#so many more tiny little things and complexities and feelings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diremoone · 10 months

Text

“how i wonder” | r. sukuna

it’s been ages since he’s celebrated any sort of birthday or holiday. but here he is, with the girl that’s best friends with his little brother, at her apartment with Chinese takeout and watching a Halloween movie on Christmas. and it’s nice, until the power goes out and he’s left with his own thoughts.

part one | part two | part three

w — modern! au, fluff, age gap, older man/younger woman, Sukuna is 36 & Reader is 22/23, slowburn, pining (on Sukuna’s end), Sukuna thinks too damn much in this one but he’s so intrigued by reader he can’t help it haha, celebrating Christmas solely to feel happy and not lonely (sorta; on both ends), this was originally named “snow sparrow” but then was unhappy with it lmao, and many other tags I may have forgotten lmao

[ divider credit @/inklore ]

A man as wealthy as him shouldn’t be seen outside of the fancy home and set of cars he owns. His bank account is big, too big to be standing in the elevator of a simple apartment complex. Although the place is nice, he thinks. It’s not older than him and dilapidated and run down like some awful things he’s seen, nor was it built fresh and fancy and made to be super expensive. It was simple, and a despite liking the finer things in life, he found the simplicity rather… nice for a change.

This was only half-scheduled: meeting you at your place for the holiday. You’d been with Yuuji for a final essay assignment before the school break. Nothing major, just helping him edit grammatical errors and fix his repetitive word usage. That was two weeks ago; two weeks have passed since you made an offhand comment about “two bored people being bored together” for the the holiday.

Sukuna would never deny he wouldn’t outright admit it either that his little brother living with him brought something great into his life: a woman that he enjoyed challenging him, bringing him a new sense of vigor for life beyond the seven sins he was accustomed to.

His hands seem to be sweaty, though he’d like to think it was because of the several bags of Chinese takeout in his large hand. His left? Probably from having his phone in his hand too much. Yeah, that sounded right. He has no reason to be nervous. Why should he be? No need to dwell on it any further.

He passes by only maybe four or five people on his way up to your apartment that’s on the top floor. The few people he does encounter don’t meet his gaze; instead either intimidated or dumbstruck by his monstrous height and imposing aura and can only make a quick glance at him, probably wondering what such a person like him, especially as big as him, was doing in such a simplistic, plain apartment complex.

Sukuna eyeballs the door numbers, even on the left and odd on the right. Yours is four doors down on the right, 407 if he remembers correctly.

No, he remembers perfectly. Why wouldn’t he?

Sukuna knocks twice and readjusts the bags of warm food in his other hand. He catches himself shifting his feet underneath him like a nervous schoolgirl and almost cusses at himself, had it not been for the tiny metallic click of a lock.

You seem surprised, bewildered slightly that he’s really standing in front of your apartment door. Like you hadn’t actually expected him to take you up on the half-joking offer of spending the holidays together as two “lonely people.” You’re essentially a deer in headlights.

But a beautiful deer in headlights.

He can smell the subtle scent of lavender from you, a smell he hadn’t expected, but was certainty… entranced by it, and with a hint of something fruity mixed in there as well. The soft, navy blue sweater leans slightly more off of your left shoulder, revealing the black bra strap underneath. The black leggings you’re wearing make images go through his head that he’s tried to keep in behind the doors of his office and bedroom. You don’t even have to wear makeup, even try in the slightest to look as beautiful as you do. You’re natural, and you’re not afraid of it. You’re already confident in your own skin, even at your younger age. And heavens, does he love it.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.” Just like he thought. “But come on in. That’s smells good.”

Sukuna doesn’t get to see the cartoon cow slippers you’re wearing until he’s taking off his own shoes at your front door. His mouth quirks up in a small grin.

Adorable.

“Food can go on the table,” you say, gesturing to the low, long and flat coffee table in front of the couch. “I’ll get drinks. Sorry if you don’t like tea, but that’s all I got.”

“That’s fine.” His voice sounds almost foreign to himself as he stands in an unfamiliar place. But at the same time, he thinks it fits. Like he belongs here in this simplistic but nice apartment of yours, here with you having dinner and spending- You know what, he can stop thinking for a moment and focus on the present.

He’s in deep thought as he takes in the expanse and decor of your home further. It’s nice, definitely nicer than what he expected. His eyes take it all in, but finishes when his eyes land on the cute little Christmas tree tucked away in the corner beside the door to the patio, with tiny, glittery ornaments twinkling as the interwoven, multicolored lights shine against them.

God, you’re almost too cute.

But he couldn’t help but wonder for a small moment how you were faring expenses for this place, alongside groceries and going to school most of the time.

“You must manage your finances well to live here,” he hums.

“I’m not as dirt poor as I used to be, I’ll say that,” you reply. “But even then, being stingy will always be ingrained into my DNA.”

“Even if you have the world at your feet?”

You point to him with the index finger wrapped around your cup of tea, smiling. “Keyword: always~ World or not, the bare necessities are fine for me.”

He swallows down what your words do to him and tries to keep a straight face. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the way you inadvertently say you’ll always feel like you’ll never have anything to desire or genuinely want outside of pure necessity. Sukuna doesn’t like how natural it sounds, how uncaring you are towards wanting more than what you have now. He knew you were like this somewhat, but not to this extent. It makes him… a little angry.

So, now he knows the diamond necklace he bought you won’t be received like he wants it to be.

Guess I’ll have to save it for another time, he notes tactfully, watching you settle the food on the table and hop onto the couch and get comfortable.

The ambience of your home is a change of pace Sukuna didn’t know he needed. Until now.

He’s a giant, giant man, so he takes up most of the couch, even with it being relatively large in itself. You don’t seem to mind however, with the way your feet are barely a centimeter away from touching his leg.

“Any movie or show preferences?”

“Anything but Yellowstone.”

You snort. “What do you have against Yellowstone?”

“Dialogue’s too goddamn fake.”

You toss your head back and let out a boisterous laugh, giggling like a madwoman.

“So, the Powerpuff Girls then?”

“You’re not five.”

“Everyone has an inner child.”

Sukuna grumbles. “Just put it on fuckin’ Yellowstone.”

You throw your hands up in mock surrender, right hand only a few fingers lifted from holding the remote. “How about… Squid Game?”

“For a Christmas show? You’re weird as hell.”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

Sukuna chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ll let you decide.”

The spooky movie is ultimately what you choose, and Sukuna finds it nothing short of amusing. He’s not fully interested in the movie, mostly interested in you and the quirkiness that made you choose such a movie on a day like this. His eyes flicker between you and the movie, watching you munch down on the lo mein.

It’s been ages since Sukuna has allowed himself to indulge in relaxation, allowed his mind to think of absolutely nothing but the childish movie in front of him that was picked out for him.

One would think a man like him would let his attorneys and the supervisors directly underneath him do all of the thinking for him while he bathed in his own riches. Sukuna did, yes; he used to. But he knows that one step too far into indulgence could mean the end of everything he put all of his blood and sweat into. And that was why he was so involved in his business, rather than let someone else handle it.

But here he was: indulging himself. (But it wasn’t the same as being on a yacht with women somewhere in the Caribbean.) Perhaps the difference was it wasn’t indulgence of sin, but rather the indulgence of peace and quiet; the desire for more than the company of a one-night stand.

You certainly deserved better than any sort of degrading, essentially whore-like treatment the women he used to be around were given and treated themselves as. You were nothing like them, not even slightly; you would never willingly to jeopardize your morals and dignity, not even for a chance to be with someone like him, as wealthy as him. That kind of interest was on the back-burner. As much as he hated it, he respected it just as much.

Sukuna half-watches the movie as he eats the takeout, not having seen it since one of his first girlfriends as a teenager introduced him to it. It was never important, never intriguing enough for him — nothing but a waste. But now, since you chose it, now it was enough for him to watch it. He finds he enjoys Jack Skellington, amused by his desire to take over Christmas Town. He also feels some sort of similar between him and Jack, regarding Jack’s interest in Sally and him… with you.

“You want a refill?” you ask suddenly, drawing the man from his thoughts. Sukuna looks down, seeing that he was almost out of the tea. Had he been so deep in his own thoughts he didn’t know he’d been sipping away at the drink? He almost scoffs in disbelief.

“If you don’t mind,” he replies. But he figures he’s going to need to use the restroom soon.

“Bathroom’s first door on the left,” you say, getting up after pausing the movie. He’s dumbstruck for a moment. Were you a mind reader?

Sukuna watches you in the reflection of the television. Even just refilling the drinks, you manage to enamor him. You seem so poised, yet so uncaring that someone of his status was sitting in your living room, watching a corny Halloween movie for Christmas. Perhaps being so uncaring went hand-in-hand with how poised and calm you were? There shouldn’t be any other explanation than that.

But why? He wondered what made you unlike the other women, even ones at your age that were nothing but a flustered mess at the mere sight of him. Why weren’t you the same?

He excuses himself to the bathroom and makes it quick. He sees the bottle of lavender body wash, then notices the shampoo, conditioner — the fruity smell he inhaled earlier. With a quick glance, Sukuna sees no perfume either, which perplexes him.

There’s no way she could possibly… Sukuna ponders, but doesn’t finish the thought. And all of a sudden, the lights flicker, hard. It’s something that’s been happening for the last hour or so, but it’s been something he’s ignored until now.

Sukuna ambles back into the living room, seeing the lights dim just as hard as a few seconds ago. Your still in the kitchen, but narrow your eyes slightly at the darkened lights.

“I didn’t see this place as having bad electricity,” he hums, sitting to face the TV, continuing to watch you in the reflection.

“It doesn’t,” you reply. “I suspect the snowstorm’s fixing to get bad enough to knock the power out soon. Now would probably be a good time to leave. I can still see a few snow plows out.”

“I’ll pass,” he replies coolly. “Besides, two cold and lonely souls are better than one.”

He doesn’t know why you let out a tiny snort and giggle, but you do. (A little flower of pride wants to bloom in his chest.)

You lift the lid to the slow cooker and stir. The smell of chocolate reaches his nose after you seal it.

“It’s almost done,” you suddenly speak, “if you’re done watching my reflection in the TV, would you like some hot chocolate?”

Busted. Sukuna knows that he’s now the deer in headlights; his heart thumps harder in embarrassment like a schoolgirl’s would.

“How sweet is it?”

“I’ve no idea. I fucked around with the recipe, so we’ll just have to find out.”

A sudden click is heard, and all the lights fade instantly. It’s completely dark, pitch black almost that neither you nor Sukuna can see in front of yourselves. He moves to stand, but you interject. “Sit, please. I don’t need your big ass knocking my shit over. Nor you getting a concussion.”

Sukuna laughs. “You have it covered then?”

“Could walk this place if I was blind,” you joke with a small snicker.

He watches you find four different candles to light up your apartment, one each for the kitchen and bathroom, and two for the living room. You disappear into your bedroom down the hall for a few moments, then you come back with a surprising, heaping mess of blankets hiding your form from nearly head-to-toe.

“Help me, please? Don’t let it fall on the food.”

Sukuna stands and his big arms wrap around the bundle of blankets, lifting them from you with ease. You pluck one from his grasp and quickly put it over the couch for extra warmth. You’re not about to freeze your ass off with him here.

You get under the blankets fairly quick. It takes nearly two king-sized ones you’ve had tucked away to cover the colossal man that is Ryomen Sukuna.

“Think the food is still warm?”

“Barely.”

“Are you gonna finish the lo mein then?” you ask.

“You can have it.” He half wishes he hadn’t eaten before he came so he didn’t seem so… uninterested in the food.

You have absolutely no shame devouring the remaining food as much as you possibly can in front of him. You eat as much as you can, but there’s still enough of the food left for him if he wants it. It just a matter of it getting cold, you think.

The temperature drops faster than you anticipate though. When you chuck the empty box of noodles into the trash from the living room (you made it, huh, that’s weird) a gust of wind rattles the patio doors, seemingly almost shaking the foundation of the complex. You hear a hum of surprise from the older man next to you as you huddle under the covers more. You shudder from the onslaught of the cold.

Sukuna sighs heavily. He pulls his arm from the blankets “Come ‘ere.”

He almost laughs at the blanched expression on your face. But after a few moments, you cave, scooting yourself closer to him until you two were practically touching thighs.

You squeak as he lifts one of the blankets with one hand and you with the other, trapping you under the second layer.

You shake your head and snort. “God, you’re shameless.”

Sukuna belts out a boisterous laugh. “Shame has never come easy for me.”

You scoff playfully. “I’m sure it hasn’t.”

“Nor does it for you,” he retorts.

And then you admit something that’s going to be on his mind for the rest of his time here. And perhaps for days after this, too: “Mine is more of a learned habit.”

Another gust of bitter cold shakes the patio doors again. You shiver. “Jesus, I didn’t expect it to get this cold.”

“Or for the power to go out.” He huffs. Like second nature, for both of you, he pulls you closer, and you lean into his massive body, taking in the heat his body.

Goodness, you think, closing your eyes, he’s a furnace…

Today certainly hadn’t gone as he expected. The last thing he was anticipating was a snowstorm blowing out the electrical system for several cities, snow falling several good feet and keeping him in the apartment of the woman he’s fallen for.

But you’re what is consuming his mind.

You’re on his lap, eyes closed and resting your head on his chest. You’re so small. Regardless of height, virtually anyone would be smaller than him; he’s a behemoth of a man, yes he knows it.

You, compared to him, are simply tiny, like a bird in the hands of a giant. So delicate, so small and cute. But as delicate as you are, you’re not glass. You’re small like a sparrow, but at the same time you desire freedom, using your wings to fly wherever and do whatever, regardless of how hard life would make your wings have to flap. Your soul isn’t easy to chain down… It’s beautiful.

“Does your brain always run a billion miles a minute this late?”

He grumbles. “Sleep, would you?”

“Your brain has no depth, does it?” you say. Then you ask, “Are you even okay with me sleeping on you?”

“If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be in this position, would we?”

You yawn in reply, nestling your head comfortably on his torso. A small “okay” leaves your lips, and you seemingly have no problem steadying your breath and falling asleep against his chest. It’s nice, being that way for a good few minutes. Well, until you prove you’re not asleep like he thought.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Sukuna almost jumps and cusses, “Goddamn it.” You seem to know that you’ve startled him and laugh in return.

You keep conversation easy; although the two of you talk anything but what is on his mind. That’s not something he’s ready for. He’s still sorting out his own feelings, seeing if they’re beyond just being enthralled with you and your personality. Seeing if what he’s feeling is just high intrigue for you as a person, or whether what he’s feeling is going to lead to something more, beyond intrigue and fascination.

Because he knows that you won’t be able to stay forever. He knows that you, your soul, isn’t going to be easily bound by just anyone. He knows that you want to be unbound, he sees it in your eyes and hears it in your voice; he sees the desire to live freely in the way you carry yourself, the way you act and behave. But holy shit; does he want to be the one to change that.

You carry conversation easy, but eventually you fall asleep on him. The hot chocolate in the slow cooker is forgotten, but he’s sure it’ll be just as good in morning.

Sukuna, as he closes his eyes, wonders about the things you want. Where you’d want to go and the things you want to do. That kind of talk, however, is reserved for a time where there’s a deeper connection between the two of you. It’s reserved for a time where your walls are down and you’re no longer on guard, no longer having your walls built higher than heaven and deeper than hell.

For now, you two are two lonely souls celebrating Christmas, cuddled up to one another for the sake of warmth and nothing more during a sudden blackout.

It would be ludicrous to wonder if you’ve ever wanted to be loved and cherished, married to someone that would cradle your head and tilt it back to kiss you with the utmost devotion a human heart could give.

Now wouldn’t it?

a/n: I know that this is slowburn and everything, but it feels… superbly subpar? pls let me know if you guys think otherwise. this went about 85% of the original plot I had in mind so that’s a plus haha. I have full intent of picking up a bit on the romance aspect (of reader beginning to develop feelings) of this series in the next chapter, which briefly takes place after this one (I promise there’ll be at least one kiss)

—

taglist: (basically everyone that rb’d and commented on the first [for those that tagging worked on] ;; closed)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #sukuna drabble #sukuna fic #jjk sukuna #modern! sukuna #modern au #jjk drabble #jjk fluff

791 notes · View notes

xervn · 7 months

Text

like a french girl 🎨

part 1 - paint me | part 2 | art major ellie x dance major reader | ellie photo

ao3 link

summary: ellie had been struggling with finding the perfect model for her art final. that was until she saw you.

18+ MDNI | 2.2k words | tags; college au, pining, only a little explicit, no use of y/n, not proofread

disclaimer: not an art or dance major, don't shoot!

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Scribble, scratch, throw. This has been Ellie’s routine since she moved onto campus.

Why? Her professor told her that she draws the human body like it’s lifeless. Ranting about how they’re too one-dimensional and have no depth, her lines are too sharp or not sharp enough; flat and boring in looks and in feeling.

Now listen, Ellie has nothing against criticism. She respects her professor and she’s aware that her drawings lack “vitality”. It’s been something she’s struggled with for a while now, an effect of some recent events and overall adjusting to college life.

Ellie isn’t unable to grasp the anatomy of the body, in fact it’s the opposite. She knows the human body is complex and needs thorough observation. The way the sun hits the skin, the hairs on a knuckle, the creases of a smile. Wide, small, big, tall; no two bodies are exactly the same.

Really, the imagery is so clear to her, but she finds it impossible to transfer the life and motion of the body onto a piece of paper without truly understanding the person. The way she sees it, every body has a story, and in order to make a good piece she needs to know that story.

Since art school is filled to the brim with inspiring, exciting, and vibrant people, she has, of course, tried to talk with them. She attempted to get to know the models, ask them general questions and hope something clicks. Unfortunately, that has yet to happen. She can’t really ask her friends either without it getting awkward. Imagine, “ Oh, hey guys! Can you guys get naked and pose in one spot for my homework?” Hear how weird that sounds? Even though she’s sure Jesse would definitely be down, she values her eyes.

Any “muse” she could possibly ever want was right in front of her, so why was it really impossible for her to find one?

Well, because Ellie didn’t find anyone interesting enough. She’s not shallow or anything, it has nothing to do with how the model looked, Ellie has had several good-looking models. It was more about how she perceived them. It’s just that she hasn’t seen a model that made her ask questions like: “ How’d they get that scar?” “ What does that tattoo mean?” Stuff like that.

The last interesting model she had was probably a fucking homeless guy she shared a blunt with outside a gas station many moons ago. Till this day, he might be one of her best pieces. There’s not a lot of moments like that here.

Nonetheless, Ellie saw this developing– extremely lame— personal requirement of hers annoying as shit. It’s holding her back big time, but she couldn’t help it even if she really wanted to.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

It’s practically useless to keep trying. The tiny voice in Ellie's head presses her to keep going, keep failing, but enough is enough. She is seriously burnt out and any more of this might kill her. The only thing that could help right now is a meaty slice of pizza and a blunt as soon as she thought of it.

Ellie clears out her desk, knocking the stack of crumpled paper into a conveniently placed trash can; a placement made from her constant trials and errors. She pushes up, and stretches widely, obnoxiously groaning like an old man by the end of it. She quickly tidied herself up, tying up half of her hair into a ponytail and throwing on a dark-green flannel shirt she had to sniff before wearing over her plain white tee. She takes a quick look into her floor-length mirror, making sure she looks presentable before grabbing what she needs to head out.

Just as her hand reached for the silver knob, Ellie felt this overwhelming urge to look back. God, she knows what she is going to look back at, but she really hopes she doesn’t. Unfortunately, her eyes land on her sketchbook, laid flat on the desk underneath a lamp’s warm light. She shouldn’t.

She needs a break. She knows she needs a break, but there is a twinge of hope, faith, lodged somewhere inside her. The same faith that’s kept her from dropping out every day for the past four months. Ellie groans as she drags her feet to her desk where she whisks up the brown book and shoves it in her tote bag with an accompanying pencil. She swivels back to the door and strolls out, silently praying her mood improves in the next hour.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

The cafeteria was surprisingly crowded, but Ellie managed to get her pizza without saying ‘fuck it’ to the line. Still, the thought of eating between this buzzing mess when she was in such a shitty mood turned her off. Thankfully, she knew that everyone would be everywhere but the upstairs balcony, especially during this chilly time of year. No sane person would eat out there, and she’s not particularly sane. Ellie saunters off to the balcony and sits herself at a small table facing the view.

It only took a glance around before she came to the realization that the view is not really a view. There’s only a dorm a few feet away, directly across. It’s a large brick-laid, generic building with wide windows. If it weren’t for the blinds, the view into a room would probably be good enough to read a label on something. Ellie’s freckled face grimaces at the thought, imagining what it’d be like if someone watched her rage as she messed up her homework over and over from this distance. Despite that, she thought it’d probably be a pretty good spot to live in. It’s close to the cafeteria and probably a lot bigger than her 1x1 dorm.

With a twinge of curiosity piquing her mind, Ellie glimpses over the windows, and for the most part, they are all closed.

All closed, but yours.

Yours doesn’t even have blinds. You’re on the 3rd floor and almost completely unobscured in a black camisole, sitting on your questionably roomy windowsill with a leg perched up. Ellie can see the fairy lights strung up in your bedroom, and a line of succulents closer to the window; ordered by size, which she briefly thought was cute.

You aren’t facing the window, so she can only see your back. What she could see, though, is you doing your hair, occasionally swaying to what she can only imagine is music. Your room is high, but low enough for her to identify you if she had the pleasure of knowing you. Knowing you, reverberates in her head. Does she know you? Has she met you before? Amongst that babble, there is one more question she is slowly trying to gather an answer to.

Time passes, most definitely shorter than Ellie would have thought passed. Her eyes have been glued on you the whole time, she even forgot about her, now freezing cold, pizza just so she could gawk at you. She still hasn’t seen your face yet, barely even a glimpse, but she already thinks you are stupidly beautiful just by the way you move.

From the graciousness of your movements alone, she thought there was no way in hell you didn’t know she was watching. At some point, your arms got tired, so you smoothly rolled your aching shoulders back; stretching into an arched, effortlessly perfect posture. Ellie’s eyes traced that slight curve of your back as if you’d disappear if she broke off from you.

There is no way it gets better from that, is what she thinks to herself, only to be shut up immediately after when she sees that perfectness of your back stay as you bend over and shift onto both knees to grab something far away, bringing your shorts in view. So short— so tight , they could easily be mistaken for panties.

It was unexpected to say the least, Ellie could feel her face heating up and had to look around her to see if anyone else could see what she was seeing right now. Ellie wondered about the practicality of those shorts, wondered what exactly they were supposed to cover, leering at the plush of your ass peeking out. She thoughtlessly lets her jaw drop before muttering out a low, impressed, and barely over a whisper, “Well, fuck.”

You must’ve noticed your shorts riding up, since you quickly pulled them down after you grabbed what you wanted. Ellie clears her throat, internally scolding herself for being so gross— so perverted. Her brows furrow in embarrassment from all the dirty thoughts she brewed up in that moment. But for some reason, she still doesn’t look away. Well, there’s a list of reasons for her to look away, but she feels like ignoring it.

Then a cold gust of wind bites past her face, clearly a sign from the universe that she should snap out of it, and snap out of it she does.

What the hell happened to her? What is it about you that she keeps leaning into? Suddenly something clicks in her brain. After months of creative agony, something finally clicked. She has sat here completely fascinated by you and she couldn’t tell sooner?

In all honesty, to say she is just “interested” in you would be an understatement. Yeah, now she thinks you’re the perfect model for her final, but she wants to know you beyond just the drawing. A plus is that you just happened to be hot, and Ellie has never been attracted to a subject before, so the whole thing was new and exciting to her. Just the thought of drawing you made her remember why she loved art so much. Ellie reaches for her tote bag sitting in an empty seat beside her, pulling out her sketchbook with more enthusiasm than she probably ever has. She sets the book down, opening up a blank page with one hand and tightening her grip on her pencil in the other.

She looks back up at your window, ready to sketch your life onto paper and.. Shit. You’re looking back.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Today has been a good day for you, your teacher chose you to teach the choreo you’ve been working on for weeks to your classmates. It was an obvious ego booster for you. You felt good and you wanted to look good too, even if you weren’t going out anywhere. It was just one of those nights. You wanted to experiment with your hair, thinking maybe you’ll do something new before your next practice. Dye it, cut it.. something.

It’s been a while since you started, and after several wrist and shoulder cramps, you were finally finished. You take a look into your hand mirror, peering at your reflection. You’re satisfied now, looking exactly how you’re feeling if you minus the dingy sleep clothes you’re in.

♫ My heart, I never be, I never see, I never know. ♫

Grimes? Really? You pout, upset that your playlist didn’t magically read your mood. What you need is real 2000’s hot girl music. Britney Spears, Nelly Furtado, or Beyoncé for crying out loud.

“Alexa, skip!” You shout across the room, just loud enough for the device to hear.

The stupid thing doesn’t even light up, so you call out a few more times but to no avail. Isn’t the whole point of that thing to be voice automated? You sigh and look around for your phone, and seeing it’s nowhere in front of you, you figure it’s behind. You twist your torso to find your phone behind you and luckily you do. As you pick it up, you casually glance out the window without any expectations.

