#And he may keep on going down and down and down and down and down

[eraserbread]

go as a dream ft. ex-husband satoru gojo ✧

୨୧ - ten years together, five years married -- it's a long time. too long to be running on borrowed time glued together by the past. leaving is easy, but staying away turns out to be impossible. → afab!reader, modern/no curses!au, slow-burn, long-established relationship, mutual pining, heavy angst, toxic relationship dynamics, mention of pregnancy/failure to conceive, relationship insecurity, emotional sex, oral f!receiving, spanking/slapping, cum eating, mentions of readers relative hair length, mentions of readers family, nsfw → w.c. - 15.3k {1 hour reading time}

a/n: when an idea sticks for me, i head to my graveyard of wips to expand on it. most end up dying, but for some reason the love you guys held for this version of satoru made it stick. make him meaner... then more loving... then spin the narrative - pin it back on him -- all of those thoughts ran my psyche during the month (?) it took me to flush this idea out. happy 3k, my angels <3 i crafted this for you with so much love, sweat and tears. sit with this one for while. let it sink in. part two may come if you guys will it to. with so much of my love, - elly

listen to the soundtrack <3

Your heart is racing, gloss dripping sensually from your lips. Satoru is under you, his familiar face laced with overwhelming stoicism. He’s biting over soft, pink lips, his eyes wide open as he watches you ride him like you never have before. 

You’re sad – on the verge of tears, but he doesn’t notice. He just parts his lips, content with the headiness of the pleasure you’re working yourself up to give him. Usually, he’d be telling you how beautiful you looked, how well you’re taking him, but he’s silent. It’s a deadly combination – you sad, Toru silent. 

You just want to disappear. 

“That’s it, babe. So close… keep going.” It’s like the one sentence of praise needs to be sucked from his very lifeform, because he’s chewing on his words, throwing them at you all mangled and sloppy. There’s no care anymore; gentleness is lost as he grabs your hips and slams them back down on his length. 

You’re reeling, so close, yet so far from any kind of release your body’s begging for. You need Satoru to give you something – to touch and tell you he loves you so gently, but there’s nothing. Fucking nothing. Just grinding bodies lost in the tangle of bedsheets. 

His eyes snap closed, head tilted back as he bares his neck for you. Two years prior, you would’ve gone in, marking every inch of that luminescent skin with love bites. Now, you watch your nimble fingers spread across the soft, veined expanse, fingers concentrating at his Adam’s apple. You squeeze, he breathes out a moan. 

“Ahh – come on, comeoncomeon.” 

“Cum for me… please.” You’re trying your best to come off genuine, to dip your tone into a needier drawl he doesn’t see much anymore, just for it all to be over sooner. Right now, you’re just fulfilling your bodily duties as Satoru Gojo’s wife. He did just buy you a Cartier bracelet, giving you apologies with wide, blue puppy eyes. As fucked up as it sounds, the least you can do is get him off before he goes to sleep. 

“Mm, say my name, baby. Gonna fill you up, give you so many babies.” 

You’re nodding, letting him spill his orgasm thoughts into your lap. You know him far too well, can read his breeding kink inside out. What Satoru doesn’t know is that you went on birth control the second you started drifting apart. There would be no loose ends; you’ve been planning your escape for months. 

So you let him come inside of you, calling him baby and telling him lies about how turned on you are. Satoru knows you too well that he’d notice a fake orgasm, so you don’t even try. You just let him have his moment, kissing up your arm with ruffled, white hair, pumping shot after shot deep inside of you like he’s on a mission. 

And when he’s drained and limp, you’re climbing off of him, not even offering a word as you head straight to the bathroom. 

You and Satoru thought you had it all figured out pretty early. He graduated from university prematurely and got an immediate position doing what he loved – teaching psychophysics as a Professor's Aide. It’s where he met you, not his student, but definitely a co-worker he shouldn’t have approached, because you fell hard. Head over heels, mind over body – you made him your life. 

That lifeline only had about five good years once you got married, and now you two are overworked strangers bumping shoulder to shoulder on a shared lease. Though you’ve mourned the relationship that shaped you into the woman you are now, you don’t have any regrets. There’s no hatred for Toru in your heart – quite the opposite. You love him to pieces, but can’t give him what he needs at the cost of you. It’s just not worth it anymore. You feel like an object manufactured to please. 

So you chase your solace against the hot spray of the shower, letting it drown out your thoughts as water-mixed come seeps down your thighs. 

Now that you’re alone, you can cry. So, you do – for the unborn children you promised you’d give him, for the life and love you manufactured with your bare hands. He didn’t know that you’d be packing your bags and escaping tomorrow. It’s hard for you even to swallow, though you’ve been planning this day for months. Sweet freedom… only hours away. 

Why is it, though you’ve wished so hard and lived in daydreams, that you’re afraid? You don’t want to be alone in any form of the word, but you couldn’t stay here. It’d kill you long before you hit your grey years. 

Your sweet, smiling Toru with that permanent sparkle in his eye would kill you. 

“Suguru and Shoko want to grab dinner tonight after work.” 

Toru’s voice is slow and controlled as he steps into the bathroom, naked as the day he was born. His silhouette moves intently in front of the glass shower door, stopping at your soaking wet shadow. He hears it, the sniffle amongst the spray – the way you’re hunched in on yourself, curled in the corner of the spacious area. “Are you crying?” 

You scoff, shaking your head as you wipe water from your eyes. “Fucking ignore it.” 

“Hey.” He steps forward, pulling the shower door open. Just like he thought, you’re posed like a wet puppy, legs crossed to keep your decency, and arms over your chest in the farthest corner. “Crying after sex is not your style.” 

“Just… weird post-nut hormones.” You’re shrugging him off with a distant look in your eyes. More recently, everything turns into pointless bickering, so you feed him lies to keep him agreeable. 

But, Satoru’s looking at you like he knows you’re a liar, light eyebrows all screwed up. “But, you didn’t even cum-

“Close the door, Satoru.” You’re grimacing, stepping forward to yank the door closed in his face. “What do you want? What about Suguru?” 

“Suguru and Shoko invited us to dinner tonight…” He’s speaking slowly, like he’s trying to gain his bearings. It’s not really an argument, but Toru feels the rush of one in the steamy air. It wouldn’t be the first time this post-sex daze made you two hot-headed. “I was going to say, it’d be good to all be together again, but you’re acting weird… They don’t need to be around that right now.” 

You scoff, forehead falling into your open palm. The water burns you from within, but you stand under it like you want to be scalded. “Did you follow me in here just to fuck with me? Huh!? You see me trying to get away from yo-

Then, when the seal breaks and you’re yelling, that’s when Toru starts – deep voice banging off the tile walls. “You’re a livewire! You sat there and let me fuck you, now you’re acting like I’m the biggest inconvenience to ever cross your path!” 

“Get out! For once in your life, just leave me alone!” 

He really should listen to you – let you have the upper hand because he knows you’re sensitive, but Toru just shakes his head. “A man can’t even take a piss in the bathroom he pays for.” He adds, stepping away from your vengeful, blurred reflection. The toilet is just over from you – he can’t see the shower, you can’t see him. 

For those few moments, you’re holding your breath. The shower drowns out the sound of him relieving himself, but you can guess well enough what he’s doing. When you’re married, intimate moments like this go unsaid – even on the brink of divorce. And when he’s done, he’s lumbering back over to the shower, long arms limp as they reach to pull it open again. You roll your eyes. 

This time, your back is turned to him, water beading at your shoulder and trailing down the curves in your back sensually. His crystalline eyes catch it, and he parts his lips. “Mind if I join you?” 

You don’t answer him, deciding it’s enough just to regard him briefly with a downcast look over the shoulder. You’re still covering your chest with crossed arms, mainly because you’re cold. Toru keeps opening and closing the door like a nuisance. Now, he’s climbing under the spray with you, big hands holding your familiar shoulders. He leans down to kiss your left. 

“Maybe if we had a baby…” He mumbles that same tired argument into your wet skin, hoping for a different response. “It would bring you back to me.” 

“I don’t want babies with you, Satoru.” The realization is heavy, but you know he can take it. All Toru wants besides you and money is a child – a mini little version of him that you adore to the ends of the Earth. When you became a Gojo, you promised you’d give him what he wanted – every breathless reminder in the heat of the moment was fuel. You two were trying… until you weren’t. Until you were shrugging off to appointments without telling him, taking prescription pills once he tucks in for bed. You just haven’t told him yet. 

Now, he’s standing with it, breathing into your skin as he works up a response in his head that covers the devastation. “You know how my family is–

“I don’t care.” It’s a force of habit, you’re leaning back into his cradle. “Bringing a child into this mess is just inhumane.” 

Then, Satoru says it – what he’s been wanting to tell you for weeks. Months, almost. He whispers, “Then why do you stay?” 

All you can do is shake your head. You don’t have it in you to lie, and you surely wouldn’t tell him that you were leaving tonight. So, you reply, “I love you.” 

“Love isn’t enough to keep a marriage going.” 

You know that. You know Satoru loves you more than anything, but you didn’t feel like it was right for him to say it. In your mind, he’s clueless to the cool air you’re exerting every time he draws near. You’re not buzzing in his company anymore, going out of your way to be seen by his blinding eyes. 

So, you don’t answer him. You nod, easing your shoulders from his grip as you collect the rest of your sanity and move to leave the shower. He watches you go, fine white hair nearly translucent on his pale scalp as he stands soaked.

Toru’s long eyelashes are sticking together, clumped and prominent as he watches you move and dry off through the fogged door. The lingering, soft scent of your signature bodywash sits sensually in the air, wafting from your skin every time you bend or bow. He studies that fuzzy reflection as if it's the last time he’ll see it, and thinks he feels sad. Devastatingly sad, it rises in his throat like bile he must swallow. 

You’re slipping into a soft, ivory robe that Satoru’s mother gifted after the marriage; he has a matching one – it’s your favorite robe with his embroidered initials sewn across your heart. He notices your choice to wear it as you walk out of the bathroom, not even offering him a look over your shoulder, and thinks it’s a sign. You’re still sporting him around, telling him you love him even though you don’t want to bear his children. 

But Satoru isn’t stupid. He’s far too smart to feed himself lies in hopes of lengthening this relationship that has always had a timer on it. But he is reeling. There’s nothing he falls short on, in his opinion. He treasures and calls you beautiful, any chance he gets. Vacations, expensive gifts, words of affirmation, and mindblowing touches are just scratching the surface of what he offers you. 

Alone, he sits with these thoughts, thin eyebrows knitting together as his dripping head hangs between his shoulders. Standing statuesque in the shower, palms pressed to the damp wall, keeping him upright because you’re not here to do it. Mentally, you’re not here at all. 

He can hear you in the bedroom stewing about – opening and closing doors, the shuffle of fabric, and the barely-there sound of your breathing. Toru has you all down to a science, now. He knows you’re slipping into bed, likely naked or covered loosely in some silk slip he loves to bury his head in.

That’s where he wants to be now – three years younger, your hair tangled in his long fingers, words of devotion damp in the air. Instead, he’s breathing in shower steam, a cruel metaphor to the heat the relationship used to hold. 

Everything is a metaphor, now. Toru sees that when he’s walking out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, wide, adoring eyes glossed over with humidity and exhaustion. Still, they never lose their supernatural sparkle when they fall on you, eyes closed peacefully as you feign sleep. 

He was right; you’re in silk, your eyelids twitching as the bathroom light spills a sliver of golden light across your face. Blankets are bunched loosely at your hips. Satoru can’t help but feel the beauty you emit, it’s why he married you – it’s something in your mere presence that makes you so addictive. 

Crawling into bed with you, naked and damp-haired, is so familiar it’s almost sickening. He’s leaning over your shoulders, so gentle as he settles over you, and kisses your cheek. In your daze, you shift. 

“What?” 

Satoru slides up close to you, chest pressed to your back as he winds an arm around your waist. “Good night. I love you so much, beautiful.” He’s whispering in your ear, kissing over the shell with bitten lips. You can feel the cool wetness of his hair brush your bare neck, beads of water falling onto your skin. 

He continues, arm sliding right between the canyon of your breasts, pulling you deeper into his body. You’re lifting your head, eyes shut, because you can’t bear the light right now. 

“Shh, just lie with me.” 

For some reason, you’re taking it. You’re listening to him, pressing your head back into the pillow, sighing softly. Nowadays, you’re impartial to bedtime cuddling, but Satoru insists. It’s become a nasty habit because now he has trouble nodding off if he’s not pressed skin-to-skin. 

It’s the only reason you’re not pushing away. Or, maybe it’s the fact that you’re too far gone to be annoyed or unsettled. His touch feels good, just too warm, too close, like he’s slowly trying to ingest you into his bloodstream. 

You two stay like that for hours. Satoru falls asleep right on the cusp of Midnight – his breath steadies over, and you’re still awake, gazing longingly at the bedside clock. Hands tucked under your pillow, you’re fiddling with them, doing anything to dull those uncertain thoughts away. In seven hours, you’d be standing in a train station, life passing you by as you leave the city, leave your husband. 

You wonder how he’ll act, you wonder if he’ll cry for you. 

No, Satoru never cries. 

You bite your lip, gathering strength in your bones to shift and turn around in his arms. When you do, he’s mushing his face deeper into the bed, arms constricting back around you once you’re settled face-to-face. You can feel the softness of his breath over your skin, can hear the soft hums behind each of them like he’s dreaming uncomfortably. 

Still, he looks so peaceful. Beautifully asleep, like his life wasn’t crumbling and burning all around him. 

In that soft, settled face, you’re staring at the boy you fell in love with – bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, flushing and looking away when you’d counter his initial advances. Your friends were always around that early on, egging it all with a jump in their voice. Everyone felt so accomplished when you and Toru got married, as if they pieced together a match made in Heaven. 

You just can’t fathom what went wrong… You don’t want to see it. 

You don’t want to see him, anymore. So, you close your eyes and rid your consciousness of struggle – if only for a few hours. 

Day comes with a vengeance – a gross, salty taste in your mouth as your brain slams awake. Your body is slow to react, cocooned comfortably in Toru’s thick chest. You’re too warm, alarms are blaring, and you realize you forgot to close the curtains last night. The morning sun is deviant. 

You slip out of bed easily, undoing his arms' knot around your body. The silk of your slip is darkened with sweat, most likely Toru’s, but definitely mixed with hints of you. It takes you a while to come to from the cruel awakening, and you’re half alive as you shift to the edge of the bed, feet planted on cool ground. Toru shifts, and you hold your breath. 

Your last hour together, and Satoru refuses to wake up. 

You’re letting him drag the morning out, not bothering to wake him as you head for the bathroom. Time moves languidly with a solemn undertone, hovering over you like bad memories as you scrub your face and teeth raw. There’s so much tension in your body this morning, and you’re taking it out on yourself – swishing mouthwash, swallowing pills, securing jewels and ornaments. 

You’re sure this is the fastest you’ve gotten ready without plans to work. You just think you’d rather be put-together when you disappear from Satoru’s life forever. You want him to have this reflection to remember you by – exposed shoulders, soft skin, dripping with his money in gold. 

When he wakes up, stumbling into the bathroom sleepdrunk, he smiles when he sees you in the mirror's reflection. “Why didn’t you wake me, beautiful?” 

“Figured you’d want more sleep.” You reply, not even meeting his frosty gaze. You’re fixated on securing a bracelet to your wrist – one, of course, from Satoru. It’s a gold-plated Gojo Clan crest that was passed down through matriarchs, eventually given to the prospective head. 

His family is so traditional, overbearing in the worst ways. Since you two started dating, they’ve had a magnifying glass on the relationship, stating it’s just out of care. Sure, the money is endless and overflowing, but it’s not enough to overshadow the abusive balance of power. Toru doesn’t want to lead either – you don’t want to be next to him if he does. He promised you that he’d completely shut down the proceedings if you married him, but keeping his promise isn’t enough.  

Nothing he seemed to do was enough. It’s all just a lost cause. 

“Now I have twenty good minutes to leave the house.” Once your bracelet is secured, he’s crowding you against the sink, his shirtless body pressing hard into your back. You’re humming, leaning back into his frame. 

“At least you showered last night.” 

“You got me on that schedule.” He whispers into your neck, big hands squeezing your hips as he kisses you there. “I feel terrible about last night… Followed me in my sleep.” 

You knew it, you could sense the stress in his breath even when he looked so peaceful. “We both said some things.” 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make you finish.” Another kiss to the neck, Satoru nuzzles himself deep in your skin, white hair fluffy and strewn about. You look up at him in the reflection and shake your head. 

“Just cause I was on top. I was trying too hard – It’s not your fault.” 

He doesn’t take that well; he sighs into your skin. “You know I don’t believe that.” 

Of course, he doesn’t. One of the most significant parts of your relationship is your uncanny sexual chemistry. There’s never been a time when you two stopped at one round – you both finished multiple times, every time. 

“Then, you know I won’t tell you the truth, you should just stop trying.” Both hands are pressed to the countertop, and you’re still covered in your sleep dress. Toru’s hands start to wander. “No, get off of me.” 

It stings, but you don’t have to tell him twice. Satoru steps back with an odd look in his eyes, moving to your side. Though you’re rejecting sexual advances, you let him pull your chin forward for a sensual kiss to the lips. It lasts for a few seconds, his hand wanders across your jawline, slotting perfectly in your hair. 

“You’re not on campus today, right?”

You shake your head, lips rolling together as you evaluate his lingering taste. “No, you should really brush your teeth.” 

“Yeah…” He starts, reaching over you for his blue and white brush. “Haven’t been on the grounds in a while, everyone’s asking about you, saying we should go to dinner to catch up.” 

“You’re sure I’m acting normal enough to see them now? Isn’t that what you said last night? That I was acting ‘weird’?” 

“You were acting weird last night. Moody.” 

You scoff as he begins to brush his teeth. You two are stealing glances in the mirror, too distant to hold contact for too long. “Why do you say things like this if you’re not trying to make me mad?” 

“I’m just making an observation.” He shrugs like he’s not being a tool, brushing his teeth slowly as he looks at you. You’re staring down at your hands, shaking your head silently. “I’m sure it's news to you, but I never try to make you mad. I just say what I feel, and you jump down my throat.” 

“Just brush your teeth.” You bite out in resolve, standing up straight as you go to walk away. 

You're breathless, clutching a fist to your chest as his words wash over you with time. They fall like dominoes, slow and calculated, as you dress for the day. Satoru thinks you’re working from home once he leaves, so you lean into it, picking something easy to wear, yet professional enough to be on camera. It’s the perfect outfit to run away in – something he sees all the time. 

But even as you dote over your reflection in the bedroom mirror, adjusting necklines, pulling jewelry, smudging lipgloss, you’re thinking about it – him. 

You don’t know why it’s so hard to sit with the fact that Satoru has always been like this. You two are polar opposites in social settings – he’s the life, you’re the longing. In crowded city bars, you’d be the girl tucked under his heavy arm, bearing the weight of his light. Satoru stopped drinking years ago, but when he did, he’d tower over you on the dancefloor, long arms slung over your shoulders as he shouts just how much he adores you – it’s a lot. Everyone’s around. 

Reading your hunched demeanor, he doubles down. Yes, all these people are around… these undulating, nameless faces lost among the neon glare, but none of them held a flame to you. He chose you. 

And when you’re alone with him, sober to the bone and drained after a work week, all of those sweet memories seem to fade away. 

He’s always too loud, too close, overbearing, but never at arm's length. This monstrous, silent loathing is a hard feeling to live with. It eats you alive, until he touches you and takes it all away again. 

It’s all you want, right now. Satoru’s touch. 

“Staring introspectively into my bedroom mirror whilst my shitty husband calls for me repeatedly. That should be the prompt on your next scholarly paper.” 

You turn around, brows furrowed as reality hits again. “What are you talking about? I didn’t hear you.” 

“Let’s sync our breaks – meet up somewhere to eat.” Right as you open your mouth to blow him off, he’s rushing back. “It can just be ramen, nothing serious. Come on, just give me ten minutes.” 

His begging for a sliver of emotional affection isn’t new, but it usually isn’t so blatant. Then, your eyes wander, wondering if those ten minutes would be worth your time. 

No, you have a train to catch. A one-way ticket out of here. 

“I’ll let you know how I’m feeling later.” You nod, smiling softly as you dodge that falling stare settled on you. “I-I’m just… I’m tired.” 

“It’s okay.” He replies, whisper-soft. He’s trying to hide it, but the shine in his eyes falters for just a second, the only hint you get to his disappointment. 

