#: 　/‏‏‎　all these minor feelings　…　answer !　' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecoochiefairy · 2 days ago

Text

bloodhound. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 15.9K word count. blackfem!reader, toji fushiguro, mafiagangmember!toji , violence, dominant!toji, sweet!toji, aggressive!toji, sensual sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condom-less sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this idea came at a random, kinda just for fun. loved it at first, started hating it as i wrote it? was committed to finish. idk. ugh. however, it was inspired by ‘the yakuza wife�� anime. anyways, a lot happened in the real world, sorry y’all. i love you. just enjoy. visuals.

EYES. THEY WERE ALWAYS RECEIVED TO HER BY THE STARE OF OTHER PEOPLE. It was common at this point, so much that it didn’t even offend her—But it should’ve.

Instead, she brought her focus upon the dimly lit lanterns that lead to the end of the market, needing to make it back to Tokyo before dark. Chocolate brown panels above to protect the stores from rain, cherry blossoms sprouting along the poles as she passed by, watching as the bars and restaurants began to pack like sardines within a can.

Back to the staring, she counted about three people today. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It just didn’t make sense to her—she’d been in Japan all her life, and she still felt like an outsider. She didn’t have fair skin, silky hair, or a petite frame. She was different, but he always reminded her there was beauty in being like no other.

She’d make sure to grab a small carton of rouge strawberries, her favorite fruit at any time of day. Number four, the man at the counter gives her a strange look as she walks around the store, before suppressing his peculiar stare, replacing it with a respectful smile as she hands him 10,000 yen.

It was a silent two hour ride back home—she knew she was going to get chastised, especially being without protection. The familiar walkway of succulents swayed with the wind as she followed a pathway, now standing in front of the barrier that separated her from the machiya—or house— as he’d taught her to say. She glances up at the camera that tries to hide at the top of the gate, also looking down through the bars as she can see one of the guards pointing a gun directly at her. The groceries become heavier.

She sighs, “Are you gonna let me in, or shoot me?”

When the guard recognizes the familiar voice, he lowers his gun at the same time he bows, constantly repeating, “Sumimasen,” as the top of the gate unlocks.

She gives a polite wave to the older women dressed in their housekeeping attire, they all greet her back, continuing to clean the front porch. She hears one of them call to help her with the groceries, to which she always waved off. Making her way inside, she quickly dropped the groceries in the kitchen, beginning to pull the items out of the bag as she could instantly feel someone behind her. She doesn’t have to look back, knowing it’s the man that’s assigned to follow her everywhere she goes.

She exhales, “You don’t have to hide in the corner, Kenji. Is my grandfather awake?”

Kenji, a tall and muscular man, emerges from the shadows and makes his way into the kitchen. He stands by the fridge, hands behind his back.

"No ma’am, he is still asleep," Kenji replies, his voice low and authoritative. He watches as she unpacks the groceries, his gaze unwavering.

"You didn’t tell anyone you were leaving.”

“Would you have taken me down to Kyoto if I asked?” She raises an eyebrow, knowing the answer to that, “I needed fresh fruit. You would’ve gone out and got it yourself.”

Kenji was an older, extremely serious man. Barely could get a laugh, smile, even the twitch of his face. He’d been the guardian of their family for years, but even he had his stresses when it came to her.

“That doesn’t mean you should leave the estate without me,” he replies stiffly. "You could’ve woken me up and I would’ve taken you.”

“I made it back safely,” she counters, “No one recognized me, so it’s fine. You want a strawberry?” She takes one from the plastic, reaching it out to him.

Kenji eyes the strawberry for a moment, before reluctantly taking it.

"It’s not about making it back safely," he replies, a hint of irritation in his tone. "It’s about the fact that you left without telling anyone. Anything could’ve happened to you."

“Ahh, you took it from me! You’re not that mad, Mamoru,” she calls him the traditional term, “You can save all that intimidation shit for Jiji, not me.”

"Don’t call me that," he mutters, crossing his arms. "And don’t call your grandfather Jiji. Have some respect."

“What? Is Ojiichan better for you?” She questions as she reaches her hand out, “Here. Have another strawberry. You’re mean today.”

Kenji grumbles, but accepts another strawberry anyway.

"Don’t try and butter me up," he mutters, taking a bite. "I’m not mean. I’m just doing my job."

He leans against the counter, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and concern. He taps the piece within his ear, his eyes coming up as he says, “Your grandfathers awake.”

“I’m going,” she’s already beginning to make her way upstairs, “Don’t touch the groceries! I can put them up myself.”

She comes down the hallway, sliding the wooden frame of the door, pressing her hand against the translucent paper as her eyes follow to the sight of her grandfather. Smile lines creased his olive face, even when he wasn’t happy.

She watched the housekeeper dab a cold towel against his face, walking forward as she tells her, “I’m here, you can go take a break,” she gives a light smile, offering to take the towel from her.

The housekeeper nods appreciatively and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. The only sound left is the soft breathing of her grandfather.

He turns his head towards her, his eyes slowly opening. “You’re back,” he rasps, his voice weak.

She sits along the floor beside his bed as she softly replies, “I’m surprised you’re not raising your blood pressure to yell at me.”

Her grandfather manages a weak smile, wincing slightly as he shifts in the bed.

"I'll save my anger for later," he mutters, his voice gruff. "What were you thinking, leaving without telling anyone?"

“I wasn’t gone that long,” she tells him, to which he says, “Bogo de hanashite kudasai.”

She replies, “You’re getting better at your English—can you not be difficult right now?”

"You still haven't explained why you went to the market by yourself."

“I went to your favorite market in Kyoto to find those dumplings you like, I wanted to make ramen,” she says, reaching out as she lightly dabs the towel against his face, “You’ still wanna yell now?”

Her grandfather's gruff exterior softens, and he looks at her with a hint of surprise. He can never stay mad at her.

"No," he mutters, closing his eyes as he lets out a long sigh. "I suppose you did bring me my favorite dumplings."

“How are you feeling?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving off the question. "I'm fine," he says dismissively, "You don't need to worry about me."

He notices the look on her face, and sighs. "I'm tired," he admits, wincing slightly as he tries to sit up more in the bed.

“You’ll feel better once I cook,” she mentions, “Do you want to try to take an actual shower today?”

“I’m too weak to stand,” he mutters, a hint of stubbornness in his voice, “And I don’t need help showering. I’m still capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yet you can’t stand?” She raises an eyebrow.

She watches him lean back into the pillow, breathing as if he’d just done a marathon. The ball in her throat begins to form, and she hates that. She then says, “The man that would kill to protect his family, is now letting cancer take him in the dead of the night. You say I’m stubborn, and you wonder where that comes from?”

He grunts, turning away from her gaze. “Don’t start,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “I’m an old man. I’ve already lived my life. I don’t need your pity.”

“And I’m not giving it to you,” she swiftly replies, “We could’ve found the best treatment in Japan. And yet here you are, wanting your final days to be in the walls of this home. The leader of the Yakuza—who’s gonna scare the city when you’re gone?”

Her grandfather glares at her, his eyes narrow and sharp. "I've made my decision," he snaps, "This is where I want to be. I'm not some coward who's afraid to face death. And don't talk to me about the Yakuza. I've done everything I needed to do for them."

He lets out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging as he leans back against the pillows. "I don't need you to remind me that I'm dying."

She brings her head down, staring along the towel she holds. She says softly, “Gomen’nasai,” her throat becoming tight again as she continues, “I just wish you weren’t trying to run away from me.”

"I'm not running away from you," he says, his tone gruff but gentle. "I'm just tired. I've spent my whole life fighting and I just want to rest now."

She knows that. It’s just hard to hear. The man that raised her, taught her everything she needed to know, maybe even more. She hesitates, “Nani ka kiite mo īdesu ka?”

He nods, intertwining his fingers back together, laying himself properly back along the pillows beneath his body.

“Do you regret the life you lived?”

The question is general, although she wants to be specific. She slowly continues, “I know you for who you are, but others don’t. They feared you, feared the people you brought in. You—killed people, did illegal things. Would you have changed that?”

Her grandfather lets out a long sigh, thinking about her question. He is silent for a moment, contemplating his life spent.

"Yes," he finally says, his voice rough. "There are many things I regret about the life I lived. Things I did that I wish I could undo. But I did what I thought was necessary for the family."

He looks at her, his eyes meeting hers. "But I never regret meeting your grandmother, and I never regret having your father. And I never regret bringing you into this world."

She suppresses her smile as she says, “You’re getting soft on me, Jiji.”

"I'm not getting soft," he mutters, rolling his eyes. "I'm just being honest. However, I have one dying wish.”

She nods her head, waiting for him to continue. He then says, “You will be twenty-six soon, and all I ask is that you’re married before I die.”

She frowns, “That’s not long, Jiji, what am I supposed to do? Go out and pick a husband off of the street?”

Her grandfather smiles at her reaction, amused by her stubbornness. "No, obviously not," he chuckles, coughing a little at the end. "I don’t expect you to pick the first man you see. But you need to start thinking about it. You need to find a good man, someone who will take care of you after I’m gone."

“I can take care of myself,” she’s always told him, “I’ll be the first in your generation to be lonely with cats.”

Her grandfather grunts, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going to live alone with cats."

“I suspect you have a line up of men to offer to me?” She raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think I’m fond of being with those Yakuza crazies you keep under your wing.”

He studies her again, his eyes narrowed. "They’re respectable men. You're not a little girl anymore. It's time to start thinking about your future."

“I do think about my future. I’m trying to finish school to become a registered nurse, but you seem to tune out as soon as I tell you that,” she reminded him. Her grandfather was unfortunately an extremely traditional man, only seeing women to be taken care of by men.

"You're wasting your time with that," he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to hers. "You don't need to work. You have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life. And you certainly don't need to be a nurse. You're a woman, not a doctor."

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’ve found someone for you.”

Her frown deepens. She says, “Ojiichan, I hope you aren’t insinuating an arranged marriage.”

“An arranged marriage is not something you should reject right away," he says gruffly. "I know the perfect man for you. He's respectful, wealthy, and he comes from a good family in the Yakuza.”

“What happened to not wanting me married off to a man like you or my father? The one who robbed, cheated, lied, killed? That’s what you want for me?” She sharply replies.

"Don’t you talk to me like that," he snaps, "I worked hard for this family. So did my son. I made sure we had power and a life most people dreamed of. This is a good man—strong, traditional. You will meet him tomorrow.”

Your eyes widen slightly, “What? ‘The hell do you mean tomorrow?”

Her grandfather looks at her sternly, his eyes piercing into hers. "You will meet him tomorrow. I'm not asking you, I’m telling you. You will get dressed and you will sit with him for tea."

He raises a hand when she starts to speak, silencing her. "This is not a discussion. You will meet him, and you will be polite. Understood?"

When she goes to argue again, his hand raises further, her eyes catching the trail of ink littered along the back of his arm, knowing it followed all the way up his back, down his spine. It was a reminder of who he once was, and the authority in his tone also did that.

He says, “This is my dying wish, Sayuki. You will do this.”

The call of her full name, she knows it’s no room for argument. She wasn’t ready to meet anyone, let alone be married. But this was all he asked of her, and she wanted to respect his wishes in death.

She nods her head, “Okay.”

Her grandfather’s expression softens slightly as he sees her nod. He lowers his hand, gesturing to the door, “Good. Now go make my gyoza, a dying man needs to eat.”

At this moment, she thought about poisoning his food. But she gave him something easier. A fake smile, a bow, and exiting the room.

𝓐ᥫ᭡

CHAMOMILE TEA. That’s what she remembered from this interaction. When the next day came, it flew by just to spite her. It was now closer to the evening, the lanterns of the night beginning to light as she stood within the mirror of her bedroom. She turned her body as she looked at herself, the backless pale yellow dress flowing down to her thin golden heels, straps wrapped around the tattoos along her feet. The top of her dress tied into a bow around her neck, dark hair up within a matching claw clip.

If there was a luxury her grandfather had given her, it was to dress however she chose. He’d shoot on sight for anyone that had an opinion on it. Tendrils flew around the caramel complexion of her face, honey brown freckles showing through her makeup despite her foundation, fox eyes slender beneath her lash extensions, pointing upwards along her face.

She pressed the brown outline of her cupid's bow lips to mix with the mauve closest to her mouth, spraying herself of a sensuous vanilla and jasmine scent before she made her way out of the door, Kenji immediately following behind.

She asked him softly, “Do I look okay?” Knowing the older man didn’t have much opinion, but she needed some type of reaction from someone.

Kenji looked at her, his expression stoic as usual, his eyes roaming over her figure, "You look beautiful," he said, his voice dry as usual.

He paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on her face, "But you’re nervous," he added, “You’re squeezing your hands together."

“I know,” she sighs, “What if this is the husband of my dreams, Kenji? Like those dramatic movies I used to watch as a kid?”

He patted her shoulder reassuringly, "Just...try to act normal. And don’t punch him, at least not right away."

She huffs out a breath, “Thanks.”

She then slides the opening door to her grandfather's room, seeing as a housekeeper sat beside him, pressing a spoon to his mouth as she fed him soup.

Sayuki greeted, “I hear a lot of noise from downstairs, Jiji, are your children already running amuck?”

“Don’t joke like that,” he said, his tone gruff, “But yes, half of the clan’s already gathering. They’ll be at a meeting while you’re on your date.”

“Did you have to do that the same day? I’d rather avoid the embarrassment,” she replies, “…You didn’t tell me my dress was pretty.”

“You look like a delicate flower, my child.”

That makes her feel at ease. She then says, “Don’t let those idiots rummage the fridge, please? Those groceries are for you. I’ll be in the garden if you need me, okay?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving her off with a hand, "Don't show that attitude when you meet him. Don't be sharp-tongued or sarcastic. Act like a proper lady."

She keeps from rolling her eyes. Leaning down closer to the bed, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, before sliding the door closed and making her way downstairs. The men of the Yakuza filled the entire living room and kitchen, rowdy, loud, cigarette smoking, talking shit. Matching black suits, dark hair—an intimidation brought all along Tokyo. It was as if she hadn’t passed by, throaty laughs filling the house as they continued to play cards, arguing with one another.

She was back to following the path of plants, leading up to the gazebo that was surrounded by clear water, koi fish and flowers she’d planted herself, or even helped the housekeeper plant. Her eyes fell over the figure sitting on the inside of it, a table now in the middle of the seating area, small bowls, cups and mugs placed atop. She glanced back at Kenji who now stood by the door that led back into the house, far away enough from the garden, but close enough if anything happened. Her eyes gazed over the smoke that released from the cigarette in between his scarred lip, his frame unfamiliar to her eyes.

Her eyes slowly dragged over the man seated in her gazebo, taking him all in. His broad, muscular shoulders. His sharp jawline. His tall figure even when seated, long legs traveling for miles. Onyx hair and eyebrows furrowed, the dark suit he wore hugged against his large frame that could’ve exploded the seams of material.

She couldn't help but find him attractive already—and maybe a little intimidating. She took a deep breath, gathering the last bit of her courage, and walked through the garden towards him.

She lifted her leg onto the step, taking him in even closer. When his eyes finally met hers, her heart thumped, as his face wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions. Her hands clasped together in front of her, and she gave him a respectful bow—although she didn’t want to—making her way to the opposite side of the table as she sat herself down. His hand was huge, two fingers molding around his cigarette, plump lips taking another inhale as he scanned her. A couple minutes of silence go past, before his deep, attractive voice is the first to speak.

“Nihongo o hanasemasu ka?”

She blinks, trying to hide the scrunch in her nose as she replies, “I prefer to use English. Why wouldn’t I speak Japanese?”

He doesn’t give an answer, only using his eyes to frown at her. She does roll her eyes this time, briefly explaining, “My mother is black. I’m fluent in both English and Japanese, if that’s what you’re trying to confirm.”

He seemed completely uninterested, his expression still blank. He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out, his eyes never leaving her. After a moment, he spoke in English.

“You’re not what I was expecting.”

“Am I supposed to apologize for that?” She raises an eyebrow.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his expression cold, but amused, “Nah. An apology is unnecessary.”

His eyes flicker over her figure again, the corner of his lip twitching slightly, “But an introduction wouldn’t hurt, yeah?”

She crossed her right leg over her left, clearing her throat in a way to retract her question as she replies, “Sayuki. And you?”

“Toji Fushiguro.”

His eyes traveled down to her legs as she shifted them, watching her move.

“It’s a pretty name,” he says suddenly, taking another drag. “Sayuki. ‘Longevity, long-lived’.”

“You knew that off the top of your head?” She questions, “I don’t know what your name means.”

He chuckled slightly, a rare sound, his deep voice making her heart thump again before he responded.

“Lucky,” he says, blowing another stream of smoke out, “My name means ‘lucky’.”

“Are you lucky?” She tilts her head, “I would say the habit of smoking is relatively unlucky.”

“Are you worried about my health after ten minutes of knowing each other?”

The question throws her off a bit. She wasn’t trying to have the upper hand in this conversation, but she surely didn’t want to seem nervous. She felt her face go warm as she counters, “Smoking is a bad habit for anyone. My grandfather did it a lot, one of the reasons he’s on his deathbed sooner than I’d like him to be.”

He looked at her steadily, the light smoke from his cigarette curling into the air as he watched her through the haze.

“I’m not worried shit like life expectancy,” he says simply, “My job comes first. If smoking helps me get through stress, then fuck it.”

“You Yakuza men seem to never care about something as important as your health, or your life,” she points out, “You think if you got married your wife wouldn’t be worried about that?”

Toji chuckled again, a dry sound, but an amused one. “Who says I’m looking to get married?”

“Then why are we talking then?” She questions, “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Toji’s expression darkened slightly at her question, his eyes flickering with a flash of annoyance. But then he chuckled again, a mocking, arrogant sound.

“My old man’s making me talk to you,” he says, taking another drag of his cigarette, “He’s your Ojiichan’s right hand. Wants me to start a family, continue the bloodline and all that bullshit. So here I am.”

Yup, there it was. Her patience was thinning.

She then asks, “And you don’t want that?”

“Nah,” he said simply, “Not at all.”

He then smirked again, his dark gaze piercing her’s, “Why, do you want to start a family, Sayuki?”

The way he said her name, emphasizing the pronunciation in their native tongue made her shift a bit. It was annoying. She answers honestly despite his tone, “I’m about to be twenty six, so a family would be nice. But I want my degree first, I’m studying to be a registered nurse. I wanna help people in ways my grandfather wouldn’t allow me to help him.”

"A career nurse," he repeats, “How noble and selfless of you."

She raises her posture up a bit, “What is that supposed to mean?”

His dark eyes dragged over her figure again, “You’re pretty as fuck—enough to marry an old millionaire, who’d pamper you ‘till the day you die.”

She now becomes visibly irritated, “I’m not tryna’ be a housewife and pop out a bunch of kids if that’s what you think by looking at me.”

“And why not? That’s what you were designed to do. A body like that and such a pretty ass face. You’d be worth the fuck.”