Did you see a figure in the blur as you looked away? You question your eyes, but you decide to take another look and just find out for yourself.

You peer back down and your eyes meet with someone else’s. The sudden eye contact between you and this woman instantly mortified you. Your heart sunk, and all you could do was raise your brows stupidly. She was surprised too, even in the dim light you could see her shocked expression boring back at you. Not only that, it went on for way longer than it should have. Any normal person would’ve looked away, but her eyes lingered on you before she hastily turned away.

You’ve been sitting here, dressing up your hair, listening to your music without a care in the world. Far too absorbed in yourself to realize there’s someone outside your window. You slide off your windowsill and out of sight. Just as your bottom finally hits the wood floor, you feel the coldness of it against your skin and you’re immediately conscious of the fact that your ass was literally out at some point.

The poor girl was trying to eat her food and you were bending over in front of your window like a harlot. It certainly didn’t help that she looked kinda hot. Did she? You peeked over your windowsill, hoping to get another look to really assess her hotness, but she was already gone. Whatever, maybe she didn’t see? But she looked embarrassed… embarrassed for you probably!

You hide your face in your hands and topple to the side, letting out a fake sob. Oh, god. You can already imagine Dina’s face when you tell her. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that thought. That was humiliating as shit, but it’s whatever. It’s not like you’ll see her again.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

side note: if you have any tropes you'd like to see w/ this universe pls do drop an ask 🤭

click 4 more!

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #the last of us part 2 #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #lesbian #ᝰ like a french girl

466 notes · View notes

cuubism · 2 months

Text

a lovely person on ao3 expressed interest in more of this retired Dream chronic pain fic and I said well who knows maybe one day and then proved myself a liar by doing it Now. when it gets in your head it stays there until it's out

One of Hob's greatest joys, as boyfriend and caretaker to one retired King of Dreams, is finding new things for Dream to enjoy. Things that Dream didn't have time for, or never got the chance to try, when he was fully occupied by his function. It's so fun seeing Dream's joy. Dream has never allowed himself very much of it.

Of all the things Hob's introduced him to, he hadn't figured Dream would be a video game fan. Always thought he was more one for slower media like books, or maybe he just hadn't been able to imagine his ancient, ponderous stranger gaming.

Hob was wrong. So very wrong that ever since he made the dubious decision to buy Dream an iPad he's been stuck in a perennial competition with Minecraft for Dream's attention, and Minecraft might be winning.

He really should have known better, should have guessed that the once-king of the Dreaming would love the immersive dreamscapes of video games, not to mention that he can create things again in a way that doesn't have the world-shaking consequences of his former role.

When Hob gets home from work, he's unsurprised to once again find Dream twisted up in a complicated pretzel shape in his favorite armchair, headphones on, nose buried in the iPad. Sitting that way isn't going to help his joints much in the long run, but nowadays Dream only ever seems to either sprawl or to crunch up in a tiny ball when he's sitting anywhere--sometimes Hob wonders if, after so many years of carrying every aspect of his life so primly and correctly, Dream simply can't bear to do it ever again.

He's also said that that twisted way of sitting is the only position that helps his hip ache less, so Hob doesn't complain about it too much.

"Hey, love," he calls as he sets his bag down, sitting on the couch beside Dream's armchair. Dream looks up at him, pulling his headphones off so they sit around his neck. Hob can vaguely hear the audio--Christ, on top of working on his crazily elaborate Minecraft world--Hob's seen it, the thing's insane--he's also listening to an audiobook. Yeah, Hob was so wrong about expecting Dream's way of trying to relax to be slow or measured.

Dream looks tired now, though, not relaxed, dark circles along his cheeks and a pinch of weariness at the corners of his eyes. Ah. Tough day, then.

"How's the Minecrafting going?" he asks instead of remarking on it. He probably sounds like an old person when he talks to Dream about it--well, he is an old person--but Hob's never been able to stick to any one thing for too long, and he hasn't actually picked up this game since the first time it came out. Who knows how it works nowadays.

Dream shows him the screen. Predictably, he tends to just play in his own little world instead of interacting with anyone else, and said world has become an elaborate landscape of infinite cityscapes, art pieces, and complex structures Hob can't determine the purpose or design of. If Hob's not wrong, it's significantly more complicated than it was just yesterday. Dream has picked this all up with disturbing ease and gotten very fast at it besides. You can take the dream lord out of the craft but not the craft out of the dream lord, apparently.

"You're getting quick at that," he says. "Pretty soon it will be bigger than London."

"Were it to be made physical in equal dimensions, it would be," Dream says. Maybe Hob should get him involved in city planning, might be entertaining for him.

He tries to imagine Dream at a council meeting and nearly perishes at the thought.

While Dream is still looking at him, Hob cups his jaw in one hand, runs his thumb over the dark circle under his eye. "Not feeling so well today?"

Dream sighs. "No. I did not sleep well."

Hob had noticed that, but he'd hoped the fact that Dream was still in bed when he'd left for work meant he might get some sleep later on. Apparently not.

"I am..." his lips twist. "My joints. Hurt."

"I'm sorry, love." Hob would fix it if he could. God he wishes he could. "Where?"

"Back. Primarily."

Really, Hob should be grateful for Minecraft, no matter that he's been in a pitched battle against it. It's one of the only things that can properly hold Dream's attention and distract him when he's not feeling well. Without his game to occupy him Dream just starts getting sad in addition to being in pain and Hob can hardly stand it.

"I love you, you know?" he says, and the corners of Dream's lips tip up.

"I know."

"You want to do some stretches with me?" Hob offers. "You can laugh at my lack of flexibility as much as you want."

He has, in fact, gotten Dream into some yoga and light strength training. It seems to help, at least a little. Dream's new human body is already very flexible, though. It's actually part of the problem. Maybe that's what happens when you try to put an amorphous conceptual being into a fixed body. Maybe it's just the roll of the dice.

"I would not laugh," Dream says, but sets the iPad aside and starts disentangling the knot of his limbs to climb out of the chair.

"No, but I can always see you thinking about it."

"I would not exchange flexibility for you being strong enough to pick me up," Dream declares.

"It's not a one-off trade," Hob says, laughing. Then, perhaps to prove a point, he scoops Dream up from the chair and into his arms.

Dream shrieks and clutches at him with all of his limbs. He's so good at tangling himself up like that that sometimes it still feels like he's able to manifest twice as many of them.

"Could try something else to flex those muscles too," he teases, and Dream gives him a judgmental look, but Hob can see the smile secretly tugging at his lips.

"Taking perverse advantage of my ailments?" he says.

Hob feigns offense. "I was just going to give you a back rub! Totally innocent."

"Mmmm." Dream tilts his head, studying him. "Perhaps if you are truly committed to doing all of the work. I'm not finding myself inclined towards effort this evening.”

"Taking perverse advantage of my generosity?" Hob echoes.

Dream smirks down at him from his perch in Hob’s arms. “Always.”

It’s fine by Hob. Dream deserves a bit of generosity, in his opinion. And a lot more than that, too.

“You’ve indeed been most generous with me in my indolence,” Dream purrs. “Cared for me in my infirmity. How ought a man repay such a magnanimous patron?”

“Could think of a few things,” Hob says, letting his gaze deliberately track down to Dream’s lips. “I’m more inclined to spoil you, though.”

“I am amenable to that,” Dream says. Haughty little thing. Even dying couldn’t take the king out of him.

Hob doesn’t mind, though. He’s always had a bit of a thing for it. So he obligingly carries his still-smirking lover off to their bedroom to spoil him just as he’s promised.

Afterwards, when Dream’s sprawled across him, one leg tossed over Hob’s hips in a way that apparently relieves the strain in his lower back, though Hob can’t imagine how, he says, “Does it bother you that I have become utterly idle?”

“You’re not idle,” Hob says. “You do plenty of stuff. I see you do it.”

“Not with true purpose, though,” Dream says.

“If you mean do I think you should get some sort of career, then no, I don’t.” Hob kind of shudders at the thought. “As far as I’m concerned, you never have to work again if you don't want to. Do what you want. Work on your Minecraft cities. I’m just happy that you’re here.”

“You work,” Dream points out.

“I get bored,” Hob says. “Besides, my job doesn’t involve literally being the job, you know. You have to make up for about a trillion years of no work-life balance.”

Dream just humphs, but settles closer against him.

“Does it make you uncomfortable that I pay for everything, is that it?” Hob asks. Dream has always been so fiercely independent.

“Uncomfortable, not exactly,” Dream says. “I find I still fail to grasp the importance of money.”

Hob chuckles. “Yeah, you would.”

“Rather,” Dream continues, “the issue is equity. Something I am contemplating more as part of human society.”

“Okay, I understand what you’re getting at.” Hob wouldn’t want their relationship to feel inequitable either, but it’s not so much about paying for things, but about Dream not feeling trapped. As much as part of Hob wants to bundle Dream up and never let him leave the flat again after he literally died once already, he doesn’t want Dream to stay because he has to. He wants him to stay because he chooses to. At the same time— “But, Dream, it’s been only six months.”

“And?”

“For your lifetime— hell, even for mine, it’s a vanishingly small amount of time. And you were so tired.” It still hurts, still feels almost panic-inducing to think about, how Dream had been the last time they’d spoken before he… died. Hob’s never seen such weariness on a person, and he’s seen a lot. It would take a long time for that to lift from a human, and Dream is operating on a much vaster scale. “If I can give you time to rest, then that’s what I want to do.”

Hob could never figure out how to help Dream when he was Endless. At least there’s something he can do to help Dream now.

“Rest,” Dream echoes. “You are insistent upon it.”

Hob buries his hand in his hair, scratches at his scalp. “It feels better, though, doesn’t it?”

It takes a long moment for Dream to concede his answer, but finally he says, quietly, “Yes.”

“I love you beyond measure,” Hob says, aching with the words. “I want you to be well. It’s no more complicated than that.”

“I think I am,” Dream says slowly. “Well.”

Hob thinks so, too—at least, more so than he once was. He has his issues with his body. But some of the heaviness on him has eased. And that’s a step.

“I do not think I have been well before,” Dream continues. “At least, not in quite some time.”

This, Hob knows, too.

“Then we’ll have to keep working at it until you’re used to it,” Hob says. “And I’ll spoil you until then. Well, after, too.”

“You seem to take pleasure in it,” Dream agrees.

Hob kisses the top of his head, rubs his hand up and down his back until Dream sinks into him further, boneless and lax. Maybe later he will give Dream an actually innocent back rub, it seems to help with the pain a bit. For now he just lets Dream fall asleep on top of him.

He needs the rest, anyway.

#an emotionally intelligent conversation? in my dreamling fic? it's more likely than you think #dreamling #my writing #ipad kid dream #putting minecraft in this is getting dangerously close to the mcyt fandom finding it and thinking it's about their dream 😂

207 notes · View notes

starcursedluvrs · 5 months

Text

"TALK"

I suguru x pregnant!reader

“And I’d be the immediate Forgiveness In Eurydice. Imagine being loved by me.”

part I of suguru x pregnant!reader (this isn’t completely canon compliant, and will probs be 3 or 4 parts and will go up to December 24th, 2017 on the current JJK timeline).

summary: you loved suguru more than anything in this world. and you could argue he felt the same for you. actually, he would end the world for you. so, he took you with him the night he defected, and you happily obliged. however, in the midst of the chaos of leaving your life behind, two little lines appear on a certain test causing you to rethink your entire plan.

A/N: heyyy!! i'm arden!! this is my first try at ever posting the fanfic I’ve written so please enjoy! I started this specific fic as a hobby back in December, and I finished it a little over a month ago (I’ve just been kinda nervy to post hehe) so here goes nothing! likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated <3

MINORS / AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings!: SPOILERS FOR GOJO’S PAST ARC. THIS IS A PREGNANCY FIC! 18+. nsfw. f!reader. suguru and reader are over the age of 18. explicit sexual content. unprotected sex/oral (f!receiving). breeding kink. fingering. creampie. pregnancy. unplanned pregnancy. lactation kink. mentions of child abuse. cute domestic fluff hehe.

wc: 14.5k

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 2007

4:27 PM (16:27)

“Wait…so what are we doing again?” you asked, riding atop one of Suguru’s many curses. You were straddling the pink alien-looking curse, legs dangling off either side. One of Suguru’s large hands held your waist steady while the other controlled the motion of the cursed spirit. His chin was buried in the crook of your neck, so that he had easy access to press kisses into your skin.

Suguru left a line of sweet pecks down your shoulder before answering.

“This village in the sticks was reported to have kidnappings and abnormal deaths. Shouldn’t be anything unusual,” he said nonchalantly.

You leaned back against him so that you could look up into his honey irises, pouting. His hand left your waist, moving comfortably behind him to support both of your weight.

“Then why did you ask me to come along? Seems like you could handle it yourself, you’re a special grade. I’m only a semi grade-one,” you reasoned, reaching up to play with his stray bangs. He grabbed your hand before you could reach his neat, inky bun, pressing light kisses into your knuckles.

“Well, if all goes well, maybe we can find a hotel or do something nice. Charge it to the school and say it took longer than we expected, so we get to stay somewhere overnight without waking Satoru,” Suguru replied, smirking a bit on the last line of his speech.

“I like the way you think, my love,” you beamed, melting into his touch.

…

January 2007

You and Suguru had been in a committed relationship for the past nine months, and friends for even longer. You started secretly fucking around at the beginning of your third year at Jujutsu High. You had always been attracted to him, but given your tiny class size and the complexity of Jujutsu Society, you didn’t want to cause any drama or make things weird between you two.

Well, life doesn’t always go to plan.

Especially that one night at the beginning of your third year when you, Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru broke into Yaga’s liquor cabinet, stole two bottles of sake, and got a little handsy. With your judgment impaired, you might have let it slip that you thought Suguru was very attractive and often wondered how his sculpted body would feel beneath his Bontan pants and uniform shirt. The thought was reciprocated by the raven head.

One thing led to another, and the next morning, you woke up in a tangled mess of inky black hair and bedsheets. Suguru just held you, keeping your body close to his, whispering sweet nothings into your ears. It was nice, you did not have to say anything to fill the comfortable silence that had fallen upon you two.

Eventually, he placed a kiss on your forehead and started to pull his clothes on from the previous night.

Last night. Was last night a mistake?

Should you have let Suguru taken you out to dinner or something before he fucked you into tomorrow?

“Wait…Sug hold on.

What does this mean?

For us? Our friendship?” you asked in a panic before Suguru reached the door.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to,” he replied in his calm, collected tone, looking at the floor with his back to you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you sat up, still covered by the soft sheets, pulling your knees into your chest, slightly offended.

“Just that we don’t have to make a big deal out of this if we don’t want to. We also don’t have to do this again if you don’t want to. I know this could complicate things if we keep at it,” he paced around to face you again, the distance still rather daunting.

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

The comfortable silence from before slowly turned awkward.

“Um…thanks,” you offer.

“…for…what?” Suguru inquired.

“Last night. It was…fun,” you flashed him an unsure smile.

A deep rumble came from his chest as he chuckled, “Yeah, let’s see how much fun you have walking today. See ya in class,” before leaving the room.

“SUG-“ you called after him, blushing at the cheesy line as he left the room, disappearing back into the cocoon of sheets.

…

March, 2007

You tried to keep your distance from him. Being a child of the Kamo clan, you were probably destined to be forced into some relationship that benefitted Jujutsu society, and not your happiness. This was just one of the many things that you hated about Jujutsu Society. Therefore, Suguru was all that more enticing to you.

You found yourself perched on Suguru’s desk the next week. Your legs were spread wide, held apart by his large hands to assure you didn’t squirm around too much and get away from him. Suguru was lapping at your folds like a man starved. He dragged his tongue up and down your slit, and worked his way up to your clit, giving it a little kiss and suck.

“Ngh Suguru. More.” You moaned, bucking your hips up to his face.

“That’s not how we ask,” he replied, pulling away.

“Suguru. Please.”

“What happened to complete sentences?” Suguru pressed one of his large thumbs to your nub, holding pressure, but refrained from moving it.

“Fuck YOU Suguru I-“

“That’s what I’m trying to do, doll. You’re just not behaving.”

He started to swirl his thumb around gently. It wasn’t enough to make you cum, but the pleasure was still intense.

“Suguru please, I need som-something inside. Fingers. Yours. Please.” You croaked out, your head going dizzy with pleasure.

“Awww, what’s wrong? Can’t think straight?” He said, plunging his slickened digits, adorned with a few silver rings, right into your core.

“At least you said please, so I guess I’ll let you cum this time,” Suguru voiced in that smooth, sultry voice of his.

He started moving those two digits back and forth in a “come here” motion, not giving you a chance to adjust to their circumference. A lewd squelching noise filled the room as he continued his ministrations. “You’re being such a good girl for me, taking my rings and fingers so well. Yeah, you like that, don’t you?”

You let out a loud moan, and Suguru immediately pushed his thumb in your mouth for you to suck on. That way, you wouldn’t draw attention to any unwelcome visitors who might be walking the halls of the school.

“You don’t even have to answer with that pretty mouth, your body is answering for you. You’re so tight. Gods, you’re gorgeous.” he whispered into your ear.

He put his mouth back on your clit to suck, and added a third finger. He kept thrusting it in and out, hitting that sweet spot that had you seeing stars, as if he had your g-spot memorized.

If Sugru ended up drowning in your juices, he would die a happy man. He absolutely loved lapping up at your sweet pussy, the earthy scent intoxicating to him.

Soon, you felt the familiar coil in the depths of your belly start to come undone, and your cunt fluttered around Suguru’s fingers, the stimulation becoming too much.

“Come apart f’me. I got you love. I got you. Cum f’me,” Suguru commanded in his pussy-drunk haze.

You let go as your orgasm washed over you, relishing in the pure bliss as Suguru helped you through the aftershocks. When you came to, he captured your lips in a hungry kiss. You could still taste your essence on his tongue.

The next night, you were folded over the same desk as he pounded into you with his fat length. The bathroom stalls. The pantry. Behind the bleachers at the field. You could not get enough of each other.

You and Suguru both fell hard and fast for each other. His unwavering sense of morality, intelligence, and kindness towards others drew you even further into his grasp. The way he spoke, his scent of freshly done laundry, his loyalty to his friends; these were all things that you loved about Suguru Geto. He was one of a kind.

As Jujutsu Sorcerers, you were well aware that your tomorrow was not guaranteed. Suguru made you feel alive, which, to you, was worth more than any amount of fame or glory that your clan could bestow upon you. He truly wanted to make the world a better place for you, and any future you might have together. On the third month of your official relationship, you confessed your love:

“Suguruuuu,” you giggled as he kissed up your neck.

You had been laying in Suguru’s bed, in the midst of a heated makeout session. Your back was pressed flat into the mattress, knees at an angle, and feet flat against the soft duvet. Suguru was positioned right on top of you, in between your knees. He held your face in both of his hands, and your arms clung to the back of his head, getting lost in the inky strands.

“I love you.” He whispered, as if he was telling a secret.

In lieu of an answer, you brought his head down into a deep, passionate kiss. Your tongues danced together for what seemed like forever and no time at all, until you broke the kiss and said, “I think I may love you more.”

“Unfortunately, doll, that’s simply not true. I’d end the world for you.”

You were hopelessly in love with Suguru Geto.

…

May 2007

“You have a list of baby names picked out? Dude you’ve been together for like a few months.” Shoko taunted, a cigarette tucked between her lips, clicking away on her silver flip phone.

“Oh, come on Ieiri, I think every person has a baby name list.”

“I don’t.” Shoko deadpanned.

“You’re a lesbian who has no desire for kids,” you shot back.

“Touché. I do have a cat name list, though, if that counts,” Shoko added.

“I think it does.” you replied.

“Ugh, fineee, gimme the list,” said Shoko, already grabbing the journal out of your hand. After scanning through the list of names, Shoko looked up at you and burst into laughter.

“Ok, you cannot name your kid Shigure. Or Kyo. Or any character from Fruits Bask-“

“Yo, WHO’S having a kid” interrupted the lanky, white-haired person with blacked-out sunglasses and a mischievous smile. Suguru appeared next to Satoru, holding a basketball, running to kiss you hello.

“NO ONE’S having a kid,” you replied.

“Ok, wait I need to know, do either of you have baby name lists? I feel like every person has them.”

Satoru sighed, and thought about the question for a second. Suguru sat on the ground and started rolling the basketball in the dirt.

“I haven’t even thought about baby names. To be honest, kids are kinda hard to have when you’re a sorcerer. You have to go on missions and then come home and change diapers, no thanks. Like, what if it poops on you? Also, I kinda wanna spite the old geezers in my clan.” Satoru added.

“You raise an excellent point, Gojo. This is one of the reasons why I love being a lesbian. Less of a risk for accidents,” Shoko took a drag from her cigarette.

“I can’t be the ONLY person here who has a list,” you sighed.

“Lemme see that-“ Satoru said as he grabbed your journal from Shoko’s grasp.

“…These are just Fruits Basket and One Piece charact-” Satoru snickered.

“Wait Satoru, have you read the new One Piece chapter yet? I heard it’s crazy.” Suguru cut in.

“Oh, no not yet, I haven’t had a chance to get the new volume,” Satoru whined.

“What are you doing right now? Wanna go pick up some coke from the vending machine, then get to that bookstore in Shinjuku and grab a copy?” Suguru explained with excitement.

“Honestly, a coke sounds amazing right now. Either of you wanna come?” Satoru gestured to you and Shoko.

“Nah, I think we’re gonna go steal some of Yaga’s booze,” Shoko informed.

“Yeah, he’s on a mission for the next day or so. Might as well take advantage of it,” You said, a little defeated and disinterested.

“…’kay see you guys later then.” Satoru said in a sing-songy voice.

Suguru walked up to you, pressed a quick peck on your lips, and said, “I’ll be back. Love you.”

But that wasn’t all.

Under his breath, so that no one else could hear, he whispered, “Don’t think this conversation is over yet, doll,” and walked away as if he hadn’t uttered anything. Your stomach was filled with butterflies and you felt your cheeks go hot as he walked away.

…

Later the same day, May, 2007

You were sitting on Suguru’s lap as he twiddled on his PS3 controller playing one of his games. Suguru was sitting on the floor, his legs criss-crossed while you leaned against his back, feeling his warmth though his clothing. You were sporting one of his large white t-shirts, wearing only your favorite pair of panties underneath.

“Sug?” You question softly, turning around to face him.

“Yeah, doll?” He replied not looking down from his game.

“So…about that comment earlier. Why did you say the conversation wasn’t finished yet? And which one? About the One Piece chapter? Or the baby names? I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable asking that question, I was ju-“

Suguru paused his game and looked at you, a smirk on his face.

“It did the opposite of making me uncomfortable, actually. It made me feel a little more normal, or as normal as we can be given our lifestyle. I have a baby name list too.”

Your heart fluttered. Of course he did.

“I saw the list over Satoru’s shoulder. And we actually had one name in common.”

“Which name?”

“Riko.” He replied softly.

His answer made you happy and sad all at once. You wish you didn’t have that name on your list. Riko Amanai had meant so much to the both of you. She represented the freedom that you could have from Jujutsu Society, as well as everything that was broken and corrupt about it. Riko’s death is what radicalized the both of you. She set you both on a path to work towards a better world.

For a moment, you thought about what your life would be with Suguru had you not been Jujutsu Sorcerers. You would probably get married as soon as you graduated, get a job somewhere. Buy a cozy house in the countryside. Make home cooked meals, have children, adopt some dogs. You would grow old together and not have to constantly worry about the fact that you could die a gruesome death in the morning.

You were lying down on your side now, your back against Suguru’s chest. Suguru moved a hand under your shirt, to your stomach, slowly rubbing circles, drawing you out of your trance.

“I love your tummy, it’s so cute” Suguru sighed into your ear.

You giggled.

“What’s so funny about that, love?”

“I’m sorry that just sounded so funny in the moment.”

“I don’t think it’s that funny, especially when my baby’s gonna be in there one day.”

He said it so nonchalantly and matter-of-factly that you thought you had misheard him. You blushed, hoping you didn’t mishear.

“SUG-“ you turned around and gave a playful slap to his arm.

After a pause of giggling from the both of you, Suguru just couldn’t let the topic get away from you.

“Ya know, I think about it a lot,” he continued.

“Think about what,” you questioned.

“Think about what our future would be like. A house that is actually full of love. And little feet running around.”

“Tell me more,” you said against his lips.

“Maybe we’d live in a really remote village away from everything Jujutsu related. We could get a little farm, raise some sheep, horses, chickens, crops. We could add to the world instead of just taking.”

“Why do we have to wait for the future to do that? Money isn’t the issue here,” You answered, referring to the handsome compensation you receive for such a risky career path.

“True, I could just fuck a baby into you right now.”

“I was talking about the house, and you knew that.” You shot back, a laugh escaping your chest at an attempt to be serious.

“That’s another thing I think about.”

“What?” You were taunting him now. You wanted to see where this was going.

“You, your tummy all round with my baby. God, you look so good when you’re stuffed full f’me,” Suguru slurred. From the dim light of his paused video game, you could see that his pupils were blown with lust. He kissed you hard and messily, tongue intertwining with yours.

