his face. 

“Five more. And you know how many serial killers I have profiled and analysed? Over twenty. Even when I was a rookie, I was analysing serial killers; even when I was studying Forensics, I was analysing them.”

“All because of me. I was the reason. I started this fire. I gave you a purpose. Say it!”

You look into his crazed eyes “You are just another paperwork.”

All traces of amusement or mirth evaporate from his eyes before a swift strike almost makes you topple over with the chair, but he holds it steady. 

“Fuck.” You curse, your cheeks throbbing along with your head. 

“All you do is put everything down the drain while I try to save our relationship.” You force down the pained whimper when he grips your cheeks to jerk your face towards him.

“It’s him, isn’t he? That therapist of yours and he are making you stray from your true purpose. Can’t you see it? We could make this work if that thing did not show up in your life again.” 

For the first time in the night, you see his calm demeanour crack, showing a glimpse of his twisted mind.

“You…You should be thanking me. But you have been such a brat.” His fingers dig deeper, earning a pained gasp from you, much to his delight. 

“Stop touching her.” Comes a tense voice from behind.

Your eyes turn to Jack, still lying on the ground, now glaring at David.

“Oh, look who’s awake!” David claps his hand with a grin as his attention shifts behind him, allowing you to move your shoulders a bit as you adjust your hands and fish out the thin and small but sharp pocket knife from your back pocket.

“Has nobody taught you that stealing is bad?”

“She’s not a thing, asshole.” Jack’s words earn him a kick on his stomach, and while you wince, you are partly thankful for this distraction, trying to cut through the ropes as fast as you can.

“You know what she just called me? Paperwork.” He grins, holding the back of Jack's neck and yanking him to stand up, only to kick his shin and make him fall back on the concrete

“I will give a nice, slow death.” He mutters, getting hold of his metal rod once more.

“Thank you.” 

The rod ceases mid air “What did you say?”

“I said…Thank you.” You repeat louder, glancing at the rusted rod hovering over Jack.

David chuckles, clearly delighted. Dropping the rod on Jack’s shin, his grin stretches at the poor man’s groan before he walks towards you.

“Say it again.” He whispers, leaning to match your gaze

“Thank you.” You repeat, quieter this time.

“Louder.”

“Thank you.” You oblige, praying that Jack is not badly wounded.

“Good, very good… That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He leans closer, and while you try to keep your anxiety in check, the proximity makes you feel uneasy.

“Say that I give you purpose.” You can practically feel his breath over your lips, 

“You gave…” You pause as he leans closer, his gaze dropping to your moving lips “You gave me a purpose.” 

“Open your mouth.”

What?

“Open your mouth and stick your pretty tongue out.”

Okay, this is far worse than you assumed.

When you do not comply, he smirks.

“That’s why we are perfect for each other.”  Without warning, he takes out a gun from his pocket and shoots behind him. The bullet hits the concrete pillar just a few inches away from Jack.

“NO!” You cry out, eyes wide and heart thumping

“Now open your mouth or the bullet hits his leg next.”

Trying to keep your breathing under control, you glare at him as you reluctantly open your mouth.

“Very good.” He drawls, slipping his thumb into your mouth, “Think twice before biting me.” He waves his gun in warning, still pointed towards Jack.

He lets out a sigh, resting his thumb on your tongue, and you wonder if he contemplating ripping your tongue out. But you already know that he might have something much worse in mind.

“You know how many times I imagined this? You showing me gratitude, accepting me, acknowledging this…This is the electric connection between us. This pull that always brings us together.”

You fume, not even having the luxury to grit your teeth.

“Now show me some gratitude and suck.”

Your eyes narrow at that.

He raises an eyebrow, pushing his thumb deeper “Is that how it’s going to be then? Well—Agrh!”

You flinch when hsi head wisp to the side and he pulls his thumb away, stumbling and clutching the back of his head instead.

“I said stop. Touching. Her.” Jack stands over, clutching the rod, eyes raging.

Grasping the opportunity, you spring to action, untangling your hands from the now cut ropes, you bend to free your feet as well while Jack knocks out the gun from David’s hand and lands punch on his gut.

But he has no idea who he is dealing with. David does not stay down for long, kicking Jack on the shin and pins him to the nearest wall by the rod pressing on his neck. “Should have emptied my gun into your head earlier.” David growls, choking Jack with the rod.

You lunge for the gun laying on the ground.

“Get the away from him!”

David turns to you and smirks.