Yeah, that was it. She takes the steaming tea in front of her, chucking it directly in his face, letting the actual cup follow after. She stands as she spits, “A disrespectful ass mouth like that, I can see why you’d still be ‘wife searching at your grown age. Go fuck yourself.”

She’s already stomping away, fire in her eyes as she mutters, “Fuckin’ stupid ass nigga—Kenji! Let’s go!”

Toji’s eyes widen for a moment as the steaming tea is splashed into his face, his skin searing against the liquid as it hits him, cup following after. He looked to see the large bodyguard standing by the porch, and even he was shocked. All he could do as he watched her fly past him was give Toji a helpless stare before muttering, “Yes ma’am.”

In the past years of her grandfather being sick, the next five days was the first time she’d heard him curse in the longest. His anger trickled over to guards, staff within the house, even his men who worked for him. He was pissed after hearing what his granddaughter had done. She stayed in the room if she wasn’t checking on him, and the moment she saw him ready to go off, she would grow wings and fly. He’d be fine eventually.

She was now within the living room, palms and feet pressed along a mat as she did her morning stretches, talking on the phone with her mom to tell her of the situation.

“Chile, I don’t know why you’re calling me. Kenji already told me what happened—had your grandfather called, the man would’ve written his own eulogy. Doctor said his pressure is at an all time high,” her mom said, chuckling into the phone.

Sayuki sighs, “I wasn’t trying to give the man a heart attack.“

“I’m sure you didn’t, honey. But you know that first impressions matter.”

She brings herself to her knees, halting her stretching as she deadpans, “Momma. I understand the cultures around here, okay? Respect is big and all that shit. Jiji taught me that. Ole’ boy was the disrespectful one. I just gave him a taste of his own medicine. Or tea, to be specific.”

“I know he was being rude, but you know how important this is for your grandfather.”

There’s a pause between them, before her mother’s voice comes through the line again, a bit softer this time, “It won’t hurt to try and get along with him. At least for your Jiji’s sake, yeah?”

“That’s if I ever see the bastard again. You know Grandpa said? That he made some valid points in our conversation—he thinks all I’m supposed to make of myself is the perfect wife,” she shakes her head, raising her leg out to stretch the muscles behind.

Her mother is silent for a few long moments, before sighing again. “You know your grandfather is stuck in his traditional ways. You can’t expect for him to just change this late in life. Your father was the same way—just wanted me to pop out babies.”

She knew her mom wouldn’t have much commentary on this, considering she’d lived as a housewife for years before her husband's passing. She couldn’t handle the life Sayuki’s father lived, being within the Japanese Mafia—but her father in law refused to be without his granddaughter. So she let her stay in Tokyo, and went to the states to set out her own dreams.

Sayuki sighs, “How’s the army treating you, Sergeant? Where do they have you based right now?”

Her Mom chuckles slightly into the phone, an amused sort of sound, “I swear they have me stationed in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Texas, in the middle of this town called Waco. The people here are good ‘ol bible-thumping country folk. I’m terrified.”

Sayuki laughs, “You’ wanted to be head honcho so bad, now they’ got you in places you’ve never been before.”

Her mother is quiet for a moment, still chuckling, before she speaks again. “The job’s more stressful than I imagined,” she says, “But I’m getting the hang of it. I’m stationed at the base now, working with the new guys and whatnot,” She paused for another moment, before she sighs and continued, “I really need to get stationed back in Tokyo, though. I miss you and your Jiji a lot, you know.”

She hates that feeling of tightness in her throat. She told her mom to live out her dreams with her being an adult, and that she would be fine under the protection of her grandfather. But she also needed the only parent she had left.

“I miss you too, momma.”

She then hears the sliding door open to the hallway, Kenji appearing with a bow as he greets, “Ohayou gozaimasu. Your grandfather would like to speak to you.”

Sayuki sits on the floor fully as she raises an eyebrow, “He’s awake already?”

Her mom’s still on the phone, a soft hum coming from the line before she questions, “He’s not a morning person. You’ really gave him a heart attack, huh?”

Kenji replies, “He seems to be fine. He’s awake and very much alive,” He glances at Sayuki and bows again, before saying, “His orders were to bring you to his room.”

“Alright momma, I’ll try to call you before you turn in your phone again. I love you, always,” she doesn’t want to hang up, but her grandfather could be an impatient man, especially if he was upset.

Her mother’s voice filters through the line again, a familiar, comforting sound. “I love you, too. Stay safe, okay?”

Then, she’s gone, and Kenji turns his attention back to her. The big man just silently starts walking, obviously expecting her to follow.

Sayuki follows him down the hallway, making their way to her grandfather's bedroom. She sends off Kenji as she slowly opens the door, to be greeted by a housekeeper who’s nervously patting his face with a cold sponge. She tells her, “You can go. Thank you.”

The housekeeper immediately scurries off, taking the towel and bucket with her. Sayuki’s left alone with her grandfather now, who’s sitting up in bed, a newspaper on his lap. His eyes flicker up to her for a few moments, still sharp as ever.

“Do you come in peace?” She questions, sitting herself beside the bed, “I see you have the newspaper. You must be in a good mood.”

“The doctor said my pressures have risen,” he starts, his voice still surprisingly even, “But I am still breathing. If you hadn’t annoyed me so greatly, I would probably have another decade in my life.”

“Oh? So it’s my fault now? How about you’ put your lil’ gang members in check?” She crossed her arms.

Her grandfather’s eyes widened slightly at her blunt words, obviously surprised. He looks at her for a few long moments. Then, he shakes his head, “I taught you to respect men. Why can’t you be a little more…well… gentle? Polite?”

“I was soft and feminine like you want me to be. He’s the one that said he didn’t want to be married, and that I wasn’t even his type. He doesn’t even like black women,” she rambles.

As she sees her grandfather’s face, she rolls her eyes as she corrects herself, “Okay—he ain’t say all that. But he did say he was only there for his father’s sake.”

“It doesn’t matter what he said. “I know that boy’s a bit arrogant. A little rude too. But family is important. He’s my right hand’s son.”

His eyes narrow slightly as he looks at her, saying, “And you have no choice in whether you marry him. You’re getting older, Sayuki. Twenty-six is not young anymore. I’m not letting you leave this house unless you’re a wife.”

“Is this my death sentence? What did I do to deserve this treatment?” She flops herself on the end of the bed, “Have you’ no heart?”

Her grandfather simply rolls his eyes, his expression unchanging, “Don’t be so dramatic, Sayuki. You know how marriage works in this family. I had an arranged marriage, and so did your father. The men pick their wives.”

He paused before leaning forward a bit in the bed, asking, “...Why are women so damn stubborn these days?”

“Cause this isn’t the fifties, that’s why!” She exclaims.

He takes a deep breath as he mutters, “Now if I become as dramatic as you and die right here on the spot, you’ll be very upset with me.”

He lets a few minutes of silence pass before he says, “…With your father not here, I won’t have anyone to protect you when I’m gone, Sayuki.”.

She sits up a bit, hearing as he becomes serious. She comes closer to him on the bed as she lays her head on his shoulder, “I can take care of myself, Grandpa.”

Her grandfather takes her small hand into his large, calloused one, his fingers gently intertwining with hers. He sighs, “You may be a strong young woman, but you’re too reckless. It’s not safe in this world. No matter how prepared you are to defend yourself.”

He squeezes her hand slightly, “When you asked me the regrets I have—it made me think, with the kind of family I have, who’s going to protect my Mago when I’m gone? The people that hate me, the people that won’t be able to hurt me because I’m gone, so they hurt you?”

Arranged marriage sounded silly to her, but with the family she had, she understood where her grandfather was coming from. He wasn’t doing this to force anything on her. He just wanted to make sure she was safe—even without him.

She squeezes his hand, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she suggests, “Maybe I can talk to him. But he needs to apologize. If he doesn’t, I’m not agreeing to this, is that fair?”

Her grandfather grunts again, his expression unchanging as a soft sigh escapes him, “He’s not a man to grovel. And you’ve already left a bad first impression. He won’t apologize for anything. That’s how we raised them, “He pauses for a few moments before giving her hand a tight squeeze again.

“....But I will speak to him.” He finalizes, his voice low.

“See! Don’t you feel better when you talk things out instead of being violent? A lot of your issues would’ve been solved better that way,” she gives him a smile.

Her grandfather grunts once more, his gaze fixed on the window away from her, “Violence is good when there’s nothing else to talk about. But I’m glad you feel better—because you’ll be going with him to fetch some groceries to cook dinner tonight.”

She immediately pulls her hand back, stepping off the bed as she says, “Huh? A meal? Who he’ think he is—Buddha?”

“Sayuki,” He warns.

He takes a deep breath, before continuing to speak, “You’re going to go to the store. Then you’ll come back here and cook for him. And maybe by then, you’ll have managed to impress him with your lovely personality.”

“Why can’t Kenji just go with me? You want me and Toji to go, alone, as if I don’t want to put a fork up his ass? You said you don’t want me traveling to Kyoto without him anyways,” she crosses her arms.

“Gengo,” her grandfather snaps, “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I won’t break your ass in two. Toji will go with you. I’m tired of arguing with you. I want to take a nap.”

“Well go take your old man ass nap, then!” She exclaims, “And now you’re not getting any of your favorite fruits!”

She opens the slide door, shrieking as a tall frame stands on the side of the wall, instantly recognizing the cigarette that hangs between the dark pink lips she’d seen days before.

She exasperates, “Great—this was a set up! I don’t like anybody in this house.”

Her grandfather chuckles gruffly, a low, amused sound, just as Toji takes a long drag of his cigarette. He glances her way, still leaning against the wall as he speaks, “Good to see you too. I can feel the love.”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere recovering from third degree burns?” She continues walking, making her way back towards the living room, purposely walking fast in hopes that she’d lose him.

Toji pushes off the wall, easily catching up behind her as he questions, “Why are you so hellbent on avoiding me?”

“Hm, I don’t know—maybe cause you told me all I would be is a good fuck? You remember that?” She pushes the door open to the living room, stepping back onto her yoga mat.

“Yeah, I remember clearly.”

He glances over her, adding, “Although, you’re a lot more interesting than I thought you’d be when this all started.”

She sighs, “If you’re doing this for some brownie points from my grandfather, we can wrap this up quick as fuck, Fushiguro. I’m not sensitive, okay? But what you said hurt my feelings. I was being nice to you, even if I wasn’t keen on this arranged marriage thing in the first place. I need to finish stretching, so are we done?”

At her words, Toji takes a puff from his cigarette, before taking it out of his mouth and crushing it out.

“I’m here to apologize.”

She crosses her arms over each other, raising an eyebrow at that, “Are you saying that because someone asked you to?”

“Why were you so pissed about some words that came out of my mouth?” He questions, “You could’ve easily ignored them.“

“You don’t even know me. You assumed that I’m some airhead ass girl that’s looking to be sold to the highest bidder. Well I’m not. I have my own dreams and ambitions, none of them involving a man unless I decide that for myself.”

Toji looks at her for a few moments in silence. He runs a hand through his dark hair, before speaking once more.

“So I hurt your feelings.” he mutters. “And you’re not some airhead. Anything else I should know?”

His stare was intense at times, and it made her feel naked under the SKIMS army green romper she wears, headband and glasses pulling her hair out of her face. Facing him, she reaches down to grab for her ankles, stretching her legs out as she huffs, “That’s your form of an apology?”

He does take the time to watch her stretch, but doesn’t comment on it, just saying, “Goddamn, girl. I’m trying. I’ve never apologized to someone without a gun to my head.”

He takes a step forward, his head lowered as he stares down, now practically upside down with her.

“I have a habit of saying shit I don’t mean. So I’m sorry. You can throw some more scorching ass tea on me again if you want.”

She pulls her hair out of her face as she stands up, looking around the expression on his face. It’s the same—eyebrows low, waiting for a response. But it doesn’t lack sincerity.

She sighs, leaning down as she begins rolling up her yoga mat, “I’m not gonna do that. My grandpa will throw me into a pit of fire if he hears I assaulted you again.”

He watches her roll up the yoga mat, “You’ still mad at me?”

She looks up at him, tilting her head as she questions, “Do you want me to be?“

“I don’t know.”

He glances down at her, eyes lingering for a moment on her exposed skin, before he returns his gaze to her face, “If you’re not mad, what are you?”

“Ready to take this long ass train ride to Kyoto,” she finalizes, making her way around him, “I need to go shower.”

“What, no invite?”

“And somehow you’ve managed to lose points again,” she dismisses, slamming the door shut to her bedroom.

When comes out of her bedroom an hour later, she steps into the hallway to glance along the full body mirror—as she usually did. She pulled her dark hair behind her ear as it was in straightened layers, her usual makeup along her face that consisted of cat eyed extensions, her lip combo of brown and mauve, lower eyelid filled with the matching dark brown of her lips. Her leather jacket clung to her frame, showing off a bit of her midriff as her pants mimicked the tops material, hips desperately wanting to bust out the seams.

She notices Toji along the wall, tilting her body to the side as she states to him, “I don’t know what shoes to wear.”

Toji’s eyes flicker her way, a brief, almost unnoticeable glance at her frame, then back to her face, then back to her frame. He’ll shamelessly admit that his jaw tightened, and maybe he felt his dick jump.

“You’ asking for my opinion?”

“Jiji is the worst dressed man on the planet, and Kenji is hiding so—yes.”

She eyes him in the mirror as he walks behind her, turning her head as she notices the look he gives her. She raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“You look good as fuck, you know that?”

“You’re not telling me what shoes I need to wear,” she almost pouts, “I wanna go before it hits noon!”

Toji doesn’t respond right away, just looking her up and down again, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on her hips, before he mutters, “You’re hard headed as hell. I said you looked good. I didn’t say what shoes you should wear. If it’s gonna make you hurry up, you should wear heels.”

“‘Kay’,” she turns around, making her way back into her room with a twist to her hips. She finds a pair of her Dior black pumps, knowing she’d be fine in those for most of the day as they were comfortable. She sprays herself of her vanilla scent, shaking her head from side to side, throwing her head back to fix her hair.

“You don’t have to watch me, you know.”

He pushes off the wall again with his foot, moving toward her now. He’s a very imposing man, his form broad and tall. He’s at least a full foot and a half taller than her.

“My fault. I have a hard time looking away. You’ ready?”

She grabs her purse as she nods, “Mhm,” giving him a quick head to toe. He’s more simple in his clothes, a long black sleeve that hugs his muscular frame, belt, jeans and hefty boots along his feet, hair tossed around the sculpted sharpness of his face. Her eyes flick down to his wrist as she sees the ink hiding beneath the material, coming forward as she pulls it farther up to fully cover it, “The point of your Irezumi is that it’s supposed to be hidden.”

His wrist feels like hot iron under her fingertips. He can’t help but look down at her as she touches his wrist, her head slightly tipped back to look up at him. Fuck, she’s gorgeous from this angle.

He raises an eyebrow as he grunts, “I know that,” allowing her to fix his clothing.

“I can see it on the back of your neck too,” she points out, reaching up, wrapping her fingers lightly in between his neck and back, “You should put a jacket on.”

The tightness on his jaw returns, his gaze fixed on her as his voice drops to a low murmur, “Are you gonna let go any time soon?”

She hesitates, her fingers still sitting on his upper back as she questions, “Am I making you uncomfortable?” She then fully pulls herself back, “I’m sorry.”

“Did I say that?”

“No.”

“Then why are you apologizing?”

Before she can reply, he’s already going around her, heading down the hallway to pull the Harley Davidson leather jacket over his body, her eyes also taking notice of the M9 gun he places in the back of his pants. He nods his head in the direction of the door, and she follows after, not before quickly diving into the room to give her grandfather a kiss goodbye.

The train ride had been…interesting for her to say the least. With it being the weekend, it was one of its busier days, the train compact with people to a point where they had to stand. Sayuki leaned her back against the window of the train as Toji hovered over her, hand gripping the bar up top. When the train came to a stop, everyone began slanting forward, trying to catch their weight on themselves. Toji’s body connected to hers, pressing his chest lightly against her nose to keep her from moving.

She inhaled quietly, the scent of his cologne trapping her nostrils, his jaw touching the top of her head making her heart speed up a bit.

He tried not to be too obvious as he watched her from his view, but damn, she was pretty like this too. Under him like this. It felt like she belonged there.

It didn’t become any better the moment they arrived in the bustling streets of Kyoto. The cherry blossoms hung along the top of the buildings, brightly lit colored signs coaxing in their next customer. There was a feeling coming to him he’d never experienced before, watching as she politely spoke to people who passed her, talked up the people who worked within the stores, complimented each woman's outfit she saw. Hell, she’d even crouched down, sneaking the sample of food offered to her to a homeless cat mewling close by an alleyway.

Toji was starting to realize just how opposite their personalities were, but God, she had a certain…charm to her. He’d been silent, watching her with a blank expression as she interacted with everyone they passed, never breaking that smile. Toji was gruff, blunt, intimidating—didn’t bother to look at anyone twice. Yet she was the opposite in every way. How could they ever be compatible?

She makes her way into a smaller market, empty as she knew it was more expensive than the ones on the outside. But this was usually where she bought all of her fresh produce. She glances at the man at the counter, seeing as he flicks his eyes up to her, sitting himself up more straight—as if he had to keep his attention on her.

She looks around, “Is there anything in particular you like to eat?” She questions, turning herself towards Toji who stays close to the front door, lighting a cigarette between his lips.

Toji takes a long puff from the cigarette resting between his lips, his dark eyes following her through the small shop.

He takes a moment before replying, “I like fish.”

His eyes glance over her form, her ass practically calling to him in those pants. She was sexy without even trying.

“How about Sashimi? Are you okay with yellowtail?”

She’s so concerned with his taste buds, Toji only seems to notice the grimace the man at the counter continues giving her.

He looks back at her, and while his eyes are still focused, his tone is a bit more softened as he replies, “Yeah, that’s fine,” taking another long breath from the cigarette between his lips.

“Okay,” she says softly, talking more to herself as she decides how she wants to cook the fish. When she has all of her ingredients, she comes up to the register as she sees the fruits are behind the counter. She greets, “Ohayo gozaimasu, do you have fresh strawberries by chance?”

“No strawberries today,” he doesn’t return her greeting, cutting straight to her question as it’s nowhere near friendly.

She frowns a bit, “Are you sure? I come here for them often, the lady that works usually gives me a good amount.”

“I said we don’t have any,” he replies again, his eyes lingering over her, “Are you done?”

He’s clearly not looking at her in a very favorable way, a look of irritation and disdain written on his face.

From Toji’s stance, he can see behind the counter, looking directly at a box of what looks to hold strawberries. And as he notices the man now glaring at him, he raises an eyebrow, pulling the cigarette down from his lips, blowing out a puff. When Sayuki notices this as well, she turns back to Toji, putting together that he may have known Toji from being a part of the Yakuza. The owners of this store had to be from a clan that wasn’t too fond of them.

She then says, “We’re not coming here to cause any trouble, I just wanted my strawberries. I can buy a bundle of them?” She offers, beginning to rummage her purse for the money.

“We don’t serve the likes of you people,” the cashier spits.