Suguru removed your (his) shirt and started to kiss down your body, landing at your breasts, hovering right over a nipple.

“These would look so good with milk. So pretty and soft,” he purred, taking a nipple into his mouth.

The warmth of his mouth felt so good against your pebbled nipples, you couldn’t help but let out a moan. He licked and sucked until you were a drooling, wet mess underneath him.

“You like this, huh. Baby, I’ve barely touched you. And you’re already this worked up?” He taunted, moving to give attention to the neglected nipple.

“What else?” you slurred, ignoring his question. He still hadn’t admitted it.

“Everyone would know who you belonged to. All because of me.” He continued, releasing the nipple from his mouth.

His words sent shivers down your spine, and you felt your arousal start to pool uncomfortably in your underwear. You needed them off.

“Suguru, what do you want?” you asked the obvious question, just wanting to hear him speak more on the topic.

“I wanna stuff your pretty cunt full of cum ‘till you can’t take any more, doll,” he grumbled, grinding his impressive erection on your clothed cunt.

“Wanna get you pregnant so bad,” he continued pressing feverish kisses down the length of your body. “You’ve been asking a lot of questions about what I want.” He made his way to your panties, “But, before I take these off, I need to know what you want.”

Your hole was clenching around nothing at his words, you were getting rather impatient.

“Please touch me.” You whined.

“Hmm, I have been touching you my love,”

“Sugu- stop t-teasin-nghhh.” you moaned as one of his thick fingers started moving in a circular motion on your bud. Soon, one finger became two, and he moved them from your clit to your slick folds, swirling the juices around, occasionally ghosting your eager cunt.

“Suguru gimme your dick,” you begged.

“Baby, one, you can ask nicer than that, where are your manners? And two, I have to get you ready to take me first. Gotta make sure I can fit the most amount of cum in there as possible,” he let out a small moan on the last word.

“Open your mouth, doll,” he commanded.

You complied, opening your mouth as he stuck his two slickened fingers in, pushing them as far back as they could go. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a dark stain forming on his gray sweatpants. He must have been impossibly hard.

Your moans and gasps vibrated against his digits, and when he thought you had been teased enough, he finally offered you the sweet relief of his fingers filling you. Definitely not as large as his cock, but they reached the parts of you that you could not with your own hands. Suguru started thrusting in and out, curling his fingers along the way, hitting your g-spot with brutal precision.

“Sug-nghhh, I’m gonna-”

“Shhh baby, you can let go for me, I got you. So good f’me.”

With the thumb of his hand, he lightly stroked your clit, and you felt the familiar heat bubbling in your core. After a few more thrusts, and praises from Suguru, you were cumming all over his fingers. He helped you through your orgasm, your head full of wool as you came down from your high. Suguru brought his drenched appendages to his mouth and sucked, cleaning your fluids from his fingers.

“If only curses tasted this good. I can’t get enough of you.”

In your post-orgasm clarity, you realized that your boyfriend was still clothed. That wouldn’t do. You sit up, rummaging through sticky sweats and underwear to pull his dick out. A long strand of precum dripped from his tip, breaking away as you pulled him out of his boxers. His penis would never fail to surprise you; he was of average length, but so thick, you could barely close your hand around him. You wrapped two hands around his cock as your mouth watered at the beautiful sight before you. But, just as you were about to taste him, two of his strong hands pushed you back against the bed, forcing you off of his dick.

“What was that for? I wanna suck you off,” you pouted.

“Sorry, doll. We can’t waste any cum,” he said as his nose ghosted against yours.

“But I just wanted to make sure, you never said it out loud. Do you actually want this? Can I actually get you pregnant? Don’t wanna pressure you if it was just a kink.” He looked into your eyes with concern, needing your verbal confirmation to continue.

“Suguru. Put a baby in me.”

You think you broke your boyfriend after saying that. He let out a grunt from deep within his chest and grabbed a pillow from the pile that fell off the bed in during your earlier activities. He placed the pillow underneath your lower back and whispered choruses of “I love you,” on your skin. Suguru’s fingertips traced over your skin, eventually grasping your legs, throwing them over his shoulders.

“I don’t deserve you, doll.” He pressed a quick kiss to your nose.

“This is called a mating press,” Suguru explained as he grabbed his cock and lined up with your twitching hole. “I did some research as to what position would get you pregnant the fastest, and I think this one has a good success rate.” He sounded so methodical in his explanation, which was so in character for him. Of course your Suguru would do research into this. He would do anything for you to make you happy. And you would do the same for him.

When he pushes the head in, you both gasp at the contact. He kept sliding in until his balls slapped against your ass and your pelvic bones met. There was such little resistance, and you let out a sob as he bottomed out.

“You ok, baby? You’re taking me like such a-a, nghhh- good girl. Feels like heaven in your pussy. My pussy.” It was so attractive when he got possessive over you, your ovaries felt like they were about to burst in more ways than one.

“Sugu- ngh- move-“

Instead of moving, he licked the inside of your upper thigh, dragging his tongue impossibly slow to tease you.

“NGH- plea-ahhh please,” you could feel tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. He made it so easy for you to fall apart.

“Good girl, look at you using your words,” he sounded wrecked, his voice gravely with arousal. And with that, he began moving. At first, his thrusts were slow and deep; you could feel every vein and ridge on his dick. His balls slapped against the fat of your ass, creating an embarrassingly loud clapping sound that bounced off of the walls. It felt delicious.

You weren’t just having sex - he was making love to you. It was emotional and sensual. The tears you felt earlier spilled over on to your cheeks as Suguru picked up the pace, his cock pistoning in and out. He kissed your tears away as you muttered broken moans of both his name and explicits.

Suguru’s grip was surely going to leave bruises in the morning. One hand was holding your body in place around your waist, while the other kept your leg over his shoulder. He let go of your leg for a moment as he grabbed another pillow that was somewhere in reach, and gently slid it under your hips so that he could reach you at a deeper angle. Your vision went blurry. He was impossibly deep, you thought you could feel him rearranging your intestines.

Finally, his thrusts started getting sloppier. You knew Suguru was close.

“Gonna fuck my baby into you,” he half moaned. “Fuck, love, I’m close. Want ya to let go first,” and with that, he moved his possessive, bruising touch to rub your clit. After a few rotations around your nub, you let go, your vision going white as you came hard, your cunt clamping down on his cock.

The vice grip of your pussy is what finally sent him over the edge, and Suguru began to fill you up with his thick load.

“Thank you, baby, thank you,” Suguru chanted, like it was a prayer, and you were the goddess who was receiving his offering. You laid like that for a while, him still inside, your hips tilted up to keep his cum inside of you. He left a trail of kisses down your sweat-drenched neck as his cock softened in your walls.

After about fifteen minutes, you felt Suguru starting to fill out again, his body gearing up for round two.

And then three.

And then four.

You lost count of how many times you had cum that night. Your tummy sported a small bump with the amount of Suguru’s seed trapped in your womb. You were so full that you couldn’t possibly take any more. And Suguru loved you like that.

Of course, he loved you always, but this was different. He took one of his large hands and gently massaged your sore, slightly swollen belly, pressing wet kisses all around.

“I hope our baby looks like you,” you whispered into the crown of his head.

“I was just thinking the same thing. I hope our baby at least has your eyes. I get lost in them sometimes,” he responded. “Ya know, your eyes are probably my favorite part of you, besides your tummy. And your beautiful brain. And every other part of you.”

“I love you so much, Suguru. I don’t think I can put it into words. You’re such a good man, so good to me. You’re gonna be the best dad one day,” you confessed.

“Hopefully, that day will be soon,” he smirked, “I’m gonna go get you water and a hot washcloth to clean you up. Want anything to eat?”

You smiled back at him and shook your head, blowing a kiss to him before he left.

You expected yourself to be more freaked out by his comment, “hopefully, that day will be soon,” but you couldn’t help but feel excited. Life as a Jujutsu Sorcerer was so unexpected, you never knew when a mission was going to be your last. You decided it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a little mini Suguru running around, allowing the three of you to finally have the family that neither you nor Suguru ever did.

…

August 2007

It was a disgustingly hot day outside. You were so sweaty, you felt your clothes sticking to you, and the humidity felt as if you were walking through a sauna.

Since it was so unbearably hot outside, you and Suguru decided it would be a nice day to go to a water park. Of course, that meant Satoru and Shoko had to tag along.

You and Suguru were in charge of packing, as the other two would not have chosen enough food or towels for your journey. They would probably also forget things like sunscreen and umbrellas, opting to fill your beach bags with bottles of booze and sweets. You and Suguru were practically the parents of the friend group at this point; sometimes the other two would even refer to you as “mom and dad.” Suguru would give you a smirk any time this happened, reminding you of the conversation you had back in May.

After you fought Satoru on the fact that he could not in fact take an entire box of ice cream mochi to the water park, you were set to leave on your adventure. The four of you and your bags all piled in the car of an assistant director. Excitement and easy conversation flowed through the vehicle, as all of you relished in the relief of the cool air conditioning.

Shoko sat in the front, smoking a cigarette, choosing which CDs to play, while you sat in the back with Satoru and Suguru. Suguru, being the gentleman that he is, gave you the seat behind the driver’s side. You tried to resist, explaining that he and Satoru would have more leg room if you just sat in the middle, but Suguru insisted.

The four of you finally arrived at the water park about an hour and a half later.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

As you walked through the wooden gates, the park was swarmed with families, teenagers, and college students. There were colorful slides entangled in each other at the center of the park, with a lazy river surrounding it. To the left, there was a wave pool with people attempting to surf, and to the right, there was another large pool with buckets of water that would dump on patrons randomly. The lounge chairs were spread throughout the park, and it seemed like the entirety of Japan had come to this one water park to beat the summer heat.

“Ok guys let’s stay together and try to find some lounge chai-”

“Shoko! I’m gonna beat you down those slides, ready?” Satoru screamed with glee, like a young child.

“Hold on, lemme finish this,” Shoko replied, motioning to her cigarette.

“NO! We. Are. Going. To. Sit. Down. Let’s just stay together, it’s a madhouse here,” You put your foot down.

“If I wanted to be mothered, mother, I would have gone home for the summer,” Shoko rolled her eyes at you. You just ignored her, too bothered by the heat to even come up with a good comeback.

“I sent out a curse to go find us a spot - wait. Where’s Satoru?” Suguru chimed in.

“Let’s be logical about this. Where is the nearest ice cream stand?” You asked.

“Ha, there he is,” Shoko nodded her head towards the nearest ice cream stand. In the line of children, there was one with white hair who was almost as tall as the stand itself. Bingo.

You marched over to the line, and went to tug Satoru by his ear back to the group. Alas, his Infinity was on, and you could not touch him.

“Oof, I would not wanna be him right now, that one has a temper,” Shoko joked, as she put her cigarette out over the trash can next to them, watching you and Satoru argue. In that moment, Suguru couldn’t help but stare at you, taking in how beautiful you looked against the summer sun. You were glowing, radiant, even as you berated his best friend.

“I haven’t seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Shoko broke Suguru’s thoughts, pulling him out of his trance.

“Yeah.” Suguru responded, smiling.

“Wow, you didn’t even try to deny it,” Shoko smirked back. “OOooo someone’s in looovee,” Shoko teased.

“I am. And I’m so lucky. I love her more than anything in the world,” Suguru said with a content sigh.

“Ok, now you’re just gonna make me vomit, that’s so sappy,” Shoko stuck out her tongue, making a fake gagging sound.

“It’s true,” Suguru responded, still in his trance.

“What if I can treat her better than you,” Shoko teased.

“Maybe,” he said, the slightest flicker of insecurity in his eyes. “I don’t think I deserve her sometimes. She’s not as tainted by curses and cursed energy as I am. She’s not the one who absorbs curses day after day.” He looked tired. Shoko noticed the bags under his eyes, but just as she was about to say something, you came running with Satoru’s wrist in your hand, pulling him with an ice cream cone in his hand. The ice cream was beginning to drip everywhere.

“I can’t believe they only had vanilla. What a ripoff,” Satoru sighed, annoyed.

“You dumbass, you didn’t even get napkins!? How am I supposed to call you a functioning adult, you’re literally about to turn 19, and you didn’t even get napkins?!” You berated him again.

“Oh, looks like the curse found a place for us to sit. It’s keeping the area clear so non-sorcerers aren’t determined to sit there,” Suguru interrupted.

You all walked towards a little spot in the shade with three lounge chairs and a table. You figured you would just share your lounge chair with Suguru and sit in his lap. Or he could use your lap as a pillow and you could braid his hair. Either worked.

Just as you were setting out your towels on the chairs, you heard a PLOP and crying following after. A little kid had slipped and fallen down on the concrete. He used his hands to break the fall, and the skin of his palms were broken a little bit, blood splintering through the cracks. He started hysterically crying.

“Oh no, sweetie! Are you okay? Where is your grown up?” you rushed over to the kid.

“I think I packed a first aid kit in the bag, let me get it,” Suguru added.

Of course he did, that man was prepared for the end of the world.

Suguru took an antiseptic wipe from the kit, and bent down so that he was at eye level with the kid.

“This is probably going to sting, but it will feel better I promise. Your bathing suit is dope by the way, I love the colors,” Suguru cooed at the kid, trying to calm him down.

“You remind me a lot of my little brother, his name is Noritoshi. He’s really brave. Are you brave like him?” you added.

The child stopped his hysterics and let Suguru clean him up, listening to both of your kind words. He nodded his little head of pink hair at your question and pointed towards an elderly man slowly, but frantically making his way over to the kid.

“Yuji! What happened?” the old man asked.

“I falled and getted a boo-boo,” the kid, called Yuji, sniffled.

“He slipped and hurt his hand, we have some antiseptic disinfectant and bandaids though, so we fixed him right up,” you told the man as he got closer.

“He was really brave,” Suguru added, smiling down at Yuji.

“Thank you, so much. You two are very kind,” the man said in a monotone voice. Though his voice showed no emotion, his eyes did. His eyes looked tired, but definitely grateful to the kindness of you and Suguru.

“Feel better, dude!” Suguru yelled to Yuji as his grandfather led him away.

After about an hour of tanning on the lounges with Shoko, you looked to see where the boys went. It wasn’t very hard to spot the two best friends, as they were acting like children, making big waves in the lazy river. On Suguru’s shoulders, you noticed something: the kid with the pink hair from earlier.

Suguru and Satoru were having some sort of chicken fight with him, all three of them laughing and having the time of their lives.

“You are hopeless,” Shoko rolled her eyes, a new cigarette in between her lips.

“What do you mean?” You replied.

“Don’t play dumb, I know what you’re thinking,” she smirked back.

…

September 2007

“Suguru, you look like you’ve lost weight, are you okay?” Satoru asked, as he twirled a pencil in midair with his Infinity technique.

“Just tired,” Suguru responded.

Over the past few weeks, Suguru had developed dark circles and bags under his eyes. He looked pale, and was often exhausted. Not too exhausted for you though, apparently.

It seemed the two of you spent more and more time together holed up in one of your rooms when you weren’t on missions. It was just so nice in your own little world, away from everything. You didn’t have to care about who lived and who died. You only had to focus on each other.

Satoru attempted to carry on the conversation.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“You probably won’t see me for a while again.”

“Yo, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I need to get out of here. Both of us do. We’re not fit for Jujutsu Society.” Suguru said, referring to the two of you.

“Ha, ha, so funny.” Satoru sarcastically added.

“It’s not a joke.”

“What do you mean? Dude, you’re a special grade, you seriously think they’re gonna let you quit?”

It was true. The elders wouldn’t just let Suguru run away and walk free. If he was not with Jujutsu society, he was probably against it. And letting a special grade sorcerer and his grade one partner roam free would pose a threat to the stability of the elder’s iron grip on the status quo of Jujutsu society.

He’d have to get the elders to denounce and force you out.

So, here you were, flying with the man who was your boyfriend, your one and only, on the back of a curse, headed out for a mission, and hopefully, some much needed seclusion with Suguru.

…

7:03 PM (19:03)

You and Suguru decided to split up for the mission. It had been reported that there was a sighting of two possible curse users and a separate cursed spirit. Thus, Suguru wanted to deal with the curse users, and you to deal with the curse itself.

You exorcized the curse with ease, using piercing blood to slice the monster in half. There were a few other lower level curses, which you could have eliminated with your eyes closed. It seemed too easy. If Suguru was sent on this mission, there had to be something else, another factor. After a few minutes of patrolling for any other cursed energy residue, you decided to find your way back to Suguru.

You found him standing outside of a small house on the outskirts of the village. He seemed out of it; he was staring right at the door, but did not enter. As you approached, you saw the strong cursed energy residue leading from the door.

“Sug, I exorcized those curses. I know you hate the taste of swallowing them, I didn’t want to make you do that if you didn’t have to.” If Suguru heard you, he showed no acknowledgement.

“Suguru?” You pinched the sleeve of his white collared shirt.

“Dude? Did you hear me?” You squeezed his thick bicep, pushing your manicured nails into his skin, effectively bringing him back from whatever plane of reality he was on.

“The locals in the village told me this is the home of two little girls, twins. Their descriptions match the ones for the curse users. So…” He insinuated, leaving the rest for you to figure out. His amber eyes were dark and cold.

“Oh.” You said. You and Suguru had both been through a lot and hated Jujutsu Society. You and Suguru had your incident with Amanai a little over a year earlier, and your uppity clan kept you from your mother, a heartbreaking decision by the family head in order to give you the best possible chance of becoming the leader of the clan. A position which you despised.

Over the past few months, in the afterglow of sex, you two would lay there, embraced in each other's arms, dreaming of a world without curses, without clans, without people to produce those curses. “Monkeys,” as Suguru referred to non-sorcerers, from which curses were created. In your and Suguru’s fantasy world, you wouldn’t even have a reason to use curse techniques. You could get married, have children, live a peaceful life without fear of a curse coming to take that happiness away.

The bottom line is you knew Jujutsu Society was unfair, but never would you think you would be asked to harm a child. What was wrong with these people? You thought of your little brother, Norotoshi, who was also six years old. He was supposed to be your “competition” for the title of family head, but you never really wanted to fight him. He was just your sweet little brother.

How could you harm someone that is the same age as your little brother?

A wave of nausea ran through your body as the reality of the situation dawned upon you. Suguru kneeled down on the floor with you, rubbing your back and holding your hair back as you vomited.

“Shhh, I got you.” He wrapped you in an awkward embrace on the floor, and pressed a kiss to your sweat-sheened forehead. “It’s going to be okay. I have a plan.” Suguru’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. He smiled, but there was no emotion behind his eyes, and his voice sounded like it was coated in honey.

His behavior was strange, but helped you to feel more at ease. Suguru gave you some hope to cling on to.

…

8:46 PM (20:46)

You were both sitting on the stairs leading up to the front of the house. You were leaning on Suguru as he brushed a hand over your hair, occasionally placing a kiss on the top of your head. You had finally finished sobbing into Suguru’s chest after an hour, the teardrops staining through his white collared shirt. You felt so many emotions. Anger at the broken system. Hatred, for the Jujutsu Society elders. Confusion, for what would happen once you committed to your plan. Grief, for the people in your life that you would lose. Betrayal, from the society that was supposed to protect people. Suguru sat with you and validated your feelings, making you feel like you and your emotions were the only things in this world that matter.

The plan was simple. You were both going to defect.

Both you and Suguru were sick and tired of the way the world functioned. You were sick of watching comrades, comrades who were teenagers, who were children, die.

During one of your late night conversations, Suguru once said,

“If being a Jujutsu Sorcerer is like running a marathon…

What if what’s at the end of that road…

Is a mountain of our fellow sorcerers’ dead corpses.”

In that moment, Suguru had played it off as some dark joke, but part of you knew that he was right.

As for the plan, you two were to wait until some of the elders of the village led you into the small house, as they apparently kept multiple locks on it to keep the supposed dangerous young girls at bay. Then, you were going to take the young sorcerers on the back of one of Suguru’s curses and run to Kyoto and find somewhere to stay for the night. Suguru said he would “take care of the rest.” You trusted him with your whole being, even if that meant him ending the lives of a few non-sorcerers. It would serve them right for causing the very existence of curses.

…

9:01 PM (21:01)

The two elders from the village arrived shortly after. You took Suguru’s hand and shared a reassuring glance, his thumb rubbing gently over your hand as if to say, it’s going to be okay. Shaking with exhaustion, anxiety, and some of the nausea from earlier, you slowly made your way up the stairs as the elders parted the shoji doors. The building seemed to be one long room with some sort of wooden cage at the end, almost like the house was made to hold animals at some point.

The building was dimly lit, but you could see the outline of two small figures huddled together in the center of the wooden cage. Your stomach turned once again, and you tightly squeezed Suguru’s hand.

“What is this?” Suguru firmly questioned, his free hand going up to brush his bangs away.

The two of you stepped closer to the makeshift prison, and the two small figures were shaking. As you made your way towards the children, they had obviously been beaten. They were covered in dry blood, scratches and bruises. They both had one black eye.

How could these children, these SIX year olds, legally be kept like this? THESE were the scary curse users that were terrorizing this village? It was disgusting.

“My grandchild was on the verge of death because of these two,” spit the woman who led you in.

“These two use strange powers and often attack the villagers.” defended the other man in your presence.

Suguru dropped your hand and squatted down to be at eye level with the girls, pinching his nose bridge between his pointer finger and thumb.

“So you mean to tell me that you monkeys think that these little girls, these children are responsible for the incidents that have been occuring, is that correct?” Suguru grumbled, his voice icy and dangerous.

“I already dealt with the cause of the incidents, they’re innocent children, what is wrong with you people,” you cried. You were full of rage, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

One of the young girls, clutching a well-loved stuffed animal, bravely spoke up and declared, “We didn’t mean to hurt anyone on purpose, they were trying to-”

“SHUT UP YOU MONSTERS!” The elder woman screamed.

“Your parents were the same. I knew we should have killed you when you were born,” the man added.

“Exactly, twins are bad luck. We should have known better,” the elder woman snorted.

Suguru looked down at the girls and whispered something that would not have been obvious to someone who did not know him as well as you did, “It’ll be okay.”

He started drawing a curse from his arsenal of cursed spirits, and gave you a nod. The signal to go ahead with the plan.

That same silky smooth, almost frighteningly nice, voice that Suguru only used when he was especially angry.

“Let’s step outside for a second, shall we?” Suguru tutted, producing the same pink cursed spirit you flew on to get to the village. He walked out the door with the two older adults and shot you a glance.

I’d end the world for you.

It was the same expression he bore when you confessed your love for each other, all of those months ago.

The girls immediately stood up when they sighted the curse. They were terrified, understandably so. You moved towards the thick metal lock of the wooden cage and knelt down.

“Hey girls, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m here to help. You’re safe. I know it must seem so scary right now, but me and the other man you saw me with are going to get you out of here.”

You told them your name, and assured them that you were like them. Using your piercing blood to cut through the thick lock, you explained to them about your technique and talked to them about your little brother to keep them (and yourself) calm.

As soon as the lock broke, the girls ran to you and hugged you tightly. They were shaking, crying, and clinging to your body. A series of thank you’s flooded from their mouths, and you kissed the top of their heads, attempting to dry their tears away.

“The pink curse over here is going to take us to safety. Suguru, that man who’s talking to them, is also a sorcerer, and he’ll meet us wherever we get to.” you explained.

You sat the girls on the curse side by side, and then climbed in back of them to make sure they did not fall. Using Supernova, you blasted a hole through the roof, and the cursed spirit started to levitate off of the ground. Quickly, you gained altitude and left the village behind. You covered the girls eyes as you looked back, just to see what was happening. The entrance to the house was ablaze and you could make out Suguru’s cursed spirits crawling throughout the village.

Shit. Well, there wasn’t any turning back now.

…

The Next Morning

Overnight, you had flown the girls to a small hostel on the outskirts of Osaka. You purchased a small, private room for the three of you to stay in.

As the sky turned from a deep purple to a ombré of orange and blue, nausea from the previous evening returned in full force. You held yourself over the toilet as you threw up what felt like your entire gut. You stayed like that until you heard four small feet walk into the bathroom behind you.

With the light properly shining on them, you got to see how truly filthy they were. The girl, who called herself Mimiko, had short brown hair that was knotted, matted, and crinkled with dry blood. Her sister, Nanako, was not faring much better. Her blonde curls were also matted, and there was crusted blood left on her forehead. They both were covered from head to toe in bruises, had dark circles around their eyes, and seemed to be alarmingly skinny.

“Um… are you okay?” Nanako asked. You took a deep breath, happy to focus on something other than your churning stomach for a moment.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I think it’s just nerves.” You answered.

“Let’s worry about you two, I’ll run you a bath, then we can go to the 7/11 across the way and pick up some food. Sound good?” You declared.

Mimiko’s stomach rumbled. “I think your belly answered for you, Mimiko,” you chuckled softly.

…

While the girls bathed, you went down to the Lost and Found of the hostel and grabbed a few items that looked like they would fit the twins: some hoodies, leggings, and a skirt. You also fixed yourself up, washing the vomit out of your mouth and splashing your face with hot water from the sink.

Once the girls looked decent enough to go outside without raising suspicion, the three of you ventured out to the 7/11 across the street.