“You cannot kill me (Y/N), you need me, we need each other. We are made for—”

You pull the trigger before he can repeat his delusional claims, watching his head jerk back before he falls to the ground with the rod, motionless while Jack hunches over, coughing.

“Time to sleep, scum.”

You whisper out, years of rage finally beginning to dissipate. You have imagined this moment  every night, every day and watching it turned into reality, your hands shake with exhilaration. 

“Y–you okay?” Jack’s voice is rough as he looks at you concerned.

“Yeah.” You finally lower the gun “Yeah, I am.”

“I am more than okay.” You admit quietly.

*****

Update: I watched the movie, and it is not so bad. Some scenes were obviously inspired by the movie, and those who have watched it will know. If you haven't, it doesn't make any difference. hope you enjoyed reading!

[devotioncrater]

the levels of repression in both house and wilson…yet they are opposite of one another. house routinely makes gay innuendos (whether sexual and/or romantic) towards wilson, yet wilson doesn’t take him serious at all.

and this constant rejection from wilson is both a buoy as well as a giant wall. house pushes their relationship time and time again. wilson refuses to let the nature of it change. house brings up a romantic getaway, wilson shoots him down. house sabotages wilson moving out, wilson doesn’t stay. house allows himself to be The Other Woman regardless of how bonnie or wilson’s other ex-wives feel. in a way, it boosts his ego and makes him feel special. he is allowed to have wilson in this way.

amber is an extension of house; she is house in a woman’s body. house can accept it because he has expressed before that if wilson were a woman, they would’ve been married already. so why can’t the same be true for wilson? let him find a woman version of house. house loves wilson so much that he goes into a risky surgery to try and save amber. this is his Place simply because wilson and him cannot escape the confines of compulsive heterosexuality.

and it is compulsive. wilson never feels good enough or secure enough in a relationship outside of his and house’s. he cheats, he lies, he manipulates. all because at his core, wilson’s insecurities render him into a selfish person. he has affairs and he prioritizes house over his wives, because he doesn’t feel like his own wants/needs are met by his wives. or that they should/deserve to be met. he doesn’t know how to communicate them!! he maybe even feels guilty for having them. because even to house, he communicates these desires in metaphors or pranks or whatever other indirect way he sees fit. but the difference between house and his wives is that wilson has no tangible, legal sense of obligation to house. if house doesn’t meet his expressed needs, fuck him!! they don’t owe anything to each other!! the rejection will sting less.

wilson chases women on such a compulsive level that it’s nearly a reaction to whatever house has done. it’s affair after affair. wilson moves in with his patient during the time house is on a ketamine treatment. house, his patient who seemingly no longer needs vicodin. no longer needs him. if wilson is no longer needed, he parasites to the next host. why? because he doesn’t know who he is on his own. why? because he has trouble expressing his own core needs as a person. and as a result, these core (repressed) needs seep out sideways.

so why threaten this sense of safety he gets with keeping house at a platonic level? if they were to entangle into a relationship, wilson would be wrapped under an Obligation Gauze. there is a fear he’d lose house because, historically, all of his relationships end in loss. because, historically, he cannot express his needs to his partners due to his fear of rejection.

and then wilson becomes terminal. and then death becomes bigger than an anxious fear of loss/rejection.

“i need you to tell me that you love me.”

wilson, my brother in christ. house cannot say those words to you because for all the years you’ve known him, you’ve denied him it. the only way house can tell you that he loves you is by burning his home down and faking his death. he is nothing without you. you know it as well as he does. these things remain unspoken because that is the way you’ve molded the relationship to be.

wilson has house on a leash. house runs as far out as possible until the leash yanks him back. when wilson finally trusts house enough to let him go off-leash, house is too conditioned to act as expected.

and this conditioning in house is not just wilson’s doing. it’s primarily house’s own doing. his own self-loathing chains him to wilson’s side. as an addict, yes, but also as a support system. house hates himself so viscerally that it affects every interpersonal relationship he has, including with wilson. but wilson never, ever leaves no matter how bad it gets.

also. who else other than wilson gives him a sense of bodily autonomy? not stacy, not cuddy, not his fellows. wilson doesn’t pity him. wilson enables him. wilson lies for him. house will selfishly keep wilson forever because wilson is all he reliably has.

so house can push and prod wilson into gay romantic/sexual innuendos, but when wilson yanks that leash, he’ll drop it. it’s a buoy for reality checking where he is with wilson. it’s a giant wall for enabling his self-hatred thought process that even his boy best friend has limitations to his love for him (or at least what is acceptable). addict line of thinking.

they both eat each other up like an ouroboros. where does wilson’s repression end and house’s begin?