And from the way he looks at her in disgust, it feels personal. Her eyebrows lower against her face, hating the way that once again—her feelings are hurt.

She sighs, “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Toji’s jaw clenches, his entire body stiffening. Something about the way her expression broke had his blood boiling.

“Go? Yeah, nah. I’m good on’ that.”

When he pushes himself off the wall, he’s already standing in front of the counter. In one swift motion, the shriek from this man fills the entire store as Toji has him by his shirt, tugging him halfway over the counter. He fights against the one hand holding him in a effortless yet painful grip, shouting as Toji casually sighs, “Shut up,” raising his cigarette, ashing the man on his forehead. He then takes it back to his lips as he talks, “Now see, we didn’t even have to do all this,” removing the gun from the back of his pants, tapping it against the side of the man’s cheek.

Sayuki steps back, eyes wide as she panics, “Toji! It’s fine!”

It’s like he doesn’t even hear her, his eyes fixated on the trembling man in his hands.

“Strawberries, right?”

When the man replies with a stutter, “Y-Yes, sir,” Toji’s expression doesn’t soften, “You got ‘em in back?”

He nods his head quickly, whimpering again, “Y-yes, sir.”

The sight of that man that just had so much mouth for Sayuki, now stuttering and terrified in Toji’s hold, Sayuki can’t help the slightly scared giggle that stumbles from her lips, shocked at what she’s witnessing.

That single sound of laughter reaches his ears, catching his attention as he slightly turns to glance her way, “Oh you like that shit, huh?”

When he looks back at the cashier, his voice drops even deeper, “Apologize to the pretty lady.”

The man replies instantly, “Yes, yes! I’m so sorry!”

Sayuki is still giggling, watching as Toji shoves the man back so hard that he knocks into the wall of objects behind him, nearly falling onto the floor. He presses his gun back into his pants, adjusting his jacket as he mutters, “‘Made me get all out of character,” before he says, “Go get the strawberries before I actually get mad.”

The man scrambles on shaky legs, pulling out the box of fruit behind him as he says, “T—Take them! Take everything you need!”

Sayuki politely takes two cartons as she gives him a smile, “Thank you,” as Toji tugs the register closer to him, knocking his fist down to it, watching as it opens, pulling cash out of the object.

She shakes her head, “Now you’re doing too much.”

“They don’t call me a criminal for nothin’, baby,” he puffs out some smoke, “You’ hungry?”

She sighs, keeping her complaints to herself as she puts all her groceries within her tote bag as she sighs, “Starving, actually.”

“Good.”

He takes one last drag from the cigarette, before flicking it to the floor, watching as the man flinches, thinking he was gonna toss it towards him.

“C’mon,” he gruffs, “It’s on me. Or him, in this case.”

They make it to a restaurant a couple of blocks down, Sayuki placing the strap of her tote against the chair behind her, giving a polite smile as the waiter places the food down against the table. She glances up at Toji, taking the mini slice of pizza as she questions, “Are you gonna smoke in every building we go to?”

“You gonna bother me every time I do?” he shoots back.

She scrunches her nose, “You’re supposed to be nice to me. Wanna bite of my pizza?” She offers, raising the slice towards him.

He raises a dark eyebrow, a huff of a laugh leaving him as he leans forward, his jaw parting slightly as she brings the pizza to his mouth, biting into it. When she pulls her hand back, he chews silently before replying, “I didn’t shoot that dumbass in the store, and I just took a bite of your food without arguing. I’m Peter Pan at this point.”

The laugh that falls from her mouth is bubbly, wrapping her full lips around her straw. Once again, she’s back to noticing him staring at her, she raises an eyebrow as she says, “Why are you always just looking?”

“Can’t help it. Got some pretty ass lips.”

“Quit flirting,” she moves her hair behind her shoulder, glancing down at her phone to distract herself from the warmth that comes along her face.

She then hears him remind, “You never told me how school was going.”

She peers her head up, “Why do you care now?”

He doesn’t even look phased by the question, “Can’t I ask? You’d rather I don’t show any interest in you?”

She sighs a bit, “I don’t think you’d know anything about it.”

Toji’s eyebrows raise up at her response, “Why you’ said that shit like I’m uneducated?”

He leans in closer, his knee now touching hers beneath the table, the feeling intimate, “Talk to me.”

She tilts her head, trying to adjust her knee away from his, but it’d be too obvious to completely shift the way she sits. So she leaves it there.

“I’m tryna’ get my Bachelors in Science. Meaning I have to take some stupid ass, hard ass class like Pathophysiology. They teach shit like that in the Mafia handbook since you know everything?”

“You don’t need a degree to know how the human body works, baby,” he replies, “Seen a lot of dead bodies in my time.”

“Gross,” she dismisses, “Hearing that makes it all the more worse. This is harder than college advanced math for me. Maybe I’m just stupid or something,” she presses her lips together, leaning her head in the palm of her hand, placing her elbow against the table. He can see the change in her expression, the way her mood visibly drops.

“Baby,” he sighs, her heart fluttering a bit at the pet name, “You can’t really think I was callin’ you stupid.”

“I know you weren’t. It’s just— I’ve taken this class twice, and I’m someone who believes shit happens for a reason—maybe this isn’t my path, cause I’d be able to pass if it was meant for me, right?” She blinks, her lashes fluttering heavily.

“Or,” he interjects, “Maybe you need to learn how to ask for help instead of just assuming you’re incapable of passin’.”

He can see her brain processing, a slow flicker of shock and confusion in her gaze. When she just stares at him, silent, he confirms, “You don’t gotta deal with all your problems alone.”

“This is where you just say I’m pretty and my brain is big,” she rolls her eyes, picking a pepperoni slice off her pizza, chewing against it to distract herself.

“Baby, I’ll call you pretty whenever you want. But I’d like it even more if you’d admit you’re smart without me havin’ to remind you.”

“My dad was really good at math, it must’ve skipped a generation,” she gives a weak smile, a tinge of sadness hidden beneath her expression.

Toji’s jaw clenches at the sight of such a weak smile on her face. Something about how sad she looked bothered him, and maybe he wanted to get back that bubbly expression she’d just had moments ago.

“You’re smart, Sayuki. It never skipped a generation.”

She tilts her head a bit as she replies, “I think you’re just saying that cause you have a lil’ crush on me.”

“Damn, guess I’ve been figured out.”

That actually makes her giggle, and to see that return to her face does make him relax a bit. She then offers, “Want me to feed you again?”

He glances down at the offer, looking back up at her, his head tilting a bit as he grins, “You miss my mouth already? Greedy ass.”

The stark contrast of their first interaction up until now was nothing that Sayuki had ever expected. She wasn’t the one to believe in fairytales, or have these high hopes when it came to the possibility of a relationship. But this was something she hadn’t felt with anyone in a while—romance.

Maybe she was starting to like him— maybe she was love bombing him. She wasn’t entirely sure. She noticed small things, like anytime his stride was longer than hers, he’d slow down to walk more behind her. They were now walking through the quiet night in between two buildings, planning to make their way back to the train.

When she caught onto his purposeful walking tactic, she took hold of his hand, tugging him forward a bit as she became annoyed, “You can walk faster.”

“You keep tuggin’ on my arm like that, I’ll think you’re desperate for me to touch you or somethin’.”

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t be cute. I’m not.”

But as she feels his long strides slow down, she turns behind herself, now feeling as her back is being lightly pressed along the wall. Her head tilted up as his jaw reached her nose, his body having to hover for her comfortability.

He places sturdy hands on either side of the wall, pinning her in place. His eyes hold a dangerous gleam in them, the playful attitude continuing as he looks down to her.

“You’re quiet. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He leans down, his face a lot closer than before, the distance miniscule.

She takes a deep breath, kneeling her face closer to his, scanning the dark grey of his eyes. She then admits, “I um…I had a nice time with you today.”

“You did, huh?” he muses, “Good.”

She smacks her lips at that, turning her face away. One of his hands leaves the wall, moving to grip her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting her face to look back at him. He hums, “What other shit you wanna admit while you’re at it?”

“That I like you,” she blinks up at him, “And…that I hope you saying you liked me too in the restaurant wasn’t just talk.”

His hand moves up further, his fingers moving along the skin of her cheek slowly, “How about you quit doubtin’ me?”

One thing he’s good at doing is making her easily irritated. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at him, “Well why can’t you just say it again? You always gotta answer my responses with a question. You can just be so—“

Another thing she couldn’t stand about him—he was smooth. There should’ve been no way that he caught the rest of her words within his mouth, gripping her in a kiss to shut her up. His hand grasps the back of her neck, tugging her hair a bit to keep her head tilted up. A baby gasp pulled from her mouth, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to keep herself steady. His mouth was warm, tongue heavy, her eyes slowly fluttering shut at the taste of him.

And god, that gasp of hers was music to his ears, pushing his tongue further into her mouth in response as the hand once on the wall slid down to grip at her hip, using it to pull her against his body. It wasn’t rushed, instead slow, his tongue twisting slowly around hers, his teeth catching gently against her bottom lip in a way that couldn’t be an accident.

She’s so drowned within him, she has to reach up and clasp her fingers around his jaw, pushing his mouth back as she presses her forehead to his, breathlessly giggling, “We’re gonna miss the train…”

He leans forward again, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to push for another kiss, but his nose brushes against hers instead, his tone lower as he questions, “You’ that eager to go home?”

“I’m just—“

“Yo, Yakuza boy!”

They both halt, Sayuki pulling herself away as she looks to the end of the alleyway, seeing two men beginning to walk towards them. They weren’t familiar to her, but she had a feeling this was men from another clan. The way they walk towards them—it’s not inviting in the slightest.

“We heard how you robbed the market a couple blocks down, thought we’d come politely ask for that money back.”

She knew Toji wasn’t afraid. But in the sense of her being with him, she could see the way he lifted his head, glaring at the two. He lightly took her body within his arm and pushed her behind himself.

“We can do this shit later. I got a woman with me,” he warns, “Your cashier boy pissed me off, I was teaching him a lesson.”

The two men glance between each other, before going back to Toji, taking another couple of steps forward. One of them grins, his tone mocking as he responds, "And? We didn't ask for the life story."

Sayuki grips her fingers against the jacket he wears, trying to pull him back as she muffles, “Let’s go, Toji. We aren’t in Tokyo—“

“Leaving so soon?”

She turns, seeing another man coming from the opposite end of the alleyway. They were now surrounded, and this one carried a crowbar within his palm.

Toji tenses visibly, his arm tightening around her as he glares at the three men surrounding them, his eyes flickering from each one.

“You’ got a fuckin’ death wish?”

“I think you do,” one of the guys counters, “You know this is our turf. Now shit has to get a little ugly in return. We’ll just strip you down, call it even, cool?”

Sayuki steps from behind him a bit, coming towards the man with the crowbar as she quickly says, “I don’t mind bringing the stuff I took from the market back. It’s no problem—“

But just in that millisecond, it’s as if someone cut the lights off in her brain. She doesn’t register the knuckles that crush against her face until she slams against the ground, her hair falling over her jaw that throbs the minute she feels pain register. She grunts, her ears ringing, palm dragging against the cement to try to bring herself to reality as she can now hear fighting above her.

Everything seems to go silent for Toji when he watches her fall to the ground, a heavy rush of red flooding his vision that he’s never felt before. When he sees her hands desperately gripping the ground beneath her trying to get up, a voice in his brain snaps, and he’s charging at the guy that hit her before any sort of rationality can make an appearance. All three men are surrounding him as he swings, forcing his weight down into every punch he throws.

Within seconds, one of the men is clutching his abdomen, another bent over on the ground, and the third—crowbar in hand—struggling to stay upright as he raises the bloody metal weapon in the air to swing down against Toji’s head.

Her vision is a bit blurry, hand trembling as she reaches for the wall close to her, eyes opening as she begs, “T—Toji…stop…” so quiet that she knew he couldn’t hear it.

She could see as he picked up the man bent on the ground, beginning to plummet his fist into his face. He won’t stop.

She can hear the blood against his knuckles, the crack of bone shifting beneath his punch, the small grunt each time he swings forward. Her body feels cold, a sense of fear exhilarating her skin like no other. Seeing him mercilessly beat this man was a reminder of who he could be—who he was.

“Toji…” she pushes her voice out more, “…Please stop! You’re going to kill him…”

As she pleads, the punches continue. She watches as the man with the crowbar drops the weapon, pulling a pocket knife from his pants, rushing over as he lunges into Toji’s side. That makes Sayuki almost sober up, watching as he drops the man in his hands, hitting the ground with him.

Toji grunts out in pain, his hand moving to grip his side. He can feel the way more blood pours from the wound, soaking the side of his pant leg and jacket.

An anger she hadn’t expected seeps through her entire body. Even with a throbbing jaw, a weary vision, she scurries forward as she grabs the crowbar the man originally held, raising it as she swung harshly at him, watching as he slammed against the wall from impact. She reaches within the back of her jacket, pulling a bigger pocket knife as she jabs it within his side, using her strength to hold him against the wall, ignoring the curse he lets out.

She grits her teeth, “Now you’ll both have matching scars,” twisting the knife within his body, ignoring his painful shout.

Toji pushes himself up with a low grunt at the sound of her voice, his hand still covering the spot where he was now bleeding, pissed at how own vision was becoming blurry, hearing the shouts of the man, seeing his shadow glide by as he took off from the alleyway, knife still within his side.

Sayuki throws the crowbar within her hand, rushing over to Toji as she drops to her knees in front of him, pressing her hand against his wound as her eyes chaotically scatter over his pained look, “Hey—hey—look at me…” Her own hand becomes painted red, “Shit!”

Toji’s eyes are screwed shut for a couple of seconds as her hand presses against his, body flinching at the pain. But when he registers her voice again, his eyes snap open. The feeling of her hands against his skin is enough to help clear the darkness that was starting to take over his mind. His hand moves from his side to grab hers.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“No you’re not,” she croaks, her vision returning to a blur, clearing as warm tears slide down her freckled cheeks, “You’re not. I’m calling for help, okay? P—Please stay awake,” she’s holding his wound, clutching the side of his neck, her heart beating outside of her chest.

Toji’s eyes look at her, seeing the worry across her face. He knew he had to stay awake, not only for her but for his own damn sake if he didn’t want to bleed out in some alleyway— her touch on his neck was making it near impossible for him to keep his head up.

He huffs out a short breath, “Don’t…call anybody.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid right now!” She softly panics, fingers trembling as blood rushes over the screen of her phone, dialing someone, anyone at the moment. The phone slides farther away from them as she tries to pull him up, desperately taking his jacket off to press it against his stab.

She’s rambling in panic, “They hurt you—I’m so sorry…”

Toji feels his balance stagger a bit as she pulls him up, the action forcing a hiss of pain from his mouth. He leans his weight against the wall, his eyes flickering to the phone on the ground. His jaw clenches, the thought of any of this being her fault pissing him off, “S—Stop apologizin’…not now…”

“I can’t,” she cried, terrified at the sight of him, her face entirely red, breathing unleveled as her chest heaved.

Toji’s heart twists at the sound of her crying. He wants to reach up to wipe her tears, but the pain in his side makes it nearly impossible.

“Don’t cry,” he practically pleads with her, the thought of her crying any harder making his head spin.

In Toji fashion, he raises his free hand up to reach for her body, pulling her close to him. He wasn’t dramatic, but seeing his vision blur might’ve had him tense, and if he did pass out, he had to make sure she was still there.

He grits out, “You…had a knife on you this whole time?”

She blinks through her tears, sniffling as she registers the question. She nods her head, trying to keep herself calm. Even stabbed, he was able to form some type of amusement, a tired huff of a chuckle blowing against her face as he said, “You really are my fuckin’ wife.”

She can’t help but laugh in return, the weakness of his voice making her cry harder. Toji couldn’t help it, holding her felt good, especially in his current condition. His hand moves to tangle within the ends of her hair, pulling her closer to his chest as he leans his head back.

He couldn’t tell how much time passed as the lights of Kenji’s Cadillac Escalade illuminated the dark alleyway. But it didn’t matter, he’d passed out—Her touch being the last thing he could feel.

𝓐ᥫ᭡

SAYUKI LOOKED WITHIN THE MIRROR, head in her lap as the housekeeper continued to press ice along her bruised jaw, tuning in and out of her grandfather's chastising. Even in sickness, even on his deathbed, the man had a voice on him.

She sighed, “You’re going to run your blood pressure up if you keep yelling like that, Jiji.”

He makes a clicking noise with his tongue, the action clearly disapproving. His eyes glared at the bruise on his granddaughter’s face.

“Of course I’m going to raise my goddamn blood pressure. You were assaulted. I’m going to have those bastards heads sent back to their families!”

“Me and Toji stole from a market in Kyoto,” she reminds, “We didn’t know the store belonged to a different turf.”

“I don’t care where you were—“

He grits the words out between his teeth, his eyes narrowing. Kenji, standing in the doorway, gives the older man a look telling him to relax. The old man huffs, closing his eyes for a moment.

“How does your face feel?”

“Like I fell off my bike, Ojiichan,” she softly replies, “Is Toji alright?” Her patience is wearing thin, no one telling her any updates of him since they took him down to the basement, calling along their underground doctor.

The older man sighs, “The doctor stitched him up. It appears he didn’t lose that much blood…he was lucky,” he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to her face, “You two should’ve known better. We don’t need another incident like—“

He stops himself, not wanting to bring up the past. He then says, “He’ll be in one of the guest rooms tonight. You should go check on him. I would like to go to sleep.”

She knows he’s upset, but she doesn’t want to make it any worse. She leans down as she gives him a kiss on the cheek, bowing as she allows the housekeeper to get him ready for bed. She gave herself time to relax, showering off the blood on her hands and body, throwing an oversized tee on herself, slipping along her house slippers as she goes in search of the guest bedroom along the opposite side of the house. It’s dim within the hallway, quiet as she pads her feet against the floor. She doesn’t know why she feels nervous. She stands in front of the sliding door, halting herself there as she takes a quiet breath. She knocks along the wooden part, not wanting to intrude.

Toji is sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless as he looks over his stitched up wound. He had scars all over him, but the newest one was different.

The doctor was right—One wrong move and he could’ve died. That thought makes his jaw clench.

He huffs out a breath, replying, “Come in.”

She slides the door open, closing it behind herself as she looks over him, now seeing his Irezumi face to face. The colors strike upon his skin, body painted in ink from the top of his back to his tailbone, traveling all across his arms. It’s like he wears another shirt. Even through the ink, she can see the stitches along his side. She comes forward as she kneels herself in front of him, placing a gentle hand close to his injury as she asks, “How does it feel?”

Toji’s eyes watch her as she moves before him, taking in all of her features in that oversized shirt and her house slippers. Her face is bare, freckles prominent, dark hair curly and damp, stretching down her back as she’d just gotten out of the shower. He had never seen her look so small —maybe because she rarely looked so vulnerable.

He reaches out to place his hand on top of hers, his eyes flickering to the sight of his wound, his expression showing how bothered he was.

“Hurts like a motherfucker.”

He immediately catches hold of the bruise against her jaw, grunting to her, “Tell me it hurts. Don’t lie to me.”