The smell of food was a welcome scent as you walked up and down the rows of food, snacks, and other items. You grabbed whatever you thought a few six year olds would like, and on your way to the cashier, something caught your eye. A row of 100 yen pregnancy tests and other feminine care products. Whether it be a metaphorical gut feeling or the actual nausea that had persisted for the last few days, something told you to purchase a stick to pee on, just in case.You snuck the test into the pile of items you and the girls were purchasing.

When the three of you got to the hostel, the girls scarfed their food down, and you tried to take little nibbles and sips of water. You put the twins down for a nap.

You tried your best not to think about Suguru. You didn’t know what to think of him anymore. The man you spoke to the previous night could not have been your boyfriend. The Suguru you knew would never kill without a point. He would never just murder an entire village of people.

You hoped and prayed that you were wrong. That he didn’t actually harm anyone and just showed off his curses to teach the people of the village a lesson.

Wait.

What if he was killed?

It was all so confusing. You loved Suguru. He’s the one person who seemed to have love for you, besides your younger brother.

Noritoshi. A pang of guilt wracked through your frame, heightening the gurgling of your stomach.

If he murdered those non-sorcerers…you would have been deemed an accomplice.

So…

What would he think?

Your baby brother?

Would he be okay?

He’s a boy with an inherited technique in the Kamo clan. But would people look out for him? Would they keep him from your mother as well?

In your spiral of thoughts, you noticed the 7/11 bag on the counter and remembered the supplies you bought earlier that day. You grabbed it as quietly as possible, as to not wake the girls, and stepped into the bathroom, clutching the goods inside. Your hands were shaking from lack of food over the past day and a half, but as carefully as you could, you retrieved the pregnancy test from the bag.

The box was small, but felt so heavy in your hand.

Why not? It probably won’t be positive, you told yourself.

Why do I have to convince myself it won’t be positive, you thought.

You know what, it will get my brain off of Noritoshi and Suguru for a bit, you reasoned, pulling apart the tucked in top of the box.

After you fully unwrapped it, you read the directions, and followed suit. You put the test in the cup on the sink of the bathroom, and walked out to see the clock in the room. You waited five minutes until the results developed.

Wait…this was probably a bad idea.

What were you thinking?

This was so stupid why would you go and do this in the first place?

You needed to get some air, your chest felt tight. You felt the nausea creeping back again.

Suguru, where are you?

You grabbed a room key off of the counter and slowly walked out into the hallway, desperately trying to keep yourself from waking the girls. One of the first things that caught your eye in the hallway was a vending machine.

Maybe some soda would help settle your stomach?

You walked over to the machine and plucked a few coins from your pocket, listening to them clink through the slot. You selected a Ginger Ale and Coke, reasoning that if you didn’t drink it, Suguru would when he got back.

If he got back.

No. You can’t think like that.

You took as long as you could getting back to the room, stepping on every other square of the carpeted floors, trying to ground yourself back to reality somehow. You arrived at the door a few minutes later and opened the door.

The windows in your room were wide open, allowing a little breeze to blow the curtains. You dropped both bottles of soda.

You had locked the windows before leaving the room. You made sure of it.

You panicked, running for the girls to make sure they were okay. Alas, they were sleeping soundly, no new scratches or blood on them.

You turned your attention to the bathroom, where the door was closed and you heard some rustling.

Slowly making your way towards the door, you lined up your piercing blood technique, in case you were about to be attacked.

“Baby, is that you?” you heard from the other side of the door.

“Suguru.” You didn’t know if you should be more frightened or relieved.

Part of you wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and kiss the scratches and dried blood away from him. Other than that, he looked relatively unharmed. His usual neat bun was not apparent on the top of his head, instead he let his hair hang loose, his bangs tied up in a messy half-up-half-down. He was dressed in all black, a dark oversized crew neck and baggy black sweats. As insinuated by the dark bags under his eyes, he didn’t look like he had eaten or slept in the past day or two.

“Whose blood is that? Yours? Or someone else’s.”

“That’s one way to say hello.”

“Answer.”

“Doll, what’s wrong?”

“Suguru, are you okay?”

“My love, I took care of everything. We’ll be safe for the next few days, alright. We just have to lay low for a little while.”

“Suguru, answer me.”

“Shhh, everything is okay, doll. Your body's working overtime right now, and the pregnancy hormones can’t be helping.”

What?

You stared at him. No way.

“That test is your’s, right?” he questioned, his face filled with concern. “It’s positive.”

You stared at him, then at the test. It was.

“I- I’m gonna be a dad,” Suguru’s face cracked into a sincere smile.

He picked you up and spun you around, planting kisses all over your head and face.

“And you’re gonna be a mom! To my baby. Our baby. You’re gonna be the best mommy, you're so good with kids.”

You stayed silent; you were still processing everything that just happened.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he cradled your face gently in his hands.

You stood frozen, thinking of words to say, but they never made it out of your mouth. Your vision went blurry with water, and the churning feeling you had been trying too hard to suppress returned to your stomach. You gagged, running over to the toilet.

As you held yourself over the bowl, your body felt like it was trying to expel all of your organs out through your mouth. Suguru leapt to your side and held your hair back as you threw up, rubbing soothing circles into your back.

“Shhh, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out, this is just one of the best things that’s ever happened.” Suguru cooed.

You took a deep breath and wiped any stray vomit from your lips with the back of your hand.

As you hurled your guts out, you felt his large, warm hand, rubbing circles on the small of your back. The other of his hands went to hold your hair out of your face.

You stayed like that for about an hour, just sitting there, pondering your impending motherhood.

Mother.

You were going to be a mother.

It simultaneously freaked you out and surprised you. Suguru, the person you loved most in this world, actually got you pregnant. Of course he did. He always stuck to his word.

When that man was committed to something, he was going to have it. He was possessive, territorial even. That made him all the more dangerous, but it wasn’t him you were afraid of or for. You were afraid for the rest of the world.

I’d end the world for you.

His promise echoed in the back of your mind.

“Sweetheart, it is going to be okay. I think I may have gotten too overexcited and freaked you out. You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, I’m here for whatever you need. But, thank you. Thank you for this precious gift.”

It was a gift that forever linked the two of you together.

…

September 2007

You found her waiting on a bench in the center of Shinjuku, trying to find something in her pockets, probably a lighter for her cigarette.

“Hey, need a light?” Suguru asked, offering out a lighter.

“Hi,” you waved shyly.

“If it isn’t the criminals, trolling girls who smoke?” Shoko replied

“Just testing our luck I guess, '' Suguru joked.

“Mmhmm, well, I’ll go ahead and ask. Any chance the charges are fake?”

“No, unfortunately not

“Then I’ll ask another question, why?”

“To create a world of only Jujutsu Sorcerers,”

“We don’t want anymore of our comrades to die,” you doubled down on Suguru’s point.

“Ha, that doesn’t make sense, but whatever,” Shoko said, picking up her phone and dialing a number. Someone on the other line answered.

“Hey, Gojo?

Yeah, found ‘em.

Shinjuku.

No way, I don’t wanna get killed.” She said before quickly hanging up.

“Do you have the thing we talked about?” Suguru asked before walking towards the area his best friend was said to be.

“Yes, I’ve got her,” Shoko looked into his eyes,

“Okay, I love you,” Suguru said, placing a kiss on your forehead and walking off.

Shoko put her cigarette out.

“Shoko I’m okay, just, um, okay how do I put this…”

“Dude, spit it out, you're scaring me.”

“I’m pregnant.” you blurted out.

“Shit.” the mousy brunette replied.

“No, it’s okay, really, I’m happy, we’re happy, just…scared - ”

“Did you not use protection? You of all people? The mom friend? Well, now, I guess literal mom friend,” Shoko put her hands in her hair, scrunching it out of stress, “And you’re a fugitive! Both you and Geto have been sentenced to death by the elders. Jesus Christ Y/N, how the fuck are you going to raise a child as a fucking criminal.”

“I’m sorry Shoko, I-I couldn’t,” your last word was muffled by the huge lump in your throat. You knew Shoko of all people would rip you a new one, but you didn’t expect it to hurt this much. Tears clouded your vision, and you were sobbing so violently, that you started to choke on the snot and water running down your face. People were staring.

“Woah, dude. Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here now,” Shoko reached down to wipe some of the snot off of your face with the sleeve of her uniform. “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up, I have some supplies that I brought in my bag.”

Shoko grabbed your hand and led you into the nearby metro station. You rushed past the crowds of people, until you made your way into the gate. Shoko kept leading you further underground until you reached a room that was sectioned off for mothers and infants.

“Get inside, we shouldn’t be bothered in here for a while,” Shoko stated, her tone gentle. You walked in, and she locked the door behind you.

The room was small, but cozy. There was an infant changing table to the right, and to the left, there was a small blue couch with a table next to it. There were a few blankets packaged in sanitary wrappers laying on the side of the couch, and the room was decorated with pastel flowers all around. You felt completely safe for the first time in a while.

“Sit,” Shoko commanded. You complied and took a seat on the couch.

“I got one of those portable ultrasound things from the infirmary. I don’t know why we have these things but, hey, it’s coming in handy.”

“How did you know to bring an ultrasound kit with you?” you asked suspiciously.

“Oh, Geto told me to bring one. So, I kind of already figured you were pregnant, or you had some kind of internal bleeding. But with the way he was being so secretive, I figured the former.” Shoko replied, fiddling with the machine. It looked like a tiny foldable computer, the probe attached to a wire that fed into the screen.

She KNEW???

“If you knew, then why the fuck did you make me say it out loud?” you demanded.

“Because I needed to be sure this wasn’t a trick or something to kill me,” she shot back, “If ya didn’t know, your boyfriend -”

“Fiancé -”

“Fiancé, whatever, killed an entire village of people.”

“I know, but he did what he had to do. We’re trying to make the world a better place, a place without curses, so you don’t have to keep seeing people die.” You refuted.

“I’m not talking to you about this right now, I’m here to make sure you and the fetus inside of you are okay. You chose your path, and I chose mine. I’m not trying to change your mind, what’s done is done. I don’t support what you two did, but you’re still my best friend. I’m here for you,” Shoko finished and scooched on the couch to give you a hug. You were crying again, fat tears streaming down your cheeks.

After five minutes, you two finally parted, and Shoko reached into her bag to produce some supplies. She pulled out sanitizer, a bottle of gel, a pair of gloves, and a little blue cloth. Shoko sanitized her hands, and gave some to you as well. She then put the pair of gloves on and asked you to pull up your shirt to reveal your abdomen. Finally, she tucked the blue cloth into your pants, so that the gel would not get on it.

“This might feel cold. I also don’t really know if I’m doing this 100% right, so, you should probably find someone with a medical degree and not just reverse curse technique to look at you,” Shoko added, the usual banter reappearing between you two.

She squeezed some of the cold jelly-like substance on your abdomen. You winced at the uncomfortable feeling. Shoko took the end of the probe and started gently pushing it around on your stomach. After about a minute, something appeared on the little screen.

Woah.

That’s your kid. Your and Suguru’s baby. You started crying again.

You loved them already, and only wished Suguru could have been here to see this.

“Yeah, there’s a whole-ass kid in there,” Shoko confirmed.

“As opposed to a half-ass kid?” You joked. Shoko laughed.

Next, Shoko reached into her bag, producing a thick textbook. She turned to a page that was marked by brightly-colored post-it notes.

“Okay, based on this development textbook, you’re probably about 9 to 10 weeks along. Can you use your technique and give me a blood sample fast?”

9 to 10 weeks.

That’s a lot farther along than you thought.

You took a deep breath. “Okay,” and slowly produced a handful of blood from your palm, dropping it with a PLOP into the test tube Shoko held out for you.

“I’ll run a test on this once I get back to the infirmary at school, I just wanna check your hGC levels to make sure they’re good. But in the meantime, start taking these,” she produced yet another item from her bag. “They’re prenatal vitamins. Also, I know Geto has to have some connections somewhere with doctors. Have him find one for you. I can check on you once in a while, but not all the time or it will get suspicious. I love you, but I’m also an eighteen-year-old who doesn’t have a medical degree yet. I’ll leave first with Satoru to make sure there aren’t any sorcerers around so that you and Geto can escape. Stay safe and healthy, please,”

“Safe and healthy, coming from the chainsmoker?” You joked.

Shoko rolled her eyes as she gave you a final hug, exiting the room, leaving you alone with the bag of medical supplies and textbook.

…

Mid January, 2008

As the months passed, you did not think it possible, yet you fell deeper in love with Suguru. He doted on you and the twins constantly, spoiling you with gifts, having his followers help construct a lavish living space for you in the back of the monastery. Mimiko and Nanako shared a large room, their western-style four poster beds were adorned with silks and all of the stuffed animals they could desire. They had large walk-in closets full of dress-up gowns and expensive designer brands.

“Only the best for my girls,” Suguru would say.

As for you, he had a beautiful master suite built, the double walk-in closet filled with comfortable, yet elegant, maternity clothing and a California king bed dwarfing the rest of the room. The walls were painted white with navy and gold accents throughout the room.

When he was not tending to his cult, Suguru also kept you close to him as much as possible. Sometimes, he would even have you sit with him as you both tended to his followers throughout the day, him consuming their curses and you collecting their money.

Though he saw you as an equal, he was still overly protective and territorial of you now that you were carrying his child. He would sit you down on his lap in front of your followers, his hands caressing your now-evident baby bump, proclaiming to both you and the people in the cult that you were a goddess among mere mortals. When the monastery was empty, sometimes he would just sit and hold you, breathing in your scent. You would sit like that for an hour sometimes, him feeling the baby kick against his large palms, trailing kisses up and down your nape. You would curl yourself up as much as you could to put your ear to his chest, his heartbeat drumming with excitement.

When you weren’t helping Suguru, you were with the twins. Playing with them, going on walks, teaching them little things about the world that they missed while living in that cursed village. They were really excited to have a new sibling and talked about all of the clothes they would dress the new baby in. You had to remind them, of course, that the baby was not a doll. They also threw out name suggestions, but you had to tell them that unfortunately, “Princess,” and “Hello Kitty,” were not appropriate names to call their soon to be baby sibling.

At the end of your long days tending to the needs of non-sorcerers that were actually useful to your cause, Suguru would have you both change out of your robes and start to cook dinner while you played with the girls. True, he could have hired someone to cook for your little family, but he wanted to take it upon himself to make sure that you were getting all of the nutrients and rest you and the twins possibly could.

You somehow succeeded in carving out a nice life for yourself under the harshest of circumstances. Sure, it wasn’t the utopia you and Suguru had always imagined all of those nights back at Jujutsu High, but you had a little family of your own and were working towards a better, safer world.

…

After he finished tucking the girls into bed one night, you curled up with Suguru on the couch, your head tucked against his chest, and knees in between his hips, using him as a body pillow. One of his hands was around you and the other was used to cradle his head on the arm of the couch as you both laid there.

None of your pre-maternity pants fit you anymore, so you threw on a pair of Suguru’s gray sweats and a white t-shirt. You practically lived in his clothes at this point.

He started rubbing small, gentle circles on your swollen belly, seemingly in awe of your changing body. If you ever got insecure about your stretch marks, or how much weight you gained, he would make you stand in front of the mirror in your shared chambers, kissing every inch of your body. In the shower, he would take the time to wash your hair and help you shave. He wanted to let you know that you weren’t alone. Suguru was right there the whole time.

You felt a fluttering in your stomach where he was rubbing your belly, and Suguru gasped, breaking the serene silence.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered to your bump. Joy flashed through his tired eyes as his lips curved into a dopey smile. Then, he leaned up to press sweet, wet kisses into your neck.

“The most beautiful woman in the world. How did I get so lucky?” Suguru cooed.

“You’re stunning,” he continued, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss.

Since falling pregnant, you were sensitive to the slightest touch. Your fiancé was sensitive to the slightest glance from you. Your sexual appetites had grown increasingly insatiable.

From his words and kisses, you could feel yourself drenching your underwear. As Suguru’s tongue continued to slither into your mouth, you absentmindedly started grinding against his muscled thigh, the friction feeling delicious on your clit.

“Ngh- Sugu- p-please touch me. No teasing. Need you,” you moaned.

“Do you need my fingers? I bet I can take you right now from how soaked you are,” he purred.

“Don’t care. Want something inside,” you whined.

“Lemme check you first. Don’t wanna hurt you.” And with that, he felt your soaked, clothed cunt through your pants and underwear. You were so wet, that a dark, sticky patch was starting to form on your sweatpants. You nearly ripped the pants off of you in the midst of your carnal need to have some part of him, any part of him, filling you.

Suguru got right to work, stripping you of the layers concealing you from him. After a few circles on your clit, he sunk his middle finger into your cunt. There was no resistance; he was able to sink his finger all the way down to his knuckle. So, he added a second finger, which you took just as easily.

You felt relieved to finally have something for your fluttering hole to suck on, but you needed more. You needed to be stuffed to the brim, completely full of him.

“Suguru I need you inside,” you gasped, your cunt continuing to clench on his thick fingers.

“Whatever you want, my love,” he replied, slipping his fingers out. You almost cried at the loss of contact, but you knew you were about to be rewarded tenfold. Suguru pushed his sticky fingers into your mouth as he rearranged the two of you. You licked his fingers clean, and he let out an unrestrained moan at the way you deepthroated his digits.

Suguru sat you up, and scooted himself against the back of the sofa. He took his length out from his underwear, letting it smack his stomach, the tip weeping precum. Suguru removed his fingers from your mouth and used the remaining spit to cover his cock; a makeshift lube for the two of you. While he stroked himself, you climbed up on his lap and attacked his mouth with fiery, desperate kisses.

He helped you remove your top, and then shed his remaining clothing articles. When he took your top off, you could tell that Suguru’s thoughts about the day had gone out the window. Suguru always had a fascination with your tits, now even more so that your tits had grown at least 2 cup sizes since pregnancy. He took one of your pert nipples into his mouth, sucking softly and grinding up into your wet heat, letting a grunt rumble through his chest.

“Love, please,” you cried out, tears threatening to spill down your face.

With your pleading, he helped you to climb on top of him and lined his cock up with your greedy cunt. You slowly sunk down on his dick, feeling every ridge and vein inside of you. You both hissed as he breached your tight hole.

Finally, you thought.

Suguru resumed his sucking on your nipple, moaning around your soft mound, sending vibrations through your body. You were so overstimulated and sensitive that you felt like you were about to cum right there and then.

He could feel that you were close by the death grip you had on his cock. So, he reached one of his large hands down from your waist and found your clit. You sunk your nails into his wide shoulders in response.

“Give it to me,” Suguru growled on his way to give your other nipple the same treatment.

The coil in your tummy snapped, the sensations driving you hard into your climax. Suguru moved to nibble on your earlobe, whispering what a good girl you were.

As you came down from your high, Suguru’s hands moved down to your bump, staring in awe.

“I told you I love this tummy,” he commented, his large hand splaying across your bellybutton. He pressed his forehead against yours. “I think it’s so beautiful, that your body submitted to mine.”

“Mr. Geto,” you said with a fake gasp, sarcasm dripping from your voice, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re getting off on my predicament, you pervert.”

“Touché,” he smirked. “I think it’s hot your body is going through all of these changes, just because of me. You’re mine,” he growled out the last words.

“I’m yours,” you confirmed.

“Suguru, I’m tired, I don’t know if I have the energy to ride you like this.” You realized he still hadn’t cum yet, he was probably in pain with the deep arousal he felt.

“Okay, I’ll carry you to bed and we can finish there,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead and slipped out of you, your juices trailing behind in a sticky string where you were formerly connected

He then picked you up, bridal style, and started the short walk towards your room. The cool air felt sensitive against your hot pussy and swollen clit, your arousal and cum now rolling in small beads down the back of your thighs.

He set you on your side on top of your California king mattress, covered in fine fabric sheets. Then, he took one of the large decorative pillows and pushed it in between your knees to allow him easy access to your cunt. This position would also allow some relief to your aching lower back. Suguru knew you loved it when he massaged your back, so he started there, pushing circles into the sore muscle and kissing up your spine.

His erection rubbed up against the back of your thighs, rendering the both of you delirious.

When you both couldn’t take it anymore, he finally slipped into your warm, wet heat again.

“How would you like me to fuck you, love?” Suguru questioned.

“Slow and deep. Wanna feel all of you,” you drooled.

“Mmm, sounds perfect,” he responded, pressing wet kisses into your neck. With that, Suguru started a long, deep thrust into the depths of your pussy. You felt every part of him; every ridge, every vein. You made a sound that you didn’t even know could come out of you.

Suguru picked up the pace a little bit, leaving little whimpers and groans in your ear as he rutted into you. Suguru was usually pretty reserved during sex, but he recently started to be more vocal for you. It spurred you on even more, made you even more aroused, which felt impossible at this point.

“I love it when you whimper-nGHH,” you moaned, as Suguru punctuated the end of your sentence with a particularly harsh thrust. The sex started to feel desperate, animalistic almost. Suguru felt something primal within him snap. He needed to fill you, to stuff you so full, he would watch his cum leak out of your pussy.

“Suugguuhh-“ you felt your second orgasm of the night closing in on you.

“Cum with me, doll, lemme fill you, ngh, u-up,” he grunted, moving a hand down to toy with your clit. “You look s-so good, full of me. Ngh- your tummy all round, tits all plump, making milk for my m-my baby,”

For some reason, that sent you over the edge, clamping down on his cock and coming hard. Your cunt sucked him in with a firm grip, and you could feel that he was close too. As he continued to fuck you through your climax, his heavy balls slapped once more against your thighs, and he came with a gasp, a series of, “I love you’s” and “Thank you’s” flooding from his mouth.

He fucked himself through his orgasm, and finally collapsed into the mattress. After a few minutes, Suguru pulled out, watching in awe as his release dripped out of your hole. His fingers traveled down to the mess the two of you made and swiped his pointer and middle fingers through your folds.

“I probably sound like a broken record, but I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve you,” he said, kissing the top of your head, moving both of his hands to rest on your bump again.

“C'mon, let’s clean you up, doll,” he said, trying to drag you out of bed. But you were already fast asleep.

Suguru smiled to himself, running to the bathroom to get some warm compresses and clean towels. When he finished cleaning you up as best he could, he made his way to his closet, where he fetched his favorite graphic t-shirt. He handled you with more care than he would a butterfly or a flower as he dressed you, and headed to the bathroom to clean himself up.

After he deemed himself decent enough, Suguru walked over to your sleeping form and bent down to the level where your belly was. He criss crossed his hands and rested his chin on them.

“I love you and your mommy so much, little one. You’re so loved already,” he whispered, reaching one of his hands towards your belly.

Suddenly, he felt a small fluttering beneath his hand. Suguru smiled, his eyes alive with pride and wonder.

…

The next morning, you awoke to the smell of something delicious.

And four little feet running across the floor.

“Shhh, Nanako, you’re gonna wake up Kamo-san,” Mimiko warned her sister.

“It’s okay girls, I’m already up,” you sighed, yawning. “You girls sleep good?”

“Yeah. Can we get crepes today?” Nanako asked, changing topics rather quickly.

“It depends on what time me and Suguru get done at the monastery, but there should be enough time. The baby has been craving some chocolate,” you chuckled.

“I have a new name for the baby,” Mimiko declared, starting to climb on your bed.

“Oh, yeah? What?” You scoop her up and bring her into your lap somewhat successfully.

“Peach. Like the princess,” Mimiko said, matter of factly. She looked down right proud of herself.

“Mimiko, that’s a fruit. I think it should be Sparkles,” Nanako responded back to her sister.

“Well, we’ll have time to think about what the baby’s name should be, but for right now…I think we should eat some breakfast and see who can get dressed the fastest,”

“Geto-san made some breakfast,” Mimiko stated.

“And I helped,” Nanako exclaimed, attempting to have her voice heard in the conversation.

“I helped too,” Mimiko scolded with jealousy.

“Why don’t you girls go help set the table too and I’ll be there in a minute,” you said, pressing kisses to their foreheads.

“Fineee,” Mimiko rolled her eyes playfully.

You freshened up, brushing your teeth and wrapping your body in a luxurious silk robe Suguru had purchased for you.

As you made your way down the long corridor and into the kitchen, you could hear the sizzle of something cooking. You turned the corner to find Suguru, shirtless, standing over the stove of your enormous kitchen. You decide to sneak up on him, letting your finger creep around his waist as you pulled him back into a hug. You couldn’t press yourself flush against him, as your stomach got in the way.

“There’s my girl,” Suguru cooed.

“You’re making breakfast?” You beamed with tears in your eyes at the stack of American-style pancakes next to the stove. For some reason, this small gesture was making you really emotional.

“Of course, baby. I let the chef take off this morning to spend some time with my beautiful girls before I have to head over,” he replied, snaking his arm back to grab on to yours and place a kiss on your palm.

It was so domestic. It was so normal.

“Okay, order’s up. Mimi, Nana, will you help me put these on the table?” Suguru asked.

“Yes Geto-san,” Mimiko sang as she skipped towards the tower of the fluffy, golden deliciousness.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Suguru whispered, giving her hair a ruffle.

…

After the pancakes were eaten, and the syrup had ended up on the faces of the twins and Suguru, you pried the girls out of their seats to get dressed for the day. You and Suguru headed back to your quarters to change into your robes.