When you see him off that morning, your stomach hurts. 

There’s an ink-black, bitter pit there as you watch him jog down the pavement in his endearing little Professor's Aide sweater vest uniform. There’s a bag slung over his shoulder, packed with a Bento you made for him in case you couldn’t see him for his break. 

“Bye, love! I will text you!” 

You’re silent, passing him a kiss you press to your fingers. Your stomach hurts, and now your heart aches – it burns, you’re on fire, soles of your feet scalding on coals fueled by guilt. That blue glimmer in his eyes is so oblivious to the obvious that it hurts. 

If you could help it, this was the last time Satoru would ever see you, and he waved you goodbye with the sweetest smile on his face. 

“I love you,” You call back weakly once he’s comfortably out of earshot. Then he turns the corner, and he’s gone – just a lingering presence in the air that only affects you. If you could cry right now, you would. But, you’ve cried enough this last week – more than you ever have with him. Everything was just so terribly bittersweet. 

When you made your decision, it didn’t feel real. Somehow, it does now. You wonder how your friends will take it and if you’ll see them again. Sure, they’re your friends, but they’re Satoru’s too. You wonder if you’ll see his family, his mother took you in and doted on you when her son pushed her away. His father gave you advice and priceless memories. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Kin – all of them. You knew all of them. 

Being a Gojo was so deeply rooted in your life that you’re not sure it’s possible to change your name. They’ve truly made you feel like one of theirs, as deafening as that sounds. 

A minute in the doorway, and you’re turning around to finish out the rest of your morning. All of your bags were packed and stowed away with the laundry, where Toru never treks. It’s just one suitcase – half of your wardrobe. You’re sure you’ll be back to collect everything else. 

In any case, you wouldn’t miss anything with his lingering scent on it, so you stare longingly at your art on the walls – the blankets on the couch and the crystal sitting on display in the cabinets. 

And just before you’re about to leave, you stop at the counter and rip off a piece of a napkin on display. You brought out a pen from the study, hands shaking as you pull the cap. 

Satoru,  Keep whatever, or you can sell it. Just don't reach out, i’m leaving you I’m sorry and i really really do love you

A small, wet teardrop lands on the dingy napkin, and it’s the first sign of crying. You’re surprised you still have it in you after so many rivers you’ve wept. Writing his name carried a terrible feeling, scripting out the letters to tell him you were leaving was like bricks falling from your pen. 

Shaking hands, you let it drop on the counter beside your note. If this is the last thing you give him, you want it to be candid. Just like your relationship – winging it all until the silence grew inescapable. 

You call a cab, heading downstairs with your bags in hand. It’s a conscious decision to leave the door unlocked, but you have the keys stuffed in your pocket. You’re not really thinking about it or anything at all. You’re focused on not falling on your face as you jog down the steps, breathless without a cause. It feels like fire is burning hot in your tracks. 

Your suitcase slides into the back, the city breeze rolls your hair back, and a chill envelopes your face. The entire time, you’re silent, bowing for your driver and showing manners, but silent and dreary nonetheless. 

The ride is shaky, music drowns out the noise, and emptiness fills the void. 

It’s all you can muster up the courage to feel right now, as the city passes you by. It’s an odd kind of comforting melancholy, like when you know the storms have faded and all that’s left is the rebuild. 

You have your family waiting at home. A room with a view of nothing but countryside and rolling rivers. You’re giving yourself four weeks to get back to yourself, two to file the divorce properly, and one without any work before returning to just virtual meetings in your childhood bedroom. 

Morning jogs, bike rides down the riverside, fresh delicacies to buy – yes, your life would be too rich to worry about Satoru. You feel like a caterpillar slowly slinking towards its cocoon with the joyful unease of what's to come. But you’re still so sad. 

It’s hard to believe that anything can feel as good as the way Satoru made you feel, even when his tendencies made you want to pull your hair out. In the end, you made your decision. You slept on it, stewed over it, cried about it, and now you’re living through it. 

Reality hits when you’re stepping out at the station. Bodies are everywhere, making it easy to pay your fee and slip into the chaos. You lose your sense of self walking against the foot traffic of the busy morning commuters, sucking back even more tears as you crawl the descending stairs. 

Once you reach the bottom, you’re alone enough to breathe, luggage firm at your side as you dig for your phone. You’ve been meaning to do this forever — actually tell your closest friends about your decision. All they know is what you let them see. The second you and Toru start arguing in front of them, you’re walking away. It’s all smiles and love when they bring him up, even after that day you kicked him out of the apartment and made him get a hotel. Lying about your relationship is your forte, but you couldn’t lie anymore. 

Shoko picks up two rings deep, bored but aware. ‘What’s up?’

“Hey, I know you’re at work… Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be out for about a month.” 

There’s shuffling on the other line – the echo of familiar voices. You can guess she’s walking down the lecture hall during the transition; it was around that time. ‘You’re such a slack. And guess whose gonna be stuck doing all your work? Me.’ 

“I mean, I’ll be out, but I’ll still be working.” Intercom, robotic voices control the flow as a train departs before you, sending a noisy rush of air into your face. 

‘Are you going on vacation or what?’ 

“Visiting family.” You reply, no emotion. 

Shoko silences for a moment, humming under her breath. ‘Without Jo?’ 

“Yeah… I’m leaving him.” 

More silence. You expected nothing less. 

“Shoko?” 

‘Dude, what? Why?’ 

“He didn’t… cheat or anything, we just haven’t been happy for most of our marriage. It’s like people want to see us together more than we want to be together.” 

‘Okay, coming from the outside — No, you guys are so obviously in love, I mean… All he does is talk about you, it’s genuinely the most annoying thing ever.’ You can see her now in your mind's eye, jaw working a piece of fruit gum between her teeth, talking with her hands. 

“Yeah… well… you’re not trapped inside four walls with him once the sun goes down.” 

‘That’s so fucking sad, I- wow.’

“I’ve made peace.” 

‘-And I don’t even blame you, because I wouldn’t touch him with a long, long stick. He’s too annoying, and that’s just the least of it. So arrogant, too. He’s not as sexy as he thinks he is.’ It’s like once you pull the bandage off, it gave Shoko ample room to talk shit. Yes, she loves Toru – she loves you more. It’s always going to be you that she defends. 

“Yeah, but it’s more just, like – he knows what buttons to push and makes pushing them a game. The only time we talk… like, actually talk,  is when he thinks I’m mad at him and rushes in for damage control… then, it’s all like, ‘well, baby, if you would talk to me and tell me how you’re feeling, I’d understand.’ – But, whenever I tell him how I’m feeling, he fucking invalidates it like I’m the crazy one! Why am I still begging to pay some bills five years into the marriage?! He doesn’t listen to me.” 

‘Let that man pay the bills.’ 

“It’s the principal-

‘I know, I know.’ She sighs, chuckling softly before she continues. ‘I’m not going to hear the end of this – does he know you’re gone?’ 

“No… and don’t tell him. I want him to find out for himself.” 

‘Harsh.’

“It’d be harsher coming from you.” 

The announcement comes from your train, the rush of wheels skidding against tracks inches closer, you’re stepping back from the platform. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go. Don’t really want to be on my phone this week, so I’ll probably turn it off. Call my sister if you need anything.” 

‘I’ll be thinking about you – stay busy.’ 

“I will.” You reply, voice bittersweet in your chest. Shoko goes away, and you’re alone again – thoughts rush to the front of your mind. You’re staring at the lockscreen of you and Satoru in Kyoto when things were still good; a friendly stranger took it. Your arms are slung over his neck, and you’re smiling in his face. You remember that day so well – he was all over you and made the sweetest love to you that night. It was all so good back then. You never wanted for anything. Not space, touch, emotion, or love. Satoru gave you everything you needed, including some. 

Then, the feeling finally, truly settles. 

You miss him. 

From: Satoru No news on lunch?  Don’t worry about it, baby. Thank you for my bento, I’ll make sure to return it empty.  From: Satoru On my way home! Running real fast to you Had the shittiest day, gotta rant when I get back From: Satoru Hey, what’s with the cryptic note?  Did someone snatch you up for ransom?  Babe?  [incoming call]

You glance down at your phone, grunting as you swing your suitcase over your small childhood bed. 

You made it back home a little less than three hours ago – just as your sister left for class and your father for work.  Stepping out of the cab, your mother was the one waiting for you with a solemn look in her eyes. 

Breakfast was waiting, traditional, just like always. Natto, fish, rice, soup – she stuffed you full. Now, you’re finally getting a chance to settle in and unpack, staring down the room that faced the worst of your teenage angst. 

When Satoru’s name flashes over your screen, bile rises in your throat. Immediately, you turn it back over, your finger finding the power button, and rid yourself of the stress. You’ve just glanced at the string of messages – he’d been sending them all day, which isn’t unlike him, but it felt wrong. 

You two would hide phones under desks and banter on and off all day. In the same room, you two would exchange playful glances like he wasn’t describing every lewd thing he wanted to do to you that night. It’s just a habit; he doesn’t mind when you don’t text him back, but hates when you ignore his calls. 

You’re sure it’s how he realizes you’re actually gone – that one missed call. 

Then you’re trying to distract yourself from crying by unzipping your case, pulling out shirts, tears flooding in your eyes. But it’s too much to handle. 

You collapse next to the suitcase, pulling your knees to your chest, and sob. 

It burns so hot in your body, your cries sound like they’re breaking through the barrier, eating you alive. Your open-mouthed sobs are akin to the sound of prey being gutted alive – it’s piercing and raw, cutting your vocal cords. 

It’s like you can’t stop. You let it all out, here – fingers bunched in the sheets, drawing blood in your palm from the strength of your nailed grip. The pain goes unnoticed because the aching in your chest is so cruel. Your mind is screaming at you, damning you to fiery hells and telling you to go back. 

Go back and deal with it, it’s what you deserve. 

You know you’re too weak to be alone. 

Suck it up. Just like you always have. 

Numbness sets in with time. You watch the neighborhood kids run down the cracked road through your small window, never shifting from the position you cried in. The sun travels through the sky, and late morning morphs into afternoon, afternoon to evening. 

Downstairs, the home lights back up from everyone’s departure this morning, but you want nothing to do with it. You’re sure your mom has been home this entire time – most likely heard you crying and decided not to intervene. You’re glad. You didn’t want comfort. 

Now you’re staring at the sky as it morphs into grey, and rain begins. You feel lonely. 

Grey turns to black, you’re tired. 

As blackness settles in, so does sleep. Right in that same position. Nobody bothers you. 

Until you’re cracking open your eyes, it’s daytime. 

You sit up immediately, regretting your choice as a mean wave of dizziness falls over you. Your stomach aches with hunger, breath ripe, and skin swollen from the tears. You’re still in your clothes from yesterday, the button of your pants digging into your soft skin painfully. 

You breathe out a yawn, grimacing at the feeling before looking around for your phone. 

It’s precisely where you left it, face down and completely off. You didn’t want to see Satoru’s messages right now. You just wanted to check the time. The house is quiet. 

From: Satoru I wish I could kneel at your feet and emphasize just how sorry I am. I can’t believe how stupid and selfish I was when I had you, but I see it now.  I could see that you were hurting for a while, but I assumed it would just pass in time.. I don’t know why I assumed, but I regret it so much.  Take your time, my love, but don’t forget about me. Please, let’s talk this through before you make any hasty decisions. 

You can feel the tears – they’re there before you even skim over the message. 

With Godly timing, the softest of knocks fall to your door. It’s the only thing keeping you from breaking down again. There’s no real privacy here; you’re lucky your mom even knocked before slowly pushing it open. 

“I figured you would be awake by now.” She smiles at your ruffled reflection – bed head everywhere, sleep lines on your face, drool on your lips. “Would you like some food?” 

“Please.” You nod her in, dragging your arm across your face to wake yourself up. “Thank you, Mama.” 

She has a tray of the same spread she served you yesterday in her familiar, comforting hands. Green tea steams wantonly at the corner, flailing in its porcelain confines when she lowers it before you. “Didn’t want to bother you much yesterday…” 

“Thank you for that.” 

“Your father peeked his head in last night.” She continues, reaching out to stroke your hair as you reach for the tea you’d been eyeing. There’s just something about crying that dehydrates you to the bone. “Said you were sleeping so hard that you were snoring.” 

“Probably. Hadn’t had a good night's sleep in a while.” 

“You can do better than sleeping on top of your bed in all your clothes.” 

“Wasn’t really worried about that.” You can tell she wants to bring up Satoru – ask how he is, just out of force of habit. Maybe she wants to ask you about your divorce plans, but she stays silent, nodding slowly. “Thank you for the food.” 

“Bring it back down when you’re ready. Take your time.” Her gentle tone is welcomed, but so is her departure. The door clicks shut, and you’re taking a slow, deep breath, suddenly overcome by the burning of oncoming tears. You thought you had expelled them all last night, but Satoru’s message hung over your head like a dark precipitating cloud. It’s all flowing over you like hot rain, downpouring over your mental clarity. 

You’re drawn to deep, soulless staring at the poster-covered wall before you as your tea warms. Hunger is lost on you, you reach for the short ceramic cup and bring it to your lips with shaking hands.

You just can’t understand how you can miss someone so much after envisioning life without them – welcoming it, yearning for it. Your heart and mind are tugging you across two playing fields, never letting you get an ounce of rest or peace. 

~

Satoru has been staring into space for far too long, blinking at the wall like it’d somehow make you appear before him again. The note you penned is sitting on the counter, cursing him silently, pulling him to its angsty whims. He can see the small tear stain – can read the shake of your penmanship in the sloping letters. For once in his life, Satoru doesn’t know what to feel. 

This has to be a joke. 

He steps away for a second, staring unblinkingly at the floor as he reaches for his phone. It’s in his back pocket – he has to shuffle blindly. 

Now he understands why you haven’t been responding. 

To: gojo 💍 Hey, what’s with the cryptic note?  Did someone snatch you up for ransom?  Babe? 

He gives it a second – that’s all he knows he needs. If you don’t answer in a second, you’re really gone. 

His heart burns when you don’t answer at all. He’s paralyzed as the thought of being alone rushes over him. Just like you, he doesn’t understand what went wrong. Yes, you two fought often, but doesn’t every couple? The fighting always led to something better – deep discussions or love-making. He made sure to cover his bases every single time. He even found himself cooking and cleaning for you with a guilty conscience. So much of himself is rooted in you and how you loved him; he’s not sure he knows how to be without you by his side. Of course, it’s more than the money, sex, or power. It’s the fact that your lives are completely intertwined. There is no Satoru without you – there’s no you without Satoru. 

That’s what eats him alive. 

It’s what makes him stumble to the couch you picked out, head in his hands as he collapses into the downiness. He wants the cushions to swallow him whole – maybe then he can get lost in the wealth of your scent and sincerity. So many times you two have found yourself here, kissing the night away, hands under clothes. Movie marathons that led to falling asleep on shoulders, deep conversations that made him actually crack a tear. It’s all embedded in the upholstery, and he can’t even move. Satoru just feels so pathetic – it’s a new feeling for him, a disgusting one. 

“Oh, fuck.” He states as if reality just washed over him. Now, all Satoru can do is sit with everything. He keeps rereading the note he memorized in his head, like there were hints as to where you were hidden behind the script. You told him that you loved him, and as good of a sign as it looks like, it feels counterfeit. 

He loved you more than he loved anything – including himself, and he’d never leave you. He has to know why you felt the need to leave him so easily, and it’s not like five years is a long marriage in any form of the term. Satoru wanted a family with you. He wanted to see you swollen with his baby, ripe with hormones, and caring with a blue-eyed infant. It’s all he yearned for – stability, endless, overflowing love, and mutual support. 

He’s almost… mad that you gave up. 

No, not almost. He’s mad. 

Not even thinking, knowing his efforts are for naught, he snatches up his phone and dials you with scary precision. A piece of him knows that you won’t answer, but his hands are shaking. He just needs to try. 

He counts – the line rings six times. 

Then, it clicks, a stupid robotic voice telling him you’re unavailable. Yes, he fucking knows you’re not available. Or, maybe you are. Perhaps you’re just watching your screen as his name brushes against it. Satoru hates when you let your cowardice take over, and he knows that’s what you’re doing. 

In a sudden fit of rage, he takes his ringing phone and throws it across the room, hearing it shatter on impact as it hits a window. As satisfying as it feels, he feels more like a dunce. If he waited a second longer, maybe your sweet voice would brush the rusty, waiting dial tone. He wants you in his arms, but this feeling is so unfamiliar and nasty that he doesn’t know what to do or what to think. He knows he wants you back, he just can’t fathom what he did wrong.

At work the next day, Satoru doesn’t feel any better. In fact, he feels worse. He didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, scared and cold as he tried to hug himself to rest. He hasn’t been in a bed without you since he was a teenager, and he doesn’t think he could exist without your body heat safe in his arms. 

The lack of sleep is making him irritable, it’s wafting off of his body as he walks down the hallway to his lecture hall. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to teach anything, but he’d have to sit and annotate – he’s not sure he can keep his mind straight long enough to pen an entire two-hour Sociology lecture, let alone stay awake. That scares him – he’s letting his personal life seep into the fabric of his work, but it’s impossible not to when this is where he met you. 

Sweet and young, shy as all hell, too. Satoru would make excuses and drag his friends to the admin office on bullshit bases, all to see your little smile when he complimented your outfit. You were always right there next to Shoko, using her long hair as a security blanket. Everything was good back then… everything was sweet. 

Satoru can’t believe he’s fighting back tears as he steps into the vast, vacant hall, bag slung over his shoulder. He must be a walking ball of bad vibes, because his professor is noticing immediately, commenting on it, too, which is supremely unlike him. 

No, Kento Nanami was much more of a don’t ask, don’t tell, zero-bullshit type of instructor. Him and Satoru often butted heads, but butting heads was more like purposefully ignoring the other – their relationship is far too compliated for him to dwell on for too long. 

“You look like Hell.” 

“My wife left me last night.” Satoru finds no need to lie. Yes, he’s struggling. He needs grace; the only way he’d get it is to let Kento know he’s distracted. 

Kento turns slowly, watching Satoru move in front of his desk to settle in the front row of chairs. When he’s still, Kento can see the darkness around his usually perky eyes, but he doesn’t know how to feel. “Well… I am sorry to hear that. If you need to take the day off, I unders-

“-just need to distract myself.” Satoru cuts him off like he doesn’t want to talk, sucking his cheek as he pulls out his work laptop. “I forwarded those papers you sent me the other night. Everything’s looking good. From my initial glance at the collection of scores, it looks like this period is sitting at 83% accuracy. Pretty good.” 

“I didn’t need those scores until the end of the week.” Kento turns back around to his board, propping himself against the desk he’s occupying. He’s been sketching out the lesson plan against the chalked surface for most of his morning. Traditional for the introduction to a new unit. “But, I’ll start putting them in. Thanks, Gojo.” 

“Sure.” Satoru swallows as he types out his password to get into the device. It’s your birthday. His heart hurts. His wallpaper is you at the zoo, holding a little lion cub, totally fearless with the biggest smile on your face. The way the sun touches your features – God, it just makes him weak in the knees. That era of your relationship is so well documented because you two were on cloud nine. He wants it back – he wants you back. 

“Satoru,” that familiar, whiny voice is just what he needs right now. It’s the only thing that can pull him from the depths your pretty face dragged him to. “I’ve called you like ten times, they won’t even go thro- hi, Kento.” 

“Geto… hello…” Nanami mumbles, not even looking at the visitor, because he knows who it is. The five of you are like a clique, and he hates it. Not because he’s not in it, but because they’ve definitely tried to rope him into the madness, but he’s just in a different league. All he thinks about is work, not friends. 

“Sator-

“Gojo left me last night. I broke my phone.” Satoru spits out like it's the easiest thing ever. He’s hiding his emotions like he always does, and he knows Suguru is due to find out at any moment. “Reckless, I know.” 

“What?” Suguru walks up to him, long hair pulled back in a low-hanging bun. They’ve known each other damn near since childhood – completely inseperable, face-deep in platonic love. Right now, Satoru knows that Suguru would be the only human capable of picking up the pieces you shattered. 

“Packed some clothes, left me a note, and skipped town.” 

“That’s crazy – it doesn’t make any sense.” Suguru plops down right next to him, entire body turned at attention, only for Satoru to pour every vapid thought into. He’s not supposed to be in this hall, but he’s friendly enough with Kento to skate by during the last half hour before lectures start. “I just saw her the other day with Shoko and Utahime. They… didn’t invite me to lunch, but I understand the whole girls’ day aspect of it all. She just… I’m sorry, she seemed so at ease.” 