“It doesn’t,” she promises, “I’m fine.”

Toji makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. He brings his other hand to her chin, gently turning it to see her from a different angle in the light.

“I know you’re pissed off, but I’d rather you just say that you’re glad I’m okay,” she tries to lightly joke, “My grandpa’s given me enough shit about my injury.”

His head cocks to the side as he gives her a look, “You seem to know me already.”

His grip on her chin is still tight, his thumb softly moving across the skin, “You have no idea how pissed I am that this shit happened….all because of me.”

She exhales, her mind flashing of memories she didn’t want to be reminded of. She rubs her thumb across his arm, flicking her eyes up as she admits, “The moment I saw you on the ground…it just—it made me remember how I felt…seeing my dad like that.”

She hates that she feels her body go cold, finding it so hard to talk about this.

“It happened all the same—walking from the market, being trapped by members from another clan. They stabbed him, killed him—enjoyed how I cried for them to stop.”

She can feel the tears in her eyes. She swipes her fingers under her cheeks, feeling her hands trembling as she shudders, “I just…I was so scared,” she tremors, “You can’t do shit like that, Fushiguro—“ she's hyperventilating at this point, “I can’t lose someone else like that…” she brings her hands to her face, sharply inhaling as she full on cries.

Toji feels his chest shift at the sound of her broken voice. Seeing her cry because of him, seeing her so terrified—it does something to him.

He pulls her from her kneeled position to place her in his lap, his arms wrapping around her body to hold her close. He didn’t say a word for a while, letting her cry into his bare chest as his voice lowered, “I’m sorry.”

She cries into his neck, clutching him tighter, feeling all of her emotions pouring through her body. Her cries are then encapsulated by his mouth as he grunts, “C’mere,” pulling her into a kiss, the mixture of her mouth trembling beneath his making him groan.

It’s messy. Her tears mixed within their kiss. Her body shaking between his, her sobs breaking against his lips as he continues to kiss her. Toji felt a pang in his chest at the action, his arms pulling her body closer to his, fingers tightening around the shirt she wore. His injured body ached, but having her so close to him like this was worth it.

Toji’s hand moves to the side of her face, pulling her in for a deeper kiss, tongue dragging her mouth around with his. She tasted like warmth, a home that he never knew.

His free palm comes under her shirt, gripping the skin of her ass to twist her back onto the bed, body now hovered above hers. She quickly hesitates against his mouth, “Your stitches, Fushiguro…” pressing her hand along his chest, not wanting to hurt him.

“Did I say you hurt me?”

“No—“

“So give me your mouth, I want you bad as fuck right now,” his nose nuzzles against her neck, the ticklish pleasure making her eyes roll back slightly.

She pulls face down to meet him, bringing her lips close to his mouth as she says softly, “Go slow, please…” pressing their noses together, breathing hesitantly against his mouth.

Toji’s face darkens, his eyes looking intensely into her own as his pupils dilate. He wasn’t exactly a gentle man—but he wanted to try for her sake.

He clutches her by her neck as he pulls their lips back together, head knocking back in a motion as he kisses her, the weight of his body overpowering even as he tries to be soft. His hand presses against the bare skin of her hip, dragging his thumb along the goosebumps forming. When Sayuki’s eyes flutter open, she flicks them up to the mirror above, engraving the ink along his back in her brain, locking her fingers into the back of his hair to have his mouth fall more into hers, dropping her lower lip to release a shaky breath.

Toji’s hair was soft between her fingers while his touch was firm along her hip. His tongue flicks out to catch her mouth just before it leaves his.

She reaches below herself as she arches her back off of the bed, face warm as she pulls the end of her shirt upward, peeling the material from her skin. To see his glare at the sight of her, she pulls his shoulder down to press her chest to his, hating how he stared.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts, raising himself back up, pulling one of her hands above her head as he slips his fingers through hers, eyes burning at the sight of her bare skin. Her brown nipples, caramel skin, she’s glowing beneath the dim light of the bedroom.

His mouth travels, sucking her nipples in between his full lips, her body arching towards him the more he lowers himself. His arm holding one of her hands keeps her in place, her body wanting to pull away, all while wanting to pull closer to him.

Toji’s tongue is rough and wet against her, tracing the skin of her neck line and collarbone. He wanted more of her—all of her. Her taste and her body makes his head spin.

His body, firm and muscular keeps her pinned against the bed, her chest rising and falling heavily as he kisses down her stomach. Toji grumbles against her, biting the skin along her hip, “I can’t fuckin’ get enough of you.”

The sound of his voice makes her breathing become heavy, her thighs shuddering as he makes out with the skin of her leg, swirling his tongue up to her ankles, kissing along her feet—he was everywhere. It makes her grip the material of the sheet beneath her, his mouth gliding down to the back of her thigh, making her shakily release, “Toji…”

He loves the sound of his name on her lips, almost as much as he loves the taste of her skin. Her body shivers beneath his touch, her toes curling as he leaves a trail of kisses all the way back up her leg.

He growls against her, “Say my name again,” he pleads, “Say it.”

His large frame is able to keep the intertwine of their palms together as lowers himself down, locking his other palm against the back of her thigh, tugging her lower half even closer. Her heart beating in her ears nearly implodes the moment she feels his mouth drag up the folds of her pussy that keep her clit hidden, and she full on gasps, the sound shuddering as her head knocks back against the pillow, breathlessly whining out, “T—Toji!…”

She’s warm and wet—thighs shaking as he holds her by the ankles, locking her knees against the sheets of the bed, tugging her down to meet the lap of his tongue. It’s flat against the nub of her clit that swells at the connection, her arousal collecting against his jaw, Sayuki’s skin trembling involuntarily as he’s already slurping.

She couldn’t remember the last man in between her legs. But Toji knew exactly what he was doing. She wants to snap her legs together, warmth forming along her cheeks as she desperately reaches for his hair, taking the air out of the room with her pouty gasps. His hands grip her ankles tighter, the spread of her legs making his mouth become deeper, Toji grunting as his nose pressed into her slick folds, tip of his tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking it gently between his lips, giving opened mouthed kisses.

"’Pussy never tasted like this,” he groans against her heated flesh, his voice low and husky with desire, “I could eat this shit all fuckin night."

He’s back to lapping at her, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick drags, almost lost within her taste.

She shudders, “W—wait— baby—“ the pet name falls from her lips naturally, although she’s shy to release it, another pant coming from her as he raises her legs right in front of her face, closing them in so she isn’t able to see him eating away at her.

She whimpers as her knees press a bit to her chest, dragging her nails against the skin of her thigh, laying her head against the pillow as she forces herself to fully relax. Her eyes flutter shut as she whines again, “Go slow, baby…” she keeps reminding him, “Gonna cum if you keep doing that…”

A deep growl vibrates through his throat, “Sensitive as fuck,” the vibrations sending pleasant tingles through her wet heat as he continues his assault. He’s pushing his mouth deeper, swirling his tongue around languidly, slow in his speed, weight in his efforts. He suckles the sensitive nub greedily, his lips sealing around it as he applies just the right amount of pressure.

The way he listens, his mouth runs off against her as he grunts, grinding her hips to lead back onto his tongue, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby—fuck,” sucking her pussy so sensually into his mouth, the sounds it creates—she does the worry of her pleas as her eyes come down, watching as she gushes unexpectedly into his mouth. Her upper body arches up as she trembles, gasping deeply within her throat as she cums.

A moan flies from her lips when she feels him spank her, leaning up to capture the broken sounds she makes, dragging his palms along the back of her knees, already locking her legs over his wide shoulders. Her mind is within a pleasured frenzy, and she has to tug her fingers back into gripping his hair, giving herself a sense of control as she pants again, “S—Slow, baby…please…”

Toji was anything but slow, his mind hazy and cloudy as he felt his body throb with need. She was soft—like everything he could’ve ever needed.

His lips, wet and lush, move against her, a small grunt leaving his mouth, “I hear you,” he mumbles against her skin like a prayer, his hands gripping her waist to pull her further against him. Her eyes knocked down to him removing his pants, hearing the slap of his tip kiss his abdomen briefly—it’s heavy, smacking politely against her clit, but the size made it impolite.

He pulls his mouth back from hers, pressing their foreheads together to listen to her breathing, pleas within the music of her voice. It’s as if time halts itself, Toji taking her free hand and locking it back above her head with his, his other hand wrapping along her ankle, pressing it farther into the bed. His face frowns atop of hers, keeping a focused attention as his tip nudges in between her sensitive folds—Her lower body aches with a rush of pleasure as he sinks himself in, mixed with an erotic pain she hadn’t felt in so long. Her eyes fall shut as her head falls back into the pillow, her body shuddering as she whimpers, twisting his hair within her fingers as she knocks her forehead back to his.

Their lips brush along each other as he rolls his hips forward, spreading her legs wider, it makes her stutter out a whimper again, “Baby—I can’t—Mmmph,” squeezing his palm as he holds her down, feeling as she tries to escape.

“‘Not even in your shit for ‘real, baby,” he grunts against her lips, “Make this dick yours, you got more to take.”

She moans brokenly at his voice, pulling his mouth down towards her throat, “M—move….”

Toji’s head drops into her neck, his teeth dragging against the spot where a violet bruise laid. Her cries were pretty, but her moans were prettier.

He holds her in place as he pulls his head back to glance at her face, her skin flushed with heat.

“It’s mine now, huh?” he asks, his voice low.

Her face is warm, pulling his mouth back to hide her face within his neck, sucking the skin there as she pitifully gasped in response to him grinding himself forward, feeling an arrogance pooling within his body.

Toji groans against her, his ego growing even more as he feels her mouth against his neck. She’s marking him just as much as he’s marking her, his head feeling fuzzy for more than one reason. He moves a hand to her jaw, his fingers gently holding her chin between his forefinger and thumb to force her face to his, “Let me see that pretty ass face.”

Her teary eyes blink up at him, bringing her tongue forward as she slides it along his mouth, essentially begging for a kiss.

Her tongue against his makes something in his brain short-circuit, his eyes closing as he opens his mouth and gives in to the plea, chuckling in between, “‘Needy as fuck for my mouth, even now.”

It’s hot, wet and messy, both of them pressing their lips together to taste each other in a way that will never be enough.

She whimpers to him, “Don’t laugh at me…” dragging her nails lightly along his back, trying not to form her mouth into a pout.

Toji’s eyes open in time to see the pout against her lips, he can’t help but release a low chuckle again at the sight of it.

“I’d never,” he grunts, leaning in close enough that their noses brush together, a small grin on his face, “I need you too, baby. Talk to me.”

Her voice is small, her panting heavy within her chest as she keeps her nose brushed against his, admitting to him, “It f—feels good…”

Toji’s cheek presses further into hers, his face becoming stoic again, a sense of hunger returning. He’s gentle with his touch, his mind completely focused as he absorbs himself in her pleasured noises.

“Yeah? Not hurtin’ you?” he asks, his voice gruff in her ear, his teeth nipping at the skin of her earlobe.

She shakes her head, pressing a soft kiss along his lips as she whimpers, “Just squeezing too hard on my wrist, baby…”

His grip instantly loosens from her wrists as her admission. He curses to himself, “Sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing his fingers along the skin to ease the pain from his large hands.

Feeling his attempts to be soft—it made her heart swell. A man that wasn’t emotional, wasn’t soft in the slightest, was trying just for her. It’s like crashing waves of pleasure rush her stomach as he rocks himself forward, making her deeply gasp, “R—right—t—there…”

The sound of the gasp mixed with the pleasure in her voice made Toji groan, his hips jerking against hers. He wanted her to be full of pleasure, wanted every inch of her to feel him—but the patience he had, it was leaving.

She blinked before she knew they were switching positions, trembling as she felt him smack her ass again, grunting to her, “On your stomach.”

This was…different. She’s now against her belly, chest to her back as his body hovered above. He clutches her neck from behind—his mouth is now against her ear, still using his free hand to hold her fingers against the sheets. He sinks his dick in, the heaviness of her ass clapping along his skin— her face contorts, her mouth lightly dropping as his hips become connected with the back of her thighs, tightening his palm against her throat.

His hand is firm against her throat, holding it in an intimate way that controls her. It’s possessive.

His mouth is hot against her ear, his voice a growl against her skin, “‘Just gonna have to take it,” he grunts, voice heavy and full of meaning as his hips drop down against hers, hand holding her in place, “‘Need you to feel me, baby. You feel it?”

She knew he wouldn’t be able to be gentle for long. Here it was, that cocky, dominant side he’d been holding back. The sounds she makes—they’re loud, high-pitched. She’s mewling with each stroke as he swirls his hips down, Sayuki’s eyes rolled back, listening to the sounds their skin creates against the room, arching deeper into the bed as she embarrassingly moans, “Oooh, shit. Baby—I feel you…”

He grunts in response, his teeth biting her ear as she moans. She felt so tight around him. He’s not pulling halfway out like before—he’s now pulling back until his tip is halfway inside, sharply driving back in, watching arousal squelch more and more, filling to the brim to drip against his balls. He presses his body against hers, his chest flush against her back, moving his hand to the side of her face to hold her head in place as he growls in her ear, “‘Makin’ a fuckin’ mess, baby. Can’t even think straight anymore, huh?”

Her head is leaning back against his shoulder, tilting her eyes up to look up within the mirror on the ceiling as he clutches her jaw. She watches the muscles of his back flex, the color of his tattoos all along his skin, she shudders, gasping, “Yeahh, c—can’t think…”

He catches her gaze in the mirror, watching his body, the way his muscles were flexing. She’s staring at him, him—and the action makes his brain feel like it’s overheating.

“You lookin’?” he groans, her voice wrecked as his grip on her jaw tightens.

She’s clawing at the sheets beneath her, inhaling deep, gasping dangerously as she whines, “Y—Yeah….don’t stop. Don’t stop…” she feels tears brimming within her eyes, a pleasure erupting within her body she’d never felt before.

She's sniffling, trembling, a small sob pulling from her lips, reaching behind to clutch for his hair again, pulling his mouth down to her throat. He’s cooing in her ear, “I know, baby.”

She drags her fingers into his scalp as she turns her head, “Kiss me,” she begs, rolling her hips back, “Please…”

Her back is arched against him, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat, watching the way her ass recoils against his skin—It drives him wild.

His nose slides against her face to reach for her mouth, his tongue slipping past her lips, the kiss filthy and raw. He grunts to her, “Gonna fuckin’ marry you, gonna’ kiss you like this at our fuckin’ wedding.”

He chuckles against her shuddering body, watching as she holds onto him for dear life. He won’t stop talking, “You never answered my question. This shit mine, huh?”

She’s full on crying, so wrapped up in the pleasure he gives her— her cheek is along the sheet of the bed, his body following down with hers, pressing his cheek against her jaw, dropping his hips down, earning a squeal in response. She groans, letting the sound drag into a loud moan, clutching her hand over her mouth as she softly cries, “I’m yours, fuck…don’t s—stop…”

His. She's his. The thought is almost his undoing, his heart beating heavily against his chest as he feels her crying, her body clinging to him like she’s lost if he leaves her.

Her voice is broken as he speaks, a whine from the back of her throat as she tightens around him, “You hear me? I’m gonna marry your ass. Never gonna’ fuckin’ leave. Always gonna fuck you like this.”

He watches her tears stream down her face from the mirror above him, a dark desire stirring within him. It’s a gorgeous sight—her completely and utterly ruined from his touch.

He grunts into her ear, “You gonna’ say yes?”

His palm locks around her parted mouth, sliding his fingers on her tongue, using the leverage to yank her back, skin applauding like gunshots within the room. The scent of his body is all around her, she’s moaning, turning her head back to look at him, “Yes ...yes…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean it?”

She can feel her hips falling into his, body becoming exhausted as she trembles, the scream that attempts to release from her lips inhales into a gasp, pulling her mouth down to muffle her sounds as she softly cries, “Mean it, Toji…”

Her words leave her in a whimper, the sound mixed into a sobbed moan, Toji can’t think—He feels like he’s on fire. The pleasure, emotions that course within their body come together in another kiss, her entire body spasming beneath him as she orgasms. Her sobs, her trembling, he can feel it, smell it, taste it.

He whispers in her ear as he holds her, groaning as he releases with her, his voice completely wrecked, “Fuck—I got you, baby.”

There’s nothing left but their shaking bodies, their tangled limbs wrapped together, panting breaths, and the sound of the two against each other. He can’t get his arms to leave her.

She grazes her nails along his arm, trying to take control of her breath as she whispers, “Gonna’ put me in a headlock if you told me any tighter…”

He loosens his grip, shifting to turn her body to face him without separating. He’s still inside her, and he won’t budge. He wipes his thumb along the tears on her face, “My bad, pretty.”

She frowns, “When’d you get soft on me? Didn’t know I’d have such a sweet bean of a husband,” she giggles, seeing him raise his eyebrow at that.

He hates that something in his heart melts at her words—but just like a man—he has to circle back to another point of her sentence.

“Just when I was gonna’ be nice and ask what size ring you wear,” he smacks his lips, Sayuki gasping as he wraps his fingers along the back of her neck, pressing her face down into the sheets, “Now’ I gotta remind you who I am. Put that ass up, I’m not done with you yet.”

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

479 notes · View notes

monstersflashlight · 2 days ago

Note

hi, can i request an eldritch-looking gn angel dominating a human?

it would be superb if it could be intimate and encouraging.

it would also be superb if the human was treated like, an overall good person who does minor bad things (littering and such).

also please make it sexual.

A/N: Hope this works for both of you, I think it’s pretty intense and deep in a way that I really love, so I hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Sinner

Biblical angel x gn!reader || rough sex, purifying sex, probably sacrilegious in a way, (lowkey) punishment, dom/sub

You never thought you were a bad person, but deep down you knew it wasn’t all about that. You knew there was something a tiny bit wrong with you… So you asked for forgiveness to whoever was looking down on you. You knelt and begged, you cried and thrashed as you prayed to be purified, you prayed to take everything wrong with you away.

And they answered.

At first you didn’t know what he was, or what to do with him, you had no idea if he was even a thing. You didn’t even know how you knew, but you could feel him being a he. He appeared like a white orb of light over your body, a thousand eyes looking at you at the same time. And you shivered under the attention, his inquisitive looks penetrating your soul in a way never could before.

But when he acted… You weren’t ready for it. Not at all.

He praised you as his light washed over your naked body, the warmth and intensity of it all was driving you completely insane, your brain melting inside your head. He never stopped mumbling encouragement, his presence so heavy in the air you could almost sense his touch on your body, it was exhilarating and painful, deep and soul crushing at the same time you felt reinvigorated. It was like he was turning you inside out and fucking you at the same time. You never thought you could feel so full and warm, so incredibly satisfied at the same time you craved more, more, more…

“Now, my human, now the purification begins,” he announced, his body transforming into an anthropomorphic silhouette that was almost too human.

He was all the uncanny valley feels at the same time, and you couldn’t hold back a groan as you saw his dick, so big and glistening with the first signs of arousal. You gasped when his hands found your most vulnerable place. He wasn’t gentle, he didn’t ask or ordered, he simply took what he wanted and you were willing to give.