As you let the luscious silk fabric cascade off of your body as down to the floor of your shared closet space, you felt the presence of your fiancé behind you.

“Hi,” he smirked into your shoulder, starting to press kisses up your neck.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

One of his large hands reached down to your bump, caressing it with the lightest of touches.

“Can I listen to her?” He asked like a giddy child.

“My love, you never have to ask, you’re always welcome to,” you beam as he excitedly makes his way towards your protruding bump. “Baby’s been hanging out towards the bottom today if you want to feel them move,” you added.

“Hi baby girl, this is your da-”

“Baby girl? What makes you think the baby's a girl?”

“What makes you think she’s not?” he quipped, his usual banter-like tone making you giggle.

“As a wise man once said to me; touché.” The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, soaking in each other’s presence. After all, slow moments like this would be rare when the baby arrived.

Your peace was disrupted by a loud knock at the door.

“Geto-sama, Kamo-san, there is someone here to see you, he says it is urgent” you heard Suguru’s assistant shout through the door.

“Tell whoever it is that they have no right to request my presence. I will meet with them when I am in my proper attire,” Suguru snapped.

“Of course, master. It’s just… this kid…”

“No exceptions, I don’t care if it’s Satoru fucking Gojo himself, whoever it is can wait,” Suguru pressed, getting annoyed now.

“Yes, of course, I wi-AHHHHHH,” a blood curdling scream erupted from the other side of the door, followed by a loud thump.

Sensing danger, Suguru leapt into action, putting himself in front of you and summoning a curse. “Who’s. There,” he demanded.

Blood started to leak under the door and into the marble tiles of your room.

Suddenly, the door flew open to reveal the collapsed assistant on the floor, covered in her own blood. Next to the body, there was the figure of a small boy drenched in the scarlet substance.

“Noritoshi?” you questioned, tears filling your eyes.

…

END OF PART I

dividers by @bunnysrph

#geto #jjk #jjk geto #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen fic #suguru smut #suguru geto smut #suguru x you #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jjk spoilers #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #fem reader

261 notes · View notes

whumpinggrounds · 2 years

Text

Overused Disability Tropes

Woohoo here we go. I expect this one to be a bit more controversial because I am using specific media as examples. I would really prefer if, when critiquing this post, you avoid defending specific media, and focus instead on what’s actually being said/represented about disabled communities. If you feel I’ve done a really grave injustice, you can come into my askbox/DMs/replies to talk to me about it, but I might not answer.

One more time: I am not interested in getting into a debate about whether something is a good show/movie/book/whatever. I’m not telling you it’s bad, or that you shouldn’t enjoy it! People can like whatever they want; I am only here to critique messaging. Do not yell at me about this.

Newest caveat aside, let’s get into it!

Inspiration Porn

Without a doubt, our biggest category! Term coined in 2012 by badass activist Stella Young, but the trope has been around for literal centuries. There are a few different kinds that I will talk about.

Disabled character/person is automatically noble/good because of their disability. A very early example would be A Christmas Carol’s Tiny Tim, or, arguably, Quasimodo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Real life examples include the Jerry Lewis MDA telethon, or children’s hospital ads that exploit sad-eyed kids with visible illness or disability.

Having a disability does not automatically make you a kind/angelic/noble person. This many not seem harmful, and may even seem positive, but in reality, it is condescending, inaccurate, and sets bizarre standards for how disabled people should behave.

This portrayal is often intended to elicit pity from abled audiences, which is also problematic.

In these portrayals, disability is not something to be proud of or identify with, only something to be suffered through.

Disabled character person does something relatively mundane and we all need to celebrate that. This is less common in writing, but happens in the real world when people do things like post pictures of disabled people at the gym captioned “What’s your excuse?”

This is condescending, and implies that anything disabled people are capable of, abled people are automatically capable of.

Makes it seem like it’s an incredible feat for a disabled person to accomplish tasks.

Uses people’s actual lives and actual disabilities as a reminder of “how good abled life is.”

The “Supercrip” stereotype is a specific kind of inspiration porn in which disabled people are shown to be capable of amazing things, “in spite of” their disability.

The Paralympics have been criticized for this, with people saying that advertisements and understandings of the Paralympics frame the athletes as inspiring not because they are talented or accomplished, but because their talents and accomplishments are seen as “so unlikely.”

Other examples include the way we discuss famous figures like Stephen Hawking, Alan Turing, or even Beethoven. Movies like The Theory of Everything and The Imitation Game frame the subjects’ diagnoses, whether actual or posited, as limitations that they had to miraculously break through in order to accomplish what they did. Discussions of Beethoven’s deafness focus on how incredible it was that he was able to overcome it and be a musician despite what is framed as a tragic acquisition of deafness.

The pity/heroism trap is a concise way of defining inspiration porn. If the media you’re creating or consuming inspires these emotions, and only these emotions, around disability, that is a representation that is centered on the feelings and perceptions of abled people. It’s reductive, it’s ableist, and it’s massively overdone.

Disabled Villains

To be clear, disabled people can and should be villains in fiction. The problem comes when disabled people are either objects of pity/saintly heroes, or villains, and there is no complexity to those representations. When there is so little disabled rep out there (less than 3.5% of characters in current media), having a disabled villain contributes to the othering of disability, as well as the idea that disability can make someone evil. There are also a few circumstances in which particular disabilities are used to represent evil, and I’ll talk about how that’s problematic.

Mentally ill villains are colossally overdone, particularly given that mentally ill people are more likely to be the victims of violence than perpetrators of it. This is true of all mental illness, including “””scary””” things like personality disorders or disorders on the schizoaffective spectrum. Mental illness is stigmatized enough without media framing mentally ill people as inherently bad or more suspectible to evil. This prejudice is known as sanism.

Explicit fictional examples of this include the Joker, or Kevin Wendell Crumb in Split.

People can also be coded as mentally ill without it being explicitly stated, and that’s also problematic and sanist. In the Marvel movie Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness, Wanda’s appearance and behavior are coded as mentally ill. This is used to make her “creepy.” Horror movies do this a lot - mental illness does not render someone creepy, and should not be used as a tool in this way.

Visible disability or difference to indicate evil is another common, incredibly offensive, and way overdone trope. This is mostly commonly done through facial difference, and the examples are endless. These portrayals equate disability or disfigurement with ugliness, and that ugliness with evil. It renders the disabled villain in question an outcast, undesirable, and uses their disability or difference to dehumanize these characters and separate them from others. This is incredibly prevalent and incredibly painful for people with visible disability or facial difference.

An example of visible disability indicating evil is Darth Vader’s prosthetics and vastly changed physical appearance that happen exactly in time with his switch to the dark side. In contrast, when Luke needs a prosthetic, it is lifelike and does not visually separate him from the rest of humanity/the light.

Dr. Who’s John Lumic is another example of the “Evil Cripple” trope.

Examples of facial difference indicating evil range from just about every James Bond movie, to Scar in the Lion King, Dr. Isabel Maru in Wonder Woman, Taskmaster in Black Widow, Captain Hook in Peter Pan, and even Doofenschmirtz-2 in Phineas and Ferb the Movie. Just because some of the portrayals are silly (looking at you, Phineas and Ferb) doesn’t make the coding of facially scarred villains any less hurtful.

A slightly different, but related phenomenon I’ll include here is the idea of the disability con. This is when a character fakes a disability for personal gain. This represents disabled people as potential fakers, and advances the idea that disabled people get special privileges that abled people can and should co-opt for their own reasons.

In The Usual Suspects, criminal mastermind Verbal Clint fakes disability to avoid suspicion and take advantage of others. In Arrested Development, a lawyer fakes blindness in order to gain the sympathy and pity of the jury.

In much more complex examples such as Sharp Objects, a mother with Munchausen by proxy fakes her daughter’s illness in order to receive attention and pity. Portrayals like this make Munchausen or MBP seem more common than it is, and introduce the idea that parents may be lying or coaching their children to lie about necessary medical treatment.

Disability as Morality

Sometimes, the disabled character themselves is a moral lesson, like Auggie in Wonder. Sheerly through existing, Auggie “teaches” his classmates about kindness, the evils of bullying, and not judging a book by its cover. This also fits well under inspiration porn. This is problematic, because the disabled character is defined in terms of how they advance the other characters’ morality and depth.

In the “Disabled for a Day” trope, an otherwise abled character experiences a temporary disability, learns a moral lesson, and is restored to full ability by the end of the episode/book/movie. Once again, disability is used as a plot device, rather than a complex experience, along with more permanent disability being rejected as impossible for heroes or main characters.

Examples include an episode of M*A*S*H where Hawkeye is temporarily blinded, an episode of Law and Order: SVU where Elliott Stabler is temporarily blinded, and an episode of Criminal Minds where Agent Hotchner experiences temporary hearing loss.

Real life examples include sensitivity trainings where participants are asked to wear a blindfold, headphones, or use a wheelchair for a given amount of time. This does not impart the lived experience of disability. It should not be used as a teaching tool.

Disabled people as inherently pure. This is related to inspiration porn and disabled people as noble, but is different in that it is usually appears in combination with developmental, cognitive, or intellectual disabilities. These characters are framed as sweet, “simple,” and a reminder to other characters to be cheerful, happy, or grateful.

Examples include Forrest Gump, Rain Man, I Am Sam, and What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.

No matter what the stereotypes of a given diagnosis are (yes, I’m thinking of the automatic cheerfulness associated with Down Syndrome), disabled people have personalities. They are capable of being sad, angry, sarcastic, irritable, annoying - any number of things beyond good/sweet/pure. It is reductive to act otherwise.

Disability as Surreal

Less common than some of the others, but still worth thinking about!

Disabled characters are framed as mystical, magical, or other than human, a condition that is either created by or indicated through their disability status. This is especially common with little people.

“Disability superpower” is when a character compensates for, or is uniquely able to have a superpower because of, their disability. Common tropes include the Blind Seer, Blind Weapon Master, Genius Cripple and Super Wheel Chair.

Examples include Pam from Supernatural, Charles Xavier from X-Men, or the grandpa in Spy Kids.

Disability as Undesirable

Last and least favorite category here. Let’s go.

Disabled people as asexual or not sexually desirable. Disabled people can be asexual, obviously. When every portrayal is asexual, that’s a big problem. It frames disabled people as sexually undesirable or implies that it is impossible for people with disabilities to have rewarding, mutually satisfying sexual relationships.

Examples include The Fault in Our Stars or Artie in Glee.

Abandoned due to disability. Hate this trope. Often equates disability with weakness. Don’t want to talk about it. It’s all right there in the title. Don’t do it.

Examples: Quasimodo in Hunchback of Notre Dame, several kittens in the Warrior Cat series, several episodes of Law and Order: SVU, Bojack Horseman, and Vikings.

Discussed in 300 and Wolf of Wall Street.

Ancient cultures and animal nature are often cited as reasoning for this trope/practice. This is not founded in fact. Many ancient civilizations, including Sparta, cared for disabled people. Many animals care for disabled young. These examples should not be used to justify modern human society.

Disabled characters are ostracized for disability. Whether they act “““normal”““ or odd, characters with visible or merely detectable disabilities are treated differently.

Examples include pretty much every piece of media I’ve said so far. This is particularly prevalent for people with visible physical disabilities or neurodivergence. Also particularly prevalent for characters with albinism.

This is not necessarily an inaccurate portrayal - disabled people face a lot of discrimination and ableism. It is, however, very, very common.

Bury your disabled. What it says on the label.

Examples: Animorphs, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, American Horror Story, Criminal Minds, Dr. Who, Star Trek, The Wire.

Mercy killing is a subtrope of the above but disgusting enough that it deserves its own aside. I may make a separate post about this at some point because this post is kind of exhausting and depressing me.

Examples: Me Before You, Killing Eve, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Of Mice and Men, and Million Dollar Baby.

Disability-negating superpowers imply that disability is undesirable by solving it supernaturally instead of actually portraying it, and giving their character powers instead.

Examples include (arguably) Toph from Avatar: the Last Airbender, Captain America: The First Avenger, The Legend of Korra, Dr. Strange, and Daredevil.

Overcoming disability portrays disability as a hindrance and something that can be defeated through technology and/or willpower.

Fictional examples include WALL-E, Kill Bill, The Goonies, The Dark Knight Trilogy, Heidi, The Secret Garden, The Inheritance Cycle, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, The Big Bang Theory, Dr. Strangelove, Sherlock, The Witcher.

Real life examples include videos of wheelchair users standing from their chair to walk down the aisle at a wedding, or d/Deaf children “hearing” for the first time through cochlear implants.

What Does This Mean for Your Writing?

First of all, congratulations for making it this far!

Now, as I have said again and again, I’m not going to tell you what to write. I’ll ask some questions to hopefully help guide your process.

What tropes might you be playing into when writing disabled characters? Why do you find these tropes compelling, or worth writing about? How prevalent are these tropes? How harmful are they? What messages do they send to actual disabled people?

Just because they are common tropes does not mean they are universally awful. Cool fantasy or futuristic workarounds are not necessarily bad rep. Showing the ugly realities of ableism is not necessarily bad rep. It’s just a very, very common representation of disability, and it’s worth thinking about why it’s so common, and why you’re writing it.

As always, conduct your own research, know your own characters and story, and make your own decisions. If you have questions, concerns, or comments, please hit me up! Add your own information! This is not monolithic whatsoever.

Happy writing!

#disability writing guide #writing disabled characters #disability #disability representation #disability justice #writing advice #disability tropes #writing tropes #ableism #sanism

2K notes · View notes

downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 1 year

Text

Donatello's First Love—Splinter's Talk

mostly bayverse, could be 2003 if you squint hard enough. did it a little different with this one compared to the others :0 word count: 1.6k

Spanning his messy corner of the Lair, Donnie's many monitors mounted to the wall were alight with a blue glow. The same few camera feeds rotated between the locations outside of their home and other places, monitoring, and allowing surveillance to take a backseat in his mind while he worked. At his desk, he gently squeezed a pipette into the mouth of a breaker, waiting for the reaction he was looking for to occur.

"Interesting," he mumbled to himself, "I wonder what happens if I were to supercool the mixture."

He placed the substance in a tray and prepared another batch, this time, much more concentrated. There wasn't much to do around the house besides experiment with the materials he'd salvaged. That was fine; he enjoyed the process, and filling notebooks—and his walls—to the brim with chemical equations, notes and mathematics that hardly anyone but he could read.

Careful with his large fingers to not drop the pipette, he sucked a few drops up from the test tube, going in to add to the mixture. He squinted, almost there. And then the startling alarm pinged on the screen next to him, making him jump and squirt the chemical on his work surface. He quickly wiped up and looked over at the computer. "'Motion detected: [y/n]'s apartment complex'," the screen read, switching camera feeds to one of the multiple tiny cameras he had set up. He only put cameras where he thought it mattered; he was paranoid about an ambush, and even more so at her place than theirs, now that she was coming and going from the Lair. The likelihood of their enemies finding out her association with them was about a fifty-seven percent chance, fifty percent too much for Donnie.

He scanned the monitor for signs of anything suspicious, but it turned out to be only a friend dropping by with a key to put a package inside, with [y/n]'s permission.

"Oh," he muttered, suddenly feeling silly. He made sure the person left her apartment—and locked it back—before quickly switching the feed. That was his one secret nobody had managed to catch him out on yet. Even so, he felt slick and a little guilty for spying. But, justifiably, they needed to know if she ever was in danger! He dismissed the notification and rotated the feeds manually. "Whoops. Sorry, [y/n]...yeah, I'll just switch that back."

He shuffled around to resume his work titrating. Except Splinter stood curiously behind the desk, eyes trained close on the monitors, and then Donnie. Donnie flinched—Splinter usually didn't come in or near his lab. In fact, none of his family normally bothered him when he had his nose in his work, because none of them understood it. Not even Leo bothered to try to get the details. The details went over their heads.

"So, Donatello, what is it you are working on?"

"Oh, Master Splinter," Donnie greeted him, glancing back to make sure the monitor was no longer on the door to her apartment. He picked up the pipette and test tube he'd knocked over before, "What is it?"

"Refer back to my last question," Splinter replied. He leaned calmly against his cane and looked all around the cluttered lab. Notes taped, tacked, even glued to walls. A whiteboard full of impossible equations, various pieces of technology in disrepair he'd picked up from trash and things going to recycling. Quite the mess, but Donnie knew where everything was. Splinter cocked his head slightly. "What disorganization," he commented.

"Disorganized to you," Donnie corrected with a smile, "but I can find anything I'm looking for—it's actually 'unorganized', implies that it never was organized. The definition of 'disorganized' suggests that something once was organized but now isn't, but I never once had this place in order," he rambled.

"Donatello," Splinter interrupted. Once his son got talking, it was hard to stop him. He just had to interject to get a word in. "What is it you are doing? You have been very unfocused lately. This is strange for you."

"Unfocused" was an understatement. With a mind already running miles per minute, he was getting caught up in his own head. Getting his work station back to a functional state, he set up his tube tray, answering, "Titrating these and writing out their chemical equations. The brain's like a muscle, gotta exercise it and stay sharp," he said. And with all that sharpness, he was only half-suspicious as to why Splinter was suddenly interested in what he was doing.

Splinter nodded. "Then I must not have seen miss [y/n]'s apartment complex on your screen. Carry on."

Donnie froze, watching Splinter out of the corner of his hazel eyes. His stomach dropped. So, it was one secret—they weren't going to understand, he was just as protective of their home, too! What if she couldn't call the police, or even them in time if someone broke in? Her apartment wasn't in a good area, Donatello already didn't like that. What if someone grabbed her? He couldn't put his mind at ease without knowing.

"I—well, this was a recent development, you see," Donatello stuttered, fidgeting with the purple wraps around his hands. He realized then how weird it all looked and panicked. He'd never meant for it to go this far; his cautionary measures just kept escalating more and more with his feelings for her. "I swear, it's just outside of her place! I would never put a camera in her apartment, that would be creepy, and way overstepping," he explained. "I told her I'd always look out for her and that she can count on me."

"Oh, I suppose it's no problem, then, since she gave you such consent," Splinter said, looking away momentarily to scratch his chin. His eyes snapped back over to his anxious son and popped a hairy brow up as he knocked the end of his cane on the floor to grab his attention further. "Is that right, Donatello?"

He wanted to go into his shell. I'm busted, this is not good. "Don't tell her! So, I, um…I didn't exactly…" The thought trailed off. He didn't need to finish that sentence for both of them to know.

"Precisely my point. Now that we have made that clear, would you like to tell me what this is really about?"

"No! I mean, I will, since you're asking, but—agh, I swear, I'm not a creep," he said. "I just wanted to make sure she'd be okay. That's it."

Splinter crossed behind his desk, slipping an arm around his son's shell. Donnie wanted to pull away. "Come with me. Let's take a walk."

He led them out of the Lair into the tunnels outside their home. They could loop around easily and end up back at the Lair, and Splinter knew Donnie was going to resist talking if the others could be around to hear. Sometimes, you must play on other people's terms, he thought, listening to the quiet drip echo as they ambled through the sewer. He figured it was time to do a little damage control, although he normally pledged not to interfere with his sons and them making their mistakes. However, he didn't want to see Donatello make a potentially hazardous one to himself.

"Now, you must understand, my son, you cannot know everything at once," Splinter said, avoiding an accusatory tone. "You have a brilliant mind, but you certainly don't tend to see the obvious."

"What do you mean, master?" Donnie questioned. The "obvious" being under any other circumstances, his actions would definitely be seen as "creepy". The notion flew right under his radar as something to worry about, as their circumstances were anything but normal.

"Of course, you are a young man, you want to watch out for the one you love," Splinter pointed out. Donnie cringed, even though he hasn't made much of an attempt to hide that fact. He was excited to explore something new, why should he have hidden thos feelings? He didn't shout them to the world. But it was well-known among their family that he'd beaten his brothers to the punch when it came to her, and no going for it was an unwritten but understood boundary. Still, this wasn't a conversation he was prepared for have tonight; his mind was still back at his lab.

"About everyone but Michelangelo has noticed you've been retreating to your lab more often recently." He chuckled. "And your antics around her are obvious, again. Loosen your grip a little. You are annoying your brothers vying for her attention."

Donnie felt a rush of embarrassment come over him. Yes, he was showy—expressive, maybe too quick to whisk her away to demonstrate his new inventions, the stuff he'd discovered. Donnie knew he could hyperfixate on and obsess over things; she was on his mind more than not. As for annoying his brother, he wasn't the strongest, but he was the smartest. He was much more eager with his staff and putting his siblings back in their lane when she was around. The electric component on his weapon came in handy for quick corrections, and goofing around.

Through all of that, he remembered having a moment of clarity when she was inspecting his computer setup one night and the camera almost flickered to hers, to which he scrambled to shut it off. Conveniently, he brushed that aside.

Donnie lifted his goggles, rubbing his face sheepishly. "I guess you're right," he admitted.

"The things you do for love," Splinter shook his head. "Be sure you do not push her away by accident. You are fortunate I had the mind to come talk to you about this before you made a mistake and a fool of yourself. Consider it a fair warning," he said as he looked over at his son, who waited quietly for him to continue, "to not overstep."

"I understand, loud and clear."

Splinter nodded in agreement, "Good. I trust you will take this advice well. You have a good heart and good intentions, Donatello, do not be clouded by your mind. Your brain is not your only quality."

"Thanks, master Splinter. I'll let up on it," Donnie relented with a small smile. He was still uncomfortable, feeling a bit dumb. He always was so caught up on making predictions, keeping everything running smoothly and safely that he didn't always consider how that worked for other people. Just because it made sense to him, didn't mean it made sense to them. Note that for later, Donatello, he reminded himself. He turned around to head back to the Lair.

Splinter stopped to take in a little sunlight from the grate above his head, stopping Donnie in his tracks. "Oh, and Donatello," he called.

"Yeah?"

Splinter assumed parental status, and Donnie knew that scolding tone all too well. "Tell her about it, or turn that damned camera off."

~wooOoOOOoooOooOooo partitionnnnnnn~

Side rant: I actually hate it when people portray Donnie (except for 2012 iterations) as shy and unconfident. He is literally the opposite in 2003 and Bayverse. Donatello is not "a little baby uwu" and I'm tired of people making him look so meek 😭

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt donatello x reader #tmnt donatello #tmnt donnie #donatello x reader #donatello #master splinter #tmnt fanfic #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2003

836 notes · View notes

sexycraisinthanos · 2 months

Text

Actually I’m gonna talk about this, controversy aside, Hazbin Hotel is so fucking lackluster. From character design, as I've previously mentioned, to animation

Vivziepop had years to work on these character designs and this is the best she could do on a LARGER animation budget?

I’d hardly even call them redesigns since you couldn’t even tell they’re different than when they first debuted (save for Vaggie)

And the actual animation just looks so stiff and like it’s a fan made thing

Versus the pilot from FOUR YEARS AGO

The reasoning for the “simpler” designs is to make them easier to animate but they aren’t that complex of designs and I’m no animator I’ll admit so maybe it makes it easier for musical numbers, but part of the appeal of the pilot was the hand-drawn loose style

Plus, any interesting design choices that were there were taken away in the Amazon show

Not to mention that almost every character is supposed to be based off an animal and you can't fucking tell what animal they're supposed to be unless you fucking google it

THIS is supposed to be a spider. If I didn't know who he was, i wouldn't even know that. Maybe it's not a universal opinion, but I feel like if your character is supposed to be based off of something, it should be a little more obvious than four arms and dots under his eyes which are actually another set of eyes.

He's a gay man, who's also a sex worker/porn star, which can be told by his outfit, but none of his outfit looks good together. You've got two sets of gloves, knee high boots, a mini skirt, and a blazer with a bowtie AND a choker.

It is a perfect outfit to tell you everything you need to know about him because it's a fucking mess. It looks like when your kid dresses up in your fancy clothes to take pictures in but nothing goes together because the kid is 5 and doesn't understand that just because you like the clothes doesn't mean they go together.

This is apparently a deer, though I've heard he's based off a w*ndigo so he wouldn't be deer-based, WHICH IS STILL BAD BTW HE'S GOT SO MANY RACIST PARTS OF HIS CHARACTER ELEMENTS BUT I'M NOT EDUCATED ENOUGH IN THOSE ASPECTS TO TALK ABOUT IT

And the outfit is just...bad. Aside from the tiny antlers that can barely be seen behind the hair, there's nothing cohesive about it. There's his coat that doesn't match the era he's from, the bob cut, the microphone which doesn't look like a microphone, the neckline that makes no sense, the random stripes on his shirt that you can't really tell what they're supposed to be (suspenders and a tie? a print on the shirt?), the actual tee shirt he appears to be wearing underneath his coat, the gloves, and again the FUCKING BOWTIE WHY DO EVERY ONE OF HER MALE CHARACTERS HAVE BOWTIES IS SHE ALLERGIC TO NECKLINES?

Not to mention the colors of the show and the characters. Vivziepop is under the impression that since they're all in Hell, they need to have a color scheme. Or at least the more important characters do. And what color scheme is that? Red and black.

But you know what else has red and black?