“Because she was with Shoko.” 

“Does Shoko know where she is?” 

“If I asked, she’d just lie for her.” 

“Where could she have even gone?” 

“Probably back home.” Satoru’s sucked into something on his laptop, opening a new document and labeling it under todays date and the topic Kento wants to cover. If he wasn’t going through a breakup, he’d be excited for this new unit, though he’s experienced it year after year. “Been saying she misses her family a lot.” Then he thinks about it, sitting forward with his chin pressed into a closed fist. Satoru has never barred you from doing what you want – staying out all night with your friends? Of course, he didn’t care. He welcomed it. Solo trips back home? Oh, Satoru encouraged it. 

He was the perfect husband – what happened?

At his side, Suguru watches him stew over the matter, thin brows knitted in pity. He reaches out, hand smoothing over Satoru’s shoulder. He shakes him softly. “If you don’t want to be alone, my guest bedroom is empty. There’s probably still traces of you in there – not like anyone else uses it.” 

Satoru hesitates, knowing that a night with Suguru would lead to little sleep just because they have everything in the world to talk about. They have the same favorite shows, movies, foods, and conversations – it’d be a perfect distraction, but Satoru just wants to get you back. 

“Or, we can go to a bar. I know you don’t usually drink, but it is Friday, I’m sure if we bribe Shoko with free drinks, she’d help you find her.” 

“I really shouldn’t…” The sane part of his mind is telling Satoru not to seek out one who doesn’t wish to be sought, but he wants to. He knows Shoko knows where you are – Hell, Utahime probably knew, too. You’re surprised Suguru’s seemingly the only one in the dark. “But, I don’t think I want to be alone.” 

Suguru nods slowly, not pushing Satoru for eye contact when he knows he’s sensitive to the touch. “We don’t have to get drunk and emotional if you don’t want to.” He continues dropping his hand to cross them in his lap. All Satoru looks like to him is a shell. He’s staring at his screen like it’d tell him what he needs to know, and Suguru finds himself, for the first time ever, genuinely worried for him. 

“I’ll… uh— I’ll text you about it later.” 

“Sure.” 

“Are you going to sit this one in, Geto?” Kento turns around, snatching up a beige rag from his desk to dust his hands. “Bells about to hit.” 

Satoru feels both of their stares zero in on him, and he knows he’s not hiding anything. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair disheveled, and flat over his head. Feeling some kind of insecure, he reaches into his bag and slides on a dark pair of square glasses. 

Suguru sighs. “Nobody would blame you if you went home.” 

“She’ll come around.” He whispers, pursing his lips as he leans back in his chair. His hands are shaking, so he tucks them close to his chest. “She always does, doesn’t she?” 

-

Doesn’t she?

Two weeks down the drain, completely wiped from your memory. Sober days and sleepless nights – that moody in-between when you’re gasping for air. Still, you battled it through in your childhood bed.

You got over it, just like you knew you would. 

Work started again last week. You’ve been slowly scouring through emails, working your way forward by combing through backlogs. Most of the time, your job falls to scheduling Dean meetings, prospective professor interviews, and prestigious tours, but it varies. Without you, all of this work would have fallen onto Shoko, but you can’t feel bad. She’s been doing this way longer than you and is ten times more efficient. However, she liked to complain. You let her have it this time. 

Now, you’re planning your trip back to the City. The apartment you’d been keeping an eye on since the marriage had just closed with the money you saved, and you’re finally confident. 

Rather, confident enough. 

You will definitely have to see Satoru when you go back to work, but it’s just something you knew you’d have to deal with. It’s the unfortunate downside to working with your partner, and you think that’s what did it in. 

You’re sitting at your family’s dinner table, bags packed all around you as you wait for your ride to the station. You’re sawing your lip in concentration, pen scribbling messily in your lax grip. 

It was an exercise you’ve been putting off since you left the city – writing Satoru a note letting it all out, and then freeing yourself from the burden by throwing it away. His eyes would never lie upon these scribbled words, so you let it out. You’re not sure what you’re even writing anymore, your wrist is moving at its own accord. 

Satoru, I love you.  It might not seem like it right now, but I love you to the ends of the Earth and back again. Being married to you felt like a dream in more ways than I can fathom, but I’d wake up at night, and that bliss fades into loathing. You have no problem sticking up for me in front of your friends, so why, when I’m faced with impossible decisions from your family, do you go radio silent? We agreed it’d just be us. We decided we’d focus on each other and our work, not on family nonsense that drains my psyche and leaves me exhausted. They want something from me that I can’t give, and I didn’t know how to tell them no - everyone is so pleasant to me.  That being said. It’s not why I left… I’m actually not sure why I did it, or I just don’t want to see things for what they are. Every time we’d see each other for over an hour, we’d fight. I admit that I was the catalyst for most of the arguments, but you never reassured me. I’d fall asleep next to you afterwards, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe, and you would just turn around and pretend not to hear. Why?  I guess that’s all I want to know, now. Why? I’ve always given you everything you needed without a question – why was it so easy to push me to the wayside? Why is it so easy to ignore me to my face for days on end? And why can’t you see me as more than an incubator for your unborn children?  I just can’t help but wonder… 

As you’re writing, the car your family called for you pulls up outside. You wanted to leave while they were all predisposed with work and school because you know you’d cry and cave if you saw their pitiful goodbye faces. They insisted on the fare, you’re insisting that you’ll be back as soon as you can. You take the half-finished note, folding it lax in your fingers as you stand and grab your bags. 

You’re leaving with more than you came with. Typical. 

And you’re leaving like you were never here, with the wind peeking through the front door and the sun on your skin. 

You thought you’d be more excited to get back to your life, but there’s an invisible feeling of longing planted deep in your chest that’s making it hard to swallow. The letter you penned to Toru is balanced between your fingers as you swing your heavy bags into the vehicle. This time, the driver watches you from the side with a cigarette between his teeth, mentioning your destination softly and how the fare was already pre-paid. You nod the older man along, giving him a phony smirk when the boot closes and you’re stepping into the backseat. 

You don’t care that he’s still lingering outside. It gave you time to settle in, rustling the soft paper, trying not to give the flustered words your attention. All this note is is a weak attempt to try to understand where things went wrong. Satoru was never unhappy in the relationship, not like you were; he just didn’t know how to approach your angst without being struck in the crossfire. He exercised the same cowardice he condemned you for, and now you two exist worlds apart. 

Still, you can’t help but wonder where he is… What he’s doing. 

Around this time of day, he’d be wrapped up in lectures. You can almost see his slumped figure over his laptop, typing without giving the keyboard a second glance. Toru’s always been an overachiever – too good at his job. Too good to still be an aide, but waits patiently for his time to come as a professor. 

It’s always been his goal to buy you a big house that you two could grow old in together. You can close your eyes and hear his sweet voice lost in your sheets, whispering every detail about your future in your ear. But when you open them again, it disappears. 

The car door slams on the rest of your shriveled sanity, and you’re standing in front of a home that wasn’t yours… Yet. 

You just signed papers online, carrying cold, hard cash in your bag that’d leave you with virtually nothing once you hand it over in exchange for keys. It’s like being in a wind tunnel – feeling the city pulse and move around you as you drag your measly two suitcases against polished concrete. You didn’t know what time it was – your phone is too buried in your luggage, but you know you just got off a nearly four-hour bullet train, and your ears rang. 

Luckily, the property owner isn’t too far behind you, and you can exchange cash for keys within two minutes of your arrival. 

You thought once you had a place to call your own, that you’d feel completely comfortable, but standing in the echoey, semi-modern space, you feel devoid of life. You don’t even own a speck of furniture – this is not your home. 

So, you leave your bags at the locked entryway, sliding off your shoes out of habit as you head to the back wall of covered windows. Your apartment is on the ground floor, and humans walk by, not knowing you’re looking over them. You take your time, pulling each curtain so the sun can bleach the wooden floors in gold. 

Right there, under the sun like a contented cat, you pull your knees to your chest and sit… for hours, just grounding yourself. Losing time as the sun floats through the sky. 

All you can do since the separation is to sit with the pain and waste time. It’s the only thing that keeps you sane. 

You can’t recall what time exactly you stood to relieve your throbbing bladder, but when you’re walking back into the empty expanse, your phone is dinging from the confines of your bag. Sighing, you lean down to flush it out. 

From: Utahime Are you back in town!! Suguru invited us out for free drinks  From: Shoko Don’t worry, i told him to fuck off if he already invited Gojo He said he didn’t To: Utahime, Shoko I don’t really think I’d be good company  From: Shoko One drink and you’ll forget about that maniac.  From: Utahime Please!! We miss u To: Utahime, Shoko I don’t trust Suguru. There’s no way he didn’t invite toru From: Shoko Okay, well i trust him enough. If we see him, it’s no big deal we’ll just leave From: Utahime You know he doesn’t drink anyway From: Shoko Tired argument, babe. He’s wherever Geto is To: Utahime, Shoko Yeah, well maybe he should marry suguru next.  From: Shoko Girl…  To: Utahime, Shoko I told you i wouldn’t be fun to be around right now. Enjoy your free drinks, you two deserve them 

The group chat goes silent enough for you to tuck your phone away, breathing in deep through your nose as you watch evening set in outside your windows. 

You’ve been putting it off since you returned, but there isn’t a speck of anything in this space, and you were exhausted. In some form of the phrase, you’d have to pick up your feet and carry yourself to the store to get an air mattress. 

That ten-minute walk felt like a marathon in your exhausted mind. But like everything in adulthood, you must be uncomfortable for twenty minutes to be comfortable for eight hours. You peel your body into action, rubbing at your eyes until you see stars. 

You’re only bringing your phone in case of an emergency. You didn’t want to see it – you didn’t want to see the lockscreen picture of you and Toru that you didn’t have the guts to delete. It’s better not to look because you can’t delete him; it just didn’t feel right yet. Somehow, someday, strength will take over, and you can rid your life of his shadow. One day, you’ll fall out of love and stare at someone else with the stars you’re rubbing into your eyes. 

It’s all you can hope for. It’s the only thing that keeps you warm and sane as you leave your apartment. 

You moved to a new neighborhood, and although you’re not unfamiliar, it’s different. The alleys are darker on this side of the city – street lights flicker, but you welcome it. Nobody is really around; convenience stores light up the area in neon, but that’s not where you’re headed. The local department store is just down the street. Foot traffic gets heavier as you approach the business district, which is still booming with the promise of night. 

Your one-track mind gets you in and out of the stark-white space in less than ten minutes. Your feet are moving so fast that your legs are numb, and you can’t see anything that’s not shrouded in inky blackness. If you cared to see anything for what it truly was, you’d notice just how depressed you are. You’re in pain – full, bodily pain like you’re recovering from an injury. 

It hits you all at once, and you’re almost back to your apartment. 

Then, you make a decision that doesn’t fully set in until it’s finished – you slide into a 7-Eleven, air mattress tucked under your arm, and pick up two cans of dangerously strong mixed drinks. You’re lying to yourself, thinking that they’d just be a vehicle for sleep so you can start work with a full night. 

You’re an incredible liar – even you believe the nonsense your brain is pushing. 

As you make it back into your door, bags hanging from your fingers and yawning sleepily into the night, you can hear your phone ping quietly in your pocket. Once you step inside and place your loot at your feet, you shrug to grab it. It’s the group chat again. 

From: Shoko

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Geto said hiiiiiiii

The picture is of the three of them, side by side at a bar table. Suguru’s in the middle, cradling a frosted pitcher of beer with the biggest close-eyed grin on his face. Utahime is behind him, peeking from around his back, sending you a friendly, stoic wink. Shoko’s barely in frame, but her smudged eye makeup and gently smoking cigarette between her teeth is undeniable. 

You crack a smile and send back a quick message. 

To: Shoko, Utahime Love u guys ♡ have fun From: Shoko Goodnight, we love you! Missing you like hell

That’s the last of it. You turn your phone off again. 

Before you can even set up the mattress, you’re cracking into your first drink, taking a deep breath to keep your taste buds at bay as you swallow the entirety in just under a minute. 

Thank god you can’t taste it, because you hated drinking like this. It’s pointless and depressing, but you were feeling so much that you had to numb it out. If Satoru could see you now… You don’t even want to know how he’d react. 

You drink more to chase him away. 

Uncoordinated and dizzy from the mixture of alcohol on an empty stomach, you drag the air mattress box into the middle of the open room. You didn’t want to carry it all the way to the bedroom, so you kneel, manicured fingers sharp as you rip into the tape and cardboard. 

You’re half-awake, blinking drearily as you throw the empty box behind you, crawling over the tufted, flat expanse to spread it out. You splurged on a bigger bed, needing something to roll in without fear of falling onto cold, hard flooring. It’s so big that you have to stand up, hiccuping softly as your feet spread it to full size. 

You stand over it, out of breath with your hands pressed to your hips. You can’t really see clearly through this drunken haze, but it dawns on you that you don’t have an air pump. You forgot to buy one. 

“Fuck.” You whine, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. You’re seeing splotches of white – they dart across your sight like scurrying mice, driving you into a feeling so sick that you’re almost anxious. 

Not thinking twice, you sit back on your knees, crawling to the air hole, and giving it one last push. You bring the nozzle to your lips, taking a deep breath before blowing. It’s weak, comically so. You can’t hold a stream for less than half a minute, and your head is already spinning. You’re whining again like a tired child, thoroughly beaten down and hopeless as you size up your situation. 

If only Toru were here… He’d make it all better. 

You’re standing on shaky feet, peeking around the darkness for the promise of your phone. It’s right where you left it, completely off and face down on the kitchen counter. Dragging your bare feet, you go to grab and turn it back on. 

You call him. All inhibitions are lost. 

He answers… right away. The phone doesn’t even ring twice. 

The line clicks, but he doesn’t speak–not yet. His breathing is shallow. 

“S-satoru?” 

More silence. You want to sob. 

“Toru, I jus- I know I’m the last person you want to hea-

‘You sound like you’re going to cry.’ He blurts out suddenly, voice so familiar it makes you sick. There’s no animosity when he’s talking to you; he just sounds worried. 

“I’m back in the city and I… I just – I don’t have any furniture at my new apar-

‘Come home. If you want to sleep in the spare room, it’s fine, I’ll let you have it. Just stop this madness and come home. I’m waiting for you.’ 

You have to hang up before you can respond, because the tears are coming and they’re disgusting and heavy. You’re sobbing into your hands, feeling so overcome and pathetic with yourself and this turn of circumstance. Of course, Satoru is being nice about it – he loves you and you blindsided him, he’ll take any grasp at you that he can get. 

You sob as you slip on a jacket and your shoes, tears and snot dripping onto the floors and leather. You’re shaking as you reach to wipe it away, unable to look at yourself in the reflection of your lock screen as you glance at the time. 

There are no trains running at this hour. The only things that lit up the streets are twenty-four-hour convenience stores and old, late-night family restaurants that make most of their money from the after-bar crowd. Your friends are likely tucked behind one of those doors, laughing, living, and feeding off the dopamine they pour into each other. You belong with them, leaning drunkenly into your husband's chest as he dotes on you. So many sleepless nights were spent in that spell. No cares in the world. In love. Young. You want to go back. 

So you walk that twenty-some minutes back home – Satoru’s home, now. Yes, you picked it out. Yes, you decorated it, but you had to be okay with letting it go, so you are. You just have to lie to yourself a little more every day, and hopefully, the breakup will morph into reality. You just don’t want to suffer anymore. 

In your daze, the front door code is still etched into your memory. So is the way to the fourth floor – you climb the steps, breathless by the time you get there. 

Your and Toru’s apartment was nothing less than luxurious with the money he poured into it. Though he promised that you two would split bills before you agreed on getting the place, that quickly fell by the wayside when he looked at you with those bright doe eyes, mentioning he’d love nothing more than to take complete care of you, so all you had to focus on was your work and sanity. He also had a mind to make you a mother, but he conveniently didn’t add that to his point that night. 

You hold your breath as you reach to knock on the door. Before your knuckle even hits wood, it’s swinging open. All the lights are on – you squint. 

Satoru is on the other side, loose shirt hanging from his shoulders, bone-white hair all ruffled with relaxation. Seeing him again after all this time nearly kills you. Of course, you can’t look him in the eyes. “Hi. Come on.” 

“I don’t want to talk.” You start, just protecting your heart from his musings before anything could transpire again. “I don’t want to fix things, I just want to sleep.” 

“Okay.” He mutters, standing off to the side so that you could step in. “Okay, come on. We don’t have to talk.” The door opens wider, and light spills across your face. It takes you a minute to gather strength to step inside, but when you do, rivers of ease flow over your shoulders. You sigh. 

“Your hair is longer.” He mentions in passing, catching himself as he goes out to touch you. Stagnant – midair, he hovers, telling himself no. He respects your space. “I changed the sheets in the room for you.” 

You ignore him, shouldering past his hard body with a singular goal in mind. Your stomach is in knots – your head lighter than air. Everything is fuzzy, and if you didn’t fall into the warmth of a bed right now, Toru would have to carry you to his. 

“Or you can sleep in our bed and I’ll take the spare room.” 

Again, no answer. He follows behind you loosely as you stumble down the hall. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Leave me alone, just stop talking.” You slur, stupidly thinking that not giving him any of your attention would make him stop trying to squeeze words out of you. 

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to me. You’re the one who left.” 

“Shut up,” you bite, turning into the cracked doorway of the spare bedroom. He’s still hot on your trail, sleepy eyes begging for more where you couldn’t see. 

“We can fix this if you just tell me what I did wrong-

Before he can finish, you’re turning around in the doorway, not giving him any mercy as you slam the door on his face. It locks shortly after, just rubbing salt in his festering wound. At least he didn’t lie about switching out the sheets – the whole room smells fresh, like comfort materialized. You’re fumbling with your pants as you lumber to the warm, soft expanse, exerting as little effort as you can before collapsing into bed. 

You don’t have the energy to flip the lights off, so they stay on as you roll around in the sheets, trying to swallow down the oncoming doom of nausea and dizziness. You know Toru is still standing outside of the door, you can see the shadow of his feet under the crack, but he can’t come in – or, he doesn’t want to break the lock out and piss you off even more. 

After a few silent minutes, he shrugs off, and you fall in and out of consciousness. Sleep doesn’t come – not for real, at least. Whenever you think you’re getting there, you’re startled awake with your vapid inner thoughts. His pull is supernatural; it’s like you’re struggling to cope with being so close, yet so far. Right in the other room, you can hear Satoru moving around restlessly – shuffling in and out of the bathroom, talking to himself. 

He’s alone, you’re lonely. 

You blame it on the alcohol wearing off in your blood. That’s what gives you the push to roll out of bed and stumble to the door. Satoru stills in the other room right as the lock clicks – you know he hears you. He knows you’re on the way. 

It’s why he’s not in the bedroom when you crack open the door. It’s like he tucked off to the bathroom on purpose, using the shower as a distraction while you fall into your old side of the bed. It’s made neatly – your throw pillows are fluffed, and you’re succumbing to your weakness again. 

You dozed off for about ten minutes before you heard the door creak softly. Satoru’s footsteps are featherlight, and he knows you’re awake. Your breathing isn’t as shallow as it is now when you're sleeping. He doesn’t say anything about it–not yet. 

Satoru waits for you, gathering the towel wrapped around his waist as he sits on the bed. He knows you too well. 

So he doesn’t flinch when he feels the bed tremble beneath him. Sheets ruffle around your knees as you rise blearily. He hums when your arms wrap around his hard, broad shoulders, then mumbles, “You’re predictable.” 

“I’m burning up, I need help.” You plead weakly, lips focused right above his sharp collarbone. His skin tastes like it always has – sweet, for some reason. Like he was sculpted out of sugar. 

“Have you been drinking?” 

You pause right at the stubble of his undercut, the translucent shag tickling your nose. “I don’t need to be scolded.” 

“Well,” he peeks over his shoulder, pulling your chin close. The glow of his eyes amongst the darkness of the room is frighteningly familiar. You can’t look away. “I know you don’t want to talk about it.” 

You’re waiting for him to do something – to take control of this situation and steer the reins in your favor. Right now, you want him to annihilate you in the gentlest way only he can. Touching yourself will never be enough now that you’ve tasted him. It hits you like a craving. 