His dick pushed inside you in a slow but powerful thrust, making you feel possessed and claimed. Your whole body was vibrating as he fucked you roughly, tears shining on your eyes as he pushed in and out of you over and over. Your brain short-circuited to the point you couldn’t have thoughts, not even about him. You could only feel the fast and hard pace he was setting, the way he was using your body and making you see more than stars, more than the universe… you were seeing something akin to a goddess.

You were seeing all the sins you committed, not all that bad after all, but it felt great to have them recognized, it felt great to have him judging you in a biblical way. Every single one of his thrusts made you feel like a new you, like your past mistakes were being erased, like you were forgiven of every single bad thing you did before, and that drove you over the edge.

You precipitated over an orgasm that felt soul ripping but the best thing you’d ever felt. You were turned inside out, raw and vulnerable, as he fucked your problems and sins out of you, as you came so hard your vision whited out. He transformed into his biblical self, and it only made everything higher, more intense, more real… And you loved every single second of it.

“Did I die?” You asked after a beat, his thrusts still twisting your insides.

“No, my human, but you are now mine.”

360 notes · View notes

morgue-friends · 1 day ago

Note

happy new year!!!

would you be able to write a part two of maidens token where the reader attempts an escape and arrives at her village to see count or lol and her slaughtered village people

"A Maiden's Darkness" | Count Orlok x Female! Reader

Warnings: 18+, Count Orlok is his own warning, reader definitely has stock holm syndrome, death is mentioned, minor side character death, gore, sexual tension, dub-con, blood kink, marking, possessiveness, angst, hair pulling, penis in vagina sex, oral sex (M receiving), rough sex, you can't fix him so don't try sorry.

"If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness -" Your head hung low in shame, you were ailing with guilt and remorse. You had submitted to death, not once but twice. If there was a god, he'd never forgive the sins you've committed. No matter how many verses of the holy Bible you recited, there would be no salvation for you. You were tempted by the devil, and you conceded, you willed it.

Last night after he had left you, spared you even, to feed from the village and hide before the sun could rise he had unexpectedly returned to you instead. When he arrived you were still lying on the bed draped over with the blood-stained blanket and tears falling from your eyes. You looked over at him and gasped, his claws and mouth dripped with a deep red hue that foretold acts of violence. That same red color followed along the fur of his attire and led you to believe there had been more than one victim with the sheer amount. The stench of iron flooded your nose and you gagged, if you had eaten more than bread that night you probably would have heaved it all up on the bed below you.

Your stomach turned when the thought crossed your mind that it could be the blood of a child he was drenched in. It was revolting, disgusting, and still when he approached the bed you spread your legs for him like an eager whore. He disrobed and you two embraced each other that night once more, you submitted to death once more. The silver locket necklace he had stolen from you dropped to the floor along with his garments. You could remember vividly the way you laid there for him compliantly, moaning and mewling amongst the sounds of his skin against yours. Your thighs were held apart with each of his hands while his hips pounded you downward into the mattress. After he was satisfied he abandoned you once more, retreating to wherever it is he'd go during the day.

The sun sat high and bright in the sky and yet you could still feel his cold hands ghosting over your skin. Here you were now, sitting solemn and praying to a god that would never help you. If your mother were to see you right now she'd shake her head and tell you that you had gotten yourself into this situation and needed to get yourself out. So that's just what you'd do, the longer you stayed here the more you felt like you were losing your mind. His shadow was consuming your innocence and maybe even your soul. He may not have been manipulating you but it didn't feel reasonable for your body to respond the way it did to his. He carried a stench of death everywhere he went and when disrobed looked even more like a corpse than what you expected him to.

After getting dressed and eating the fresh apples he left you on the dining table for breakfast, you began plotting. If you weren't going to plot your escape from the castle then your mind would wander and think only of him, as if you were obsessed. To be fair all you've done these past two weeks is think of him. Where would he go after he fed from you? What was his first name? Why did he avoid coming out during the day? There were a hundred other questions you could ask yourself but you wouldn't get an answer to any of them. Anything he told you about himself was very vague or probably not even true.

You wasted an hour of daytime stumbling around the castle looking for anything that may help you with getting out, but every room was empty of usefulness and filled with standard furniture covered with cobwebs and dust. Weirdly enough you found the baggage that you had brought with you along with your paint supplies hidden behind a tall wooden cabinet. Why he hid your items was beyond you, but the clean dress, undergarments, and shoes were appreciated. You then returned to your bucket of drinking water and tried your hardest to wash off the thick layers of dried blood so they wouldn't soil your new clean dress. When he fed from you he was messy, often rubbing his face into your chest and smearing it around which made you feel repulsive. There were no mirrors anywhere in the castle so you weren't aware of how good of a job you did but it would have to do.

The heavy metal door of the castle opened slowly and flakes of snow began to nest on your shivering frame. The blood loss would make you more susceptible to dying from the cold but it seemed to be a better way out than succumbing to the darkness under the thumb of your captor. The hounds that seemed to accompany him everywhere slowly congregated around you while you trudged through the snow up to the gated entrance. As you exited none of the dogs attacked you, they just panted and stared at you in silence, there was no barking or growling to try to scare you back into the castle.

Nonetheless, their silence and unwillingness to follow you out felt like a bad omen. Like they were quietly telling you that if you leave this castle he will kill you. You weren't sure how far the village he fed from was but there was a glimmer of hope in your mind that you'd make it there and depart by sundown. The snow made your journey take agonizingly longer than expected, every crunch of snow under your heeled boots only seemed to make your travels much slower.

The clacking sound of a horse's heels through the snow caught your attention and you followed the noise closely. There were two women sitting on the horse, you had met them both when you briefly passed by the village on your way to the castle. This was your chance, you had your doubts about your escape and survival chances but seeing them again gave you hope. You ran up to the slowly trotting horse and the steed stood up on it's two legs and cried out as if you had spooked it. "Stop! Stop I say!" The woman towards the head of the horse ran her hands over its face and that seemed to calm the animal but it still eyed you with unease.

"She has the smell of death on her." Before you could ask for help a feeling of anger washed over you. These two women knew you were heading to that castle two weeks ago and didn't even bother to tell you what you were getting yourself into. "She is probably a vengeful spirit, the vampyre does not keep his whores for this long." The older woman made the sign of the cross with her fingers as if she was blessing herself for just seeing you and the two continued off on their horse finishing their conversation in Romanian. You'd cry but these past few days have absolved you of all the tears you had left to release.

Disgust. Disgust was what you felt about yourself, the Count, the castle, the villagers just everything. The sun began to set and your heart sank in your chest, a part of you wanted to keep walking until you arrived at the village and found somewhere vacant to hide. While another part of you wanted you to turn around and walk back to the castle, sit at that dining table, and greet your lover with a smile. After contemplating what to do you let out a scream of frustration and continued toward the village. If the horse was walking slowly in this area that meant that they had to be close to their home.

The sun had officially set by the time you arrived in the center of the village. There were houses and homes around you, all with drawn curtains but you could see the glow of candles inside which let you know everyone was inside their homes and they'd most likely never open the door to what they thought was a 'vengeful spirit'. Each door was covered in garlic and a variety of crosses and bible pages. The more homes you past the darker the sky became and you had this frightening feeling that death would soon be coming for you, that it was already searching for you and knew you had gone missing.

On the far end of the village was what you believed to be a church, there were no candles inside and the windows were not covered by curtains. You turned the knob and the door opened with a creak and revealed a room full of chairs, benches books, and whatever else the moonlight decided to show you. After closing the door behind you and taking a few steps forward you almost slipped on something somewhat sticky and overtly soft on the floor. You couldn't see very well what you were stepping on but the stench of death gave you a vivid impression. That had to have been pieces of an animal or a human even, as the familiar scent of true death you had become accustomed to was far too unique to be this.

That devil - your devil, had the stench of death but mixed with something far more abnormally comforting. It reminded you of your childhood days when you'd play alone in the small damp cave that resided behind your home back in America. The smell of that cave, the smell of pinecones in a forest, and pure decay were the smells you identified him by. Suddenly several books fell off of the shelf behind you and you almost fled until you saw the cause of the loud mess. "Oh dear god in heaven." Right before you was a man sitting in the darkest corner of the church.

He had to be at least a few years older than you, once your eyes had become adjusted to the darkness you could see him somewhat better. "You're still alive?" His Romanian accent was thick but at least he spoke English to you, the surprise in his tone sent you reeling. "No thanks to you or anyone else in this damned village, you're all SICK! Sick for letting me journey to that monster." And at last, the tears you believed to be depleted soon fell from your eyes. You had every right to be upset, to feel as though you were betrayed. "Iartă-mă, forgive me, I will explain but did he release you?"

"Explain first and I'll tell you." You were stern enough to get the point across that you weren't letting up. The man's expression harshened a bit before it relaxed. He grabbed what looked to be a bottle of gin off of the pedestal next to him and took a swig before looking up at you. "My name is Mihai, I asked to be here to protect the others, the vampyre will feed off me-" It all began to make sense, he was a willing sacrificial lamb which was why the church seemed to be so unprotected, and dark. You felt a pang in your stomach remembering that this was supposed to be a holy church. Consecrated ground that would protect against all evil and yet evil still invaded like a sickening plague.

"- Feeding it is better than letting it feed itself, yes or no?" You declined to answer that question as you put your back against the wall and dropped to sit on the floor. Feeling like an idiot you let your head hit the hard surface behind you, looking up at the unlit chandelier dangling from the ceiling. That's why the dogs let you leave this morning and why you were seemingly able to find your baggage. He knew there would be nowhere for you to go, the villagers too succumbed to his darkness and would never assist you. The one structure in the entire village you could enter freely and it was his feeding ground.

He wanted you here, wanted you to see that this was the kind of power he had over others and it was making you nauseatingly sick. You stumbled to your feet and turned to look at Mihai who was currently downing his bottle of gin again, he had no idea of the fate that awaited him. The Count would draw out his death and turn what was supposed to be quick feeding into a lesson for you to learn. If you had never left the castle this man would never endure the torture that lay ahead of him.

"Mihai I'm sor-" The flickering of candles interrupted you. The crucifixes that were placed upon the walls slowly turned upside down and the Mother Mary statue you were standing next to began to bleed from its eyes. "He is coming." As you said the words your hands began to tremble and shake. Even without the dramatic display of power, the rise of goosebumps on your skin and the tremble of your frame told you how his shadow drew near. The door of the church opened up with a slam as snow flurries began to enter the church with the gust of wind.

The flurries landed on the floor sticking to the bloodstained wood, there were small clumps of whoever he had decided to feast on the night prior now illuminated by the candles. Your eye twitched miserably as that had been what you almost slipped on earlier. Suddenly at the frame of the door, a tall imposing figure with glowing white eyes appeared, its eyes were directed at you solely and neglected the presence of Mihai. As he stepped into the church your gaze averted to the floor, you didn't have to look at him to see his disappointment.

His stare carried nonexistent daggers that pierced their way through your body and soul. His deep ragged breathing echoed through the room and silenced all other noises the further he walked in. The door slammed itself behind him and it made your heart leap a small yelp escaped your mouth. You kept your gaze on the floor and he closed the distance between the two of you to the point where all you could see was the fur of his cape below in your vision. A clawed hand shot up and grabbed the lower half of your face and forced you to look up at him as he towered over you. "You will watch and if you dare look away then it will be you instead."

"Yes, my Lord." You answered mindlessly, knowing that your life at the moment was being held teetering on the edge of a dangerous cliff, and any foolish movement would send you tumbling downward. In your situation, that dangerous cliff happened to be your lover. He didn't release his hold on your face while his dark eyes stared intensely into yours, the gaze was so intense your eyes strained from the lack of blinking. You feared that if you took the chance to blink he'd snap your neck then and there for disobeying further. Thankfully his gaze was averted when Mihai purposely dropped his now empty glass bottle onto the planked floor of the church.

You took that much-needed blink and his hand was no longer painfully cupping your face but he now had it around the neck of the villager. Mihai's face became a deep purple as he was lifted against the wall, and as soon as his chest became eye level with the harbinger of death, his heart was latched onto and he began to be drained. Watching this happen before you showed you how much this creature held back when he'd feed from you. The way he siphoned blood from Mihai was nothing like what he'd do to you.

Him being a messy eater wasn't news to you but the sure brutality of the pressure he exerted against the man's ribs was so excessive you heard a sickening crunching noise as it sounded like they had fractured under duress. It was pure savagery displayed in front of you but you didn't dare look away. You watched as he had instructed you to while the life dissipated from Mihai's eyes. The blood from the villager's body flowed so much that it began to speckle the floor below them. When the body of the sacrifice finally dropped to the floor of the church and what now looked like a rabid beast corrected his posture and turned in your direction, you knew it was your turn.

"What kind of host would I be if I didn't indulge my guest in a little- how do you say it in English? Entertainment." Your face twisted in disgust at his mockery, you liked it better when he barely spoke to you. The more conversations the two of you had the more you realized he had a sadistic sense of humor. "Did you enjoy your trip today? I hope you found whatever it is you were searching for." As he took one step forward you took two steps back, not wanting to deal with whatever wrath or 'mercy' he wanted to give you.

The blood continued to drip from his mouth and your thighs involuntarily trembled. You mouthed a 'no' as you realized what was going on with you. For your body to react like this at such a scene brought back those feelings of guilt and shame you had this morning. You'd make the false accusation that he was manipulating you into this but both of you would know that was a complete lie.

His bloodied hand grabbed a hold of your hair and brought you to your knees. "If you were to kill me right now I would not need to blame you as I have disobeyed! I don't deserve your forgiveness but I will still ask for it." His grip on your hair painfully tightened and there was only a little bit more pressure needed before he'd be ripping the strands straight from your scalp. "You leave my castle, fraternize with a human man, and ask for my forgiveness?!"

His booming voice reverberated off the walls of the church and made the flames of the candles dance violently upon the wax sticks they sat on making you feel much smaller than you were and as you sunk into yourself like a scolded child. His furred cape flared in front of you angrily as he turned and walked away from you. This man was livid with rage before you and it only made you fear him more, you pondered why you even thought it was a good idea to flee the castle, to begin with.

"I'm sorry my Lord!" Before you could stand up to continue to beg for forgiveness and your life, a clawed finger pointed downward at the floor indicating for you to stay down at the level you were. "You will crawl to me..." You didn't need to be told twice by him so you put your hands on the cold wooden floor, lowered your back, and slowly crawled to him. When you reached him your fingers grabbed a hold of his furred cloak and you looked up at him with pleading wide eyes. The scent of your growing arousal made his nostrils flare and you could see there was an internal war going on within his mind about what he was going to do with you.

It was a demeaning idea but your fingers crept under his heavy cloak and you found the button latch to his trousers. He allowed you to remove his flaccid length and the heavy sack resting beneath it. You should have been utterly disturbed by how grotesque he was but you breathed a small moan while grabbing a hold of his cock. The longer you held him the harder he seemed to grow. Fully invested in what you were doing your hand tightened around him slightly and gave a few slow strokes of his shaft. The way his foreskin pulled backward and forward along the bulbous head of his cock was intoxicating and it was now you too who was breathing heavily.

As much as would have liked to deny it, there was a deeper connection than either of you would have expected to bloom. It wasn't just sexual it was disturbingly spiritual as if you'd never be truly free of him the same way he'd never be truly free of you. You had driven yourself mad about succumbing to his darkness but it wasn't just his at play, it was yours too. The longer you stayed with him the faster your mind began to unveil the depraved and dark thoughts that you kept at bay to keep yourself sane.

This mutual infatuation dared to ruin the both of you and you came to terms with being quite alright with that. It didn't take long before he fully hardened under your grasp and you gave his weeping slit a long and desperate lick. Your eyes never left his predatory ones as you coaxed the head of his erection past your lips. You sucked your cheeks in as your head began to bob up and down his cock. His entire length would never fit in your mouth so you kept your hand stroking at his base while your mouth worked on the half of him that it could please.

The fingers of your free hand found themselves in between your legs and sliding down your undergarments so you could spread apart your slit. You were unbearably wet with need as your walls clenched around nothing. Two of your fingers rubbed desperate circles around your clit until you were a panting mess and whining with his cock in your mouth. Your lover - your darkness, kept his composure and looked down at you with intrigue. His angry glare from earlier had softened but not enough to make you feel safer.

He grabbed a hold of your head and pulled you away from his shaft and his tip left your lips with a wet pop. You didn't stop stroking him at his base while his sharply pointed nails descended from your head and stopped at the side of your neck. One of his nails pierced your skin and drew a short line across your tender flesh. The pain was agonizing but you knew if you stopped he'd simply claw you deeper.

"That mark is for talking back to me and out of turn on the first day we met." You didn't have to look down to know that fresh blood dripped from your wound and further downward into your dress. His nail came into contact with your flesh again and you felt the carving of another short line. "This mark is for spending countless nights crying because you wanted to go home." He gave you a shorter moment of recovery before the pointed claw dug into your skin again.

"And that one would be for refusing the first few meals I would leave for you..." He wasn't smiling but his eyes held a sadistic gleam to them, he was hurting you and he found it amusing as usual. Your hand loosened around his shaft momentarily while the stinging sensation of your wounds began to cause your eyes to water. You shut your eyes entirely as another line was carved into your neck. "Once more for running away from my home. You have four now. If you ever gain a fifth that will be your final night with me."

When you opened your eyes his hand was freshly slicked with blood and now pressed to his lips so that he may taste you. To taste the life that he deemed so endearing to keep around him. Watching him do that made your slit weep with arousal even more. Before you could take him back into your mouth he stopped you and instructed you to turn around with a wave of his finger and you obeyed. You sunk back onto your hands and knees knowing what he was implying but it still surprised you when dropped down behind you and your dress was lifted above your hips.

You gasped when the head of his cock prodded at your folds before he thrust forward and entered you. When your body became flush with his, your hips rocked against him begging him to move. Even your walls pleaded with him dearly every time you felt yourself clench miserably around him. His length pulled away from you before sinking back in with a hiss from him as he started up a feral pace. Your body jerked forward every time his hips met with yours followed by a moan from your lips. With every thrust his sack would slap against your swollen clit and that made you whimper even more.

Your cunt was so greedy for his touch just to be able to take all of him like this when he'd just started. The pain of the lines he had drawn on your skin was soon forgotten about and forgiven with how pleasurable it felt when he split you open like this. It wasn't just the physical pleasure affecting you, you were also getting off on the power that he had over you, how little effort it would take for him to kill you right here while buried within your wet heat.

In between your moans and whimpers, you'd hear him grunt in approval from behind you. What was completely unexpected and took you by surprise was when his hand found its way back into your hair and he forced your head to the side so he could claim your mouth in a kiss. This level of affection was new to you but it soon became welcomed as well when his tongue slipped into your mouth. Blood, whether it was yours or Mihai's lingered in his mouth which intimately transferred over to yours and you greedily accepted it during the kiss.