EVERY

SINGLE

BACKGROUND

IN THE SHOW

And he just blends in with the background. Which is not something you want a character to do if they're one of the more important characters in your show.

#anti hazbin hotel #anti vivziepop

91 notes · View notes

joannasteez · 9 months

Text

with me, the world is yours

pairing: roman reigns x black reader authors note: i wrote all of this late summer/early fall and after breaking away from it for so long, i've kind of lost the drive to finish the story in the original way i'd intended to write it, BUT, i am willing to add to it in small ways with little drabbles and such. so whoever reads this, please consider it as background/exposition and or a prologue to whatever gets added to it. if anyone wants to see something added to this specific story please drop me scenarios in my inbox!! word count: 8k

he liked to walk the floor

carpet smooth beneath the expensive drop of his heel and toe. hubris a limitless force, the broad width of his chest swelling. pride, unsullied, raw and ever simple in its existence. it was a deep elegant staining streak along his being that refused to leave him, unless of course he willed it so. and the casino floor of The Summer Isle Hotel, his hotel, filled with this great thundering of rage and joy and desperation. tiny drops of poker chips like small striking claps. the flipping of cards giving that easy slipping swoop against padded black jack tables. the hum of the room was loud, because the room itself seemed, to his eye, to never end. a tenacious buzzing that simmered his blood quick, excited.

the night was young. restless. ruby red suede heels moving, clever and seductive. the color of champagne at every corner his eyes took him, bubbling rich in flutes and set in the sweet form of silk dresses. pearls sitting tempting over cleavages and diamonds dressing the sturdiness of fingers that roamed the figures of excitable women. emeralds, jades and sapphires, taking every shape against the skin that would have it.

earrings, anklets, rings, bracelets......

whiskey and brandy swishing in glasses......

dry champagne hitting the tongue just right......

bodies hugging, lips kissing, eyes glazed over and just so damn greedy......

this...this ceaseless atmosphere. the un-quelled need to have. to take hold. to win.

roman loved to walk the casino floor of his hotel.

but he hated, absolutely hated cheaters. fucking thieves, cunning-less and eager. their tact lacking just as much as their ambition. roman figured, if their schemes were anymore complex, then he'd feel somehow better about their stealing. he'd at least respect their finesse before using their heads to shove them out the entryway doors of the establishment. and what a fine establishment it was, built off the sweat of his brow, his, others, blood and many tears. owning a hotel on the vegas strip was no easy feat and he'd be damned if someone disrespected it. disrespected his work. his vision.

...so then why?...

your eyes flit over to a table just some feet away.

...why did he let you play your games?...

a man in muted clothes gives you a signal. many silent signals, ones roman was once oblivious to, but now overly familiar with, as if he created them himself.

...four seconds of a stare. one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four. four meaning spade, given they were following the alphabetical order of the suits.

the man, face more punchable by the minute, touches his nose. meaning, the spade is a face card.

and the fucking dealer is young, flips up his card too easily, exposing just before he deals.

roman wants to do many things. to the man, the dealer, and the other pairs around the other blackjack tables following the same system. his fingers curl, ball inward till his palm pains him but his eyes remain as they always did. fiercely void, teetering delicate on some fine line of violence, until you move. speak.

"blackjack", you call. with just enough disinterest that prides the flow of his blood. makes him smirk.

"they've all been at it for days", paul bristles.

"end it", roman calls, walking away.

---

you despised most men, despised their presence, looking at them, unnecessarily speaking to them, breathing the same air as them. they'd bred more trouble than they were ever worth and always, without fail, served up to you, on some disgusting dish, half baked and ill formed, the least discreet of charms, to win even slivers of your attention. it was the usual lousy song and dance, artless and heavy handed. you despised most of them, because they led you to places like these with promises too alluring to ignore. all you wanted, want still, is the money. its all you need.

and they'd all but manhandled you from the casino floor to a room. two men, one barely distinguishable from the other, but then again...they donned shades that matched their disapproving looks. lips turned in scrutiny. but what the fuck did they know anyway?... fuck them and this...this room. a holding of some sort. walls white, chairs black, a purposeful minimalistic touch crafted to intimidate. and it was working...even if just slightly.

your chair creaks, wooden and anxious. you hated this, always would. this forceful feel of surrendering.

and you don't speak first, but because of that neither does he.

grey's scattered about his beard, scarce but still there. slight face lines...stress maybe?...and tawny specks living as freckles. he's groomed to perfection but still there's something about him, a flare in his eye that lends itself to a buried ruggedness. a meticulous sort of brutality.

and he's just sitting there...

...close to you but not too close. enough to open you with his eyes, but not enough to leave you breathless...

he's practiced in this. patient.

...he can't do this all day... you think, till his body sits more comfortable than before. he will if he has to, and he will. to prove a point. to win.

the room is cold. sterile. you shiver some, the first to say anything.

"i didn't do anything wrong".

"then why so defensive?"

you felt some ways away from lethal and the reasons for such a feeling mounting more every second. forming knots in your belly, heat and pressure. guilt and a sickly intrigue. his voice was rich and deep. smooth and commanding. if in another place, at some other time, you could see yourself falling for that voice, lulled and taken by it. you hate it, the hot twinge it drives into your skin. you grow sharp, words throwing like daggers.

"if you were me, sitting where i am, you'd be defensive too".

"i could have you brought up on charges", he presses. toying really. flip and flopping between seriousness and sarcasm. the heels of his shoes click the floors, and you fall slow into the creak of the chair, pulling away from the size of him as he approaches. he bends, levels with you, but even this feels like a looking down upon. "cheating and swindling. maybe even restitution".

"what?" you start. you cant help your self. "not nice enough for a little jail time".

you see his jaw shift. "smart mouth".

you move in with a sudden spell of boldness. "fuck you". your lips twist to spit against the floor. "and fuck your casino".

it's quick. harsh. his fingers long and curling at your jaw. he's warm, grip steady despite the push of your hands. he feels the fight in you, regardless of how soft you are to the touch. skin tender, like untouched feathers.

but still... that damn mouth of yours.

"you tried remember", mirthless but not.

"don't fucking touch me", you rant. hitting at him harder. attempting without end to pry away his fingers, until finally he lets go.

and it's rather shortsighted but brave nonetheless, the way your feet carry you to go at him. to do what exactly? you're not to entirely sure. but it doesn't matter much anyways, not when he's this mountain of a man. herculean and spiting. resolute in fucking with you a little for whatever enjoyment he can get out of the situation, and you know this to be true when your momentum to him is soured, a scream bleeding coarse through the walls.

the dense walls block most of the action, but the scream of pain is undeniable. the faint crush of bone breaking through to where you are, fixing you to the floor where you stand in some sickly mixture of fear and surprise.

"the money or their fingers i asked them". his stare is heavy. daunting. "some of them chose money, but of course they get to keep neither". he walks to the single entry-exit door. body taking up most of the frame. "paul, escort the young lady back to her room".

you scoff on instinct. hating the condescension his tone takes. you shift by them both in a way that knocks your shoulders into their arms. paul's chalky, round face as amused as his boss.

"i can escort myself".

---

amongst the other's lining the vegas strip, The Summer Isle Hotel is the second largest. and where the floors lack that bold blood red carpeting, there is laid instead a fine marbling, in the endless halls and walkways, polished enough to see even the faintest of facial details. the ceilings venture high, littered with crystal chandeliers and in the walls and on ceilings are engraved these renaissance inspired paintings. there is this rhythm to the place, something archaic and forever far away, that is meant to always be desired. as people sip champagne, drunk and more verbose by the second, bleeding their pockets dry to their hearts content, the artistry of the hotel leaves them wondered and greedy. that even as they eat the finest food and drink the oldest wines, there is more to indulge in. more to have, to reach that unreachable place of pure luxury.

it was extravagant and all consuming, and pieces of you wondered what it all felt like. to never want or lack for it, because it was just simply there, at the edge of your fingertips.

the hotel was big enough to get lost in, big enough to lose others in, so when paul sits himself at your table for two, security detailing not too far, just at the edges of the bar, you grow weary and annoyed. he'd been looking for you.

you swirl your drink with a cocktail straw. feeling the pressure of his stare. "im being babysat now?"

his hands fold with an instinctive diplomacy.

"just call it reassurance".

reassurance...that was bullshit. you didn't need to be told things more than once, especially when the talk was as loud and showy as it was earlier. "he made it pretty clear what can happen. i'm a cheater, not stupid".

"there isn't always much of a difference between the two".

you hum, sipping what's left of your drink. "if you're gonna chat me up, buy me another drink then". his brow raises, as if in waiting. you sigh, annoyed at having to perform niceties. "please".

its expert and concise, a look and just under a handful of gestures to the bartender, but his awareness never wavers from the already empty cocktail glasses where vodka-cran once filled. three to be exact. this fourth, he hopes, would be your last, as it was now that the glazing over of your eyes was coming underway. and he'd originally been an advocate for roman's earlier display of brutish prowess, and still is in all honesty, but seeing you, it did unsettle him in very few but poignant ways. he knew enough to know that you were attempting a drowning of frenzied nerve. sitting here, he hopes you understand, like everything else on the strip... its just business.

paul shifts. bringing his chair slightly closer. "the system you use on the blackjack tables, how long did it take to come up with it?"

"not long, maybe a few minutes", you start. sipping and thinking on whether to indulge him or not. but it seems to you now that the whole trip has gone to complete shit so why not. "it's all about assigning basic signals to cards but it's the memory part that fucks people up. memory and performance anxiety". paul chuckles at the absurdity and you grin, slightly pleased at his interest. "practicing in a warehouse versus being on a casino floor, at a table. it's different. anything can happen".

you push away the drink. satisfied. paul's eyes turn soft, with what you think is relief. why relief?

"and then theres the whole finding a weak dealer situation", you continue. "no offense, you guys have a better looking hotel but the venetian runs tight security".

"noted".

its your turn to shift in your chair. asking the question you've been wanting the answer to since the moment happened. "why didn't he break my fingers?"

"who knows. maybe he's waiting for you to get stupid", paul jokes.

"you either are or you aren't. no in between".

"that means you'll stay put then?"

you scoff. "what, i'm on lockdown?"

"the boss says you're free to do as you please. just no stealing".

you smile coy, standing to leave. "you wouldn't mind covering the tab then? can't seem to find my wallet".

---

thief. cheater. schemer. you've heard many names and resented none of them, because at their root, the truth remained what it was. it was artistry. and if you're clever enough, sharp enough, quick enough, finessing could be masterful. the constant putting together of a challenge, a game. and it was practical to love games, because good players win.

but this? this was not practical. he was not practical.

he seemed to be playing a different game entirely. you figure solely to spite you. a figurative spitting in the face if you will.

every waiter of every bar in every corner of the hotel knew your cocktail order. vodka-cran with lime, extra ice. a splash of club soda.

the security detail seemingly doubled overnight and each of them never failed to greet you. a smile and a head tipping nod.

casino floor personnel, always with a subtle but sudden direction, pointed out to you the slots that paid out the biggest and the most often.

the restaurants you dined in refused to give you the check and when you asked why, flustered and confused, they gave the same answer every time.

"because the boss said so".

complementary goods in your hotel room. aged wines and sweets.

tickets to shows you neither wanted to attend or cared for.

if you were a different woman, who lived a different life, you figure she'd find this every bit as enticing as it was. enchanting even. grand gestures made out of some sickly sweet distant admiration. but you were not her and most men you knew or had known only did things; provided, loved, cared, with condition. so only one questioned remained. why? and after days of guessing games, a stomach turning foreboding shifted swiftly to irritation. he'd upped the ante finally, moving from these fairly small gestures, which to you were not small at all, to something a little bit too much for you to take.

and you wonder now if he knows that he's reached your end, knocking hard at the ceiling of your limits. body simmering hot with this slow to finish unraveling feeling. as if at any moment unknown to you, you'll break in some uncontrolled fit of rage. he was becoming more persistent, silent still but more persistent and the affects of such persistence were all around you. soft wool carpeting where marble floors ended, a detailed fretwork spanning every corner of the ceilings, and french sliding doors connecting you to a wide stretched pool looking over the vegas strip.

"the boss sends his regards", housekeeping said after it was all said and done.

from the 6th floor straight up to the 39th, he'd gotten them to move everything you'd bought with you. your clothes, shoes, purses, from a studio room you could just barely pay for, to the penthouse suite.

all of this, and a tiny note atop the dresser.

enjoy your stay - roman

"roman", you try aloud.

it isn't till the next day that you realize he's quite fond of leaving these little letters. words thin and cursive. messages brief enough to never reveal even a semblance of his thoughts.

friday morning his words scribble a small card stuck to the center of a bouquet of white roses.

white desdemona's. enjoy the roses - roman

you struggle for sometime in the bright silence of the morning. the busyness of the vegas strip bleeding a hum in through the sliding french doors. it wouldn't be hard, indulging him. cling fast and easy to soft petaled gestures, quelling finally that wayward need for a romantic sort of fascination. buried so long ago but clawing upwards tirelessly still, begging for relief. but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, which in the same breath meant denying him. tearing that pristine white card in two and setting the roses out to sit just in front your suite door. to send a message, simple but strong, enough for him to understand.

a sudden knock urges you to settle into a resolution quickly. quicker than you were prepared for. the white card now in your hand tearing into two pieces with a twist of your wrist as you go to open the door.

its house keeping.

you place the torn paper in their hand before stepping out of the suite, furthering more down the hallway to the elevator by the second. the roses themselves were too lovely to get rid of anyways.

"tell your boss i send my regards".

---

would you believe them?

a less than modest woman from the north east, standing above the illustrious wonder of the vegas strip. and from your glass flute a slow, smooth sip, along with some restless awakening of a dream, even if it last only for a moment. an imagining from this high place, that with a deep sure breath like some figure from beyond with a vast primordial power, you gave life to this idle desert, and with sun and sand, birthed from pure will what they call fabulous las vegas. but this must be what he feels, day after day, night after night, standing above the rest, the staunch rush of pride, like something simmered well into the run of his blood. for you it was this endless day dream, the money, the power, the access, but for him, it seemed real. it was real.

and still the question remains... would you believe them? a cunning woman, wrapped strapless in leather fine enough to please even the most marred skin, and heels that extend the vicious form of your legs.

just tuesday you were cursing the good name and fortune of this place with your dna splat just mere inches from his shoes, and now here you are friday, waiting for him.

if they, whoever they are, told you sometime ago that you'd be here, you wouldn't have believed them.

he'd done well to send another card, and with it, another gift.

the rendezvous. 7pm - roman

he'd gotten house keeping to do more of his dirty work, the poor bastards, but even their precision was daunting. the placement of the card, and the gift, and the complementary wine, and a single blooming stargazer. the petals dainty and blushing. it'd left you standing deep in a well of emotion, finding everything he'd left, and your bed taken by a box. the lid pulled off quickly by that gnawing urge to indulge him. and despite his initial brutish behavior and persistence, it was safe to say that the man was not void of taste.

but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, like a chant, it'd echoed, and your fingers ran over the plains of something silky. a dress, cool raven color, strong and subduing, but the fabric was so fine to the touch it'd felt criminal to hold. and with it had lived perfumes, bottle after bottle, as if he feared you'd somehow go without. and... fuck... sitting, waiting really, in a satin pouch... two pairs of goddamned diamond earrings. one pair smaller than the other, but both far more delicate than most things you'd ever owned. and soon the short warm swell of excitement had grown cold and hesitating. why was he doing this? what did he want from you?

they were questions you intended to get answers to and it seemed if they weren't answered now then who knows when, unsure if you'd ever see him again.

"you didn't like the roses"

your heart takes to some quick instinctual beating. a ragged fraying of nerves just off the simple sooth and strength of his voice. before, in that silent white room, you were sharp, aware of him but the power of his aura did nothing to sway your wanting to see him pained by your indifference to him. now though... it was so damn different now it seemed, as you were a small ways away from a purely formed nervousness.

you turn just enough to give him your profile, sipping slow at the flute, steeling one buzz under your skin away with another. "i'd like them more if they were red". you face him finally, staying leant up against the balcony railing of the restaurant. "but it seems i don't have much option or choice here".

"no need to choose when everything is the best".

"that doesn't sound self important at all".

"doesn't make it any less true".

champagne has never tasted so good, you think, sipping and fighting the impulse to look away from him. his eyes softer than before but still lying in them are traces of searching for some unspoken truth. it was a much more subdued attempt compared to before, every pass his eyes made about your own, short flickers to your lips, the way you clutched the glass, your hair, your jewelry, the dress you were wearing, like a gentle pealing back of a layer. less scrutiny out of a short bout of anger and more of a learning. he'd come to the conclusion after watching you leave the white room all those days ago that he wanted to learn you.

here now, watching you sip champagne, he wondered if you'd let him.

"listen", you start. taking a closer step to him, with some new found form of resolution, and its hard to keep this will strong and steeled away when he's this close. scent heady and soothing to your senses. "i don't know what you're thinking, but i do know that you got me a lot of fucked up for just hauling my shit-"

"the suite is yours for as long as you want it"

"i'm not paying for it"

his grin is warm. inviting. long fingers slipping the flute from your hold after its been emptied to set it down at a nearby table. "it's yours anyways".

your confusion is palpable, lives in the way you retreat closer to the banister again, for fresher air void of him. in hopes to think more clearly. "just the other day you practically had me hemmed up and now you're-"

"that was different. it was business".

you scoff. "business my ass, fuck you-"

"and fuck my casino, i know".

it's your go to insult it seems, this time having less of an affect on him, but still there is something there. a small stinging pain bruising the very large stain of ego.

you look to him with searching eyes of your own. "so the wine... and-and the roses and just... everything, i mean thats?..."

"gifts. just gifts. not to be payed back ever".

your face fixes in a fashion similar to the first time you spoke to him. eyes defensive and unsure, brows pulling in for a full measure of scrutiny. "why?"

"have dinner with me".

you press again. "why?"

"because", he starts, with a streak of vulnerability. "all of my attention is taken up by a casino resort on the strip of one of the busiest places in the world but for some reason, for the last 72 hours or so i've only been able to think clearly about you".

your eyes roll off instinct despite the flutter feeling in your gut. "am i supposed to be flattered?"

"its the truth".

roman hadn't been a man who lent himself to believing in chance or possibility for sometime. if he wanted something, or hell even someone, it simply happened, because thats the way it had been, since the first burst of the resorts success till before this very moment. when he spoke, the world of the resort opened and bent, twisted and curved till it formed to his liking, so much until the effects of his wants rippled through the whole of the strip till they echoed miles away, through the rolling of nevada desert dust. but you...

the click of your heels, the soft sway of your hips, the way words twisted from your lips comfortable because you knew yourself well enough to know that regardless of his capabilities you'd do something drastic and a bit ways away from reckless before ever letting him get the best of you.

that bravery, an unflinching flame, new and unpredictable and different and more exciting than anything he'd seen in sometime.

whether you were leaving or staying, he follows you and savors even the cut of your eyes. it's quick and fierce, unsure of its power but stripping the resolve of him all the same. and of course a curt look is all you give him, as he opens the door to the rendezvous and follows you in, not a word to him as waiters and well off patrons pass the both of you by. a leisure walk around pristine white cloth dressed tables and velvet chairs, each of your steps like some small conquering of a widely secured territory. his territory. you move more sure of yourself by the second and it rushes his warm and wanting.

with no real hurry, roman pulls out the chair you've picked to sit in just before you can make to do it yourself, finding himself closer than he needs to be, just some inches from your face. each breath in, sweet and tempting. the perfume he bought you...

you sit without a word, not even a thank you, and he finds himself more drawn in by the second.

it isn't until he sits himself that roman realizes you've chosen a seat at the center of the restaurant. and whether it's purposeful or not, it's damn sure fitting.

a trivial orbit of faces and voices.

"you don't take no for an answer do you?"

"when you're where i am, after a while, you stop asking and getting asked. you never even have to hear no".

its arrogant, eye roll worthy even, but you don't miss the truth in it. the pull of his brows together, lending themselves to a pure honesty. and it's hard, quelling that pull up of envy. to be so well off, so rich, never having to answer to any one. i wish, you thought. i wish

your finger trails along the fine table cloth. "i must have you so out of sorts then, how rude of me".

"it's fun", he grins. a single finger signaling someone. " 'm learning my manners again".

and there was this fidelity to his words ......everything is the best because i am the best...... a quality that spilled over into everything that he touched, spoked to, looked at, and did. it was this undeniable thing, a force, that caused such a natural hesitation in you, but also this impulse to fight. you wanted to struggle against him, war with the easy diligence of him till he folded. cracking under the weight of his hubris till large fragmented pieces ground to dust. but you would not win that battle today, no, not as waiters execute their level of precision, plate after plate set atop the table in such a meticulous manner that it seemed to be planned. a well thought scheme with the intent to impress. dish after dish, revealed, one after the other smelling more divine than the one before it.

the waiter, an adorably eager young man, falls into a spiel about the wine you can't be bothered to care about. his work of a perfect pour all for nothing. it nearly pains you. "i'll take a water please".

the waiter flattens. a curt nod as he hurries away.

"it's vintage", roman says. seemingly unaffected by your disinterest in old aged wine.

" 'm sure it is". eyeing him. the sip his lips take. "seems you've had things all planned out. what if i'd said no?"

"someone else's lucky night then. a free meal on the house".

"do you have a ready made answer to everything?".

"i am who i am. it's impossible not to". the cut of your knives into plated steaks reveals this smooth buttery finish. the meat tender against the blade and more so to the taste. and it takes everything in you not to moan or go cross eyed, not when he's watching your every move. seemingly studying and committing your eyes and lips and words to memory. no, you simply chew. sip at your water and live as quiet in your delight as possible. till of course it hits you, not as hard or sudden as one would expect, but it's more of a washing over. a stilled piecing together that quickens your pulse and frowns out the apathy on your lips.

you stare down at your plate. a short ways away from dumbfounded. "you know how i like my steak". even the way he chews is perfect. measured and steady. a luxurious sort of etiquette steeped into the make of him. but you find that his manners are selective, as he doesn't even bother to meet your eyes. low sitting and accusing. he chews as you did, but with more leisure. the slice of his knife and the clink of his fork fighting against the waiting you do in the silence. even when he works to indulge you, he abides in his own time, lets you wrestle with the trivial chatter of the room the way you did not so long ago with the abundance of his gifts.

he wipes his mouth with a cloth. a feigned unawareness about him.

"the chefs know how you like your steak".

you scoff. maybe your tenth eye roll of the night. " and the bartenders so conveniently know how i like my cocktails too".

he sips his wine easy like he would water. "they have an eye for detail, thats why they work here".

"or maybe", you start. fork an obnoxious clinking at the plate as it drops dramatic from your fingers. "just maybe it's someone else's eyes they're looking through. someone else's words they're following".

"maybe".

...so fucking goddamn frustrating... you think. eyeing the full table of food. and it's less anger and more confusion, that slow to finish fraying of nerves. these things that he does, says, that leave you emotionally inconvenienced.

"you don't know how insane it feels, night after night, trying to pick up a check for dinner and the waiter refuses your money. it feels like stealing".

he chuckles. "something you should be used to then".

"fuck you. i only steal out of necessity".

and this was it, the thing from which his curiosities where born, feverish in his fingers. an ache to flex broad and wide, to do and make till need was just a distant word laying dead at the recesses of your mind. necessities were strange, and if it became flesh and bone with legs and the will to speak it too would be a stranger to him. roman had not wanted for anything in some time, and if he felt in himself that he needed something, the readiness by which it came to him revealed only that he did not need it, but that he wanted it, in that covetous way that a man wants another mans woman. and so it became natural, that others around him would not need for anything either.

the way he's settled into the velvet of the chair becomes less leisure, leaning in slightly with a more focused determination. "what do you need?"

your smile is wry. unconvinced. "like you care".

"if you could have anything, what would it be?"

the list was endless it seemed, a question you'd asked and answered thousands of times and then thousands of times again. cars, houses, shoes, clothes, jewelry, yachts, boats. trivial and obnoxiously expensive things even, if it meant that you could feel the freedom of just being. it was an easy thing to answer, but so hard still when all the answers were far away from you, never even brushing faint at your fingertips.

and he thinks in this moment, your eyes softening, this is the most serious he's ever seen you.

"i wanna be comfortable. enough not to worry about anything".

"and why aren't you there yet?"

"i tried", a finger of yours slipping against the grip of the cutting knife. "but you stopped me".

but how could he question you? was your drive, your diligence to get what you wanted not legitimate because it was not legal? and with this, the question forms clear again, why the fuck were you here?

"a man at the top asking me why i'm all the way down here", your head shaking in this sly build of indignation. he had some nerve. "you don't see how shitty that is?"

roman feels something in him lessen. a deep pulling away that reflects in the flare that takes to your eyes. an edge that leaves the room a bit cooler than before. how could he have been so stupid and blind? judging you for the very thing that had left him in this whirl of curiosity and admiration.

" 'm not tryin to offend you".