You’re left flicking between his eyes and his shiny, pink lips. They’re drawing you in like a siren song, weaving incantations that only your drunken mind would bend to. And finally, he kisses you. Something inside of you shrivels up and dies – your pride. 

Now, you’re shedding everything for him, gentle grip turning into claws in his shoulders. His skin is soft after his shower, leaving bright red marks against the pale ocean. Toru grunts into your mouth, shifting over to his knees as he crowds you against the mattress. Big arms cage you in – your back is lodged in the sheets, you’re reaching to pull him closer. 

Through it all, you don’t talk. When you’re needily grinding up into his thigh, he’s silent. Reaching down to your core, he doesn’t say a word. 

Lips hot and panting into the hard skin behind his ear, hands clawed in his hair, you don’t whisper his name. 

Your legs open for him, thighs parting like the Red Sea. He’s so hard for you, twitching against the towel he rips away and abandons somewhere in the room. Right now, every single move mattered. There are no words to dull your mood – nothing for him to say that hasn’t already been said. 

Satoru’s spent a short-lived lifetime telling you how beautiful you are, how well you’re taking him, how sexy your body is. You know that’s what he’s thinking; he just won’t waste his breath telling you again. 

After all, you couldn’t be bothered to waste yours, telling him that you were leaving to his face.

To you, this hot, grinding silence is deafening. Toru’s biting at your neck, kissing you holy, but it’s so foreign that you couldn’t really focus. You bite down a plea. 

But he hears it. When he kisses you, he can taste the desire. His naked body is so pressed to yours that there’s no room to exist outside of it – you pull him closer. 

Somewhere in the headiness, Satoru works a hand between your soft, stretchy waistband. He knows you’re ready for him, and he knows he’s ready for you. This moment might have been the perfect opportunity to prove devotion to each other. What a shame you’re so caught up in your head, worried about losing more of yourself to morph into the reality of who Satoru needs you to be. 

He tugs your thin pants down your legs, staring down at the quivering flesh that blooms with irritation against the harshness of the fabric. You’re seething into his skin, hips lifting from the bed so he can take you quicker. 

The issue is, he wants to see you. Toru wants to dip his head between your thighs and devour your cunt until you’re screaming his name, but you don’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it. 

The most you two could chew off without burying yourself in grief was wordless, raw sex. That’s all there is to it – Toru wants to fuck you, get his rocks off, then sleep like a baby. Sure, he’d care in the morning, but you’re presenting yourself to him with armor stripped. He’d be a fool to pass it up. 

When he sits up, you’re scrambling. The air is too cold, his height is too brooding. He’s staring down at you, pearly chest rising and falling in the nightlight, but the gaze isn’t really there. One hand works at his erection, thick fist wrapped around the base of his cock as he coaxes it to full hardness. 

You’re staring at his body, swallowing down gobs of want as you flick past his waistline. Your neat, mindful Satoru – he always trimmed his body to exactly what you wanted. The soft patch of hair that gathers under his belly button makes you crazy. The neat trimming of his pubes makes your mouth water, and you’ve been holding back for so long. 

If you could tell him anything right now, it’d be just how much you need him. It was eating you alive at this point – all this cruel buildup. 

You bring your hand to your lips, taking to biting down on the length of your thumb while he settles back against you. Any more sober, you’d stop him and tell him to wear a condom, but of course, you’re silent. 

He mounts you again, pressing two big hands on either side of your head. Your free hand reaches up, holding his wrist gently as he slowly eases himself inside of your hole, stretching you out like he never left. 

You take a second to focus on the feeling, eyes falling shut as the stretch engulfs every single one of your nerves. It’s so thick – drilling deeper and deeper inside of you until there was nothing left to give. All the way inside, Satoru nuzzles against that uncomfortably sensitive point inside of you, kissing it like he was proud of the pain. 

You open your mouth to praise him – to whine about how deep he is, but all that comes out is a soft, strangled moan. He grunts again. 

Then, he cuts himself loose, fingers working at the sheets as he pulls out halfway, pretty face screwing up as he fucks back into you. 

You’re moaning, crying, rejoicing, living for everything in this moment. Your grip on his wrist tightens, and your thumb-gag breaks through. Satoru fucks you with an unnatural, mean precision, drinking up the sound of your skin slapping into each other. With this fervor, you’d be bruised tomorrow, but it’s too good. You love it when he’s rough – it’s just what you needed after sustaining for a month. 

Your throat burns with the need to scream at him – to tell him to take you harder, to kiss you stupid, but you don’t. Satoru buries his face in your neck and gives it to you. Over and over, thrust after thrust. It hurts, but it’s so good.

Time creeps and crawls through the ordeal. Your belly is numb and raw, legs shaking from the tight strangle they have across Toru’s waist. He hasn’t moved an inch – letting himself plank over you, plowing into your weeping cunt with no mercy, and no end in sight. Veins bloom like red-hot wires in his neck, sweat beads like water in his collarbone, and he’s so hot that the humidity gathers in his still-damp hair, rolling off the strands and onto your skin. 

Thirty minutes roll by – he’s still going. Everything hurts. 

He doesn’t have your loving voice egging him on, drawing him closer and closer to the release he needs. You don’t have that loving, sweet touch toying with your clit that leaves you gushing and gasping for air. You both are trying to make do with the bare minimum, not even looking at each other. 

You’re shaking. 

Satoru sits up, a detached, manic look in his eyes as he breathes heavily through his red-stained lips. He stares down at you, searching your expression for everything. You’re not telling him how you feel, but your face is screwed up so much that he knows it’s not the best feeling. He hates that he enjoys the thought of that. He hates that he needs to push his pain onto you – in fact, he feels monstrous, but it doesn’t will him to stop. 

Instead, he slows his mean fucks, dragging his hands to your waist where he turns you over like a limp, freshly caught fish. You fumble at the stark change, coughing softly, eyes flying open. Under your breath, you cry. “Mmfmf.” 

“Shh,” he bites back, all sharp and unfriendly in the base of his chest. Hands still stuck in your hips, he pulls you exactly where he wants you, chest pressed to the bed, behind on full display – full mercy. Your skin is so inflamed, he takes a second to drink it in. 

Then, he slaps you right on your left cheek. You chew on a surprised yelp. Something slips. 

“Tor-

Another slap. You swallow down your protests. 

Behind you, you can feel him dragging his cock against the hot sensitivity hidden between your labia, dripping with the newfound touch Satoru is working himself up to give you. 

Again, at your prime, he’d take this moment to completely dive in. He’d lose himself in the warm tears you’re excreting, lapping up the fluids like it’s his only nourishment. He’d worship you – now, all he does is cup his hand against your embarrassingly wet cunt, longest fingers working at your clit. His palm rubs harshly against your quivering hole, and you use the mattress as a screaming pillow, finally letting it out. 

Tears come, now. They burn and ache because they know whatever sacred intimacy you shared with Toru before is long gone. He’s fucking you, now. If you closed your eyes and wiped your memory, this would all feel like a stupid, drunk hookup. 

That’s all you are, now. 

You don’t even make a sound when he starts to bottom out inside of you again. You feel like a statue on display with the way Satoru spreads you open, both hands grabbing at your stinging ass. He watches the way you swallow his cock like a delicacy, gulping down want. Now, he’s dangerously close. He knows this was what he needed – this lewd visual. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t have been further away from release, and it’s tearing you apart. You need to tell him – scream at him and curse his name, but you can’t. 

You let him make a mess of you, flooding your cervix with his sticky, fluid seed. He comes so hard and you can feel it – it’s so deep that you swear you can taste his desire bubbling in your throat. It’s acidic and raw, but it tastes like him, so you love it – you miss the taste when you swallow it down. 

He’s pulling out once he’s empty and satiated, come planted so deep inside of you that it doesn’t even slip out in his wake. He steps away, your hips fall on the bed, and you’re limp and unsatisfied. All you can do is blink. Satoru rolls away. 

You don’t know what he’s doing, or where he’s going, but when you fall over to your side, tears dripping into the mattress, you’re overcome. 

You’re crying, croaking weakly, “c-can you-

The sound of your voice stops Satoru in his tracks. He was heading back to the bathroom to clean himself up, but he thought you had dropped off to sleep immediately. 

“What?” 

“Can you… J-just try?” 

“All I wan-want to do…” You stop again, swallowing salty tears. “Please, all I want to d-d-do is come. P-please…” You feel so pathetic – and you are. You feel like the worst person ever born. 

If you could see his face, you’d see the speck of emotion that runs off his crystalline, flushed features. He would feel terrible if you cried like this to him a month ago. Now, he just feels something like an obligation to turn around and stalk back over to your side of the mattress. 

You’re still crying into your arms when he approaches, hiccuping softly as he lowers to a squat. 

Like this, he finally talks. “Swing your legs over, I’ll clean you up.” 

The smoothness has your eyes flying open, heart doing a billion jumping jacks all at once. Limbs shaking, you struggle to sit up. 

Satoru notices, knowing he has to retake hold of these reins. He reaches out for you, big hands closing around your thighs as he pulls you to the side of the bed. There’s nothing gentle about it, now. He licks his lips. 

Both legs hooked over his shoulder, your back falls back onto the mattress, and at the first flick of his tongue prodding at your quivering entrance, you’re crying again. But he’s good at this part. He doesn’t stop. That licks turns into sensual drags of the tongue, scraping against your sensitive slit, easing over your clit. You finally moan for him – real moans. Pleased moans. 

He presses a kiss to your hole. “Push it out on my tongue.” He demands, those few words feeling like acid on the tongue. It’s fucking filthy, but nothing out of his ordinary, deranged mind. You take a breath and tense your body, working on easing all of the deep come right back to him. 

Satoru is licking it up like an eager dog, slurping and sucking obscenely as his grip gets lost in your pillowy thighs. Now, he’s working you over like he’s chasing your release, knowing your body just like a doting husband would. It would only take him a few minutes of tongue-work before you’re coming for him, but now, it only takes a single one. 

You’re coming before you can even focus on the feeling, and it hits you like a brick to the skull. Your spine bends, bones creaking, blood rising to insane temperatures in your body as sweet, sweet bliss meets you once more. 

It’s all you wanted – this feeling has been the singular thing you’ve been chasing at Toru’s side. He gives it so well and so selflessly that he’s still lapping up mess when he feels you coming undone around him. He carries you through it just like he always has – thick, plush lips sucking at your insanely sensitive bud like he’s trying to receive something as collateral. It drives you crazy – you reach out to push him away. 

The job is done. Satoru rises to his feet. 

He heads off again to finish what he started, wiping your taste from his lips, back into his mouth as he gets lost behind the bathroom door. He leaves you on the bed to come back to your senses, fully sobered up and slightly sick from the onslaught of physicality. You reach into your matted hair, screwing your eyes shut in shame. Every time you move, your core trembles and cries. Everything hurts. 

In the bathroom, Satoru flicks on the lights and doesn’t recognize the face he sees in the mirror. He’s blown red, scratches all over his arms and back. His hair is everywhere, eyes beet-red and sensitive. He leans forward and spits in the sink. 

The faucet creaks as he turns it on. 

Everything washes away.

[kenntoria]

it’s the way he watches you.

quietly, from where he’s half-sprawled on the couch, arms tucked behind his head, messy hair sticking up like he’s been dragging his hands through it. his blindfold is off, blue eyes shining in the dim light of the apartment. he’s been watching you for the past ten minutes.

you’re curled in a chair by the window, staring out, eyes not really seeing. your mouth is in a small, thoughtful frown and your hands are limp in your lap. you’re not crying. not talking. just… quiet.

too quiet.

gojo’s been thinking for a while now about what to do. if he should say something. if he should leave you be. it’s not like he’s good at this sort of thing. he’s the strongest, but feelings? emotions? gentle things? that’s a whole other kind of battlefield.

he gets up without saying a word. pads to the kitchen. opens and closes cabinets, a little clumsily, like he’s not used to moving around without swagger.

you don’t look.

so he makes hot chocolate.

with the fancy marshmallows you like. the ones shaped like stars. he burns his finger a little trying to fix it just right, and hisses under his breath, and mutters, “get it together, satoru,” like he’s on a mission from god.

he brings it over to you with both hands and kneels beside your chair.

you blink, surprised, when you notice him there.

“for the prettiest girl i know,” he says, trying for lightness, offering the mug like it’s a peace treaty. “warning: it may or may not be made with love and minor kitchen injuries.”

you take it. you don’t say anything at first. you hold the warm mug and look at it like you don’t know what to do with something kind.

and when you finally speak, your voice is too soft.

“…you noticed.”

“’course i noticed,” he says, and now he’s not joking. “you’ve got the world’s most expressive face. and also i love you. that helps.”

your breath catches.

and then, all at once, the tears come. hot, unexpected, falling down your cheeks faster than you can stop them.

gojo panics.

“hey—hey, no, baby, don’t cry—what’s wrong? is it too hot? did i do something? did i say something dumb again? is this about the marshmallows? i knew i should’ve used the heart ones—”

you shake your head, and now you’re really crying, tears slipping down your cheeks, nose scrunched, hands curled into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“satoru,” you croak out, half a laugh buried in a sob. “i’m crying because you love me.”

he stops. blinks at you. the world stills.

you sniffle. “you were being so stupid. and sweet. and you always know when something’s wrong and you try so hard to fix it, even if you don’t know how. and you just—i’m crying because you love me.”

his breath leaves him in a slow exhale, and something soft and stupid blooms behind his ribs.

“…of course i love you,” he says, voice gone quiet in the aftermath. “you’re my favorite person. of course i do.”you nod, like you already knew, like it still made you cry anyway.

he cups your cheeks gently, wipes at your tears with his thumbs, kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. your eyelids. your chin. every bit of you he can reach, like he’s trying to kiss all the sad away.

“you don’t have to cry,” he whispers, grinning a little even as his eyes go glassy. “unless you want to. but if you do, i’m gonna keep kissing you every time. it’s the law.”

you laugh again—soft and wet and warm—and pull him down into your arms.

he buries his face in your neck, and you breathe in the smell of him, cotton and sugar and something stupidly comforting.

the tv keeps playing in the background. neither of you look at it.it’s a quiet kind of comfort. full of warmth and kisses and love you don’t have to earn.

he stays close, holding you like he never wants to let go.

and outside the window, the city moves on. but in this little corner of it, there is only warmth. you, and him, and the cocoa. and all the love in the world.

[bebethsas]

(copying the tags up here, b/c I wrote them first, and you need them for a little context for how I got here)

#oh...oh they were *made* for this #Cait as the daughter of a lord (in this case Lady) #with her pretty fancy dresses #and perfect marksmanship #and Vi who can drink any sailor under the table as well as win whatever brawl that breaks out #cait joining the royal navy “for experience”

wait, no, shit, ohmygod, this just keeps spiraling outward in my head and I'm thinking faster than I can type--

okay, so Cait--joined the navy for experience, honorary title, one part sailor, one part royal guard

Powder/Jinx--supposedly lost at sea, became a sea-witch / captain of her own lone ship; known for isolated attacks, her dingy comes out of nowhere and wrecks whole ships, then slips away unnoticed

Silco--owner of pirate ship, his home/place of power is Jinx's homebase, has his own sector/ set-up on Pirate Island (think 'Tortuga'). (Edit: One part shelter, one part adopted father-figure for Jinx, but it's more of an allyship (she wrecks ships for him, and ships for herself; she does what she wants, and sometimes it lines up with what Silco wants.))

Jinx takes down Jayce's ship, she kidnaps him in the scuffle and holds him for ransom on Pirate island (which is under Silco's control, or most of it is under his control? Either works). Jayce manages to escape, but is injured in the attempt and forced to hide before he can truly *leave* the island, and is saved/ taken in by Viktor, a merman. They bond over a love of science and inventing and magic (and obvi fall in love, that's a given)--yes, Jayce is the prince, but his passion still lies in studying the Arcane and trying to "bring magic to the world." Viktor is the first person in his entire *life* who not only completely understands him (and his passion), but shares his vision.

Viktor--insanely clever, sarcastic, remarkable, and inventive merman with damaged fins on one side (one was a congenital defect--like Nemo's "lucky fin", and one was torn and healed successfully but the scar tissue still affects his movement). Took a 'cure' from Singed years ago (in order to either improve his weak fin, or so that he could temporarily join the human world and learn more about them, b/c yes, just like Ariel, he's fascinated and curious about humans and all the potential knowledge they may hold), and is now 'cursed' to be a human (with a disabled leg and hurt spine) during the day, and his true self at night. That's how he and Jayce meet--Jayce managed to limp/crawl his way down to the docks, but collapsed in front of Viktor's 'house' (he has a shack/storefront right on the water). Viktor realized who he is and his significance and why Jayce begged Viktor to hide him, and did so.

Jayce doesn't find out that Viktor's a merman for about a month (Viktor hides it from him as best he can). All Jayce knows is that he's living in his new friend Viktor's house, and that Viktor is a little cagey about things (and yeah he's curious, but he's not going to pester the man who saved his life, and demand that he tell him all his secrets), and at night he's visited by this enigmatic, mysterious 'thing' from the water. It's always too dark for him to see what they look like, he just knows that it has fins and scales and human hands, and once, he swore that he saw a pair of glowing amber-colored eyes.

And then, after a month, he knows that it has human lips too. And that whatever-it-is is a great kisser. But he's torn b/c he feels drawn to this mysterious Thing (his night-visitor), but he's also falling for Viktor during the day, and it's all confusing. (It also doesn't help that before all of this, he thought he only liked women?? But now...??? Whatever, it doesn't matter, he doesn't care, he doesn't need labels, all that matters is that he's in love with Viktor...as well as this other thing. And he can't choose between them, but he knows he has to.)

(Before you ask, Viktor wears tinted glasses during the day, yes even indoors, in order to hide his eyes--from everyone, not just Jayce. His eyes are too bright to be human, and they give him away.)

ANYWAY, where was I?? Oh, right.

So, Caitlyn is in the royal guard, right? She's also Jayce's best friend (or at least, his closest friend). She feels responsible for his kidnap, and swears 1) to get him back safe and sound, and 2) get revenge on Jinx (maybe Cassandra Kirammen died in the accident)

So, she needs to partner with someone who knows pirate island. Someone who blends in, someone who can help her sneak in undetected, someone who isn't affiliated with any of the major pirate clans on the island.

There's a rumor of a pink-haired pirate rogue. Someone who can get the job done for you. Someone wo knows this place in and out.

Cait finds Vi at a bar. Vi agrees to help her (Vi works alone, she's worked alone for *years*, she has one small sailing ship that she runs herself--formerly 'The Brawler', now named 'Vander' after her late father. She escaped onto the boat after an accident--mabe they crashed? Maybe they got caught in a storm?--where Claggor, Milo, and Vander were killed, and Powder presumed dead. the explosion killed Claggor, Milo, and Vander, and tore apart Vi and Powder, and has been surviving on it ever since. She was never thrown into Stillwater--she's not affiliated with any major pirate clan, but Zaunites--most of them, anyway--would rather protect one of their own rather than let Piltie enforcers snatch up a kid. She also fights in the ring and earns money that way. She regrets rejecting her sister after the accident, but Powder disappeared before Vi could make amends. So she gets by by running odd jobs for people, being a heavyweight for hire, and fighting in the ring (and earning a cut of the profits), while keeping an eye out for a girl with blue hair mourning the loss of her whole family. Her motives for helping Cait? On the face of it, the sooner that prince is found, the better (Zaun doesn't need *more* trouble). But really, she also wants Caitlyn's help to find her sister. Cait may want vengeance on Jinx (and the lives lost at sea thanks to her attack), but Vi hopes that she can still save her sister. (Edit: She doesn't know if Jinx is her sister or not, she's going off of hope and a hunch. She's heard rumors of a blue-haired wildcard who terrorizes the seas, and after all, Powder's body was never found...) Also Cait is really, really hot, and really, really pretty. (And really, REALLY Vi's type.)

(went back and made edits--hence all the strikethroughs--b/c I reread my original vision for Jinx at the top and liked it better.)

Viktor's shack is at one end of the island, and Vi's boat is docked on the other side. (So while she and Cait are scouring around Silco's territory, Jayce is hiding out with Viktor on the other side. Vi doesn't know Viktor, but she's heard of him, and not by name. All she knows is that there's a rumor of a weird inventor guy who lives at the edge of the island, who can fix just about anything--mechanical or medical--but usually gadgets. Vi doesn't know Jayce, so it wouldn't occur to her to check out the person whose job/ interests would be like catnip for him XD.)