With his cold tongue exploring the cavern of your mouth he only pounded you harder from behind which made your back arch further for him. You took one of your hands off the floor and started vigorously rubbing your clit in circles desperate for your approaching climax. When that peak reached you and your walls spasmed furiously around his cock you moaned loudly against his mouth and the overstimulation made you remove your hand and squeeze your legs tightly shut but his fervent thrusts continued.

His mouth left yours and your head was pushed down roughly onto the floor while he continued taking you from behind. Your legs began to tremble and your body wanted to inch far away from him but he held you firmly in place making you take everything he gave you and more. The increase in pace made your lower belly tighten as you came for him again around him. Your eyes rolled back and your hips buckled against him while you cried out with your release.

The thrusting stopped abruptly and he pushed so deeply inside you that it was painful. The tip of his cock began to twitch against your cervix and several ropes of his release shot into you. Your needy walls were milking him of his seed, making him fill you up like this. He left you feeling so full and satiated as the deed you'd both have done was nothing short of passionate He pulled out and you were flipped over onto your back so that he could lick the dried and congealed blood from the wounds he left on your neck. Your eyes grew heavy-lidded and you just laid there and let him salivate all over your neck and chest as much as he pleased.

You didn't remember closing your eyes and falling asleep until you woke up in the guest bedroom of the castle. You were light-headed from your ordeal last night and you nearly fell off the bed when you turned to see what looked like a stone grey box in the middle of the room. The more you stared at it the more you could make out its morbidly beautiful details and carvings. For some reason, it started to look more like a coffin maybe even a sarcophagus than a box or container as you thought it was. It looked expensive and ancient and you had no intentions of touching it unless you'd like to receive your fifth and final mark this evening.

Images of last night as memories came back to haunt you and a familiar ache between your thighs threatened your composure. With that ache, you felt an undeniable soreness, and inklings of pain that flooded the left side of your neck. Before you were able to exit the room the sound of stone sliding against stone made you stop and look at the now-opened grey sarcophagus with wide eyes as a clawed hand reached out from the darkness within it. Suddenly you were ready to succumb to it all over again.

#horror x reader #monster x reader #nosferatu x reader #nosferatu the vampyre #nosferatu 2024 #count orlok x reader #count orlok #bill skarsgård

200 notes · View notes

himbodruid · 3 days ago

Text

Happy New Year! 🥳🥳🥳

Sylus x Reader

-:- kinda mirror sex -:- bent over -:- minor praise kink? -:- you’re wearing his shirt -:- he loses his mind -:- dom Sylus -:-

🔞 INTENDED FOR 18+ READERS. MINORS DNI 🔞

Mirror, Mirror

You were not entirely sure what led to this situation, bent over the bathroom counter with Sylus at your back.

You had arrived at the base, soaked thoroughly from the torrential downpour that decided to suddenly strike while you’d walked to Sylus’s home. He’d answered the door and immediately stripped his sweatshirt and covered your shivering body in its warmth while ushering you inside.

After boiling yourself in a shower on the hottest setting you could endure, you stood at the vanity in just an oversized shirt that Sylus lent you while your own clothes dried. What was meant to be a nice dinner instead turned into this, drying your hair with a towel that smelled like him, wearing his clothes that barely came down to your thighs. He had given a pair of sweatpants, but even cinched as far as they could go, they still threatened to fall to the floor when you took a step. So you opted to go without.

Sylus knocked on the door, and you beckoned him into the bathroom without thought. You swore you could see his eyes dilate as he took in your undressed state. His expression grew hungry as his crimson gaze swept over you from head to toe. When he caught you doing the same to him, his eyes darkened with desire.

With a growl he crowded you into the counter, kissing your neck from behind. You watched him through the mirror, making eye contact with him while his lips coasted over your skin. His arms wrapped around your waist, preventing any possible escape from him. Not that you wanted to escape him. Your heart thundered in your chest as his hand traveled up your thigh, making its way under the hem of the shirt and-

His groan met your gasp as his elegant fingers found their way to the apex of your thighs. You could feel him growing hard against your back while he slicked his fingers through your folds. He growled in approval when he found you wet and wanting. He continued touching you, circling on that sensitive bud until you trembled in his arms with short gasps.

With a cheshire cat grin, he bent you forward until you were propped on the counter on your forearms. You stared at the reflection, blush deepening at the lewd sight of you bent before him. Fuck, but what a sight it was. He stood tall behind you, his hands roaming your body freely while he watched your expressions with rapt interest. He rocked his hips into you, still imprisoned by denim while you yourself lay exposed to him. Not a single care for the way your arousal smeared across the front of his black jeans. It just seemed to goad him on all the more.

You watched him as he lazily unbuckled his belt, as he unbuttoned his jeans and just oh so seductively exposed himself. The hard length of him was freed and resting heavy against your ass while he gave you that half-smirk you often dreamed about. Since that dream you had about taming him like a wild horse, you longed to see that expression on him in the waking world.

“What a beautiful sight, Kitten,” he said. His voice was husky, rasped by desire that was so plainly written on his face.

And then he leaned over you, scooping you into his arms and lifting you by the hips. You could no longer touch the ground when he impaled you, instead you were completely at his mercy.

He kept an arm wrapped around your pelvis, keeping you elevated as he began rocking you into him. The press of his cock inside you made your breaths come in short bursts. Slow, so slow he thrust in and out of you. All the while watching you watching him. The mirror fogged at the corners with your growing heat.

He bent to move your hair to the side, to kiss the back of your neck, to bite and nip at the slope of your shoulder while he took you. But his eyes never left your face. Never roamed from your eyes. All you could do was voice your pleasure, moans bouncing off the tile to echo around you. The pleasure was reaching a crescendo and you could barely keep your eyes open, threatening to roll back in your skull.

But when you tried to close your eyes, his free arm snaked up through the shirt, between your breasts, to grasp at your chin. Forcing you to watch him plunder you.

“Look at me when you cum,” he commanded softly, his voice right in your ear. You obeyed, eyes locked onto his as each thrust brought you closer, closer, closer until you suddenly fell over the edge. Your body jerked and trembled while he continued working at your cunt, throwing you into another orgasm before the first could even fully end.

“Good girl,” he praised with a kiss against your temple. “Eyes on me.”

And then his hips jerked forward more aggressively. He was slamming into you now and there was no purchase on the counter to steady yourself- just his arms wrapped around you while he pinned you in place.

The sound of skin striking skin joined the cacophony of moans that harmonized between the two of you. His hand remained firmly on your jaw and all you could do was dig your fingers into his arm. Your legs wrapped around him as best as they could from the position you were in. It was all you could do to cling to him while he ravaged you.

“Fuck, Kitten, you feel so good,” he groaned as his pace increased. His grunts and moans became more insistent as he chased pleasure with you.

“S-Sy,” you breathed. Words failed you as your mind and body became numb to ecstasy.

“Eyes on me,” he moaned, each word marked by the collision of his hips into you.

You locked your eyes to his, watching the pleasure dancing across his face with your own sense of satisfaction. The rhythm of him was steady, building you back up to the brink with every thrust of his cock into you. He smirked at your own expressions, though it was short-lived when he slammed into you with a grunt.

But then something shifted. With eyes locked on each other, you saw his right eye begin to glow. It took a second to register what you were seeing, but when you realized a bolt of panic shot through you. Sylus’s gaze flickered to his own when he felt you tense ever so slightly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he growled even as he clenched his own eyes closed. You watched him fuck you so thoroughly that you didn’t know how you were ever going to get the image out of your head. The sounds he made would forever be ingrained into your memory. And fuck the feel of his cock inside you, filling you in a way you were certain no other could.

His hips roughly slammed into you, his climax imminent. You clenched your walls around him, increasing the drag of his cock inside you and you cried out as another orgasm rocked through you.

“Come with me, Sylus,” you begged with a breathy whine. “S-Sylus, fuck.”

And then he slammed forward one final time, spilling into you so explosively that he nearly collapsed atop you. His grunts, moans, whimpers, and whines rose to join yours as his body shuddered and jerked.

He held you to him, locked so deep inside you, until the tremors in his body subsided, until his shuddering gasping breaths evened out. When your feet finally touched the ground, your knees buckled. But he held fast to you, making sure you didn’t fall until your legs stabilized. His flushed face was buried in the back of your neck, every now and then laying soft kisses there. He moaned as his cock slipped from you and his fingers dug almost painfully into your hip. You could feel his cum escape you and begin trailing down your leg, and the sensation elicited a shiver.

He was kissing your neck again before nuzzling into you. “I don’t know if I can be sorry for that. The sight of you in only my shirt…all control I tried to maintain escaped me.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to lasso in your own senses to form a response. His eyes found yours in the mirror, where you smiled sweetly, almost dreamily, at him. Whatever worry bracketed his eyes fell away and his gaze softened.

“Hmmh,” you said, voice still husky. “I’m gonna need another shower, now that a certain someone’s gone and made a mess of me. I wonder if he’ll take responsibility and clean up after himself.”

You could feel his cock twitch to life against your thigh at your words, and you leaned back into him. He gave a chuckle before spinning you to kiss you fully.

“I think that can be arranged,” he said against your mouth when he finally let you come up for air.

The pair of you eventually made it to dinner, where you proceeded to trade lascivious looks and teased each other relentlessly. The night ended (or began) with you in his bed, where neither of you slept until the early hours of the morning.

#sylus fic #sylus x you #sylus qin #sylus smut #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus #lads sylus #lads fic #lads x reader #lads smut #love and deepspace fic #l&ds

207 notes · View notes

whoreforsexymen · 1 day ago

Note

anything with jayce. I am a slut for jayce. this feels like a confessional.

Time Is A Thief | Jayce Talis

Pairings: Ruined!Jayce x Fem!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her, Female Anatomical Descriptions. Mainly written in 3rd person, no use of "you".

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI! I am NOT responsible for your media consumption.

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags: Minor angst, desperation, reuniting with a lost love, smut, penetrative sex, impatient sex, riding. (MINIMAL DIALOGUE)

Summary: Jayce has been lost to the inevitable future. Driven mad by solitude, when he finally returns home, he's set on tracking down and killing Viktor. Although, he has a personal mission to find the love he lost along the way.

Notes: EEEEEEEEEKKKk! This isn't the greatest smut I've ever written, but I couldn't tarnish the romanticism of the reunion. The smut isn't super good, but I did my best to match the rest of the vibe. Hope yall enjoy <3!! More to come soon!

also, side note, there is a CRITICAL LACK of Ruined!Jayce fics. Okay?! (In Thanos Voice: Fine. I'll do it myself.)

Light.

That was all.

A brilliance so fierce it consumed all thought, leaving nothing to the imagination.

He saw everything, yet nothing at all— no trace of form or substance, only the infinite expanse of void surrounding him.

No shadow, no contour, no shape. Just emptiness. An emptiness that somehow felt full.

A paradox of being— broken, yet whole; whole, yet hollow; dead, yet alive.

Nothing made sense. Only the pulse of the moment, the light’s unyielding blaze.

The pulse of time, space, and life itself thrummed through his soul, weaving their rhythm into the very essence of his being.

Until, without warning, the vast illumination crumbled, and the world, in all its painful clarity, returned.

The light had vanished, leaving him adrift in the emptiness, only to be reclaimed by the stark hues of ordinary life. Colors surged around him—muted greys, whispers of teal, and pale pinks flooding his vision. It was almost more than he could bear.

Amidst the radiance that pierced his very essence, he was lifted—suspended in a weightless embrace, held aloft by the luminous threads of the light that had so utterly captivated him.

But reality struck like a tempest, a sudden jolt searing through him. A sharp pang tore into his senses as he plummeted, his knee barely finding time to thrust forward, instinctively breaking his fall.

He collided with the cold metal floor, the impact swift and steadfast. His knee bore the brunt of the descent, while his staff—his once-revered hammer—absorbed the weight of his shifting reality, grounding him in the unforgiving present.

The weight of the world bore down upon him, relentless and unyielding, its merciless humility a torment that carved into his flesh, stripping meat from bone. It gnawed at the core of his being, unraveling even the grey matter of his mind, piece by excruciating piece.

He could not cry out, for to do so would be in vain—a hollow echo swallowed by the abyss, silenced before it could ever bloom into sound.

He felt fragile, yet a fire smoldered deep within, winding through the quiet valleys of life that endured, unfazed. He held fast to a personal code, a mission etched in the essence of all that is veiled and sacred, shaped by the silent will of esoteric truths, runes, and the like.

There were no gods, no masters to answer to. Only his own will, and his own duties to uphold.

He couldn’t afford to fail.

He wouldn’t fail.

Not when the weight of existence itself teetered on the fragile edge between destiny and the mark he left upon it, shaping the very course of life’s unfolding.

A mission of great magnitude. Yet a plague lingered within him.

A plague of thought—relentless and gnawing. Thoughts that haunted him throughout the endless stretches of time, as he wandered the desolate wastelands of mankind’s “evolution”. They had once been his salvation, a lifeline entwined with his thirst for reckoning, feeding his drive with a dark, bloodied purpose. Yet a purpose of passion—all the same.

A passion that had once burned with fierce strength. The strength he had once known now seemed but a feeble echo, a mere shadow of the deeper meaning he had since uncovered in every word, every breath, every fleeting moment.

Images of the past, which, candidly, were the present once more, often danced in his mind, tangled in the waves of anguish that blurred the boundaries of time—and the futility of man’s existence.

Images of a certain face.

The face of a woman he had once known. Once loved. Once yearned for.

A woman who may very well have faded from existence in the time he had been lost, cast adrift in realms where he had borne the hammer of atonement for his actions in this present-day "past life."

Gods, how long had he been gone?

He had atoned for his sins enough, pleading to return to the very moment he had been torn from—plucked away from the threads of life as though he were no more than a fruiting blossom on a tree, ripe for harvest.

If he had learned anything in his time cast away, it was that mages were as unpredictable as they were dangerous—venomous, cruel, and unafraid. All-knowing, they played with the fabric of time and space, indifferent to the chaos they wrought.

He was certain he had been atomized, deconstructed, and reconstructed within the timeline he once called his own. But how far into the present, past, or future he had been thrust into remained the looming unknown.

His mission—-to reap the soul of a man he once knew.

A man that had unlocked a potential known only to him—an unlimited power that defied understanding. The two of them may very well have transcended the boundaries of time, simultaneously outliving all those they had once known, leaving only echoes of ghosts behind.

That was a question that could not remain unanswered: who—-or what—-remained of the life he once knew? What remained in the space between all that was known, and what was yet to be discovered?

Despite the vengeful conquest that fueled every pulse of his lifeblood, he carried a personal objective—one that took precedence above all else, overshadowing every other need and duty.

He must find her.

With a body and soul that ached, cried, and surged with pain at the slightest movement, Jayce clutched his faithful hammer, the staff his only anchor in this fractured moment. He grasped it with a ferocity born of desperation, driven by an insatiable need to find the one who held his heart.

He dragged himself from the earth, his bones threatening to crumble beneath the weight of every strained muscle. In the depths of his agony, he found the strength to cry out—anguish, pain, and longing intertwining in a sound that tore through the stillness.

There was no time to waste. Time was as fleeting as the many fragile faces of morality he had been shown. He pressed on, choosing to ignore the pain that gnawed at his body, for the agony in his heart burned far fiercer, driving him forward with a greater urgency.

As he forced one foot in front of the other, a faint clarity began to seep through the fog of his pain. He recognized this place—what felt like a lifetime ago, perhaps it truly was.

It was the very place he had been banished from on that fateful day, the boundaries of reality itself stripped away, peeling from his existence like old paint from a forgotten wall.

The base of the Hexgate. Miles upon miles beneath the surface, deep within the heart of the underground. So close to The Fissures that the scent of The Grey seeped through, oozing like sludge, despite the sanctity of the Hextech walls.

Yes, he knew exactly where he was—and where he had to go. Where he needed to go.

After what seemed like hours of agony, though only mere minutes in the grand scope of reality, he emerged.

The raw sunlight of the outside world felt foreign, a pale imitation of the light he’d known within the anomaly that had consumed him. It didn’t faze him in the slightest. Yet, he clung to the shadows, weighed down by the urgency of his mission, unwilling to risk crossing paths with anyone but the council he sought.

He tried to summon her face in his mind, though it danced just beyond his reach, a fading wisp of memory. The delicate details slipped like grains of sand through his fingers, leaving behind only fragments, delicate shards of a once-vivid whole. Longing was a poor name for the ache that ate away at his very being.

It wasn’t just the endless minutes, hours, or even years spent alone, adrift in the quiet expanse of time. It was the storm within his mind, the weight of the universe’s secrets pressing upon him, unraveling his memories until her face—so familiar, so beloved—was little more than a whisper, lost to the void.

How could he ever forget her face?

His grip on the hammer tightened, the weight of it suspended in the air, but he refused to rely on it. His impatience burned, driving him forward without its support.

This was his final reckoning. To bear the strain of his body, the pain of his journey, as penance for allowing his mind to forsake the thought of her.

He trudged through the shadows, a silent specter unnoticed by the lurking eyes around him, his resolve unwavering as he pressed forward, determined to reach the only place where he could search for her presence.

Every so often, ripples of time—glitches in the fabric of his mind—tore through him, sending his thoughts into chaos. They were like jolts of electricity, moments when his current self clashed with the future he had lived, battling with the past in a present that no longer belonged to him. It was no wonder such disruptions occurred, for he was living a time that had already become the past, thrown back into the present, where time itself seemed to be an elusive spectacle.

Deeming the horrors he endured—atrocious—barely scratched the surface of what he had encountered in his time away. Physically, he had survived—scraping by in the darkness of caverns, feeding on small creatures that crossed his path, and lighting fires from their bones to keep the cold at bay. It was a hell no mortal could comprehend. Physically surviving, yet endlessly lost in the mental labyrinth of unanswered questions, shattered dreams, and sudden epiphanies.

Tampering with the very energy that shaped rock from stardust, and blood from matter—the vital core of life itself. He was beyond foolish to have once believed he could wield such power in the name of humankind’s technological progress. How naïve he had been, to think that a mere mortal could control forces unknown to their kind, and expect no consequence.

This was his consequence. To have forgotten the blissfully ignorant construct of time. To have forgotten what joyfulness truly was. To have forgotten love in its entirety—who to love, how to love, and who had once loved him.

To know nothing but pain. Nothing but sorrow. Nothing but the lingering ache of ignorance lost, the fleeting happiness once found in the mere desire to uncover the answers he now possessed. He sought answers, and answers were what he got. But within those answers lay a terror unlike any other—a terror born of witnessing what could have been, what did happen, and what will inevitably unfold from his actions.

Jayce felt the weight of this burden crashing down around him, tightening around his throat like an enraged serpent. Breathing itself had become as foreign as the sunlight. He choked out, unable to cry out in pain as another ripple in the fabric of time surged through him, seemingly splitting his head in two. He screamed, yet no sound escaped him once more.

He had no time for this. No time for anything. Time was both nonexistent and forever slipping away—a paradox in its purest form.

He pressed on, driven by an iron will to reach his destination before his earthly body could endure another ounce of pain or suffering. Minutes passed, though they felt more like hours—an eternity in the spaces between each breath.