"but here i am. offended".

he shifts, reaches the wide stretch of his palm to lay open against the table. an olive branch close enough for you to reach out and take. "let me make it up to you".

you consider him. the outstretch of his palm. fingers strong and waiting. the way his eyes settle into this mild sort of kindness that still lends itself to something not so pleasing. the warm lights amongst the crystals of hanging chandeliers casting along his face in such a way that it shadows his eyes some but still shines against his features. speaking so clearly to the deepened well of his hubris, always revealing and hiding itself in his own time. he is a sure man, wanting only what he wants, but seeks it in such a diligent way that it suffocates the things, the people that he desires. but maybe, just maybe, if you leave him wanting, challenged and needy, he would give you everything.

your finger tips move to tease at his. this faint dancing along his palm. "if you're gonna send me gifts, make sure it's things i like". touch a sly caress at his wrist. "i'm not a wine girl, and i hate seeing flowers die".

he lets your touch play along his skin. revels silent in the rush it sends, a jetting stream into his blood.

"what do you prefer?"

you slip off a ring that shines against his pinky. fitting it onto your middle one. your stare is this rapturous thing. hypnotic and breath taking, and he understands why you've probably gotten away with so much till now.

"i have a sweet tooth".

"i can work with that".

you hum into a sigh, considering still. your hand balling his own to close that reaching opened palm before you settle back into your chair. more eased now than you've been the whole night.

"i hope so for your sake".

and roman does not hesitate often, certainly never out of fear. he doesn't mind the manner of his words much, or their phrasing and the life it breathes into his expression. he doesn't suffer much to care for the thoughts of others and their own words, unless of course it somehow seeks to exist against his money, the resort or the greatness of his name. roman wasn't fearful, no, but being here with you, caution takes him all the same. like those tentative seconds where the lucky struck gambler is suspended in possibility, waiting for the dealers reveal.

his words take to a mindfulness, as if each word is brought out selectively. "has anyone ever offered, to take care of you. buy you things. take you places".

you laugh in that small uncontrollable way, when something, after so much confusion, becomes clear. because of course this is what he wants. of-fucking-course.

"some have. i always told them no".

"why?"

to think of it, even if just slightly, annoyed you. "conditions. restrictions. rules. you can't go there, you can't do this. that's not care".

"control is an acquired taste".

a grin slips into the seam of your lips. curious. "is it yours?"

his tongue peaks, a short run against his teeth, and something deep within, this buried and slow to rise feeling tightens at your core. maybe it wouldn't hurt to have a taste of wine.

his grin matches yours. "not if it ain't yours".

"out of all the woman everywhere, why me?"

"you try to steal from me, you spit on my casino floor, and you ain't missed a chance yet to tell me how you feel".

"we're into degradation i see", you joke. and it gets a laugh you think not many have experienced. it's something sincere, crinkling for some seconds the corners of his eyes. and despite the short bout of fondness that forms at hearing him laugh, he's got to be joking right? pulling your leg hard for an even bigger laugh. "i'm a thief roman".

"a very transparent thief. i don't meet people like that a lot".

it's a losing fight but still, it's hard not to push back.

"you barely know me".

"i could know you, if you let me".

"what's in it for you?"

sex, you think. when he's given you enough of his money and access, he'll ask for sex.

"your company".

---

riverside, california was not the vegas strip, and by all intents and purposes did not claim to be the notorious sin city. the breeze here was something warm and patient. a soft flowing about, satisfied only by its own directionlessness. but in a small whispered taunting way, it was unadulterated. the vegas strip was loud, this harsh numbing sort of droning that buried the more subtle, truthful noises and those skittish undercurrents in the skin that lent to fervent thoughts and ideas. the silence of riverside and the quaint rooftop air of antonella's was this exposing thing. and you'd come west to unashamedly connive your way into some money, but now you were here, unsure of the minutes, hours and even days to come, with him. sipping at coffee, and picking gentle but anxious at his diamond ring, feeling as aimless as the riverside wind.

and then, seemingly from no where, his shoes click against the cobblestone, steps slow and uniformed, a pace all his own. and as he sets down a fine spread atop the table; meats, cheeses, fruits, and small cakes, he can sense rather acutely this refusal to acknowledge him. from you, an amusing fight; one leg crossed over the other, a fidgeting in your fingers and this far away look else where, feigning indifference.

antonella's at noon - roman

he'd written as he liked to do, and yet it was a little passed two in the afternoon. the drive over to riverside lengthy and unknowing.

"you're late"

" 'm sorry?"

roman is amused but taken a back all the same. in the years of his success, lateness was not something to treat with avoidance or fear but just another trivial idea. something purely subjective. or maybe it was because things just ran on his time, started and stopped when his desires had not been met or when they'd exceeded his expectations. it was new to think that something like that was so bothersome for you.

he sits in the empty space of a double seated chair beside you. the wood fine and stripped, carved with intricate designs. his arm falling against the top. your bodies closer now than they've ever been.

"if i'm-", you shift to face him. eyes taken by the tan of his cheeks, sprinkled with freckles. lips full, and beard thick. his eyes softer than normal but still traces of an intensity to them. he's beautiful, even in his arrogance and persistence. "if i'm gonna do this. whatever this is, you have to be on time. i'm not a woman who likes to wait".

his eyes drop to the plump of your lips. existing there this thin tempting line of gloss. "yes ma'am".

and his stare lingers, a gentle taking in of the slight pout forming into the line of your lips and the soft round out of your cheeks. your eyes under the cast of the sun, more ethereal than not, but guarded some still in this impatient game of waiting for something that will quell that burden of unknowing. the small tells of your anxiety live in the way you play aimlessly at that ring you took from him, or rather the ring he let you take. even with your demands that fight against his own desires and your quick wits and your curt looks and your own bouts of teasing, you still hesitate for fear of the feelings that come with great disappointment. he wonders now if his words for you are not enough, and that though it had been enough for mostly everyone, you are not them. you are new and different and he'd have to treat you as such.

roman cuts a piece of cake easy, and on a fork it waits for you to indulge in it.

"taste this", he gives, handing you the fork.

"what is it?"

"panettone". his voice deep and delicate about the shape of the vowels, taking on a slight accent in reverence of the treat. italian?, you wonder.

the cake is buttery and sweet, a taste of fruit with each pass it takes over your tongue and theres something there as you sit with the taste of it that tells you that it's homemade. its a perfect mixture of everything, as if the baker had made it a thousand times, and then a thousand times more.

he reaches to pick off a piece of fruit with a slim pick, sleeves loose and revealing the beginnings of what you think is a full arm of connected tattoos. you wonder how far they travel, and where they possibly might end.

the strength of espresso wafts against the flow of a simple breeze as he takes to refilling the teeny size of your cup and then a splash of his own to taste.

he sighs, satisfied at the warmth of it. "you like it?".

"mhmm", you give. a sincerity lining your lips as you give him a small smile. it's something new, relaxed. an earnestness lacking that natural wary look you wear when you look at him. "you're taking my words to heart. i like a man who listens".

"i aim to please".

you slip the ring back onto your finger, less fidgety with it now. an easy settling of the tensity in your shoulders that allows your body to rest closer to him. facing inward so that the cross of your leg touches his. and it's this innocent, dainty step towards intimacy. where the gentle quiet of the day fills the air with a more tender possibility. guards are fallen away, more than before if anything, and your eyes shimmer warm and a little more accepting. i'll try, you think to your self, to believe him even if only for a moment. i'll indulge him.

"you like that ring?", he asks. staring at the way it shines against your finger.

at the mention of it, you twist the band about your finger.

"my mother thought the best thing a woman could do for herself was have jewelry. it's the only thing that doesn't disappoint". nostalgia a fine thread in your words. remembering the woman that taught you everything. and he sees the soft way your cheeks turn up. feels a need to keep them that way, but even more so when you look at him. "it's a little big, but it goes with my earrings".

my...my earrings. claiming fully the things that he'd gifted you.

his longer, stronger fingers reach for yours, for the ring, seemingly possessed by memory. and his touch is a light caress. featherweight and reverential. a shiver strums your skin there. teeming with the want for a heated relief found only in another pass of his finger, till it folds, along with the others, his over yours, to lock in an embrace.

"i had it made ten years ago", he tells you. "about a month after the resort opened. a gift to myself".

his thumb dances with a sweet brushing along your skin, with nothing particularly amorous, but there is comfort here, in your touch, a stranger. the way skin passes slow and steady to feel the other, lax and patient.

"it's still beautiful", your hand dropping to your lap, locked with his still, and the pull brings him just that much closer. a comfortable leaning in that gives way to him taking in more readily the heady sweetness of your perfume. his eyes and his mouth something like a foot away, but feeling so very close, so much so that it steals breaths. kickstarts that harsh beating in your blood, a drumming pulse in your fingers. you wonder if he feels it.

"it doesn't disappoint".

you smile. interested in him. "how old were you then?"

"28. you?"

you can see him at 28. untainted by the burning pace of vegas. his eyes ever intense but in them more of a smolder. his hair longer, with no flecks of grey. more unsure and less persistent. grasping at things that come to him so easily now.

"24".

and he'd love to meet 24 you. maybe not as quick witted but clever still. fast in your schemes with a maybe not so predictable temper. but still, a covetous touch to the things you wanted. needed.

"causing trouble where?", he chuckles.

"new york".

he looks at the ring. loose on your finger.

"ill have the ring resized to fit".

you shake your head. unsure. "it's something special. i don't wanna take that from you".

"you don't ask and you don't say thank you. if i give it, it's yours. simple".

he is as serious now as the day you first met him, and beyond all of your own doubting, there's this burden to believe him. the quiet fervor of his words and his touch, the warm glow of him amongst the day light and the unwavering hold his eyes take to yours. and his thumb runs a simple caress over where your pulse quickens harsh at the inside of your wrist, from surprise and need. a soft lulling that only seems to stoke the flame of a slow but sure to rise desire. it's yours, words promising and unfazed by the endless unknowns of tomorrow. so much so that he proves it, slips an envelope from his pocket till it finds its way into your hand.

and the envelope is mere trash compared to whats inside. a sleek black card, engraved with his own name.

your fingers slip at it. failing somewhat to hide the growing excitement. but there is disbelief here also, coming alive quick but dying quicker the more you feel the fixed weight of his decision, heavy in his eyes and warm at his touch. his intensity is a power all on its own, working well to lull you in. to subdue. a twinge at your core tells you that you are not immune. "is there a limit?"

"why would there be?"

you chuckle. "you're serious?"

"dead serious".

there's that twinge again, lingering hot and teasing. scares you away from his eyes and the tender hold of his touch, but he doesn't falter, even when your fingers leave the tangle of his. and then, caution breaks against the luxurious sort of excitement teeming quick, tightens into your fingers so that the card feels heavy. too fine to hold in your hands. but still, he remains, sitting with an endless patience, sure that he will win you over fully. if not today then soon.

the moment still seems too good to be true for you.

you sigh. "this all isn't just some round about way of trying to fuck me is it?"

but he doesn't hesitate. amused even.

"that only happens if you want it to sweetheart".

and it takes courage not to imagine it. the details of a daydream where his lips slip against your skin, hands strong and leading as they push and prod to his will, till you're just how he wants you, playing in these fast to leave flashes in your minds eyes. you think though, under his heavy gaze, that it's something to wonder about when he's not this close and determined to commit your every expression to memory. so you steel your face, fingers grabbing his cup to sip at his espresso, the curiosity of your daydreams attempting with a desperate sort of vigor to run away from you. they barely succeed.

with roman, you were in for something interesting.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns fic #roman reigns x female reader #sugar daddy vibes to be very honest with you #joannasteez

156 notes · View notes

booksinmythorax · 1 year

Text

So you're an adult who wants to start reading for fun, but you don't know where to start

I'm a librarian, and I hear at least once a week from people who sheepishly tell me that they'd love to start reading for fun (for the first time or after a long break). Here's my best advice broken down into bullet points, but start here: there is no shame in being a beginner.

-Think about what you do enjoy and start from there. So you're not a book person. Do you like movies? Television? Podcasts? Music? Tabletop games? Video games? What other media do you like and what does it have in common? Make a little list and Venn diagram that shit.

Maybe you're into stories about fucked-up families (Sharp Objects, Succession) or found families (lots of realplay TTRPG podcasts, Leverage, Avatar: The Last Airbender) or fucked-up found families (various Batman media, Steven Universe, The Good Place). Maybe you mainly watch or listen to stuff for the romance (Taylor Swift music, The Best Man, Heartstopper) or the sci-fi horror (The Magnus Archives, M3gan, Nope) or the romantic sci-fi horror (Welcome to Night Vale). And hey, maybe you're not a fictional media person at all. What do you like? What do you want to know about? World history? True crime? Home improvement? Birdwatching? Gardening? Various animals and their behavior? Human psychology? Cooking? If it's a thing, there are books about it. Start there.

Think about why you started to dislike reading. Did an adult snatch a book you thought looked cool out of your hands and say "Don't read that, it's below your reading level/above your reading level/a comic, not a real book"? Did school give you an endless parade of miserable, bleak books and tell you they were universal stories about the human condition? Or did it maybe only give you stories with saccharine, unearned happy endings, or only show you stories about straight cis wealthy abled white kids, or keep you from reading entire books at all in favor of endlessly dissecting tiny passages out of context? (For some vindication, check out "How Teachers Make Children Hate Reading" by John Holt.) Did you have an older sibling or a friend who was better at reading? Did adults put you in competition with that other kid and make you feel like shit about it? Were you in a situation where you were good at reading in one language, or even more than one, but required to read in another that you were still learning? Did this make you feel like you were "behind schedule" or like you shouldn't read at all? Or was reading just harder for you than it seemed for other people? Did reading give you headaches? Did the letters or numbers seem to float around on the page? Was it hard for you to focus for long enough to get through a whole book? Did you need to learn to read differently than the kids around you could? Did adults punish you for this instead of helping you? (Look, I'm not a doctor, but if any of these apply to you, consider going to an optometrist, a psychologist, and/or a psychiatrist to talk about these things if they're persistent and interfere with your life.) Or maybe you're burned out on reading. Maybe you did an advanced degree in literature or writing or history or some other reading-heavy discipline and you're just tired. Maybe your professors or classmates got snobby about what constituted "literary" works and their good opinion didn't line up with what you actually enjoy. You get to be sad and angry about these things, if they happened to you. They're also clues to how to move forward if you'd like to read more, or enjoy reading more.

Give yourself permission to read whatever you want, in whatever way you want. Wanna start with young adult books? Middle grade books? Awesome. Many of them have stories that are sophisticated and complex. Starting with re-reading the first books you enjoyed reading could help jog your memory about why you initially found it fun. Hell, even picture books are a good start. Have you read a picture book lately? Those things are getting cooler every day. Comics and graphic novels? Those count as reading. Many of them are published for adults, though again, the ones published for a middle-grade or young adult audience are often complex and moving. If you're an anime fan, give manga a shot. The source material for many anime go deeper into the characters and stories, especially now that anime seasons are often truncated to 12 episodes for entire series. (The right-to-left thing is easier to get used to than you think, too.) Romance novels and mystery thrillers and science fiction and fantasy? Those count as reading. Many of the things you might have liked about the books you read as a child or a teenager are present in adult "genre" fiction, and many of the things you might despise about adult "literary" fiction (god, I hate that word, but that's another post) may be absent from those titles. E-books and audiobooks definitely count as reading, and they're often more accessible than paper books for some people. Anybody who tries to genre- or format-shame you is a dick and not worth talking to.

Go to your local library. All right, shameless self-promotion here, I'll admit it. But I promise you, if you walk into a library and say "I'm an adult, I stopped reading a while ago, and I'd like to start back up again but I need suggestions," you will make someone's day. I get asked for my opinion about books approximately once a month. I get asked how to use the printer approximately eighty-five times a day. I love helping with the printer and I'm saying that unironically, but my colleagues and I absolutely adore "readers' advisory" questions. If you come with the answers to the above questions about your preferred genres, formats, and reasons you'd like to read, it'll help the process, but most of us are trained to ask follow-up questions to get you the best possible book match. Do not apologize. You are not bothering us. It is literally part of our job. We want people to know that reading is fun, and you are a people.

#librarians and booksellers: i would love it if you added more tips to this #librarians #booklr #books and reading #reading #literacy #media #young adult #book recommendations #public libraries #books & libraries #booksellers #books #comic books #adult literacy #media literacy #child literacy

387 notes · View notes

gerec · 2 months

Note

could you rec the bests space AU?

The X-Men fandom is absolutely a goldmine for amazing aus, and space aus are some of the best on offer! There are so many great ones that I have to split this into 2 parts, Anon - hope you enjoy:

SPACE AUS - PART 1

Space Jam by Pangea (series)

Prince Charles Xavier is Deputy Commander of the TEF Heartsteel and the newest mission they've been assigned starts out less than desirable and quickly goes downhill from there. It's alright, though, he'll cope.

It doesn't help, though, that he's in unrequited love with his best friend and Commander of the Heartsteel, War-Prince Erik Lehnsherr.

The stars incline us, they do not bind us by ikeracity, Pangea

Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he's settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

A Curious Carriage of Crystal and Cold by Etharei

Charles, a miner from a poor village in the countryside, saves the life of Erik Lehnsherr, scion of a successful business family and the richest man on the planet Eisen. Charles is a telepath and somewhat anxious about it, while Erik abstains from relationships because the lights flicker and doors open and electronics vibrate when he gets too excited.

Also featuring a long-suffering sister, a foul-mouthed bodyguard, and a best friend with a heart that is definitely not gold.

In which there are princes, spaceships, long journeys, and old secrets uncovered. (An AU sci-fi fairytale)

The Trouble with Telepaths by endingthemes

“Are you shy about me meeting your family?” Erik asks with a huge smile. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s not funny,” Charles says, his hands firmly planted on his hips, and it’s honestly hilarious so Erik laughs right in his face.

(Or a Star Trek AU in which Captain Erik Lehnsherr pays a visit to First Officer Charles Xavier's home planet and encounters a few surprises.)

To Rattle the Stars by GQD, Pangea

All his life Charles has chafed at the bonds of gravity that hold him bound to tiny and backwater Montressor, more at home in the sky on his solar surfer than on the ground, where he's stuck working at his stepfather's inn. His heart and soul yearn for the stars, and it's his dream to one day be a spacer and sail across the cosmos on adventure.

The opportunity comes sooner than he ever imagined one night when a ship crash-lands on the inn's front doorstep, carrying a dying pirate with a mysterious map and a dire warning: beware the cyborg.

[A Disney's Treasure Planet AU]

From Rim Space With Love by manic_intent

"Captain Logan! Captain Logan!"

The skinny cadet skitters to a halt next to Logan in the rec room, red-faced and a little out of breath. Logan eyes him with a faint frown, sunk deep into a stimm couch, thumbing up the rim of his captain's hat. He's just come off a torturous fifteen-hour shift, and healing factor or not, Logan's starting to feel it. Warp space is hell on his nerves.

"Settle down, bub. What burned your tail... eh..." Logan concentrates briefly. "Cadet McCoy? Hey. Your blue's showing. Settle down."

McCoy takes in several deep breaths, and the blue fur starting to thread out of his skin sinks back in. "Sir, yes sir. Message from X-Command, sir."

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours by madneto, Pangea

Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

Programming by TurtleTotem

Erik is not programmed to feel affection. There's no logical reason for Charles's death to affect him like this. ((Inspired by certain elements of Prometheus, but not a direct crossover.))

Fallen from the Stars by madmalina

Erik’s only purpose in life is to find and kill the man who had his parents executed—Sebastian Shaw, Captain of the Emperor’s fleet. When Erik gets assigned to a job under Shaw’s command—on the spaceship supposed to take the Crown Prince across the galaxy—he’s sure he’s closer to fulfilling his destiny than he has ever been before.

Charles is apprehensively awaiting the day of his twenty-fifth birthday, when he’ll be crowned Emperor, because not only does he have high doubts about his own suitability for the job, he fears the crushing responsibilities it will bring, and ultimately wants nothing more than to live a quiet and peaceful life.

However, the trip across the planets of Charles’ future Empire turns out differently than they both expected, shedding light on intrigues reaching back decades into the past, and forcing both men to put their lives into each other’s hands, even though their differences are seemingly infinite.

To Catch a Thief by lachatblanche

Charles Xavier, heir to the Xavier Corp billlions, is a wealthy, carefree socialite by day, and a skilled and renowned catburglar by night.

It was, he supposes, inevitable that someday someone would find this out.

fly me to the moon (To Catch a Thief Remix) by ikeracity

Charles is a wealthy noble who moonlights as notorious intergalactic art thief X in his spare time. Erik is the bounty hunter hot on his tail (who also happens to have a massive crush on him). A fateful encounter on the luxury resort moon Prioria changes things between them forever.

Stardust by JackyJango

When Charles Xavier, Erik's long-suffering-total opposite- best friend gets dumped by his boyfriend, Erik makes a pact with him, that he'll marry Charles if he's still single even after a decade.

I, Charles Francis Xavier, agree to marry Erik Magnus Lehnsherr if I'm not otherwise married or in a committed relationship as of ten years from today, star-dated- 2020:08:007

Nearly a decade later, Erik will do anything to see Charles with a man who's worthy of him.

Some Forgotten Corner of the Universe by Black_Betty

Erik remembers the boy he met on Osiris. Charles is no longer that boy, but that doesn't mean Erik loves him any less...

Ghost in the Shell by MonstrousRegiment

Out in the black of space, where the only creatures whose company you can always count on are violence and death, making a living is a wager. Erik’s crew of mismatched social misfits scrapes by, toeing the line between law and crime. Normally, they prefer to stay out of the Alliance’s way, but when it comes to defending the very freedom they fought for a decade ago, they only follow one principle: when someone tries to kill you, you kill them right back.

The Persistent Traveller by candycandy (telltail_heart)

Erik is the Chief of Engineering aboard the starship Poseidon, where he’s spent the last 10 years of his life dedicated to his job above all other desires. That is until he receives his newest crew member, Lieutenant Commander Charles Xavier, who proves to be more persistent than a black hole at getting what he wants, which to Erik’s utter confusion appears to be him...

SPACE AUS - PART 2

#gerec rambles #cherik #space aus #fic rec #gerec's fic rec #part 1

47 notes · View notes

drachonia · 10 days

Text

𝐥 𝐚 𝐯 𝐞 𝐧 𝐝 𝐞 𝐫 ' 𝐬 𝐛 𝐥 𝐮 𝐞 .

Alfons Slyvatica Family Fluff

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i kinda felt like going back to my roots and writing some family fluff while i wait for october and try not to pass out from uni stress, lmao. simple stuff, just wanted to write for some characters i've grown fond of. a lil tough to write because of how complex alfons' emotions are about life stuff.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: not really anything warning worthy aside from just...family fluff. a little mention of his more bleak inner thoughts near the end (ends postiive), but that's about it.

Soft and tender notes reached Alfons’ ears as he entered the parlor of his home in the late hours of the morning. His wife’s long brunette hair trailed over the arm of the rocking chair as she cradled a dark-haired child in her lap, gently brushing back the straight but fluffy hair from his little forehead.

“Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly And the lambs play We shall be safe, dilly, dilly Out of harm's way.”

Her gemstone eyes flickered up to meet his from across the room, her calm stare turning to a beaming smile as she saw her husband linger in the doorway.

“Look who’s home.”

A tiny head of dark hair whipped up in excitement, the boy turning and scrambling down from his mother’s lap and bouncing toward Alfons with a bright and mischievous grin, much like his own.

“Alec, careful!” His mother called gently after him as tiny feet padded across the hard wood floors quickly.

“Papa’s home! Papa’s home!” The boy leapt into his father’s arms, giggling happily. Long arms caught the child as his aforementioned father lifted him effortlessly in his arms, “How is my little duckling?” He chuckled, feeling the tiny little arms squeeze ‘round his collar and chubby cheeks nuzzle the breast of his coat, eyes closing happily, “Mum read me a few stories that uncle Liam sent! And uncle Elbie came by with Erik to say hello! Ooh and after that we baked a pie together, Mum made our favorite flavor filling, too—” The boy brightened as he recounted the events of the day, his father’s soft as he sat down on the sofa with his son on his lap.

Smoke colored eyes drifted briefly during the story to his son’s mother, taking in the smile as she stared at their child lovingly. He recounted the many times she’d expressed how she wanted their child to look like him, and glancing back down at Alec, she practically got her wish. Narrow but pretty dark eyes, soft black hair just short of ink in color. The more he looked at his son, the more he contemplated his own negative thoughts. If someone had asked him several years ago whether he’d make a good father, he would have laughed in their face. Nowadays, however, Alfons was almost terrified at how much his own family had changed his outlook on life. That solemn reminder of being forgotten lurked in the back of his mind, always. But…this peace he was rewarded with at his home he’d made…it was something that kept him going. He would make every effort each mission to execute each plan to perfection, not a resource nor a second could be wasted, for he had a family to return to.

“—Oh! And I start school tomorrow, remember, papa?” Excited smoke colored eyes stared wide up at him, expectant for a reaction. He felt his muscles relax finally, reaching up to rub Alec’s fluffy little head, thumb rubbing his chubby cheek, “Yes, little one, I remember, growing so fast, aren’t you?” He lifted him into a hug, squeezing him to his chest and kissing the top of his head, chin resting there as he smiled at his wife, a fragile, but contented smile. All of this felt surreal, like he could let out too heavy a sigh and it would all blow away like smoke. But with each day he lived it, he learnt he was far more content to let things develop as they were.