(yes, Heimerdinger is King, yes he's still a yordle, no Jayce isn't really his son, just his chosen successor. Yes, he's king but he lets the Council decide how to run things--at this point, he's retired and only a King in name. He's having too much fun going off and exploring things incognito

The Firelights have their own secluded island a few clicks away from the pirate island; they raid ships but they save lives too. Thanks to the currents surrounding the island, it's near-impossible for anyone to randomly wash-up on their shores, so you have to be independently brought onto the island by an existing resident, who knows how to navigate the waters. Also no one can manipulate their way onto the island by earning a Firelight's trust b/c no one knows that the island even exists. Ekko runs it--like in canon--and is pretty close to his canon counterpart

ohmygod I almost forgot about Mel! Mel: ally, foreign princess, going through her own personal shit outside of Jayce being kidnapped and Zaunite internal power-struggles, discovers she has powers, has to go through her own personal journey of discovery in the *wake* of said discovery. Friends with Jayce, and engaged, but it's more of a smart political move than out of romantic love (they love each other and are lovers (sexually) and could be fairly content with one another, but they're not in love with each other, and their relationship would've started to fall apart at their first major argument). (Basically, if Jayce had never been kidnapped, and had never met Viktor, then he would have gladly married Mel--not knowing what he was missing out on--and, while not feeling happy, would have felt content. But that contentment would have been weak--not fragile, just weak. Because it would only take one conflict--Mel makes a decision that goes against Jayce's beliefs, such as a decision that ignores people in need, or takes advantage of them, or is just too selfish for Jayce's moral code--to shake Jayce's perfect relationship. And once that trust was broken, the cracks would only spread.)

Yes obviously she's still beautiful and charming and glamorous and cunning and strategic, with a kind, gentle side. (Lol, compared to all the others, Mel--and her story--changes the *least*. Okay, everyone else except Ekko. And Jinx, technically. ...also Silco? ... ...okay, I'm realizing that the only people whose stories and circumstances have really *changed* in this AU are Caitvi and Jayvik.)

The fissures run in cracks through the island, and are also cracks in the seafloor than form a natural reef just off the coast, and should be a source of nutrients for marine and human life alike (and traditionally, they were just that), but Piltover's been polluting them for decades, contaminating them and turning them into a source of harm instead of health.

one more thing about Jinx: she blames herself for the wreck that killed her family, it was her fault they were out at sea when the storm hit, she didn't know that Vi survived, so she thought that she lost her whole family and that it was her fault. Silco found her floating on a piece of wreckage from 'The Felicia', took her in, gave her a place to stay, helped her get on her feet. She wrecks ships, but is tormented by the ghosts of her past. She doesn't let anyone get close b/c she's a 'jinx'--anyone who gets close to her gets hurt. She has her own secluded cove.

caitvi in the pirate au

[starkeyvhs]

unhook

PAIRING: nerd!rafe cameron x nerd!fem!reader

SUMMARY: it’s rafe’s first sleepover with his first girlfriend – who is equally shy as him – but she needs help with unhooking her bra.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

WARNINGS: shy rafe & reader; she/her pronouns used for reader; slightly suggestive (?) but it’s soft and fluffy 🫶

EDITH SPEAKS: we don’t just have nerd rafe now, we now have nerd reader too 🥰 I loveddddd writing the two of them, just a couple of soft and shy teenagers who like each other so much but are just so anxious 🥹 I have a cool idea on the background lore of this pairing and hopefully I’ll be able to write their full fic one day 🫶 anyways! if you enjoy reading, please reblog and share any feedback you may have 💞💞 also, my inbox is open to discuss all kinds of thoughts && hcs!!! xx

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Rafe Cameron was an expert at a lot of things: physics, maths, programming, robotics, chemistry, but there was one thing no book could ever teach him. 

And it was how to act around girls. 

Throughout his life, he thought keeping a safe distance from girls was best for him; relationships and everything else would come to him when the time is right. 

But he definitely didn’t think that time would come this soon – in high school. 

He was best known for his concentration, and how he could sit still and study for hours on end, not giving up until he was done learning what he wanted to. But this one girl, she was becoming a distraction. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was as if he could see her name hidden between the words of the book he was reading, tucked safely as a sweet memory of this new person who had just waltzed into his life. 

And somehow, the one thing that made all of this sweeter was that the girl – you – was also just like him. Just as inexperienced, just as nervous, and, he didn’t realise it, but also just as adorable as him. 

It was hard for Rafe to get his mind off someone who had so many common interests as him. You loved science and technology just as much as he did, and you both were somehow just always on the same wavelength with almost everything you talked about. 

Now, fast forwarding past the awkward talking stage (well, what’s to say it sometimes still isn’t awkward), Rafe finally bagged you, yes, that’s right, Rafe Cameron got a girlfriend. 

And a damn intelligent one at that. 

So, after everything, he has you invited over to his place for your first ever sleepover. The nerves are even more than usual, but he’s trying his best to make this work, just for the two of you. 

Starting from when you arrive till the dinner with his family, everything is super smooth. You both talk a bit, and Rafe can feel the nervousness between you two is beginning to die, to create something that’s more comforting and warm instead. 

But, all the effort he puts to make everything light hearted comes crashing down when he realises nighttime is nearing closer and closer. Meaning, the time to share a bed is getting closer. He makes the offer of his own clothes for your nightwear, which he’s super happy you accept. 

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, his fingers fiddling nervously with the hem of his own shirt as he waits for you to finish changing and freshening up in the washroom. He can feel his mind go absolute berserk, an infinite number of thoughts looping themselves in his head and playing like a broken record. He’s attempting to get his mind off these thoughts, oh he is trying so hard, but he just can’t.

Rafe nervously looks up at the clock hanging on his wall and realises a little too much time has passed since you went to the washroom. It concerns him a tiny fraction, but he attempts to relax that thought by telling himself you must genuinely take time in the washroom to freshen up. 

But then he hears your voice calling out your name – oh how he loves the way his name sounds so sweet on your lips, but more on that later – and it seems as if you’re a little uneasy. 

“Yeah?” He asks, and his voice automatically takes that softness that somehow only comes up when he’s talking to you. He gets up from his bed and makes his way to the closed washroom door, gently pressing an ear to it. “Everything alright?”

A long moment of silence passes and Rafe doesn’t hear anything from across the door, which almost tempts him to call out to you again, but your voice finally crosses the wood. 

“I uh… I need help,” Your voice is already muffled due to the hardwood barrier between you two, but the obvious timidness in your tone makes it even more difficult for Rafe to catch your words. 

“Yeah yeah, what is it, sweets?” He says softly, the nickname rolling off almost effortlessly. Whoa, where did that confidence come from? Again, a topic reserved for a much later conversation. 

Another long moment of silence passes, and Rafe can now sense the anxiousness through the door, understanding that whatever it is, it’s making you feel more shy than usual. 

“My, my bra hook’s stuck… I need help with it,” Somehow, your voice has gotten even quieter. 

Now it’s Rafe’s turn to get quiet. 

It takes time for your words, and their implication, to settle in him. His limbs feel permanently tethered to the ground below him by a strong force, and that nothing can make him budge. But he soon realises that force is entirely superficial and it’s his own nerves keeping him fixed. 

Fighting the strong nerves he musters the courage to speak up again. “You, you need my help?” He asks. 

“Yes please,” comes your reply and he hears a heavy exhale escaping you along with your words, as if you’re letting go of the heavy weight of having to tell him what your current situation is. 

But god, Rafe doesn’t have a single clue how he’s going to react on what’s bound to happen next. 

He hears you unlock the door from inside, and he wraps his fingers around the doorknob, slowly twisting it to open the door. 

You’re standing in the center of the washroom, your back towards the door. He can see you’ve changed into his old shorts he gave you, but the t-shirt is sitting on the counter and you’re standing in just your bra. When you hear the door creak open, you turn to look over your shoulder and meet Rafe’s eyes. 

The moment you see him, you shy your gaze away from him. “Uh, it’s stuck real bad…” you mumble quietly. 

“Oh uh, I’ll… I’ll have a look,” Rafe mutters, moving closer to you so there’s barely any space between you two. He can feel the warmth of your back against his chest and it seems so inviting and soft. 

His heart begins to thump loud in his chest, and the deep curtain of silence that envelopes you two makes it even more loud to his ears. 

Rafe swallows the lump in his throat and lifts his hand up. He brings his fingers close to your back so that the fingertips are almost hovering over the inviting skin. 

Do it, Rafe, do it. You’re here to help her, that’s it.

Subconsciously nodding to himself, Rafe lets his fingertips gently press over your back and oh my god your skin is so damn soft. The situation is making heat rush to his face, and he just knows his cheeks are tinted with a champagne pink which is very hard to miss.

He can hear the hitch in your breath the moment his fingers touch your skin, as if the small contact is spreading an electric current throughout your body. Rafe lets his fingers linger over the bra hook, and he brings his other hand up too, attempting to sort the stuck hook out. 

“It’s a little stuck…” he murmurs under his breath as he has his way with the hook, but also makes sure none of his movements are too harsh that it hurts you in any way. 

“That bad?” You ask meekly, glancing at Rafe over your shoulder. He catches the look of sheepishness on your face, knowing how awkward you might be feeling in this situation. 

“I just need a minute, yeah?” He tells you softly, and allows himself to be a little bold, letting his hand drift over your shoulder and squeeze it softly. As much as his heart is beating fast in his chest and his fingers are itching to feel the expanse of your soft flesh, he also knows he should be a little confident because that’ll help you feel a little more comfortable. 

His actions do the expected, your tense shoulders relax a bit and you nod to let him continue. Rafe brings his hands back to the hook and lets out a deep breath. Okay, lets just look at this carefully. He takes a moment to inspect exactly how the hook is stuck, and then, carefully, he lets his fingers work through the stuck hook. 

It takes a long moment, both him and you standing in the quiet space of the bathroom with bated breaths, but finally, Rafe pops open the hook. That is the moment when your body gets fully relaxed, and he understands how relieving it must be for you to not have a tight constraint around your chest anymore. 

He can’t convince himself to bring his hands back down to his sides, his palms now fully resting on your back above your shoulder blades. You stand there, keeping a hand over the bra to keep yourself covered. 

“Are you feeling better?” He asks softly, feeling a little more bold as his fingertips begin to trail over your back, tracing over the length of your spine till your tailbone and coming back up right at the nape of your neck with a touch so slow and gentle. 

“Yeah…” you murmur, “thank you so much, Rafe,” 

Rafe can’t help the small smile that pulls his lips at your words. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder, letting his lips linger against your skin for a moment. “You’re welcome,” he mumbles softly into your skin, before pulling back. 

He clears his throat and reluctantly gets his hands off you, taking a step back towards the door. “I’ll uh, I’ll let you change yeah?” He says softly and watches you nod, but this time you don’t turn to look at him. He makes his way out of the washroom and steps out, closing the door behind him and resting his head back against the hardwood. 

He closes his eyes, letting out soft puffs of air through his exhales as his mind plays back the last few moments: his fingers on your skin, soaking up its velvety feel. 

He doesn’t know where he got the wave of confidence from which allowed him to touch you that beautifully, but somewhere, he’s glad he got it, because now, he absolutely can’t even think of anything else besides you, your supple skin, and how he might ultimately get to feel more than just your back under his hands. 

Well, this only makes him ecstatic about the impending sleepover. 

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @inthelibrarybtw / @mccaffreyswifey / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @kaileashiftz / @weirdowithnobeardo / @chimchimjiminie16 / @ursovaine / @mariamadison6-blog / @snowtargaryen / @htlkira / @hrtshapedblg / @cherrys-muses / @mattyskies

specific tags for this fic: @maybejj / @appleciderlove / @starkeyszn

tagging a few moots: @runningfrom2am / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @nemesyaaa / @ladyinbl00d / @jjsbank444 / @b1mb0slvt / @maddsxfall / @congratsloserr

[yukioos]

hii may you write katsuki taking care of sick fem!reader?? like she gets the cold after being too long under the rain or something like that 🥹

katsuki takes care of you when you’re sick

you should’ve listened to katsuki.

last night, you were in the rain for a couple of hours doing god knows what, and you came back to the heights alliance soaked, shivering and sniffling with red cheeks and a red nose. even after taking a shower, you headed to bed with a runny nose and an uncomfortable feeling in your throat. after sneezing multiple times and not being able to sleep, you hear a knock at your door.

reluctantly, you stand up from your bed, feeling the cold air hit your bare legs and arms. a small whimper comes from your mouth, and you open the door, standing behind it just to see katsuki glaring down at you tiredly.

“i thought i told you not to go out,” he scolds, “you clearly didn’t listen to me.”

you frown and roll your eyes, then ask, “did i wake you up?” he hesitantly nods, not wanting you to feel guilty, then you mumble, “i think i’m gonna ask if i can skip class today, i don’t wanna get any of the others sick.”

katsuki stares at you for a moment, tapping his slippered foot against the ground before sticking his tongue to his cheek. he finished all of his projects early, and there are no upcoming tests that he’s too worried about. he’s studied, still has the flashcards in his room, and there’s no topic in class that he needs to learn with the teacher.

he sighs, “i’ll stay tomorrow too.” your eyes widen, and before you’re about to interject, you sneeze. he takes the chance to continue with a small grin, “i’ll tell kirishima to give me his notes tomorrow.”

you shake your head and argue, “katsuki, there’s no reason to stay with me, you need to keep learning—“

“if you go around grabbing all those utensils and food in the kitchen, you’ll contaminate everything and everyone will get sick. there’s not much in the fridge and everything’s just ingredients, so i guess that means,” he sighs, “i’m making you food.”

you continue to argue, “no, katsuki, you don’t have to make me food, just go to class in the morning—“

he rolls his eyes and grabs you, carrying you bridal style before throwing you onto your bed and pulling up the blankets to your chin. he puts his fist near your neck, and you whine, kicking your feet. you’re practically trapped.

“i’ll tell the principal we’re staying in the dorms. wake me up when you’re ready for breakfast or lunch.” he softly pats your cheek, “go to bed, you need the energy.”

you give him a soft smile and curl up further into yourself, and he leaves your room, retreating to his. this time, it’s easier to fall asleep.

when you wake up, katsuki’s already in your room, lying at the foot of your bed as he scrolls through his phone. steaming miso soup and water are on your nightstand, and you smile at how kind he’s acting.

once you slowly sit up, katsuki murmurs, “good, you’re awake,” he turns off his phone and looks at you with care, “got some pills for you in case you feel extra shitty today, they might make you sleepy though.”

you nod and drink some water, your throat already feeling a little better. once you try the miso soup, your mouth is salivating for more. katsuki can see the shine in your eyes when you quickly take more bites of the tofu, and within a few minutes, you’re done with the soup. a hum escapes your lips at the warm feeling in your stomach, leaving you satisfied.

“thank you,” you mumble, shyly smiling at him.

his eyes soften, and the corner of his lips slightly twitch, something only you would notice. he stands up and walks over to you, bends down, and places a soft kiss on your forehead.

his hand is on your thigh when he affectionately speaks, “i’m gonna refill your water, stay here and don’t do anything too stupid.”

you nod and he takes your glass, hurrying to fill your water before returning in under a minute. when he returns, he only cracks open your door, not fully closing it because it was just you two. he places your now full glass on the nightstand and climbs into your bed next to you.

you complain, “i’m tired!” and groan.

katsuki dramatically sighs before softly pushing the back of your head to his chest, silently telling you that you can lie on it. a giddy grin spreads across your face, and you wrap your leg and arm around him. it’s a bit odd he’s letting you do all this, especially when you're sick. you’re thankful, nonetheless.

he’s so warm.

katsuki kisses your forehead once again and mumbles something incoherent into your hair, and you cuddle up further into him. he wraps a strong arm around your body, comfortingly securing you against him.

the two of you quickly fall asleep in each other’s warm embrace.

when school is out, the two of you are still passed out with each other, and you don’t hear the shuffling of steps coming up the stairs of the heights alliance. however, jiro and kaminari walk by your room and look at each other in confusion. kaminari quietly opens the door, peeking through to see you and bakugo cuddling?

a gasp comes from his mouth and katsuki’s eyes shoot open immediately. his dark eyes glare at kaminari, whose mouth is still open until it turns into a mischievous smile. he takes out his phone and opens the camera app, panning it to your sleeping form being held by bakugo, who has a scowl on his face.

he considers sending a little explosion towards you, but goes against it. he doesn’t want you to wake up yet. you feel too perfect in his arms.

i love this idea! thank you for requesting this, sorry i got a little off track near the end

[violentkisz]

any bob x reader soft smutty things that have been on your mind? :)

Oh sexy sweet traumatized Robert "Bob" Reynolds... Wish I could just cradle his face with my hands and press a kiss to his forehead. I do have a lot of smutty things to say about him, and gladly would like to share my thoughts. (p.s I did write a hefty amount, do excuse my ranting)

Bob finally being able to initiate intimacy is something that floats around in my mind a lot. I imagine him to be reluctant to do anything sexual, and this is not because he doesn't want to. He yearns, deeply, to feel your body in his hands, to trail his fingertips over every space that gets hidden underneath your clothes.

But Bob is a timid and broken man, and has experienced a lot of things most people don't. To be able to have someone to hold and kiss and love wasn't something he ever imagined having. So being able to have someone by his side, to have you, he doesn't want to do anything that may mess it up, not like how he feels he had done to everything else that was good in his life. His hunger to just feel your thighs around his waist and let himself sink inside your warmth— well he just kept pushing it down and starved.

Until you finally gave the green light, verbally expressed that it's okay and you want him in a more intimate way than kissing can go. Then, he finally lets himself melt under your touch and gets past the initial barrier he set of not succumbing to desire. He watches, with dilating eyes and a swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip, as you tug off your shirt.

He's desperate and eager to please. An overachieving student in the study of learning your body. He wants to take off the rest of your clothes, and you let him. His hands are warm, slightly sweaty from his nerves, but ardent in finally revealing skin he hadn't seen before. His eyes become lidded, warm brown irises visibly darkening into his pupils as he shuddered. He keeps asking if it's alright, for him to do this. Says it while his hand is already peeling off your underwear.

He smiles and a small laugh escapes him when you tease him for his mesmerized state, his face flushed as he finally lets those eyes of his lock with yours. His gaze is enchanting, heated, he wants to keep touching, to keep feeling your warmth on the tips of his fingers. So you don't disrupt him, don't give any sign you are uncomfortable because you sure as hell are not. He is gentle at first, light with his touches to the point it's almost ticklish. He is imprinting in his own mind that you're real, that his hands are really trailing up your body and cupping your breasts.

Your soft gasps are making him hard, his cock in his baggy sweats is grinding into the bed. He keeps going, hell he doesn't trust himself that he can stop. He kisses you, passionate and slow. His lips are soft and you can feel his little grin as he tilts his head to deepen it. He pants after a few seconds of kissing you, and he laughs nervously to himself at the overall situation. Bob can't believe you are real. He nudges his face in your neck, pressing more kisses and licking the spot where he feels your pulse the most. He sucks at that point, stilling when he realizes he just nipped at your skin. An apology threatens to spill before you reassure him once more. It's okay, you want this.

So he kisses, sliding down to your chest as his hands keep kneading your skin. He leaves little bites on you, never too harsh when handling you as he finally kisses right above your belly button. Then he lets out a stuttered breath, flicking those puppy dog eyes of his upward to ask if he can go lower. With a nod of your head, he kisses right on your pelvis and his knees hit the floor. He is deep in a trance, and mumbles start to escape him. They are barely coherent, and are just full of his mind's racing thoughts. You're so pretty, so perfect. Unreal. Feel so good under my hands.

Then his lips land on your folds, tongue slipping out his mouth as he drags it from the bottom of your weeping pussy up to your clit. He moans when you moaned from the sheer pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut. He was making you feel good, and fuck it made him want to cum in his sweats. Bob's hands are on your thighs as he keeps your legs open, his grip is firm, but not close to painful, he licks and sucks as he finally lets himself go. Your slick is soaking his maw, whines keep escaping him as he ruts against the bed while eating you out. When your hands land on his hair and you tug, he whimpers. He is so lost in pleasure, which is only sparked because he was making you feel good. He keeps lapping at your folds, eventually a hand slipping from your thigh to daringly sink a digit into your hole.

He could've died then and there, surrounded by nothing but you. Your thighs on his shoulders, your slick permeating his tongue and his nose buried in between your legs. But you pull him up, you want more. You see him rutting against the bed, and need him to be inside. When you see his face again, it's soaked. A dorky smile is on his slicked lips, and it caused you to get even more aroused and feel endearment towards the man at the same time.