He could feel the coiled serpent around his neck loosening as the sight of a still, all-too-familiar building came into view. Jayce was breathing heavily now—panting, gasping, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of exhaustion, a feeling he had come to know too well.

Jayce gripped his trusted hammer tightly, positioning the handle and aiming it at the solid door ahead. With a swift pull of the long metal release bar, the hum of his hextech beam sliced through the air, the door offering no resistance as it imploded.

Jayce pushed through without hesitation or abandon, stumbling through the opening he had created, breathing hard all the while. His gaze settled on the familiar surroundings. He remembered this place. Her home. His home. Their home.

He hurled his hammer aside, the hefty weapon crashing into a nearby coffee table. The sharp crack of the wood splintering beneath the weight of the metal rang through the space, a loud echo sure to stir anyone in the house—if the blast of the door hadn’t already.

Jayce didn’t pause. He doubled down, picking up speed as he raced through the lower level of the house, frantic, desperate to find her. Room to room he searched, the pain in his leg screaming in protest, but he didn’t stop.

Yet, she was nowhere to be found. Jayce cursed loudly, slamming his fist into a nearby wall, the house shaking under the force of his strike.

She wasn’t here. Where else could she be?

His anger grew as he moved, a hurricane of frustration until he reached the base of the staircase. Once more, his fist collided with the wall, a primal curse escaping his lips—anger, guilt, and confusion tumbling out in the heat of the moment.

"FUCK!" he shouted, pounding his fist repeatedly into the wall, leaving a substantial dent in its wake.

His rage was all-consuming, blinding, and relentless as he acknowledged the thick layers of dust that caked the railing of the staircase before him.

Has he really been gone that long?

He could feel the weight of his grief, the tears gathering in his eyes, threatening to fall, tracing the sharp curve of his cheekbones.

Yet another grim reality came crashing down upon him—the unbearable truth that he had, indeed, outlived the one radiant beacon of his desires, the singular flame that had given his life meaning. The knife of guilt plunged itself deeper into his chest as he realized he could no longer even summon her name, lost amid the swarm of revelations and horrors that had become his affliction.

But then, a faint sound—something delicate, breathy, and quiet—caught his attention.

Jayce had been the loudest force in the house, but his ears were tuned to the silence that followed him, alert to anything out of place.

A gasp. A small one. Almost imperceptible.

His head snapped up, his gaze sharp, seeking the source of the sound. His eyes scanned each step, weaving between the banisters of the staircase until they found the outline of a face—half of it, barely visible from behind the uppermost curve of the staircase. The spaces between the columns made it difficult to catch a clear view, but he could see just enough.

Jayce stood rooted to the spot, the air thick with disbelief. He couldn’t trust his eyes—not after all he’d endured, not after the nightmares that had taunted him for so long. But there she was, standing at the top of the staircase. Her outline blurred and shimmering, as if she were a mirage conjured from his aching, fragmented mind.

She didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her fingers gripped the banister, knuckles white, as if it was the only thing keeping her tethered to this moment. Her eyes locked on his, wide and unblinking, and the emotion within them struck him like a blow. Shock. Pain. Recognition. A mirror of his own soul laid bare.

Slowly, cautiously, she began to descend, each step hesitant as though the floor beneath her might give way.

Jayce couldn’t breathe. The sight of her stole whatever remnants of air remained in his lungs. He wanted to call out to her, to say her name, but the word escaped him, lost somewhere deep in the fractures of his memory. His hands trembled at his sides, and his knees threatened to buckle.

When she reached the bottom, she paused, so close he could feel the faint warmth of her presence. Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. Instead, her hand rose, trembling, hovering near his face. Her fingers grazed the roughness of his beard—unfamiliar, foreign to the Jayce she had once known. Her gaze searched his, desperate for something familiar beneath the layers of torment etched into his features. Her touch was a question, a plea, a prayer.

“Is it really you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling far worse than her hand.

Her words, her cadence, the very sound of the way she construed her syllables together stirred something deep within him.

It started faint, a flicker in the void of his memory. A flash of light in the darkness, a melody half-remembered. Her laughter, her smile, her voice—it came rushing back, filling the empty, aching spaces in his mind. He remembered the way her eyes sparkled when she teased him, the warmth of her hand in his, the softness of her lips when they whispered promises meant to last forever. He remembered late nights in their home, her humming a tune he could never place, and the way she fit perfectly against his side, as though they had been made for each other.

And then her name emerged, clear and resounding, breaking through the haze like sunlight piercing storm clouds. It struck him with staggering force, his breath hitching in his chest.

“____...” he whispered, her name trembling on his lips. It felt strange and familiar all at once, like a language he had known in another life. The syllables tasted of longing, regret, and an aching love that had never truly left him. Her name wasn’t just a word; it was an invocation, a tether to everything he had been and everything he had lost.

She gasped, her hand freezing on his face as the sound of her name from his lips shattered something inside her. Her tears fell faster, her face crumbling under the weight of his voice, the voice she had feared she might never hear again.

“It’s me,” she choked out, her voice breaking, thick with disbelief and raw emotion. “It’s me, baby. It’s me.”

Jayce said nothing more. He couldn’t. The dam within him had broken, and there was no holding back the flood of emotions that consumed him. He reached for her, his hands trembling as they gripped her shoulders, desperate to anchor himself to her presence. The sound of her name reverberated in his mind, in his heart, and in his very soul.

Like clockwork, instinct overcame him, and he pulled her into his arms. His hand slid up, fingers weaving into the familiar softness of her hair, cradling the back of her head as though afraid she might disappear if he let go. The other wrapped firmly around her waist, his trembling grip binding her to him, locking her in place against his chest as if he could shield her from every cruel force in the universe.

They stood there, unmoving, a living sculpture of sorrow and relief intertwined. Their shared sobs filled the air, broken and uneven, their abdomens convulsing in an imperfect rhythm, a pattern dictated by the sheer weight of their emotions.

Her arms shot up, wrapping tightly around his neck, clinging to him with a fierceness that rivaled the serpent from earlier. But this was no constriction of malice—this was desperation, a refusal to let go, an embrace steeped in the agony of their time apart and the fragile hope of this reunion.

She buried her face into the curve of his shoulder, her tears soaking into the rough fabric of his battered coat. Jayce pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the faint trace of a scent he thought he’d never experience again. It was real—she was real. And so was he. Together, they formed an unyielding testament to survival, to love found again in the wreckage of time and pain.

The world around them faded into silence, the echoes of shattered furniture and crumbling walls irrelevant. There was nothing else—just the two of them, locked in a moment that transcended everything else.

In that embrace, time ceased to exist. There was no past, no future, only the moment—the aching, beautiful reunion of two souls who had endured the unendurable, and somehow found their way back to each other.

For the first time in what didn’t merely feel like an eternity—but what, for him, truly was an eternity—Jayce allowed himself to breathe. The unrelenting grip of despair that had clung to him for so long loosened its hold, and he surrendered to the fragile, radiant possibility of solace.

He melted into her touch, the warmth of her embrace dissolving the armor of anguish he had worn for so long. The waves of hope, love, and longing coursed through him like a rising tide, washing over his battered soul, cleansing him of every hardship and sin that had clung to him.

Each tear that fell from his eyes felt like a release, a quiet surrender to the overwhelming truth that she was here, alive, and within his grasp. For the first time in a recent lifetime of torment, Jayce felt the faint glimmer of what it meant to be whole again. In her arms, he rediscovered the segments of himself he thought had been lost forever. He pulled his face from the crook of her neck, craning up ever so slightly to meet her gaze from the step above him.

In the raw, aching silence of the eye contact, he kissed her.

It was not a kiss of restraint, not the gentle touch of lovers reunited after a brief absence. No, this was a kiss of desperate need, of a hunger so deep it could never be satisfied with mere words. His lips crashed against hers with an intensity borne of years of pain, the searing heat of their touch shattering any trace of distance that had ever existed between them. The world spun around them, time itself seemed to hesitate, unsure if it dared to move forward while these two souls collided, intertwining in a dance they had been separated from for far too long.

His hands cradled her face, as if he could memorize every curve, every contour of her like the final piece of a shattered puzzle. His thumb traced the delicate line of her jaw, brushing away tears that mingled with his own, but the salt of them only added to the kiss. Her hands clung to his shoulders, pulling him in, urging him closer, as if she, too, feared he might disappear into the ether if she didn't hold him tight enough.

Her lips were as soft as he remembered, and yet, they were so much more now. They spoke a language only the broken could understand—tender, yearning, seeking. His own lips moved over hers with an urgency that spoke of things unspoken, of years lost and never returned, of the agony of not knowing if the person before him had ever truly existed outside of memory. But here she was, warm in his arms, and the kiss deepened, no longer a question but an answer—a promise, a return to everything they had lost, and everything they could still become.

His hands roamed over her back, as if trying to remember every inch of her, as if the very touch of her skin reminded him more of everything he had witnessed than the sheer fact that it was something he had only just been through. It reminded him of everything he had suffered—just to be here, in this moment. He kissed her with the weight of all that and more, as if their love had never left him, even in the darkest hours. He kissed her like she was the last obstacle in the way of sanity in a world that had spun too far out of control. And when they finally pulled apart, breathless and trembling, the air between them was thick with the unspoken realization that the past—no matter how broken—was never truly lost.

And for the first time in forever, Jayce allowed himself to believe in miracles.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, his voice raw and shaky against her lips, his fingers tightening in her hair, though never enough to hurt.

“I thought you’d never come back,” she replied, her voice trembling with an aching yearning. She pulled her arms from around his neck, her hands grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him even closer, as if their bodies could merge into one.

Jayce huffed against her lips, their breaths tangled together, hearts racing. Their lips met again, moving together with an urgency, a desperate rhythm of grinding, sliding—like they were both trying to consume the other, as if time itself could be stolen through every kiss.

There were no more words to be spoken, no explanations needed at this time. Everything that needed to be said would happen outside of this moment, beyond the confines of the here and now. In this space, within the familiar walls of their home, the only thing left to do was to cherish, savor, and surrender to the love that had been lost and now found.

They moved as if guided by an unspoken understanding, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his hands rose to cradle the curve of her body. His fingers traced the soft, bare skin of her thighs, caressing gently before gripping her firmly, as if to reassure himself she was truly there.

With a quiet, unrelenting need, he pressed her back into the wall—the same one he had pummeled with his fist mere moments ago. The contrast of his previous rage and the tender, consuming embrace was stark, as the heat between them grew, their bodies aligning in need.

Neither of them had the patience for anything more than the raw, burning need to be together again. Clothes were discarded in hurried motions, a belt undone with an urgency that mirrored the storm raging between them.

As if their bodies had always been the missing pieces of a puzzle, they came together without thought, fitting perfectly in a way only years of passion and love could understand. It was a reunion, not just of flesh, but of something deeper—an unspoken connection that had always waited beneath the surface, now finally able to breach it.

Jayce groaned out, sinking his cock down to the hilt inside her. His belt hung loosely, the buckle clinking faintly, like a soft chime in the quiet chaos of their reunion. His hips shifted with a subtle sway, his body still aching, but driven by the shared overwhelming need.

One hand braced against the wall, fingers tracing the jagged divot he had created earlier, finding an oddly fitting purchase there. The other hand cupped the side of her face, pulling her closer, his lips leaving a trail of fiery kisses across her cheek, down the curve of her neck, and grazing the exposed sliver of skin on her collarbone just beneath the neckline of her shirt. Every touch was a silent gospel, a desperate reaffirmation that she was truly there.

He grunted, huffing out as his cock twitched amongst the walls of her cunt, her slick coating every shred of skin he buried between them.

She cried out, the tears of her passion and devastation still streaming down her face as she moaned against his shoulder, hands still gripping for dear life at his shirt.

Jayce couldn’t do anything but move—move against her, move within her, as if each shift and press was an unspoken promise. He needed her to feel the weight of everything that had passed between them, the years apart, the torment, the longing. His body spoke in the language of devotion, an unyielding motion that expressed what words could not. He wanted her to feel everything—the regret, the pain, the aching desire to make her understand that he had never meant to leave her. Every movement was a plea for redemption, an effort to show her that his absence had never been by choice, and that now, with her in his arms, he would never leave again.

Not until every moment with her had been relived in full, paid in full—a debt he had accumulated, whether or not it had ever been his intention.

Furthermore, not until the day he was laid to rest.

With the very weight of his intended unspoken purpose, he did as he needed. He began moving against her, driving his cock further into her before pulling his hips back with great resistance. Oh, how he had dreamed of staying there, deep within her, until their bodies became one. A dream he could fulfill one day, but not this day. No.

He had to do what he must. The new mission that called to him. Repentance for his guilt.

He bore down, removing the hand from her face, exchanging a greeting with her hip as he used both it and the anchor on the wall to aid the snapping of his hips into hers. Her legs coiled ever stronger around his waist as he moved, hazy spots clouding her vision as he drove the head of his cock deep into a spot she knew he remembered just where to find.

He continued, the duet of their sounds merging into a symphony that reverberated through the hollow structure of the house.

He knew he couldn’t stop, couldn't dare break his stride, but the weight of his earthly injury proved too great a challenge. His knee, the very one that had borne the brunt of the fall into the caverns that had held him captive for so long, began to give way.

A hiss escaped him as his knee buckled, sending him crashing into the wall, taking her down with him. He fumbled in frustration, angry that this obstacle had to arise now. She cupped his face gently, pulling him out of the haze of passion for a moment. Her eyes were full of forgiveness, understanding, and love.

With a soft kiss—chaste yet filled with tenderness—she slowly pushed him away. Breathless, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with his, she guided him gently toward the staircase. She eased him down to the step she had just occupied, his rear meeting the step with an awkward thud as he struggled to use his knee. She almost laughed at the flustered look on his face.

There he sat, cock out, needy as ever, glistening with the physical proof of her desires, gazing up at her like a man who had been lost in a storm for years—and in her presence, found the calm, the shelter, the promise of everything he had ever longed for.

She was never able, in all the years spent with him, to deny the way he looked at her—with nothing more than pure adoration, as if his gaze alone could encompass the depth of every sweltering emotion he had ever felt, each one overflowing like a tide too vast to hold back.

It sent lightning bolting through her veins as she lifted the hem of her dress by the waistline, clearing it from her shins as she moved them on either side of his thighs. In a quick movement, she descended into his lap, sinking back down onto his cock like a glass slipper to a foot–the kind you read about in fairytales.

Jayce’s eyes refused to close, despite the overwhelming pleasure that urged them to surrender. He couldn’t bear to look away—not when he had once forgotten her face, a face he could never fathom losing from his memory again. He would spend an eternity gazing at it, tracing every curve, every expression, if it meant he’d never risk forgetting again.

She cooed softly, a hum deep in her chest as she stilled atop him. Without warning, she braced herself with her hands on his shoulders and began to move. Her knees ground harshly against the wooden step beneath them, the sting sharp but dismissed as something fleeting, unworthy of attention in this sacred moment.

Jayce’s hands found their way to her hips, guiding and assisting her as she moved, his good knee pressing up into her, adding to the rhythm as she rolled her hips down into his lap.

He stared up at her, almost in awe, desperate to say something—anything—that might amplify the intensity of the moment. She could see the storm of thoughts behind his eyes, and with a gentle shake of her head, she silenced him, her gesture a tender "not now."

Jayce nodded, his mouth sealing shut once more as he pulled her down, their lips reconnecting in a fierce kiss. Their tongues danced together, reacquainting themselves, as the tension they both craved began to stir deep within them, rising like a wave that would soon crash.

She could tell by the way his breath quickened, and the way he gripped at her hips—attempting to pull her harder and faster against him, that he was close.

She could feel her own impending orgasm approaching faster than she cared to admit. After several more seconds, she came undone, the walls of her cunt spasming and twitching against his cock as they tightened around him.

Jayce groaned out with the unholiest of moans as he could no longer stifle his own orgasm. He came hard, slamming her hips into his lap one final time as the streams and strokes of his cum lathered her internal walls.

And just like that, as if the very fabric of time were being stitched back together, the rift felt whole again. The weight of everything that had been forced upon him, every choice he had made, and the heavy burden of his mission’s fate, all dissipated into nothingness. In that fleeting moment, the past and future aligned, and the crushing pressure of it all faded into serenity.

The two people, united by more than sweat and tears, felt a deep harmony between them, as if everything in the world had realigned. In that moment, it was as though the universe itself had whispered that all was right. Together, they could face the trials of the new day, conquer every obstacle that came their way, and overcome every hardship as one.

With the shifting weight of time that had passed, and the uncertain future that lay ahead—yet one that felt equally decided—there remained an essence of calm, unburdened by fear. In that moment, both past and future were held in a quiet certainty, as if all things had already been set in motion, and nothing could sway them from their course.

There was no challenge too great, no burden too heavy, for they were stronger together than they could ever be apart.

#arcane smut #arcane #arcane x reader #jayce x reader #arcane x reader smut #arcane imagine #jayce talis x reader #jayce talis #jayce x reader smut #jayce x reader imagine #jayce x reader smut imagine #jayce x reader smut fic #ruined!jayce #ruined!jayce x reader #ruined!jayce x reader smut

181 notes · View notes

societyfolklore · 2 days ago

Text

When All Is Said and Done

Title: When All Is Said and Done (Was I Not Good Enough?) Pairing: PostEndgame!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: After Steve leaves to live his life with Peggy, Bucky is left behind, struggling with feelings of abandonment and unworthiness. Haunted by the thought that if Steve could leave him, maybe he was never truly worth saving, Bucky spirals into self-doubt. You try to be an anchor in the storm.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: // Explicit Content // Mature Themes.18+, Minors DNI, Angst, Slight Dub-Con, Unprotected sex (Wrap it!) NO Beta Read

A/N: Enty for @princessmisery666Daily Mixes Challenge BAD OMENS - Said & Done

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the city lights streaming through the half-drawn curtains. Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, his metal hand resting heavily on his knee, its cold surface a stark contrast to the heat of his turmoil. The letter Steve had left lay crumpled on the nightstand, its edges frayed from Bucky’s restless grip. He had read it so many times that he could recite the words from memory, yet they still cut like a dagger.

‘I had to do this for me,’ the phrase echoed in his mind, over and over, a haunting refrain. What did Steve mean by that? Every time Bucky tried to dissect the words, they only seemed to fracture further. At first, they felt like abandonment, a betrayal of their years together. Then they felt selfish-a stark declaration that Bucky’s struggle didn’t matter. And now, now they had twisted into something darker: confirmation that Bucky wasn’t worth staying for.

He stared at his reflection in the window, the faint outline of his face distorted against the city’s glow. Was this what Steve saw when he looked at him? A broken shell of the man he used to be? The thought clawed at his chest, tightening his breath. Maybe Steve had been waiting for an excuse to leave. Maybe saving Bucky had always been more of a burden than he let on.

Sam had tried to check in, his voice gentle but persistent. “Buck, we need you here. Let me help,” he’d said one afternoon, standing in the doorway to Bucky’s apartment. But the words only grated on Bucky’s fraying nerves.

“You can’t help,” Bucky had snapped, his voice colder than he intended. “You’re not the one he left behind.”