He remembered being hesitant when he learned he and his lover had managed to conceive. Remembered the anxiety of what could become of them both should anything happen to him. But perhaps the thing he remembered most of it all was when he got to sit by her side, watching her cradle that little bundle with a patch of dark hair. That moment he reached out, only for a tiny fist to wrap around his gloved index finger. That moment rendered him wide-eyed in wonder, speechless and curious to how someone could capture his attention even easier than his partner. Of course, given the fact a child was practically a manifestation of them both, he supposed it wasn’t entirely impossible to have that unconditional love.

Brought back to reality by a faint tug on his coat by his eight year-old, he smiled softly, eyes crinkled in joy as he kissed his son’s head tenderly. Every bit of love he would pour into this family of his, until all of them were filled with too many memories to possibly forget. That would be the thing that he would leave behind, no matter what twisted card fate may try to pull.

lace headers by saradika.

#ikemen villains #ikevil alfons #drac writes #alfons sylvatica #ikevil fluff

25 notes · View notes

mmmleckerlecker · 1 year

Text

Snack Number Fourteen

Happy vore day 2023! Please enjoy this EXTREMELY self indulgent fic that’s been cooking in my brain for quite awhile now…

Summary: The predator had always prided himself on his self-control. And he really does like to make things last. Just another night with him and his (fourteenth) favorite snack.

Contents: m/m, cruel pred, willing pred, unwilling prey, non-fatal, pre-vore, partial digestion, post-vore (aka the main focus), regurgitation, I imagined a size-difference while writing but it’s never really specified

Wordcount: 5,301

* * * * * * * * * *

The predator came home that evening feeling exhausted. And absolutely starving.

He wished he could say that his work had ended once he’d left the office just a half hour ago, but he’d be lying. He knew very well that there was an extensive pile of paperwork just waiting for him on his desk at home. It really was going to be a long night.

Ah, well, no rest for the wicked and all that.

The predator did, fortunately, have at least one thing to look forward to that night, and he was very much looking forward to it. He could barely contain his excitement, nearly bouncing on his toes in a very un-predator-like fashion. But it had been so, so long. He could forgive himself this once for his lack of self-control.

And so the predator bounced his way upstairs, right to the locked doorway at the end of the hall. He pulled out a tiny silver key, slid it into the lock, and turned.

“Good evening, my little snack,” he said with a grin, flicking on the light of the now unlocked room. “You’re looking exceptionally… recovered tonight.”

The boy— fresh out of college, still so strong and vibrant— let out a groan.

“Please,” he begged as he squeezed himself into the farthest corner. “Not again. Please… just a little longer.”

The predator entered the room and smiled in a way which he considered warm and affectionate. Unfortunately, he must not have gotten it quite right because the closer he got, the more the boy only shrank and shivered away.

“Now, now,” the predator chided, crouching down in front of the boy. “It’s been weeks since last time. We’re more than overdue.” He reached out, ignoring the way his snack flinched away, and ran his fingers over the boy’s cheek. The flesh was riddled with burn scars but otherwise healthy. “See? You’ve already healed up.”

The boy didn’t answer. The predator tried smiling again, making sure to show all his teeth.

The boy had been living in this room for months now, which was a good deal longer than many of his predecessors. The predator had no inkling of the boy’s name, all he knew was that he was Number Fourteen. He didn’t really have any desire to learn the boy’s name either. To the predator, he was just another snack. The fourteenth snack, to be precise.

You see, the predator was a master of control, and whenever he found something he really liked, he liked to drag it out for as long as possible. When he was a boy, he once bought a lollipop that he enjoyed so much, he made it last for seven and one-quarter years. Every night like clockwork, he would take precisely one lick of the candy. No more, no less. Just enough to indulge in its sugary sweet flavor. And then he would carefully wrap it and put it away for the next day. He’d prided himself on his patience and pacing, even then.

Years later and the only thing that had changed were his tastes. Now his snacks were a bit more… complex.

“You’ll need to eat first, of course,” the predator continued to his snack. “And drink. We can’t have you getting de-hydrated now, can we?”

The boy was already shaking his head, but the predator didn’t pay him any mind. He knew what was best for his snack, what measures to take to make them last the longest. He’d gone through many trials and errors.

“Come now.”

The boy didn’t resist when the predator hoisted him to his feet. He’d given up fighting long ago. The predator led his snack down the hall, down the stairs, and into the dining room, where he bade him sit at the table. The boy obeyed, his scarred face looking utterly despondent.

“What do you say?” the predator asked as he opened one of the kitchen cabinets. “Beef stew for dinner? That is one of your favorites, isn’t it?”

This, of course, was a little inside joke between the two of them. Beef stew was the only thing the boy ever got for dinner. For some reason though, he didn’t seem to find this joke very funny. The predator let out a wistful sigh. Snack Number Thirteen would have laughed. Or at least offered one of the witheringly sarcastic remarks that he so loved. Even after all these months, the predator missed their heated banter.

The predator didn’t wait for an answer from his current snack before pulling one of the many cans of beef stew off the shelf. He poured it into a bowl, then very kindly heated it up in the microwave. He put the bowl and a cup of ice water on the table before the boy. The ice water was actually a special treat for tonight. Usually he only got room temperature water.

“Go on then,” the predator urged as he took the seat across from his snack. “Eat up!”

Ever so painfully slowly, the boy began to eat. The predator watched with keen interest. Every bite of food, every sip of water, every contraction of those beautiful throat muscles, just made him all the more hungry. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. Snack Number Fourteen shifted the spoon in his hand and cleared his throat.

“You don’t have to watch me eat,” he mumbled, eyes firmly locked on his half-empty bowl.

“Oh, but I very much do,” the predator told him, resting his chin in his hand. “I need to make sure you eat everything. And I need to know exactly when you’re done and ready. And besides that… I do enjoy watching my snacks feed themselves.”

The boy’s fingers squeezed at the handle of his spoon before he took one more deliberate bite.

Number Six had been a slow eater too. Even slower than Number Fourteen, surprisingly. She seemed to think she could put off the inevitable if she ate at the pace of a turtle in slow motion. The predator had always found that amusing. He had the patience of a saint, and a bowl of stew could only be stretched out for so long.

The predator smiled lazily at the memory. This seemed to unnerve his snack who happened to glance up at that moment. With a small intake of breath, the boy began scooping his stew with a bit more purpose than before.

In a few more minutes, the only thing he had left were a few last swallows of water. The predator watched, nearly quivering with anticipation. The last drops of water rolled so, so slowly past the boy’s lips. He swallowed. He set his glass down.

The predator lunged, unable to wait any longer. In the blink of an eye, he had the boy by his shirt and was yanking him across the table. Silverware, cup, and bowl were knocked carelessly to the side. The chair toppled backward as the boy kicked his feet, struggling fruitlessly as he was dragged across the table.

Snack Number Fourteen only managed a small cry of surprise before he was cut off by his head being shoved unceremoniously into the predator’s mouth.

The predator’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a little moan of contentment. The first taste was always the best part, in his opinion. He took his first swallow, felt the way his throat stretched, and then had second thoughts on that opinion. Actually, he thought, it was the first swallow that was the best part. His fingers curled into the boy’s shirt, clinging to him and pulling him in further.

Ignoring the way his snack groped blinding at his face, the predator took another swallow. The boy’s shoulders stretched his throat even more and gave the added bonus on impeding his snack’s assault.

The predator considered the possibility of the second swallow being the best part.

He continued this reassessment after each greedy gulp. The third one began stretching his ribs apart in a sickeningly satisfying way. The fourth one saw him halfway through, right at the boy’s hips. It was at this point, Snack Number Fourteen’s head finally entered the predator’s stomach and the predator let out an involuntary shiver. He was sure now that the fourth swallow had to be the best part. Nothing could surpass this feeling.

But then he took his fifth swallow and he was forced to scoot his chair backwards, away from the table, to make room for his now rapidly expanding middle. His sixth swallow had his stomach stretching so much, he really didn’t think it could get any better than this, but then he was only at his snack’s knees! A seventh swallow and only the boy’s toes remained out in the open.

The predator touched a delicate hand to his throat so he could feel the last of his snack sliding down. He took his eighth swallow and closed his mouth as Snack Number Fourteen disappeared fully behind his lips. The last of the boy went smoothly down his throat, and the predator winced as his belly was stretched to maximum capacity. He even winced as it pressed painfully into the table he’d so politely just pushed himself away from.

Somewhat annoyed, he took another difficult scoot backwards, freeing himself from the confines of the table edge. Once a safe distance from the table, he allowed himself to relax in his chair. His eyes fell shut and his hands wandered quite greedily to the now healthy curve of his belly. A deep contentment spread through him as his fingers searched out the shape of his snack.

The boy, for his part, was shifting and stretching within, most likely trying to find the closest approximation to a comfortable position. Somehow the predator doubted there were many such positions in there, but really that was none of his concern. For his part, he was in heaven. And there was only one thing that could make it better.

With a dreamy sigh, he gave in and let his stomach come to life with the beginnings of digestion.

A wave of pleasure crashed over the predator, easing away the stress of his work day and making all that paperwork seem like a distant memory. If he could live in one moment forever, it would be this one. Full, warm, carefree. Even his snack could barely keep still. Although, it was doubtful from any kind of pleasure. More likely it would be the discomfort that came from slowly being digested alive.

He’d be perfectly safe however. Maybe a little worse for wear, but he’d come back up in one piece when the predator was through with him. Probably. You see, this is where the predator’s superior self control came in handy. His snacks were just too good to finish off altogether, so he’d learned just how much to slow his digestion and just how long they could last under those conditions. The boy was his lollipop, and once the predator had indulged in his single taste, he’d put him back in his wrapper for next time.

After several minutes of lounging comfortably and gently kneading his stomach into submission, the predator decided he’d stalled long enough. There was a pile of paperwork with his name on it just waiting for him.

But as he sat upright, the chair squeaking in protest, he realized just how sleepy his snack had made him. And though he fought so very valiantly to convince himself that work was more important, the need for sleep won out. He deserved a little nap, didn’t he? He’d been working terribly hard lately. Of course he deserved it.

So with the resolution that it would only be a very short nap, the predator hefted himself to his feet and slowly made his way to the bedroom. The journey was made somewhat difficult by the suddenly very lively weight in his middle, scrambling for purchase with each step, but the predator fought through such tribulations with barely a moan of protest.

The softness of his bed called to him and he fell into it without hesitation. He felt his snack pushing back as it was unceremoniously pinned between his weight and the bed, but the sleep now overtaking the predator left him quite unbothered by his snack’s inconvenient location.

As his eyes fell shut, the predator double checked that he had his stomach under control and promised himself once more that this nap would only last a short while.

And then he knew no more.

* * * * * * * * * *

When the predator awoke, he found himself unusually groggy. He blinked and yawned in the half-light of his room, wondering why he didn’t feel his usual peppy self after a good, hearty nap. It wasn’t until he tried to sit up and found himself impeded by the weight in his middle that he remembered what was going on.

He checked the time and was aghast at how late it was. Internally, he scolded himself for being so careless. Where was his usual sense of self control? Not only that, but he was further worried by how unusually still the weight in his stomach was.

He grimaced as he looked down at the curve of his belly. He liked to pretend his snacks were lollipops that would last ages if he was careful enough— one little taste at a time, but sometimes they felt more like a piece of gum— chew it up and spit it out ad nauseam, but grow too careless and you could swallow it, make it gone for good after just one tiny mistake.

If he wanted to get technical, he could say that this was how he’d lost most, or rather all, his previous snacks. He’d get distracted just one time for a little too long and his stomach had its way with them. Tragic, really. So many snacks gone too soon when they still had so much to offer.

“Hello, in there?” the predator called as he poked at his engorged tummy. He felt some small hope in finding whatever was inside to still be relatively solid. “Are you still kicking in there, Number Fourteen?”

The predator jumped in surprise when he received what felt like a kick to his stomach walls.

“Oh!” he said as a second kick (for good measure, he assumed) struck another uncomfortable blow. “I thought I’d finished you off in my sleep!” he told his snack in excitement. “But you’re doing surprisingly well in there, it seems. I think you could last for another few hours at most!”

There was a pause in which the predator was sure his snack was processing this exciting new opportunity, and then Number Fourteen went absolutely feral, struggling with a ferocity he’d seemingly given up on after the first five or six times he’d been been swallowed down. The predator was impressed. His current snack was now rivaling the persistence of Snack Number Four. That one never seemed to grow exhausted or give up.

“Yes, yes,” the predator offered his assurances as he kneaded his snack back into submission, “I know you’re just as elated as I am to spend more time together.”

Another kick.

The predator gave his belly a firm squeeze, coaxing the contents within to cooperate. “But you’ll need to try to contain yourself. Or would you rather continue acting up? It does get rather difficult to control my stomach when you’re moving so deliciously about.”

His snack went deathly still.

“Thought so.”

With only a negligible amount of difficulty, the predator pushed himself out of bed and stumbled out of the room. His snack came back to life as the movement jostled it about. The predator clutched at his belly as it cramped up. He never did like walking on a full stomach.

Finally, he reached his desk. His office chair sat invitingly before a not-so-inviting looking stack of papers. He frowned, still fighting off the grogginess from his earlier nap. Even with the comfort of a full belly and a reinvigorating nap, doing paperwork felt about as desirable as pulling teeth. His own teeth, of course. The predator had never pulled someone else’s teeth, but he thought it would likely be more interesting than paperwork.

The predator turned his thoughts over and over in his head, looking for something, anything that could make the task at hand even just a tad bit more enticing.

The predator snapped his fingers as his thoughts clicked into place.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed before heading back to the kitchen, still clutching his belly to keep the both of them steady.

Yes, he’d had one snack, but why not a second snack? And not a special snack like Number Fourteen. But just a normal snack, something to munch on. Oh, he did love to munch, and his snacks absolutely loathed sharing space with actual food. They always got disgruntled and squirmy, just enough so that the predator got a pleasant internal massage out of it.

The predator threw open his pantry with relish and began digging through the shelves for something of interest. This proved to be a more difficult task than usual as the weight in his middle continually threatened to throw him off balance whenever he leaned down for a closer look. Thankfully, the predator was never one for quitting and he fought valiantly not to fall flat on his face (an effort he was sure his snack appreciated as well). After an arduous battle with the pantry shelves and his own stomach, the predator emerged victorious with his prize in hand. A somewhat simple bag of potato chips, never before opened. Now this was sure to motivate him to his paperwork.

The predator was halfway back to his desk before he fully considered the consequences of choosing such a salty snack. Of course he’d need a beverage to wash it down with, it was only sensible. He turned on his heel, then nearly turned into a topple as he forgot he was quite belly-heavy at the moment. His non-potato chip snack braced itself awkwardly against his stomach walls while the predator readjusted himself.

Next thing, in a series of events much like in the pantry, the predator was rifling through the refrigerator. When he finally stepped away, he was carrying a bottle of only the finest of cherry colas and glad to be upright and well-balanced again.

With a certainty that he was finally prepared for that hateful pile of paperwork, the predator returned to his desk. He pulled out his chair and fell into it with a grateful sigh. It was always terribly tiresome carrying around so much extra weight. It took some adjusting, lowering his seat so there was room for his belly beneath the desk, and spreading his knees so the weight of his snack didn’t cut off his circulation, but finally the predator could comfortably rest his elbows on the desk and start writing.

With a very satisfying burst of salty scents, he tore open the bag of chips. He took a bite and gave an agreeable hum. Of course Snack Number Fourteen was his favored thing to eat, but they just didn’t provide the pleasurable crunch of a good potato chip.

The predator couldn’t suppress a small smile when he swallowed and felt the consequent twitch of surprise from Number Fourteen.

“Sorry about that,” he said, patting his stomach and hoping he was hitting somewhere close to his snack’s back. He wasn’t actually sorry. In fact, he quite liked the idea of all his favorite foods in one place, but it didn’t seem very politic to say so aloud.

He apologized and patted his stomach/maybe-Number-Fourteen’s-back again when he took a swig of soda for the first time. Number Fourteen gave a jab of annoyance and a very unsuccessful shifting of positions, but other than that the predator didn’t get any further protests from his snack.

“Right then,” the predator mumbled as he leafed through his papers, “I guess the only thing left to do is get started.”

And so he did. The next few hours were nothing but the scratching of his pen and the munching of his chips. His snack was restless for a great deal of it, particularly when the predator swallowed down some soda, but nothing too distracting. It probably helped that the chips and cola barely lasted through the first hour.

When his one hand was free, the predator would rest it distractedly on his middle, appreciating the warmth his slow digestion provided. He could feel, and occasionally hear, his stomach working ever so slowly over the contents within. It was all the same to his stomach— chips, soda, another living being. It plodded along relentlessly with its one job, contracted and breaking down whatever was put into it. It brought a certain kind of awe to the predator, and he loved to help it along with the occasional doting rub.

The predator didn’t notice it happening, but all of a sudden the hour was very late. He stared at the time for a few moments, not quite comprehending how so much of it had already passed. Come to think of it, he thought as he straightened out his now completed pile of paperwork, he hadn’t felt any movement from his snack in quite awhile.

“You still hanging on in there?” the predator asked, pressing his fingers into the curve of his belly. He couldn’t help but cringe as it felt like the form of his snack was much softer than it previously had been.

“Oh dear,” he said softly. And he really had been doing so well with this one.

He was just about to give up and go to bed so his stomach could finish up the job, when he felt the weakest of movement come from deep within his middle.

“Ah, so you are still alive in there!”

As if to exacerbate his point, his snack gave another commendable effort at moving.

“Right, just one moment then,” the predator said, clumsily pushing himself away from his desk and hoisting himself upright again. “Don’t want to dirty up my office, you understand.”

Number Fourteen gave a terrible shudder as the predator began his somewhat uncomfortable walk to the bathroom. The predator cringed again with each step. The contents of his stomach felt somewhat less… solid than when he’d made his earlier trip to the kitchen. He’d really goofed up this time, hadn’t he?

He hesitated once he made it to the bathtub. There was a fine line between lightly simmered in stomach acids but still salvageable versus broken down beyond repair yet still somehow clinging to life. The last thing he wanted was to deal with a quickly expiring snack in his bathtub. He really didn’t think he could manage swallowing them down again after that. Maybe it would be better for everyone if he gave up and just went to bed, letting his stomach finish off Number Fourteen.

The predator frowned as he stroked his hand in circles over the now softened surface of his belly.

Oh, but finding a new snack was so difficult. And he really did enjoy Number Fourteen, even if the boy sorely lacked a sense of humor.

“I really hope you’re not too far gone,” he told his snack with a new sense of resolve.

With a practiced contracting of muscles, the predator began the awfully distasteful process of bringing his snack back up. While he enjoyed keeping his snacks around for as long as possible, he couldn’t say that he quite enjoyed this part of the process. If he could simply make his snack re-appear outside of his stomach, he’d lead a much happier life. But alas. Such are the sacrifices he makes to get what he wants.

After much heaving and gagging, Snack Number Fourteen pushed its way back up the predator’s throat to land in a sloppy heap on the bathtub floor.

The boy groaned as the predator leaned down to inspect him.

“I thought you weren’t gonna let me out this time.” Snack Number Fourteen’s voice was hoarse and he wheezed with each breath.

The predator cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment. The boy really was in the worst shape he’d ever seen.

“Well,” the predator started, looking for the right words, “sorry about that.”

The boy gave him a blood-shot look of pure loathing.

“I really didn’t mean to go this far,” the predator continued, unabated. “I simply got so caught up in my work that I… forgot about you. You know how it is.”

“I really don’t,” the boy replied, sounding much like what the predator imagined sandpaper would sound like if it could speak.

The predator decided the best thing to do in this situation would be to pretend he hadn’t heard his snack. So instead, he grabbed the shower head and reached for the faucet. “Why don’t we get you washed up then?”

The snack let out a startled cry as the cold water washed over his angry, red skin. The predator quietly apologized again, but it was no matter. A minute later and his snack lay motionless, eyes fallen shut with exhaustion as he let the predator clean off all the wayward stomach acid from his skin. The predator was quite adept at this— starting at the top, where the more sensitive skin was, and working his way down. There was something very satisfying about starting the process of restoring his snack all over again. But even after the predator had finished, the boy lay sprawled on the bathtub floor, eyes closed, chest rising and falling.

The predator kept silent. He did feel a little guilty. Not only that, but also a little frustrated. With his snack in this state, it would take weeks for him to be strong enough for another round in his stomach. Perhaps it was karma for the predator’s own hubris. He prided himself on his self-control, but a momentary lapse in focus had left him with his prized Number Fourteen in this horrific state. Maybe it would have been easier if he’d just accepted his loss and gone to bed. At least he could start off with a new snack right away.

The predator gave a mental shrug.

Ah well, no use crying over spilled milk and all that.

“Why don’t we get some aloe on you?” he suggested once he could no longer stand waiting for his snack to come out of whatever state he was in. Patience was a virtue, of course, but it was getting very late and the predator needed his beauty sleep just as much as anyone.

The boy’s eyes flicked open and slid to look at him.

“Fine,” was his only word.

The boy pulled himself out of the tub and took a careful seat on the edge of the closed toilet. The predator did a thorough job slathering him in aloe, something the boy seemed to appreciate.

After a failed attempt at getting the boy to walk back to his room on his own, the predator was forced to carry him there. He wondered if the boy really was so weak from his injuries that he couldn’t stand or if he was only feigning weakness as a sort of punishment for the predator’s neglectfulness. The predator supposed, in a way, this arrangement wasn’t much different than earlier, except now he held his snack in his arms, not his belly.

“Home sweet home,” the predator commented as he pushed his way into Number Fourteen’s room.

The boy began squirming at the sight of it. He made a little sound, like a cross between a groan and a growl.

“I know you’re ecstatic to see it again,” the predator told him. “Especially since you almost didn’t make it back this time.”

The boy stopped squirming. The predator deposited him on the cot at the far end of the room.

“Wait there for a moment, please,” he told the boy before heading out of the room. The boy didn’t respond, he just laid very still on his tiny bed, staring at the ceiling. The predator made sure he locked the door behind him.

He headed to the pantry and pulled out two large plastic bottles of water and another bottle of sports drink for good measure. He was about to make a beeline back to his snack when he stopped. After a night like this, the predator usually waited until the next day to give his snack anymore food, but he had nearly digested the poor boy alive this time. He didn’t want to ruin the perfectly good rapport they had developed over these special months together.

He scanned the pantry shelves for something he could give the boy as an apology. Something that really said, “Sorry I got distracted and nearly sent you on a one-way trip to my bowels.” Even the predator grimaced at such a thought.

He took some time considering all his options, until he settled on what seemed the best one. A halfway finished jar of cocktail peanuts. The jar was halfway empty because they were quite good, and the predator picked it up with a sense of satisfaction, certain he’d made the best choice to demonstrate his deepest condolences.

When he re-entered the room, he found that the boy hadn’t moved from his frankly despondent state on the bed. The predator approached, keeping the peanuts hidden from view, and set one of the water bottles and the sports drink on the wobbly bedside table.

“Get up,” he commanded the boy, prodding him with the other water bottle. “You need to drink. Being burned can leave you very badly dehydrated.” And then he stopped and re-considered. “Or at least sunburns can. I’m not too sure about stomach acid burns as, well, you know, I’ve never had the privilege of being partly digested.”

These words roused the boy. With hiss of pain, he pushed himself into a sitting position and gave the predator one his favorite looks to give— a venomous stare.

He still took the bottle and began chugging the water, stray dribbles running down his cheeks and over his exposed throat.

“I do have something extra for you,” the predator told him, unable to hide his delight. “Something special.”

The boy stopped drink immediately. “What is it?” he asked, sounding almost excited for once.

“Here!” The predator said, unable to wait any longer. He shoved the jar of peanuts toward his snack.

The boy looked down at it and blinked.

“It’s an apology of sorts,” the predator explained. “You know, since I went a little too far this time. I honestly feared you wouldn’t make the night if I let you out, and I almost gave up on you. But look at you now! I’m sure you’ll be ready for another round in no time!”

The boy’s face fell and his eyes went cold and empty. “Thanks,” he said, the word devoid of any of his earlier excitement.

“Of course, my snack,” the predator told him as jovial as ever. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it then.”

Snack Number Fourteen didn’t answer. Only gave him a look of searing hatred, his blood-shot eyes somehow burning brighter than before.

The predator only gave him a reassuring smile as he closed the door.

“Goodnight, my snack. Until next time.”

He locked the door tight behind him.

And in just a few minutes, the predator had fallen into bed, finally letting a real, deep sleep overcome him. Despite a few bumps in the road, tonight had been a very fulfilling night. The only thing left empty now was his stomach, which grumbled quietly, eagerly awaiting the next time it would get to spend a few hours working over Snack Number Fourteen.

#honestly really obsessed with this pred don’t look at me #he is so delightful #and tbh I like the dynamic between him and the prey too #soft vore #v.ore #non fatal vore #same size vore #size difference vore #(up to interpretation)#willing pred #unwilling prey #male pred #male prey #cruel pred #vore day #vore day 2023 #vore day 2k23

174 notes · View notes