He shivers as he stands, fumbling with his sweatpants and tugs them off, to reveal precum staining his underwear. He shyly takes it off next, (as if he wasn't just eating you out like a starved man) to reveal a leaking cock. He is big, in a way that wasn't scary nor underwhelming. Perfect— with a slight curve and a pinker tip. He places it on your abdomen, stilling his breath as he notices how far up he will be inside. A whimper escapes him before he can even reel it back, and he flicks those watery doe eyes up at you. He asks for permission, and you give it eagerly. You pair it with a few praises, how he is making you feel so good. You feel his cock twitch against you, and a nod with a muffled moan escapes him.

He then guides his cock to your entrance, biting his own lip hard as he nudges it against your hole. He lets out a gasp, his eyes rolling back briefly as his whole body melts. You slip your hand down to help him, grabbing the base of his cock to then ease it inside. It's a stretch, a burning sensation as Bob entered you. He lets a whimper seep out, one hand on the bed beside your head as he grips it hard. Your heat is so slick and warm and all encompassing. Bob wants to cum already, but he won't. Not when this was finally happening.

He is slow and accommodating, not wanting to overwhelm you. He sinks in slow, letting that stretch really hit you. He freaks out slightly, his hand cradling your face as the one that fell onto the bed slipped back down to hold your hip. He gives you a smile, the one that made you fall in love with him in the first place. He asks if it's okay, and you nod in response. So he moves, and fuck it felt good.

His cock immediately hits every spot that makes your back arch into him, the slide of him pulling out to just thrust back in was making your thighs quiver. He felt too good, made you feel too full. Bob was deep in a daze, huffing as he slammed a jerky thrust inside. Both his hands found a place on your hips, holding them up at an angle as he continued to pull you back onto his cock. He was moaning, trying to not let it loudly echo by biting down his own lip. He wanted to hear you more than let his own groans intertwine with your pretty gasps of pleasure.

He doesn't even think of letting himself cum until you do. He watches, observes, every little reaction that leaves your body so he can make you feel good. He adjusts his hips, lets a finger start to rub slow steady circles on your clit. As your moans grew in volume, he reveals a crazed smile. His eyes flicker something pale yellow before settling back into brown. You are feeling good, because of him, and that made his hips hit deeper.

When you finally cum around him, he stutters, the sensation of you tightening around him made his own release follow shortly after. In the aftermath, he cradles you, soft sighs leaving him as he holds you close. He is still in ecstasy, even then. You were real, you let him do something so intimate with you. You let him in. Bob couldn't believe it still. He wasn't in the void like how he used to be, and he had you.

-violentkisz :)

[thatnerduknow98]

I don’t exactly remember how this happened. One minute I’m having a good time in a bar with my friends, the next minute I’m waking up roped up in some kind of sex dungeon.

I figured my drink had been spiked, which is a little weird because my super strength makes narcotics not work so well for me, but I am a woman so I do still abide by the same misandry from the male world. Especially in this town, where most of the men think they can get away with their toxic masculinity.

This perpetrator must’ve seriously dosed my drink, like maybe with intent to kill. When he came downstairs and saw I was still alive, his look of surprise confirmed it.

“That should’ve killed you,” the idiot said. He wasn’t bothering to hide his identity at all.

“Well I have a tolerance to drugs like that,” I replied.

He smirked and pulled a butcher knife out of his pocket. “You’re gonna wish it had killed you.”

I wasn’t scared. In any second, I could’ve snapped the chains and leather straps binding me to this table. I could’ve whipped the chains still bound to my wrists at this dude and beheaded him. I was more concerned about missing and letting this dude figure out that I’m the hero of this town.

So I let him get closer and closer and closer until he could put the knife on my neck, and at that moment, as I went to lift my leg and knee this jerk in the balls, my nemesis burst through the locked, metal basement door and punched the perp into the ceiling. My nemesis prided himself on his ability to fly, often punching people into the air and then letting them fall to their death.

This perp went up through the ceiling and came back down to his death. My nemesis took the keys from his pocket and unlocked my bindings.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was about to kick his ass.”

He laughed. “Sure, bound up like that. I’m Allen. Sorry to be creepy, but you caught my eye at the bar and I was trying to summon the courage to talk to you, so I went to the bathroom with my wingman and then when I came back you were gone and the cops were there. The bartender said some dude drugged your drink and took you. So I tracked him here.”

I realized then he didn’t know I was his nemesis. Truthfully, I’m not sure how I knew. Something about him just gave me that familiarity.

“Thanks. I’m Rene.”

We shook hands. It was awkward.

“So, umm,” he said, trying to break the silence. “Do you need an escort home or are you ok?”

“I would rather you not figure out where I live, but you can walk me to the bus stop,” I said, looking around for my satchel bag. I found it on a table and pulled out a bus pass. Yes — I take the bus.

He smiled kind of a weird smile, like he didn’t have the muscles to do an honest smile properly, and then we left the building. It was only three blocks north of the bar.

“So, umm,” Allen said as we walked down the sidewalk. The sun was beginning to rise. “What do you do for a living?”

Internally I was laughing hysterically. Outside, I smiled. “I work from home for a call center.” It was only a partial lie. “You?”

He deadpanned: “I am a vigilante. I try to take down awful people who legally are exploiting others. You may know me as The Viper.”

“Oh. Yeah I think I’ve seen that super girl kick your ass on the news.”

He scoffed, then laughed. “It’s funny, Mass actually agrees with me on the corporate corruption and tryna eliminate it, but she won’t go about it the same way. She takes them through the justice system, which only rarely actually delivers justice.”

I winced at him using my super name.

“I can see that,” I said. I recalled many times where the criminal in question bought a judge. But I also recalled times where that behavior was called out by the media, and both criminals were socially disgraced and unable to continue their exploitation, despite the lack of prison time. “I think she relies on the news and public perception to keep people righteous.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, but it takes longer.”

He wasn’t wrong. By this point we reached the bus stop and were waiting for the first bus of the morning to arrive.

It got silent again as we watched the sun breach the horizon. I was starting to doze off when he asked, “Was my saving you method okay? I’m not used to saving people so I think I may have been a little too bold.”

The bus turned the corner and approached the stop. I laughed at his question. “It was definitely bold,” I replied. The bus opened its doors and I stepped onto the vehicle. With one foot still on the sidewalk, I turned and said, “I think I would’ve done the same thing though. I have a habit of breaking down buildings to save people.”

I boarded the bus and the doors closed before he could reply.

Getting kidnapped as a superhero is rather embarrassing, but at least you were certain that your friends would rescue you. Which is why it came as a massive shock to you to see one of your villains bust the door of you cell open and unlock your restraints.

[enhazy]

You owe me.

idol mentor!Heeseung x female idol!reader

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝘿 𝘿𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙀𝘼𝙏

warnings: 𝙉𝙊𝙉𝘾𝙊𝙉, slapping, unprotected sex (don't do this!), little to no foreplay, fingering, spitting (not in mouth), virginity loss, slight size kink, tummy bulge, dacryphilia, cum play(?), cum eating, overstimulation, reader passes out in the end, not proofread, and english is not my first language.

Don't like? Don't read.

MDNI

word count: 1,013

likes, reblogs, and feedback would be appreciated!!

Disclaimer:

I am not responsible for the content you consume. Content warnings are listed above (I may have missed something), please read thoroughly so you know what to expect. This is very very dark and I do not condone these things happening in real life. THIS IS A FANFICTION WHICH MEANS IT DOES NOT DEPICT HOW HEESEUNG IS IN REAL LIFE.

continuation ➡ you're mine.

—💐

It wasn't always this way with Heeseung, no. He used to be sweet and kind. He never crossed a boundary, never looked at you wrong, never raised his voice when you frustrated him. Heeseung was gentle. His mentorship was the reason you rose to fame as an idol, and for that you we're grateful. He had secured your debut without asking for anything in return; 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.

It's been a year since your debut and Heeseung's personality had completely changed. You didn't know this version Heeseung. He crossed every boundary, always looked at you with a dark, hungry gaze, but at least, he never yelled.

Heeseung pinned you down on the bed, slapping his palm over your mouth when you tried to scream. He pushed your legs open with his knee, keeping them spread by situating himself in between your legs when you tried to close them. Your dress started riding up your thighs as you kicked and squirmed, trying to get the man off of you.

"Stop moving, you're only making this harder for yourself." Heeseung groaned in your ear and you immediately shut up, knowing what'll come next if you didn't listen— he started hitting just recently. "Good girl." He praised, kissing the side of your neck. "Always such a good girl for me."

"You know you 𝘰𝘸𝘦 me, right?" Heeseung kept talking, removing his hand from your mouth. He used that same hand to touch your body, caressing your skin, leaving no place untouched. "You're here, you're relevant, because of me."

You shook your head, keeping your sobs quiet. "So pretty." Heeseung complimented, pulling the hem of your dress up eyeing your panties. "You aren't wet yet?" He scoffed, slapping the inside of your thigh. "You should be. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴." He pushed your legs further apart, causing you to yelp at the pain of the stretch.

"Tell me you want this." Heeseung commanded, hand hovering over the waistband of your underwear. "Don't make me wait." He tut impatiently, already pulling your underwear down. He called your name as a warning and you quickly whispered out a small, barely audible, "𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴."

Heeseung smirked, fully pulling your underwear off, groaning when your sex comes into view. 𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙'𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙩, Heeseung thought. But even if you weren't, it wasn't a problem. He was going to fuck you either way, he'll make you get wet. He shoved 2 of his fingers into your tight hole, thrusting them in and out painfully. He was forcing them in. Your cunt kept clenching, trying to keep his fingers out. "Relax." Heeseung sighed, placing his other hand on your abdomen. "It'll hurt more if you won't relax."

You couldn't relax, tears kept running down your face. You were breathing heavily, trying to calm yourself down, but it hurts so bad. "Hurts, Heeseung." You hiccuped, both your hands holding his wrist. "Please." You pleaded, needing him to go easy on you, accepting that he won't stop.

"My cock will hurt more." Heeseung slapped you in response. "Be grateful I'm prepping your tight cunt." He added, smiling when you let out a choked sob. He suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, placing a hand in front of your face. "Spit."

You gathered saliva in your mouth before spitting on hand, not noticing when he pulled his thick cock out of his pants with his free hand. He spread your saliva on his cock, spitting on it again for extra lubrication. He then grabbed your thighs, smiling when you sobbed, pulling you down closer to him. He angled his cock towards your pussy, rubbing the head up and down your slit before pushing in, drawing blood.

"Oh, a virgin?" Heeseung laughed. "That's nice." He pushed into you, forcing through your resistance. "Fuck, so tight." He stayed still for a moment, bringing a hand up to your face and caressing your cheek. He wiped your tears away before he started to thrust, your dry walls clenching in on him.

Heeseung's thrusts were rough and calculated, he made sure his cock was in to the hilt. The slapping sounds of skin meeting skin was heard echoing in the room, alongside Heeseung's groans and your sobbing. He grabbed your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to him, smiling when thrusting into you felt more easier when you 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 started getting wet.

Your blood and slick helped with the slide, Heeseung thrusting faster, chasing his release. He didn't relent, pulling the top of your dress down to see your tits, watching them bounce as he pushed in and out of you. He pullled back a little, watching his cock disappear inside of you, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. He could see a slight bulge forming in your abdomen when he was inside too.

You let out a pained moan, causing Heeseung to laugh. "That's it. There's my good girl." His hips stuttered as his release neared, his thrusts becoming sloppy. He leaned forward, groaning in your ear keeping his cock inside you when he came, thick ropes of cum spurting out of his cock. His release triggered yours, your pussy clenched down on his cock, your release mixing with his.

You were still crying, Heeseung stayed inside of you. "You're such a good girl." He praised, admiring your tear-streaked face. He groaned when he finally pulled out, bringing a whimper out of you. The mix of your releases spilled out of you and Heeseung was quick to catch it before it fell on the sheets, he used his fingers to shove it back inside you. He thrusted his fingers in and out of you slowly, hearing your soft fucked out moans. He didn't stop fingering you until you came undone again, not minding your soft pleads of how sensitive you felt. Heeseung slid his fingers out and licked them clean, he noticed how you were slipping in and out of consciousness.

"It's okay, baby, Heeseung will take care of you." The last thing you felt was Heeseung kissing your forehead before falling unconscious.

—💐

ฅᨐฅ notes: this was actually much longer in my notes app, but the latter part is much darker and I don't know if you guys would read that. •᷄‎ࡇ•᷅

[athenalvss]

hi hello may I request Jason Todd with a breeding kink pleeeeease 🥺 especially if he runs his mouth and gets a little carried away with it

FULL OF ME ( Jason Todd! )

summary: Jason has a fixed idea in his mind of how good you would look with his baby in your belly, and he can't help but try to put a baby in you every time he fucks you.

tw: sex (p in v), unprotected (dont do thaaat), breeding kink, dirty talk

pairing: Jason todd x fem!reader

open request - Jason todd masterlist

Your legs are still shaking when Jason pushes you hard against the mattress. The room is dim, lit only by the streetlight streaming through the window. His gaze is completely dark, lost in the pleasure and desire to feel your pussy squeezing him.

It was the fourth time this week he'd fucked you, and the second time in that night he was close to cumming inside your soaked pussy, ready to fill you again, without hesitation, as if it were the only thing he knew how to do with you. Each thrust sank deeper, more desperate, as if that were even possible.

"So fucking perfect..." he murmurs, between gasps. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your ear, as if he needs to mark every inch of your skin. "You know what you do to me, don't you? You look so good like this, taking all of me."

His voice trembles a little as he speeds up, and his words become dirtier, needier. He was completely blinded by desire, by watching your face twist in pleasure every time he entered you and touched your needy clit, constantly bringing you to the edge, making you squirm of pleasure against his hard body.

"You don't know how much I think about this, about you filled with me. You cumming for me, you asking for more..." He laughs softly, but there's something dark in that sound. "It makes me want to do it nonstop until you can't take it anymore. Until you're trembling, with my name between your lips and my seed deep inside you."

Your arched back, your moans, everything incites him. And he doesn't stop talking. He holds you tighter as he wraps one of his large, rough hands around your neck. "are you going to let me put a baby inside you?"

That whisper in your ear makes you tremble, without much chance to respond you could only nod with difficulty, while you tried to keep your eyes open to be able to look at him, giving him a more than hot image of you totally stimulated and with that silly face that made you look so pretty, your pussy inevitably clenches at his dirty words, and of course he notices it.

"Yeah, you like that, don't you? You love it when I tell you I'm going to fill this greedy cunt with my cum, completely, all the way. Fill you up until your needy cunt spits out all my cum."

He moves slower, deeper, emphasizing every word, enjoying how foolish you look because of his cock, your eyes barely open.

“Imagine how beautiful you’d be with my baby... and me looking at you, knowing I did that to you. That I filled you so much you couldn’t help yourself.” He pants against your neck, his lips grazing your skin as his pace becomes more erratic, desperate. “Glossy skin, bigger breasts, I’m going to eat those fat tits full of milk out of you every day, I swear, fucking perfection.”

One of his hands moves down to your belly, caressing it as if he could already feel something there, as if the mere thought drove him crazy.

"I want to see you like this. I want everyone to know that I did that to you. That I fucked you so good and filled you up so much that you couldn't help yourself."

And when he cums inside you, he doesn't do it quietly. He says your name with a tremor that mixes love, lust, and need, as if finishing inside you would bring him a great sense of relief.

The silence was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing and the heat still burning between your legs. You felt his excess slowly begin to spill out, hot and thick, sliding down your thighs with obscene slowness. The cum made a glistening path on your skin, mingling with your own desire, while Jason remained inside, panting, looking at you as if the sight made him even more addicted.

"Look at that..." he murmured with a dark smile, his fingers moving down to touch where their bodies were still joined. "There's no way you don't have my baby."

[caterpillarskimono]

Netflix & Chill

summary: set at the start of season two of Animal Kingdom; you moved to Oceanside, California six months ago, renting an apartment above an old bar that you were also hired to tend to full-time. in that time, you met Andrew Cody, and whatever this is between the two of you is finally reaching the point of no return.

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MDNI, fem! reader, slight age gap (reader is 29, Andrew is mid to late 30s), suggestive themes, NSFW (just barely), kissing, Andrew Cody pleading with you, sexual tension, intense eye contact

author’s note: this is JUST a snippet of a series I’m working on. this is also the FIRST reader fic I’ve ever written, so please be gentle with me ❤️ I truly hope you enjoy this. you may have questions, but all will be answered once I start posting the different chapters in order. just kinda testing the waters with this one.

Your stomach tightens, an unfamiliar warmth stirring in your abdomen.

Well. Not entirely unfamiliar, you suppose. It’s become routine since you met Andrew. But it’s different this time. This time it pulses, it pounds. It slithers further down, resting heavy between your legs. You can practically feel the blood pumping there, and you press your thighs together as tightly as you can to stave off the growing ache between them.

If Andrew notices, he says nothing. Briefly, you look his way, at the intensity of his focus on what’s happening on the television in front of you both. A shiver races down your spine and back up again as you recall the many times you’ve felt the intensity of that stare on you. It’s a curious thing, the way you can feel his green eyes on you before you even notice he’s in the room. The way the air between you two always feels so charged when you meet his gaze. Countless moments passed between you fill your mind’s eye, and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep the moan that threatens to leave you at bay.

Suddenly, he’s looking at you, and his eyes are dark with… concern? You’re not sure. All you know is that his pupils are blown so wide all you can see is black. And there’s something behind them you’ve only seen glimpses of before now. Something primal. Hungry?

“Are you ok?” he says, and your face is suddenly very hot and you know your eyes are wide as saucers because holy fuck, did you just moan out loud?

You clear your throat and turn your gaze back to the television. “I’m fine, just something caught in my throat, it’s fine.”

“Fine…” Andrew repeats, as if he’s testing the word, repeating it back not so much as a question, but more like he’s trying to really dig into the meaning behind it.

“Yup,” you say, your lips making a popping sound for emphasis. You lean forward for your glass of red wine. You chug it in one go, slamming it back down on the coffee table unceremoniously. “Totally fine.”

A moment passes, long and heated and heavy because you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s staring. Studying you. Like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve, but is trying desperately to make sense of.

Finally, he looks away. You watch the scene unfolding in the Netflix Original you selected (and what the actual fuck is 365 Days about anyway) and you try your absolute damndest not to look at the handsome man to your left again.

The female lead is… definitely enjoying herself, her lover’s head barely visible between her legs. She reaches down to grip his dark hair, gripping hard by the looks of it, yanking and pushing his mouth deeper against her. She throws her head back and begins to cry his name over and over, in tandem with the way she’s bucking up into his mouth. He groans loudly, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

That’s enough for Andrew to turn his attention back on you, and instantly, your cheeks redden with embarrassment. You try not to look into his eyes, those gorgeous, gorgeous eyes that you’ve dreamt about every single night since he first walked into your bar six months ago.

But you fail in your efforts, just like every single time before when you’ve tried to hide from the weight of his stare. One look into those eyes, and you almost gasp.

You were right earlier. He does look hungry. And he looks as if he wants to devour you.

And you want him to. God, you want him to ruin you.

“Are you okay?” And his voice comes out so soft that it almost sounds like there’s a nervous tremor behind the words.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to stammer out. You suddenly want to hide, to take cover and not face him. Because you know what you’re about to confess, and try as you might, you can’t stop the words spilling awkwardly from your lips.

“That’s just… I’ve never… not that, anyway.”

A beat. And then Andrew crooks up an eyebrow. “You’ve never?…. What, exactly?”

“I mean,” and an exasperated huff passes from your lips. You throw your head back against the couch, squeezing your eyes shut. “That… All of that. What he’s doing, how he’s making her feel, I’ve never felt… that.”

He frowns. Quickly snatches the remote from the coffee table, pausing the film. The sudden silence is like a record scratch, and you lift your head up and stare ahead.

A shot of the female lead is frozen onscreen, her body arched like a cat stretching in satisfaction. Her mouth is wide open, her eyes slammed shut. You can’t stop looking and memorizing this shot of pure ecstasy. Wondering what it’s like to feel that. Wondering what it would be like to feel it with the handsome - albeit dangerous - man beside you.

“You’ve… never had an orgasm?”

You force yourself to look at him then, and you fight to maintain a poker face. You shake your head in response to his question. Your hands, the tips of your fingers begin to twitch, your veins seemingly trembling beneath the surface of your skin. You’re nervous, why the fuck are you nervous? What the actual fuck is happening right now?

Andrew no longer looks as if he wants to devour you. No, there’s something else there that you can’t quite place. But you feel your heart begin to race, you feel the ache between your legs grow so heavy, pulsing in tandem with the quickening of your breathing, and you become aware of one thing and one thing only.

He… he wants you. You think he wants you just as badly as you want him. Maybe even more.

And, God, you just wish he’d take you already. Make you his. You’ve never wanted to belong to someone else before. It’s strange and all-consuming in the way it weighs on you, rattling your bones

Your eyes fall to his mouth, and you bite your bottom lip again out of nervous habit. Every mouth that’s ever been on yours has been uninvited. But this man? You’ve already invited him in without even realizing it. You want this man to press his lips to your flesh and make you his home.

Maybe a second goes by, but it’s a second too long where neither of you says anything, and you just know you’ve misread his expression entirely. You tear your eyes from his, sitting up slightly, shaking your head. You don’t know where to put your hands, so you clasp them together and tuck them tight between your now bouncing knees.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I said that, I think it’s the wine and I’m just - I’m really tired, today was long, and just please forget -“

“Hey.” His voice interrupts you softly. Gently. It’s the same soothing tone you’ve heard used on frightened animals, and it cools the flames of your skin, calms the almost painful beating in your chest. You go quiet, but you don’t dare look at him. You don’t need - can’t handle - the confirmation that you’ve read him, read whatever this is between you two, completely and utterly wrong.

You hear the shift of his body as he sits up, too, mirroring the way you’re sitting. Then silence. One beat, two beats, three.

And then his hand is on your knee, squeezing it. Your body stills, and you gasp as he begins to smooth his hand up higher, fingers digging so slightly into your inner thigh, grip tightening the higher his touch travels. Instinctively, you part your legs, just enough for him to slide his fingers further between. He pauses his touch at the middle of your thigh, above your knee, but too far from where you’re dying for his touch. A whimper almost passes between your lips, but you bite your inner cheek just in time to keep it at bay until you can swallow it down.

It doesn’t register that he’s moved as close as he can to you, hard chest pressed at your side, mouth at your cheek. He gives you the gentlest kiss, the second kiss he’s ever given you and much more chaste than the first. His mouth slowly travels to just beneath your earlobe, and your body almost melts against him.

“Do you want to?” he whispers. “Feel that, I mean?”

Finally, your eyes meet his. His mouth hovers at yours, grazing your lips with the promise of a kiss. You want to say yes, you want to say it so fucking badly that the words sting at the tip of your tongue. But Andrew reaches up, thumb at your bottom lip, and all you can manage is a nod of your head.

Suddenly he exhales, the sound heavy. As if he’s been holding his breath so long that it’s a relief to breathe out. He presses his forehead to yours and gives you the ghost of a kiss. Light, quick, so quick you don’t even have time to kiss him back. His hand starts moving again, higher and higher up your thigh until he’s right there.

And then he stills. He doesn’t move. Just keeps his very large, hand, his calloused fingers pressed firmly at the heat between your legs. “Andrew…” you moan out, squirming into his touch, trying anything to get him to keep touching you.

“I need to hear you say it. Use those pretty lips and tell me what you want. Can you do that for me? Say the word, and I’ll make you come. I’ll make you come so hard on my fingers, my mouth, my cock. Fuck, I just wanna taste you, please just say it, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

He takes your breath away with his words, with the way he goes back to kissing your cheek, nipping your earlobe between his teeth, all the while begging you. “Please, please, baby…” Over and over again like a song, like a prayer. Like he’s found salvation, and salvation is you.

“Yes,” you moan out. “Please just make me feel good. That’s all I want. Please, Andrew.”

Anyway, that’s that for now! Please let me know what you think in comments and reblogs; they motivate me and help me so much. Thx for reading! 🫶🏼❤️

[idiotic-syndic]

I ate them. That’s right. I ate the divorce papers, Charles. I ate them with ketchup. And they were good...goooood. You probably want me to get serious about our divorce. The thing is you always called our marriage a joke. So let’s use logic here: If A we never had a serious marriage then B we can’t have a serious divorce. No. We can’t. The whole thing’s a farce, Charles – a farce that tastes good with ketchup.

I mean, wasn’t it last week, your dad asked you the reason you walked down that aisle with me, and you said “for the exercise.” Ha, ha. That’s funny. You’re a funny guy, Charles. I’m laughing, not crying. Ha, ha. I’m laughing because you’re about to give up on a woman who is infinitely lovable.

For instance: Paul. He has loved me since the eighth grade. Sure, he’s a little creepy, but he reeeeally loves me. He’s made one hundred twenty seven passes at me, proposed forty seven times, and sent me over two hundred original love sonnets. He sees something in me, Charles. And he writes it down, in metered verse!

And that’s not something you just find everyday. Someone who really loves everything about who you are as a person. Paul may be insane, but I value his feelings for me.

I would never ask him to sign his name to a piece of paper promising to just turn off his feelings for me forever. But that’s what you’re asking me to do, for you. To sign away my right to...to that sweet voice Charles, those baby brown eyes, the way your hands feel through my hair before bed...

Those aren’t things I want to lose. In fact, I won’t lose them. I won’t lose you. I’ll woo you. I’ve written you a sonnet. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day. Thou art more lovely and more temperate, rough winds do shake the darling buds of may and...”  I’m not crying. I’m laughing. It’s all a big joke. It’s very funny, Charles. I keep waiting for you to say “April Fools.” Then I’ll rush into your arms and... But you’re not going to, are you? No. Of course not. It’s not April.

I, I didn’t really write that sonnet, you know. Paul did. I think it’s good.

You see, the truth...the truth is, Charles, I ate the divorce papers, I ate them, because I can’t stomach the thought of losing you.

divorce themed restaurant menu

dessert: CUSTARDy Battle

yeah that's all i've got so far sorry

[winter-parrot]

for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.

buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k

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Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.

Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.

And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.

Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.

So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.

He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.

The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.

And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.

Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.

The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)

Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.

The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.

"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.

"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.

"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"

Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"

"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."

Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."

Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.

Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."

Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.

Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.

Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."

Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.

Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.

"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.

"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."

Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.

Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."

"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."

It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.

Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.

"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.

Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.

"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.

Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.

"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent

Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.

When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."

They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.

It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.

Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.

[mischief-and-the-big-bad-wolf]

Stiles woke up to Derek lazily sucking kisses to the back of his neck. He hummed and scooted backwards, closer to Derek.

"Good morning, Der, happy birthday," he murmured, reaching a hand back to pat Derek’s side.

"Thank you, love," Derek whispered, tucking his face into Stiles' neck and nuzzling his nose.

Stiles started pulling away, giggling at Derek’s annoyed grumbles, and said, "I wanna give you your present, babe."

"Later," Derek frowned, pulling on Stiles' hand when he got to his feet beside the bed.

"No, now. Wanna be just us when I give it to you," Stiles whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to Derek's lips.

Derek quirked an eyebrow at Stiles who immediately blushed and flailed, slapping the back of his hand against Derek’s chest. "Not like that, pervert."

Derek chuckled and flopped on his belly and Stiles took that as his queue to go get the present. He ran to the attic of the rebuilt Hale house and pulled out the huge box he had hidden there.

Huffing, he carried it downstairs. He was so nervous that his heartbeat had to be deafeing to Derek. He dropped the box beside Derek woth a groan, tentatively taking a seat next to it as Derek sat himself up.

"May I?" Derek asked, gesturing at the box. Stiles nodded, chewing his lips anxiously, and watched as Derek carefully pulled the top off.

The first thing he pulled out was a ragged looking knitted blanket. With a strangled gasp, Derek brought it to his face and buried his nose in the fabric, greedily inhaling the scent.

"What - how?" Derek whimpered, red eyes peeking from behind the blanket.

"I had a witch cast a spell on it so that the smell would never fade," Stiles replied.

Derek nodded and composed himself a little, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders before digging back into the box.

Next, he took out a vintage looking watch, the edges of the leather strap looking a bit burnt. He immediately put it on his wrist, offering his hand to Stiles to secure it wordlessly.

He then removed a small wooden rattle, hand carved designs running down the hand. At this point, his eyes had filled up with tears.

He took a few calming breaths before pulling out a leather bound book. He looked questioningly at Stiles who whispered, "Open it."

Derek slowly opened the book as if afraid to find its contents. As soon as his eyes fell on the first page, the tears fell free, rapidly dripping down his face. He hastily turned from page to page, hand reverently grazing over all of them. Finally, anguished, heaving sobs burst out of Derek’s chest as he took in the pictures. A young Talia, holding baby Derek in her arms. Laura pushing toddler Derek on the swing. His grandma and grandpa in the middle of a slow dance. His parents kissing on their wedding day. All of the Hales with their extended families together on Christmas, dressed in matching pyjamas on the insistence of Derek’s father.

Stiles couldn't keep in his own tears at the sight of Derek and he silently cried. Derek carefully put the book aside after a while and pulled Stiles into his lap, hiding his face in Stiles' neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," Derek murmured against his skin, pressing kisses every so often.

"There are more things in the attic. I took whatever the police had taken that night and took it to a witch to be restored. She even magicked some things from scent memory, things that couldnt be saved. There are copies for Peter and Cora too. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner but-"

"Stiles, you have given me a piece of my family back. You don't have to apologize, for anything," Derek whispered fiercely, still scenting his neck. He pulled back from the hug and unwrapped the blanket from around his shoulders to put around Stiles'. "I love you, baby. You can't imagine how happy I am."

With a teary smile, Stiles flung himself into Derek's arms again. "I love you too, Derek, so much."

[kamospeach]

plot: gym crushes are no fun if they don't look your way

content warning: it's toji... so, also gym themed ish, tiny bit of angst

dean's (aka peachy) yap: i always dread writing about toji, but he's so hawt😔. sorry for the constant angst it helps the smut be better

if working out were easy, you wouldn't lose any weight. at least that's what you told yourself. it'd been months, maybe even years, since you stepped foot in a gym. but you told yourself today you would learn how to work out for real, for real.

i mean, the positive self-talk was going well on the treadmill. but once you got on the stair master, all that went to ashes and dust. your calves were burning, and your thighs were trembling. there were a lot of hot buff men around (irrelevant but still important to point out), and they were lifting weights like it was nothing. you couldn't lie that they were making you just a tad insecure.

you got off the stairmaster, leaving that for another day, and heading over to the weights. setting down your stuff, you pulled out your phone, looking at the video of the girl lifting. you watched her formation and how she did it, finding it to be pretty easy.

you sigh, changing the weights on the rack, even that was heavy for you. ‘it wouldn’t be as embarrassing if it weren't the school’s gym,’  you thought to yourself, preparing to squat.

“okay, so she...” you mumbled, starting the squat as your thighs began to shake. “fuck!” you exclaimed before the weight was taken off your shoulders. you let out a breath of relief, standing up straight. when you whipped around, a man stood above you. 

you immediately noticed him, i mean, who wouldn’t? toji is the star hockey player of the university, who was known for flirting with any girl who crossed his path. now that you've thought about it, this would become cliche very fast. you could guess what he was about to say, ‘wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, pretty girl’ or something along those lines.

“y’shouldn’t lift if you don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, looking down at you. you scoffed at the audacity of this man! who says you don’t know what you’re doing? what if you just slipped up a little there?

“who's to say i don’t know what im doing?” you said sassily, watching a smirk spread across his scarred lips. you didn’t know if he was smirking because he was about to rip you to shreds or because he was trying to flirt with you too.

“you clearly didn’t know what you were doing, doll, if you did, you would've had yer feet further apart. may i?” he asked, and you were confused about what he was asking, but you agreed. he lightly tapped your thigh, signaling you to spread them further. “also, keep your feet pointed straight. you were asking for your knees to go out.”

“well, i watched a video and just followed the instructions!” you told him, and he laughed at you. yes. laughed at you thinking that watching a simple video would give you the magic ability to squat correctly.

“that’s cute… what video did you watch?” he asked, peering over your shoulder as you showed him the video. it was so clear that he was trying not to laugh by how his breathing changed. you looked up at him to see his hand over his mouth, and now it was blatantly obvious he wanted to laugh at you. “you tried to learn how to squat by watching some girl’s day in the life video.”

“i mean her knees didn’t give out!” you exclaimed, and this time he full-on laughed at you. there was no way you were serious… oh, you were.

“yeah, because it’s fake,” he patted your shoulder, and you frowned up at the freakishly buff man. and fake, what did he mean by fake? how do you ‘fake’ that? 

“what? how do you even fake that?” you frowned up, not believing what he was saying. but the way he effortlessly lifted the weight off your shoulders, you trusted his instruction. 

“whatever. let’s start with a regular squat to make sure you won’t almost kill yourself again.” so that’s what you did, you did a squat without the bar, and toji nodded. it was embarrassing, he just stood there with his hand on his chin. “just put your feet a little more than shoulder width. you still have them too close. also, make sure you're not too stiff or too loose…” after that, you zoned out. 

you’re pretty sure you heard him saying you were doing well. at least you did get a good workout in, but your legs were sore. you were walking funny the whole next day. your friends swore up and down you met with a sneaky link or something. 

nope! just got grilled by toji, that’s all. 

“you’re positive you didn’t go see that man?” your friend asked with a squinted eye and you were seriously confused. “ya knowww the one guy from the party?”

“girl ony? hell no, i gave up on that a long time ago.” you waved her off as you walked into the cafeteria. everyone was gathered around looking at something. and of course, your nosey friends just had to go over there and see.

“y/n! look, it was who i was telling you about.” you took your sweet time walking over to where she stood, not interested in whatever they were talking about. “it’s toji, remember i was telling you about how he helped me change my tire.” 

at the mention of his name, you perked up. you pulled your head out of your phone, getting interested in what the conversation was actually about. you didn’t like toji or anything. he just so happened to be conveniently attractive and just followed you on instagram yesterday. 

“seems like he helps any woman in need,” you mumbled to yourself as your friend showed you the video. it was a live video of a hockey game, which you assumed toji was playing in. 5 seconds into the video, someone pushed toji. “he’s pissed.” you laughed seeing his red face and lifeless looking eyes.

he pushed the guy back, and they got to fighting. it would've been a quick fight had it not been hockey, so now toji and the man fought for a full 15 seconds before the ref tried to break it up. but the ref got roped in, and toji started fighting everyone. two refs, four players from the opposing team, and two extra officials. it took practically the whole team to pull him off the first guy.

you had to admit that seeing him fight made you want to go to the gym. in hopes that you’d see him and be able to tease him about his anger. so you made it a point to stalk his instagram to see when he was back (totally not creepy). 

the day he posted about being back in town, you went to the gym. did the treadmill and even did the stair master without almost dying. but you did scan the gym, noticing toji’s tall stature the moment you walked in. 

once it was time to lift, you shyly walked to the weights. today, you decided to do hip thrust, which is not embarrassing since you haven't done this before either. but boy oh boy, didn’t you get lucky because the person you were waiting for approached you today.

“back at it again, hopefully not with another video,” he laughed, and you shook your head proudly, standing up. “no? what did you watch today?” he asked with a smirk, looking down at you.

“well, i watched a video, but it was a personal trainer. and it’s always easier if someone shows me in person,” you bat your lashes, looking up at the strong man who has his arms crossed. he gave you a look that you couldn’t read, but it looked like he wanted to laugh.

“you askin’ me t’show you how to do it, doll?” he asked, and you nodded with a full-on smile, he sighed. “so what are you doing?” 

“hip thrust,” you tell him, and he hummed with a nod. he helped you fix the bar and move everything around. you didn’t even have to lift a finger. the big, strong man did all the heavy lifting until it was time for him to demonstrate for you. he placed the bar on his lap, showing you how to do the hip thrust. “do this often?” you asked, enjoying the view of his strong body thrusting into the air.

“yeah, often,” he snorted, getting from under the bar, nodding at it. “your turn,” he says, and you mirror his actions, starting the hip thrust. toji was shamelessly staring at you, not caring who saw his growing tent. but when you finished your rep, he quickly adjusted himself as you turned around.

“wasn’t too bad,” you say, legs a little shaky, and toji hummed.

“do that often?” he asked, repeating your early statement, and you nod with a smirk. “never going to do arms?” 

“i did em yesterday, you just weren’t here to teach me,” you say, leading into your teasing. “too busy fighting on ice or whatever…” you said, giving him a small glance as you went back to doing your second rep.

“so you watched my game?” he asked, and you scoffed.

“no, i was…hah... forced to see you… fight the whole damn stadium,” you said out of breath from the workout you were doing. 

“if he wouldn’t have talked so much shit i wouldn’t have had to beat his ass,” he explained sounding like he was getting mad all over again. all you did was laugh as you finished the set. toji decided to use the equipment next to you. but it got hard to focus with a sweaty ripped toji doing deadlifts next to you. 

as time went on, you and toji ended up working out together. having casual conversations about hockey and your everyday hobbies. he actually wasn’t a bad person, and he was funny, crude, but funny. even the dirty jokes landed, which surprised you since you weren’t a big fan of them.

he made working out fun, he even showed you his workout playlist. you immediately told him his music taste was horrible, and he was offended. you showed him yours, and he told you it was horrible. it didn’t hurt your feelings, considering toji didn’t know any of the people or songs in yours.

“you’ll be back tomorrow, won’t you?” toji asked, leaning against the roof of your car as you started it up.

“yeah, i’ll be back, why?” 

“wanna see ya? is that a problem?” he asked you with a smirk, and you laughed at that statement. him? want to see you? 

“yeah sure, toji, see you tomorrow,” you said as he watched you drive off. but all good things come to an end, like your weird friendship/physical trainer/ flirtationship you had. because when you went into the gym, there was toji teaching another girl how to lift. why were you a little jealous? your chest kind of burned a little bit, like you just got cheated or something.

but you went ahead and did your workout, not bothering to watch the two of them work out. you kept your headphones on, going about your routine. you worked out your arms, which was an exercise toji wasn’t there to teach you. so you did what you had to, not worried about hearing toji laugh with that girl and grab her waist to teach her just like he did you.

“oh, y/n, you’re here!” he said, and you hummed, taking one side of the headphones off, continuing your workout. he came over to where you were, not ashamed that the other girl was watching the two of you. “sorry, i couldn’t help you today, doll.”

“it’s no problem, you had more important business to attend to,” you said, putting your headphones back on, finishing your workout. toji was a little dense, he thought you were saying it in a nice way and not a you just pissed me off way.

“i promise to help you tomorrow,” he says with a smile, going over to help the girl.

“sure,” was all you could say to the small turn of events that unfolded before you today.

to be continued...

one two three four five six

university masterlist

taglist (open):

@grignardsreagent @stardollwrites @keraawrites @soldmysoulto @k-a-m232 @ac27dj @buttershea07 @charminstasia @satorupied @ane5e @miksolosss @gurllss @vamppirez

[navybrat817]

Shut Me Up

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: You rant after a long day and want Steve to shut you up.

Word Count: Over 1.3k

Warnings: Established relationship, oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving discussed), implied sex, dirty talk, swearing, slight feels, possessive behavior, Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Yeah, I don't know where this came from. Yay for Steve Rogers! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Fuck this day!” You flopped down on the bed with a sigh and pointed at Steve who stood by the closet with a small smirk on his face. “And don’t you dare give me that ‘language’ bullshit. I know what kind of mouth you have on you.”

I said “language” one time, and it’ll haunt me forever.

Steve chuckled and put his hands up in surrender. When you were in this kind of mood there was no arguing with you. Well, people could try to argue with you, but chances were they’d lose spectacularly. It impressed Bucky and Sam, and it may have scared them, too. “Wasn’t going to, sweetheart.”

Your gaze softened before anger took over your beautiful features again. “Damn right, you aren’t,” you muttered, slowly exhaling as you looked at the ceiling. “But, seriously, fuck this day.”

“Tell me about it,” he urged, shutting the closet door and leaning against it so he could keep his eyes on you. He didn’t go to the bed just yet, knowing you’d motion him over or give him a sign once you wanted him there. He also knew that whatever you had to say, you didn’t want his advice. Sometimes you needed to vent, and he was more than happy to listen. “Please?”

You sighed. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Steve listened as you launched into a tirade about the frustrations you dealt with at work today, such as fixing errors made by people in higher positions, changes to a policy that would affect your day-to-day that no one knew about in advance, and more. He tried his best not to smile when you realized how loud your voice had gotten during your rant or how you threw your hands up when something in particular got under your skin. You were so passionate, so raw, and he loved that about you. 

He also did his best not to get angry on your behalf, but his jaw clenched when you mentioned a rude coworker. You could defend yourself, but it was in his nature to stand up for anyone wronged, especially his girl. If there was any kind of battle you needed to fight, he wanted to fight beside you.

“I’m sorry,” he cut in. “You deserve better.” 

The words weren’t to placate you. He was sorry he couldn’t force your company to do better, and you did deserve better with all the work you put in. At the very least he needed to see if there were better jobs out there for you if things didn’t improve or somehow convince you to quit.

“Thanks,” you whispered before you continued.

He didn’t interrupt again, but he occasionally hummed or grunted so you knew he was paying attention to every word, and he was. Whenever you talked, he listened. It would always be that way. 

But he wasn’t prepared for what you said next.

“I’m done,” you exhaled once your rant was over. “Now shut me up.”

“What?” he asked, his brows furrowing when you stretched out more on your back.

“I’m tired of talking and I’m tired of listening to myself rant,” you replied, hanging your head off the edge of the bed. “So fuck my throat and shut me up.”

Steve’s ocean eyes widened and he was lucky he didn’t break the door when he pushed himself off of it. “As much as I want your mouth around my cock, I should be taking care of you.” The bulge in his pants said he clearly wanted it, but you were the one who had a rough day, not him.

You giggled. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be going down on me before the day is over and you’ll give me at least two orgasms before you fuck me,” you said as a matter of fact, color creeping into his cheeks. Bold and unfiltered. He appreciated that. “And you’ll cuddle with me after.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “You want to cuddle?”

You nodded slightly and whispered, “Yes.” At the end of the day, what you wanted was for someone to love and hold you, to let you know they’d be by your side. 

“All the cuddles you want,” he promised because he wanted to hold you, too.

“Good,” you said, pointing at your mouth. “Now shut me the fuck up.”

His fingers curled as he took slow strides toward the bed. “You giving me orders?” he asked, a hint of a growl in his voice.

“I am, and I expect you to obey them, Captain,” you said, letting your mouth fall open. It was a beautiful sight.

“Fuck,” he hissed, unbuttoning his pants. It was almost unfair how quickly you could make him hard. A single look, a word, and he was ready for you. He couldn’t complain when he turned you on just as easily. He knew you soaked your underwear just from the thought of his dick sliding across your tongue.

“Language,” you teased in a sing-song voice. 

He shoved his pants and underwear down and heard the way your heart sped up when he stroked himself. “Thought you wanted me to shut you up.”

“Oh, I do. Shut me up. Make me choke on you, Stevie,” you said, moaning when the tip slid in. 

“You gonna take me, sweetheart?” he rasped, resting a hand on your throat. “Gonna feel me here when I come?” 

You moaned, taking him in deeper. With your head upside down he wanted to make sure you could still breathe. And, fuck, did your mouth feel like heaven. 

“You’re gonna sit on my face and shut me up, too,” he groaned, sliding his hand to your breast and toying with your nipple through the top, his thrusts shallow at first. “But I’m writing my name with my tongue ‘cause it’s my cunt, sweetheart. Mine to worship and fuck. It’s mine.”

Your whine vibrated around the length of him. People thought he was America’s golden boy with a polite mouth, but you knew better. You loved how dirty he was with you. And, yes, he was a little possessive. So were you. 

“That’s it. Don’t talk, don’t even think about work,” he ordered, his hips moving faster. You sputtered only once, but quickly adjusted like you always did. “Just suck my cock like a good girl and I’ll eat my pussy so good you’ll cry for me.”

You’d cry, beg, ride his face like your life depended on it and you’d scream his name when you came. And you’d swallow down every drop when he spilled down your throat. Give and take. 

He moaned when you reached back to cradle his balls and gently squeezed. You were so good to him, knew exactly what he liked, what got him off. “Fuck, sweetheart, do that again,” he demanded, his toes curling. “Fuck, I’m-”

He couldn’t finish his warning when you squeezed once more, triggering his orgasm. He moaned your name and coated your throat with his release with a few more thrusts. Once he finished, his head still spinning, he quickly pulled out so you could breathe. Both of you panted as he checked on you through the fog of his orgasm. You didn’t lift your head just yet, but you locked eyes with him and smiled a devastatingly beautiful smile.

Beautiful. Perfect. Mine.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, bringing a hand to your cheek. “Better?”

You finally lifted your head and nodded. Between the venting and having your throat fucked, you seemed in better spirits. And instead of speaking, you pointed to an empty spot on the bed. It was his turn to get you off.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirked.

And before you shut up for good, you’d softly thank him again for everything.

And in the quiet of the night, he’d thank you, too.

I need to give Steve more love, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[scriptseekstories]

Queen Bee’s Hive

Chapter 11- Wasp in a Beehive

A/N: See what I did there on the title? 😼 it’s not that clever- it’s also been hard to write this chapter because I had a lot of ideas but can’t just cram it all into one chapter, so I had to cherry pick what to put in.

That and writer’s block lmao

You had another nightmare this night. You fell out of your little hammock with tears in your eyes, shaking as whimpers build up in your throat. You frantically searched for your bee plush, hugging it tightly against your chest.

Rain poured down from outside, droplets splashing onto the window, slowly rocking your beehive. Staying in such a tiny room didn’t feel comforting, so you stepped out of the room and crept through the halls.

“A-Alfred…” You whispered to yourself, the dim lights from the walls illuminating your way. Passing the upstairs railing, you could see Dick and Tim downstairs, talking in such a late hour while laughing and smiling.

You wish you could run to them for comfort, but the last time you did you only got an uncomfortable smile from Dick and an annoyed eye roll from Tim. So you only continued to walk until making it to a door, knocking slowly while sniffling.

“Master (Name), why are you out of bed?” The door opened for Alfred to kneel down, worried at your teary face. The thunder outside only made you flinch more, where you shakily opened your mouth.

“M-Mama…” You only choked out before collapsing in his arms weeping. Alfred immediately began to shush you gently, his gentle tone soothing out any of the thunder outside.

“You poor dear,” He whispered, “Had another nightmare, did we?” You nodded before sobbing softly again and hugged the butler’s waist tight. He lifted you up in his arms before setting you on his bed.

“Here’s your bee,” He softly said, handing you your bee plush you dropped. You grabbed it and crawled under his covers, making him chuckle softly as this was a nightly occurrence for you to sleep on his bed.

“I will make a vow to you, Master (Name),” He hummed, sliding into his side of the bed, making sure your Wonder Woman nightlight (he never told Bruce) lit the room to keep you calm.

“I promise you, you will never have another nightmare again,” Reaching to cup your little cheek, you wiped all your tears away and gave a smile, eyes fluttering closed before sleep overtook you.

“G’night Alfred…” You mumbled. His heart ached, his breathing stuttering before smiling warmly at you, his own eyes drifting down to sleep.

“And you will never be alone,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

“I promised…” Holding your bee plush seemed to be the only thing that’s keeping Alfred from falling onto his knees and letting out another heartbreaking cry. You were alive, truly alive! You may look different, but you’re still his baby!!

Problem is… this changed everything to what the Wayne Family was struggling with. The thing that “killed” you… was really you.

And it was causing chaos.

“I say we just go track them down and bring them back!” Damien demanded, already in his Robin suit and ready to find you.

“We need to find out what caused (Name) to become that thing so we could create a cure!” Tim countered back, glaring at the younger boy.

“Guys…” Duke swallowed hard, “What if… it’s not (Name) anymore…” Alfred didn’t want to believe it, he wanted to deny and insist that you were still you. Yet… he didn’t know who you were, and it seemed like you didn’t know either.

“If that thing is no longer them… then we have to kill it,” Steph managed to choke out. The memory of seeing you dead haunted her, but knowing the thought of killing you again… She definitely took in the fact both times would be because of them.

“You’re wrong,” The voice of Cass made the yelling stop. The vigilante never speaks unless she wants to, so Cass speaks, everyone listens. She had a hardened look on her face, moving over to where Jason was sitting.

“When they broke Jason’s hand,” She lifted Jason’s cast, “They stopped before they could kill him,” The way you looked after you backed away in terror, as if seeing him- albeit his mask covered his face- gave you recognition.

“They called me Jaybird,” That was a name Jason hasn’t heard ever since his death. The one name that made him grin with joy and laugh like he was a kid again. The name that was given to him by the one person who balanced his hero life and his kid life.

“(Name) is still there, somewhere deep down in that beast’s heart,” He continued for Cass, sitting upright from his chair. A spark of hope and determination filled everyone, prepared to do whatever it takes to save you.

Alfred stared down back at your bee plush. Maybe things will be okay, you’ll be in his arms again and everything that happened will be nothing more than a memory. You’ll be his sweet (Name) again.

“I’ll find a cure to whatever they were infected with, to bring them back,” Barbara and Tim immediately got to work in searching for whatever was left in that warehouse they took. They lost the tapes your mother made about Project: Honey, but splashes of pollen and videos from your phone could give them enough time and clues for a cure.

“We’ll have our (Name) back in no time,” Duck reassured everyone, “Don’t celebrate yet Grayson,” Damien hissed, but Dick knew that tone of his brother’s voice that he was also anxious about finding you again.

“The next step is to find Poison Ivy, see if she was behind their accident,” Bruce declared, “The mere mention of her name already gave us many leads and clues as to what happened,” Hunting Ivy down was another hassle, since she usually vanishes for months before appearing for her next spree, and Harley never snitches on her.

“I know how,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

Selina was a woman of many words through action. She shows her body to save others like her, swings a leg to kick it into a face of bad people, drags a whip to crack it into a neck, speaks to lure others into a trap.

Yet when it came to Bruce, it was a roll of a dice on whether or not her actions will get through to him. She couldn’t get through to him about his No-Kill code, nor did she got through to him when letting Jason go, but now?

Nothing is ever going to get through to him with this.

“Figured it was about time you would come sniffing around us for a certain someone,” She leaned against a railing on a rooftop, admiring the moon as if it was precious jewelry.

The brooding figure of Batsy was always something she was amazed to seeing, yet tonight she could tell he was off his game, that’s how much she knew him well.

"Where’s Poison Ivy?” He gruffed out, skipping the smooth talking he combined his Batman persona with his Brucie Wayne persona.

“You know I don’t rat out my girls, especially if she hasn’t done anything bad in a while,” Selina scoffed while admiring her claws, seemingly uninterested in what he was going to say.

“But even if I did tell you where Ivy was, not like she would say anything to you willingly, not without breaking your bones. I’m all you got right now for any information,” She shrugged, her whip draped along the ground like a tail.

“Then you know the reason I’m here,” Bruce pulled out a photo, taken from a security camera catching your figure, blurred and out of focus. Selina didn’t bother looking at what he was holding.

“We weren't going have the kid to be thrown in Arkham, Bruce,” She snapped, “Whatever you see, they weren't always like that,” She stretched her body and sat up right, already ready to escape whatever interrogation Bruce was initiating.

“They were just a kid. A clumsy yet smart kid who even knew us as criminals, still smiled and greeted us as if we were still human,” She smiled at the memories of you skating along the street while waving to them, before eating shit into a pole.

“You would’ve loved them, they kinda reminded me of you,” She breathed a chuckle. She was tired, and swung her legs over the railing to leave Bats in the dust, but froze when he spoke.

“That was because they are my child,” His breathing was stilted, as Selina slowly turned her head to see Bruce pulling his cowl off, letting her see how… tired he looked. More than usual.

“Holy shit… you’re the neglectful dad?” Selina’s eyes narrowed before letting out a soft chuckle, growing into a bitter laugh, “Should’ve known, your history on loving your kids were a bit iffy, never really thought you had it in you for abandoning one,” She continued laughing as she slid back to sit on the railing.

“I didn’t abandoned them,” He quickly said, though it felt defensive rather than the truth, “Sure seemed like you did,” She scoffed, standing up.

“I mean, talk about broken home! Did you really didn’t do anything when Damien swung his sword at them? Poor baby went to Ivy for it to heal… never got rid of that scar,” Selina pressed her finger on her forehead, informing where you got your scar from Damien.

“Selina, please. I’m begging you to tell me where they are. At least where Ivy is,” Bruce clenched his hands around his cowl, voice more desperate if you recognized the way he spoke. He was trying to stay strong despite it all.

“And why should I? So you could feel better about yourself? So you don’t have that guilt in your heart reminding you that you failed as a father? That you can’t stand the thought of actually failing being what others saw you as?” Selina pressed him, glaring at Bruce as she backed him to the edge of the building.

“You might as well just accepted you never had them as your kid in the first place since you failed to see them!” The venom from her voice made Bruce clench his eyes shut, gritting his teeth before the gates burst open

“Selina please!!” His Batman voice wavered and broke into Bruce Wayne. Selina stayed silent, watching a broken man as he fell onto his knees, not being able to support the emotional wreck he was in.

"I lost them once-!… I-I can't lose them again…” He wasn’t ever going to lose you again. He will make sure that you will be loved till the end of times that you won’t even remember why you were angry at him. You’ll forgive him that he can promise.

“… Fuck, she’s going to kill me…” Selina groaned, rubbing her face seeing the pathetic face of Bruce, yet couldn’t help but soften a little. She opened a little bag on her belt and shuffled around.

“This is all I’m giving you, because despite us together, your mistakes messed that little baby up so bad they became a monster because of you,” She flicked a small card at his feet, avoiding eye contact.

“This is the only thing I’m going to do, it ain’t my place to interfere, nor help you with,” Even if she was involved with Bruce, you were first, always had and always will be.

“And watch out with Ivy finding out that not only you’re their dad, but the reason they were hurt for so many years,” Selina dusted herself off before hopping onto the ledge of the building, stopping for a moment and turning to Bruce.

“Don’t. Make me regret this,” She warned cautiously and dangerously, pointing at him before jumping off the ledge to leave. Bruce stayed silent before slowly crouching down to lift the card to him.

The card didn’t had any other information other than a name with little hexagon patterns splattered across the faded paper. Guess whoever takes card would know their way around the city to find this place.

“The HoneyComb,”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

“Here!” It was easy to pin point the location to this indie club that apparently is easy to join. Barbara zoomed in from security footage that came from an undetected camera perched on a small bakery nearby.

“Oswald Cobblepot paid for the property of the warehouse (Name) spent years in by using an alias to sway any suspicion. Discretely having it under renovation during the night, construction was under wraps for days,” Tim crossed his arms and leaned against the Bat computer’s desk holder, eyes darting around to take in every detail from the footage.

“Now we know why,” Barbara piped in, “(Name) has been using the very place they worked hard in as their new home. Surveillance from other stores showed people enter and exit through the night,” More choppy videos played, yet it was clear as day what, or who they were seeing.

“Look at that…” Duke’s eyes widened when spotting familiar faces. From simple mugging or burglary, they see people that only wanted to survive that they had stopped before, “Glowing eyes… just like-,” Now they’re eyes were just like-

“(Names)’s,” Jason breathed out a laugh, “Guess their little rants about bees to me worked in our favor,” Damien looked up at his brother, confused as Jason began to explain.

“A queen bee can’t survive without drones or worker bees, so instead of laying eggs to larvae, (Name) must’ve used that honey they were so proud of as some sort of mind control to target homeless, muggers, or drug addicts to work for them,” He explained, arms crossed and nodding in realization.

“No one would miss those kinds of people,” It sounded mean, but even the optimistic ones in the Batfamily knew that they were nothing more than thieves.

“W-we can’t just let them continue with this! This isn’t like them!” Dick pleaded. He was sure that whatever you turned into has trapped your mind into a mindless state where you had no idea you were harming others! He’ll save you and bring you back to normal!

“That’s the thing… If it’s too late to bring them back, we have to arrest them…” Bruce’s hand trembled at the thought of taking you away to Arkham. Maybe he’ll pull some strings to stop it from happening.

“But if we catch them… we can’t send them to Arkham. I know that our (Name) is still there, we could rehabilitate them to regain their memory!” Duke looked scared, and rightfully so. This could go wrong in many ways, but the look in the family’s eyes means that they’re willing to risk everything.

Bruce has made many mistakes in the past, but you weren’t going to be another. He will bring you back, he will spend his entire life finding a cure to your beast and throw a big party for you when you’re normal again.

“Question is…” Alfred began, his fingers on his chin in a thoughtful manner. Going in dressed as Batman and the Robins is a huge no-no, despite not knowing how capable you are in your bee form Alfred knows how much you hated them. So in a disguise…

“Who’s going?”

…

“ME!!!”

꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁꧂ ꧁

“Honeycomb, where all is welcome,” Dick flipped the card over a few times, as if thinking there was some sort of code behind it. Dick, Damien, Steph, Jason, and Duke were chosen (or rather fought) to be disguised as homeless or low citizens.

“Tt, Grayson, why must we wear such rags?” Damien tsked, shoving his hands into his pockets while they turned a corner to see the warehouse from a distance.

“We don’t know if seeing our faces or clothes the hypnotized “drones” will alert (Name), we lay low,” Dick ruffled the assassin’s hair, making him growl. Yet he was more focused on finding you rather than biting Dick’s hand off.

The low vibrations of upbeat music indicated that they were near. Standing at the warehouse, it looked like it was completely run down just like before, but the lights shining through the cracks said otherwise.

“Please! We seek shelter, we seek a home!” Duke banged on the door, before grimacing when he pulled his hand away to see honey sticking onto him.

Jason snickered before the two doors slid open, the glowing lights from inside blinded them for a moment. Duck squinted his eyes and raised his hand as a figure stood at the entrance, a familiar grin on his face.

“Greetings, my fellow outsider bees!” A voice so familiar with memories caused all of them to freeze. A hand quickly grabbed onto Dick’s, Jason tugging at his scarf frantically. Joker stood happily, oblivious at the group’s reaction.

“Looks like we are welcoming more poor little bees who are in dire need of our sanctuary!” He laughed heartily, “But not to worry! Our queen will take you in definitely!” He gave a dramatic bow before the doors slid open, the light from inside pouring out that blinded them for a moment.

“Grayson,” Damien stilled, “That’s the Joker,” Yet those words felt like a lie. It was so clearly that it was the Joker, but he was… different. His outfit consisted on resembling of a fancy jester with strips and pastel colors splashed across, large antennas sticking out of his head, his smile still wide, but lack the insanity behind it.

And his eyes… glowing like everyone else.

“Yeah, I know…” He mumbled, squeezing the hand of Jason, who remained silent but had that look in his eyes, Lazarus green glowing.

“We are happy to take in more of our precious bees!” Joker’s antennas twitched, which caused a few younger bees to offer plates of honey to the new group, to which they declined. Jason grimaced in slight fear when seeing Ben, a young boy he saved from being in the wrong crowd when he spotted him stealing from a car.

He didn’t look malnourished the last time he saw Ben, in fact, he looked better than ever. His clothes were new, his face clean from bruises and blood, but it didn’t felt great when his eyes glowed and antennas twitching.

Dick scanned the area while Joker rambled on about how his “Queen” showed him his wrongdoings and let him in with open arms. “They truly do care about their bees,” He sniffled dramatically, dabbing his fake tears away before laughing softly. It felt unnatural, this place.

Inside had hexagon patterns for the walls and the floors, along with the rails for the three floors she has within it. What appeared to be a waterfall fountain with glowing pink and orange honey where older drones gathered in bowl, still offering them to them.

Damien sure as hell doesn’t like the fact everything felt… too happy. Everyone was safe, yes, but the music, the atmosphere had this… strain, as if it was determined to keep everything in a happy state.

“You’re just in time too! Our queen is about to begin the party!!” Joker clapped his hands with joy, a genuine smile on his face as the lights began to dim. Dick instinctively pushed the others back as the drones and worker bees gasped with excitement, all looking up at the ceiling, where a massive wax covered smaller hive was glowing.

“Party is buzzing tonight!!” A loud, beaming voice echoed throughout the hive, causing your subjects to all cheer. Damien and Duke looked at each other just as a tempo began to drop, and from the ceiling, a bright glow crawled to be revealed.

A bright smile they recognized anywhere, and the voice that no longer stuttered or sounded coarse.

Buzzzzz

“Your Queen Bee makes the sweet stuff, so make me that sweet, sweet honey!!”

A/N: Again, this may be an allegory, but who knows lmao. Anyways, here’s a chapter for you hungry pests because writer’s block actually shot be 47 times then tossed me into a ravine.

Have fun analyzing why things feel fake and too happy, I like when yall analyze things

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