The sting of those words lingered in Sam’s eyes, but he didn’t push back. Instead, he gave a single nod and walked away, leaving Bucky to the heavy silence that had become his constant companion.

It wasn’t long before Bucky stopped answering the door entirely. The knocks came less frequently, each unanswered visit another nail in the coffin of his isolation. Soon, they stopped altogether, leaving him in a vacuum of his own making.

He spent most days like this-sitting in the dim light, staring at nothing in particular. The city outside buzzed with life, a stark contrast to the stillness inside his room. The only movement came from the faint trembling of his hands, the metal one glinting faintly in the light. Sometimes he would reach for the letter, his fingers brushing its edges, as if hoping the words would change. But they never did.

The nights were worse. The darkness brought memories he couldn’t escape: the weight of Steve’s shield in his hand, the sound of his voice promising they’d figure it out together. Those promises now felt like empty echoes, haunting him with what could never be again. Sleep was rare and fleeting, filled with dreams that blurred into nightmares, where Steve’s back was always turned, walking away without looking back.

You had noticed the signs. Bucky’s withdrawn behaviour wasn’t just an avoidance of others; it was a deliberate effort to disappear. He rarely answered his phone, and when he did, his responses were clipped and evasive. Days turned into weeks without a word from him, and your worry grew until it became unbearable.

The aftermath of Thanos had already taken a toll of a lot of you. It felt like your little 'found family' had scattered to the wind. It hurt. Hurt that Bucky was retreating and you'd wanted to give him space, but.. you were worried. You missed him. Standing at his door for what felt like the hundredth time you hesitated before knocking. When there was no answer, you knocked again, louder this time. “Bucky?” you called softly. Silence greeted you, but it didn’t deter you. You tried the handle and found it unlocked.

The sight inside was worse than you had feared. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tightly shut. Bucky sat hunched over on the edge of the couch, his metal hand gripping the edge of the coffee table with enough force to leave faint indents in the wood. He didn’t look up as you stepped inside, his head bowed as though the weight of his thoughts had become too heavy to bear.

“Bucky,” you said gently, your voice breaking the stillness. “You weren't answering your phone, I got worried about you.”

He let out a low, humourless laugh, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes were shadowed, tired, but there was a flicker of something else there-guilt. “You shouldn’t waste your time worrying about me Doll. I’m not worth it.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you refused to let them push you away. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “I care about you, Bucky. And shutting yourself off from the world isn’t going to help.”

For a moment, he looked as though he might argue, but the fight seemed to drain out of him. He leaned back against the couch, exhaling shakily. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Fix what?” you replied, sitting down beside him, your voice softer now, coaxing him to open up.

He didn’t respond immediately. His gaze dropped to his hands, the metal one clenching and unclenching slightly, as though he were trying to find the right words. The silence stretched between you, filled with the faint hum of the city outside and the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall.

Finally, he let out a shaky breath. “Everything,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Why do you come?” he snapped, his words laced with anger and desperation. “I’m not your problem to fix.”

The force of his tone startled you, but you didn’t flinch.

“I don't want to keep loosing people. I’m here because I care.”

He let out a bitter laugh, getting up shaking his head as he paced the small space. “Care? About what? About some broken soldier who can’t even hold onto the one person who mattered?” His voice cracked, the bitterness giving way to something raw and vulnerable.

“Bucky,” you said softly, of course this was about Steve.. “Steve didn’t leave because of you. He made a choice for himself. It doesn’t mean you weren’t enough.”

He turned away, his hands clenching at his sides. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Steve couldn't stand the idea of what I am now. He was wrong about me…You're all wrong about me.” His words trailed off, but the implication was clear. He couldn’t bring himself to believe he was worthy of anything-not forgiveness, not friendship, not love.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him standing there, shoulders hunched as though he was carrying the weight of the world. You took a cautious step forward, your voice steady but filled with conviction. “Steve wasn’t wrong, Bucky. He believed in you, and so do I. You are worth fighting for. You always have been.”

"Then why isn't he still here?"

He finally looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears that he refused to let fall. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of saying something, but instead, he slumped into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands. His breaths were uneven, his shoulders trembling under the weight of his emotions.

You moved closer, kneeling in front of him trying to get him to look at you. “It’s okay to feel this way,” you said gently. “It’s okay to be angry, to hurt, to grieve. But don’t let it convince you that you’re not worth saving. Because you are.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn’t empty. Before you could think of what to say next, Bucky suddenly moved. His metal hand shot out, gripping your face with surprising gentleness given the desperation in his movements. His other hand followed, cradling your jaw as though you might disappear if he didn’t hold on. His lips crashed onto yours, hard and unrelenting. It wasn’t a kiss of romance but one of raw pain, a silent scream in the form of a desperate connection. His face was wet, and it took you a moment to realize it was from his tears, tears you hadn’t even known he’d been shedding. They mixed with the salty taste of his lips, painting a picture of the storm raging inside him.

The kiss broke as abruptly as it began, and Bucky pulled back just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. His tears continued to fall, unchecked and raw, as he whispered, "I don't know how to be okay. I don't even know where to start."

Your hands found their way to his wrists, holding onto him as if to ground him. "Shh it.." you murmured, your voice unsteady even as your heart pounded in your chest. "I'm drowning can I don't know how-" He was kissing you again, this mad scramble for something. Anything to hold onto.

The kiss was harder this time, with a desperation that bordered on breaking. His grip on your face tightened-not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he was holding onto you like you were his only tether to the world. His tears didn’t stop, and neither did the trembling in his hands. This wasn’t a kiss of comfort; it was still this raw and unfiltered act, a cry for salvation in the form of closeness.

His lips moved against yours like they were begging, pleading for something he couldn’t put into words. His breath hitched between kisses, the sound catching in his throat like he was choking on his own anguish. He pressed you closer, his metal hand slipping around your back, holding you as if letting go would shatter him completely.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered between the frantic press of his lips against yours, his voice cracking. “Tired of feeling this way. Tired of carrying it all.”

“Bucky…” you breathed, your own voice trembling as you tried to keep up with his frantic pace, your hands moving to his shoulders in an attempt to ground him. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here.”

“Don’t leave me,” he murmured, his forehead dropping to yours as his words spilled out like a confession. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t- I can’t do this alone.”

Your heart broke at the sheer vulnerability in his voice, at the way he clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him afloat. His lips brushed yours again, softer this time but no less desperate, as though he was afraid you’d disappear the moment he let go.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, cupping his face as your thumbs brushed away his tears. “I’m here, Buck. Promise.”

His breath hitched again, his entire body shaking as his forehead pressed harder against yours. “I don’t know how to stop it,” he admitted, his voice a broken whisper. “It’s like… like I cant breath anymore...” his voice cracking as his hands slipped to your waist, clutching you tightly pulling you into his chest between his legs “I don’t know how to stop feeling like this… like I’m suffocating.”

“Bucky, you’re not alone,” you whispered, your hands moving to cradle his face again, desperate to reassure him. “I’m right here.”

But it wasn’t enough-not for him. He shook his head, his eyes wild and glistening with fresh tears. “I need… I need to feel something. Anything that isn’t this.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, harder and more insistent, his desperation spilling into every frantic movement He was out of the chair, you on your back beneath him. The hard surface bit into you. His metal hand braced against the floor beside your head, while his flesh hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as though trying to memorize the feel of you. His kisses were messy, frantic, his breath uneven as he broke away only to return seconds later, pressing his lips to yours as if afraid the connection would slip through his fingers.

“Just… please,” he murmured against your lips, his voice breaking again. “Just let me feel something. Let me forget for a little while.”

“Bucky…” you breathed, your hands finding his chest pushing back a little was his weight got heavy. “You don’t have to do this. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I need this,” he said, his voice raw, trembling with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “I need you. Just for a little while. Please.”

His words shattered something inside you, the raw vulnerability and desperation in his tone cutting through any hesitation you might have had. Your hands moved to his hair, threading through the strands as you pulled him closer, your lips meeting his with equal intensity. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he shook with barely contained emotion, and you poured every ounce of reassurance you could into the kiss.

“It’s ok,” you whispered against his lips, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you, this wasn’t what you imagined. “I’m here, Bucky-.” He lips cut your off again. His lips captured yours with a bruising force, silencing whatever reassurance you’d been about to offer. The desperation in his kiss deepened, raw and almost frantic, his hand moved from your face.

As his lips continued to devour yours, his hands moved with a desperation that matched the intensity of his kisses. You felt his fingers brush against your waist, and then his hands were on your pants, tugging them down with a force that made the fabric tear. The sound of ripping cloth was lost in the chaos of his kisses, and before you could even process what was happening, his belt was undone, the metallic clink of the buckle hitting the floor a distant echo in your mind. You wanted to tell him to slow down it didn’t need to be like this. But his mouth didn’t relent.

Bucky’s mouth never left yours, his tongue tangling with yours in a heated, frantic dance as his body pressed against yours, the weight of him pinning you firmly to the hard surface. He was driven by a force that was more emotional than physical, and you didn’t have time to think as his body shifted fully on top of you. His hips surged forward, the powerful motion stealing the breath from your lungs, and you let him sink into you completely, your body arching to meet his.

A strangled noise escaped you, muffled against his mouth, as Bucky took what he needed with an unrestrained urgency. The sensation was overwhelming, his body filling yours with a force that left your head spinning. His lips broke away from yours only to crash back again, every kiss bruising and desperate. The air around you seemed to thrum with the intensity of his emotions, his ragged breath punctuated by guttural grunts and growls that sent shivers racing down your spine.

“Ugh-” The sound escaped him, a deep, almost feral noise as he buried himself deeper into you. His forehead pressed to yours briefly before his lips found your neck, teeth grazing your skin as a low growl rumbled from his chest. “I need… I need this,” he ground out, his voice rough and shaking with barely contained emotion.

You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair and your nails digging into his scalp as if to keep yourself tethered to reality. But he didn’t let up, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that bordered on chaos. Each movement was accompanied by another guttural noise from him, a deep, broken sound that spoke of both pain and longing.

“Bucky,” you gasped, your voice catching in your throat as his body invading into yours, the weight of his need pressing down on you like a tidal wave. His growls turned into sharp, strained groans, his face buried in the crook of your neck as his body moved against yours in a desperate, almost primal rhythm.

The sounds coming from him were almost animalistic-each grunt and growl carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t say. It was as if he was pouring every ounce of his anguish, his need, and his desire into this moment, and you couldn’t help but be swept away by it. You felt like you were being consumed by him, his emotions and his body becoming one overwhelming force that threatened to break you apart and hold you together all at once.

A deep, broken groan tore from his throat as he thrust harder, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. “God,” he growled, his voice cracking as his movements grew more frantic. “I can’t- I need-”

His head snapped up, his eyes wild and glassy as he looked at you. His lips parted, but the only sound that came was another deep, guttural noise as he kissed you again with bruising force. The desperation in his movements was mirrored by the growls that rumbled from deep within him, a constant, broken sound that sent heat pooling in your core as you felt yourself clench and squeeze around him. The force of the kiss sent a shockwave through you, your body arching instinctively to meet his. Your hips moving back meeting each hard and aching thrust from him. The endless kiss stole your breath as his need to pull you into the depths of his despair and keep you there with him. And you let him, because beneath the desperation, you could feel the unspoken plea: Don’t leave me. Don’t let me drown.

You felt the tears he hadn’t yet shed in the way his body pressed against yours, the tremor in his hands as they roamed your sides, seeking more of you. His desperation was mirrored in the rhythm of his movements, frantic and erratic, like a man trying to escape a burning building with no clear exit. Every painful thrust, every growl, every trembling breath spoke of a pain so deep it clawed at your chest, forcing you to hold onto him tighter, to reassure him with every ounce of yourself that you were here-that you weren’t going anywhere.

And yet, as much as he needed you, you felt something within yourself stir-something just as raw, just as desperate. It wasn’t just his hands gripping you or the way his mouth claimed yours like a lifeline; it was the realization that his need mirrored your own. You’d felt adrift too, lost in the aftermath of everything you’d all been through. And here, in his arms, in his chaos, you found a sense of purpose, of connection, that you hadn’t realized you were missing, you were tired of being alone..

“Bu-ck.” Your grip on him tightened as you felt the coil inside tighten and build.

His response wasn’t words, but the way he pressed his forehead against yours, his breaths ragged and shallow as his hips moved in a frantic rhythm against you. The weight of him, the heat of his body, the tension coiled in every muscle-it was overwhelming. Your own body trembled beneath him, not just from the intensity of the moment but from the sheer force of his need crashing into you. Shaking under him as it threaten to ruin you, your muscles coiled tight as you felt the end come rushing up to take you. You were lost in the storm, his strained grunting and the sound of him. Your body reached its breaking point. Your muscles clenched, your back arching off the surface beneath you as a shuddering cry tore from your throat. Your climax hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you breathless and gasping for air. “Nnmgh auh!”

Your body convulsed beneath him, your hips jerking upward to meet his as your inner muscles contracted in a series of sharp, intense spasms. The sound that escaped your lips was raw and primal, a keening wail that was lost in the cacophony of his own ragged breathing and strained grunting. His hips surged forward one final time, his body locking into yours as he let out a raw, anguished cry. You felt his warmth spill into you, his body trembling with the force of his release.

As the waves of pleasure receded, you felt his body collapse onto yours, his weight crushing you into the surface beneath. You didn't care - you were too busy trying to catch your breath, your heart still racing from the intensity of the moment.

His forehead was still pressed against yours, his breaths ragged and shallow. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his release.

For a long moment, you just lay there, your bodies entwined as you struggled to process the intensity of what had just happened

As the silence between you grew, you felt his body begin to relax, his muscles uncoiling as he let out a deep, shuddering breath. You felt your own body relax in response, your heart rate slowing as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. Bucky didn’t move for a long while, his body heavy against yours as his head rested against your shoulder. His breaths came slower now, though they still trembled with the remnants of his earlier desperation. You ran your fingers through his hair, the strands damp with sweat, offering him the quiet comfort he so desperately needed.

The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, mingling together in a steady rhythm. The weight of what had just happened hung in the air, but neither of you spoke, too afraid that words might shatter the fragile peace settling over you.

Finally, Bucky shifted, just slightly, enough to lift his head and meet your gaze. His blue eyes were glassy, filled with an emotion so raw it made your chest ache. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and barely audible. “I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t,” you interrupted gently, your hand moving to cradle his face. Your thumb brushed over his cheek, wiping away the tear tracks that still lingered. “Don’t apologise, Bucky.”

He closed his eyes tightly, his jaw clenching as if he were trying to hold himself together. “I’m a mess,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” you said softly, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along the side of his face. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. None of us do, we’re all trying to..” Move on, build back? “You aren’t alone.”

He opened his eyes again, searching your face as if trying to find some reassurance in your words. “Why?” he asked, the question filled with a vulnerability that cut straight to your heart. “Why would you want to stay with someone like me?”

“We’re in this together,” you said simply, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I see all of you, Bucky-the good, the bad, the broken. And I still want to be here.” You swallowed hard, it was time to just say it “I still want you.”

A shudder ran through his body, and he dipped his head, pressing his forehead against yours again. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the stillness of the room.

A faint smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the moment. “But I’m stubborn, and I’m not going anywhere.”

A breathy laugh escaped him, shaky and uncertain, but it was the first spark of light you’d seen in him all night. He leaned into your touch, his body relaxing just a fraction more as his arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

The minutes ticked by, but neither of you moved to break the embrace. You could feel his heartbeat slowing, matching the rhythm of your own, as the tension in his body finally began to ease. You pressed a soft kiss to his temple, your lips lingering there for a moment before pulling back just enough to look at him.

“We’ll figure this out,” you said, your voice filled with quiet determination. “One step at a time. You’re not alone, Bucky. Not anymore.”

For the first time, he didn’t argue, didn’t try to push you away. Instead, he nodded, the smallest of movements, but it spoke volumes. His lips brushed against your forehead in a gesture so gentle it made your chest tighten.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

You held him tighter, the warmth of his body grounding you as much as you were grounding him. In that moment, the world outside didn’t matter-there was only the two of you, tangled together in a quiet, fragile connection but it was something to hold onto.

150 notes · View notes

feathers-fins-and-fangs · 2 days ago

Text

🌲 - what is your fictotype?

I am Mercutio :D

🪲 - do you miss your home? Or maybe you're happy that you're here?

I do miss Verona somewhat, though I don't exactly really wish to be back. I miss the people more than the place.

🐸 - do you have any sourcemates? If yes, who/what are they?

Unfortunately, no 😭

🌳 - in scale 1-10, how are you similar to your canon?

I say around a 9. I'm pretty much identical to canon except for some minor details.

🌿 - does your fictotype have a different sex/gender identity than your body/you?

Yes, I was a man. Although I sometimes use he/him pronouns now, I don't identify as male and don't present masculinely.

☘️ - what aspect of life does your identity affect the most?

Hmmmm that's hard to answer. I don't know if it counts but it definitely affects me as a person the most. Like, my gender, my sexual orientation, my beliefs, morals, etc.

🪴 - is your fictionkin experience unpleasant or enjoyable for you?

It's generally enjoyable, but there are times it can be unpleasant.

🍃 - what reminds you of your fictotype? (E.g.: a figurine, a doll, a tv series)

The colour purple, as that was my colour motif in source, as well as watching the musical I'm from.

🌄 - on what level is your identity? (E.g. spiritual, psychological, psychical)

I would say spiritual, but I think it's also partially psychological. I can't give much details though, as this is very vague for both my fictotypes.

🐢 - do you experience shifts? Of yes, how do they look like?

Sometimes, but they aren't common. Mainly mental, and sometimes I don't realise I shifted until afterwards and there's probably times I've shifted and I still don't know if it was really a shift or if I'm just trying to convince myself it was a shift. I also get phantom shifts, but they're rarer. I sometimes feel like I have my original hairstyle, and sometimes I feel like there is a hole in me where I was fatally injured (not like any pain or anything. Just a hole). The latter is significantly more upsetting, but luckily it's only happened twice.

🥝 - what is your source?

Roméo et Juliette, les enfants de Vérone

🐛 - how do you feel about fanarts of you and fanfictions?

Unfortunately most of them are shipart of me and Tybalt. And sometimes I come across fanart of me post-death, which is disturbing. I do enjoy other fanart of me, however.

🌵 - do you look exactly like in your source or do you look different? If you do, then what is different?

I look pretty much identical to me in the 2010 revival cast. I'm played by the same actor in the 2015 cast, however it's a different hairstyle and it just feels less 'me'. I guess it's because my source is very specifically the 2010 revival and nothing after that.

🥀 - what do you think about ships with you?

I can tolerate most ships, but the ship of me and Tybalt makes me uncomfortable. Like. He killed me. And we hated eachother for pretty much our entire lives. Just. Why.

🦕 - do you have/had a loved one in your source?

Yes! Benvolio my beloved ^^ ! And Romeo was such a wonderful friend (though I admit him whining about his love life 24/7 did get annoying). In the original play, I have a brother called Valentine, but he doesn't appear in my source and he doesn't exist at all in my canon. I don't really remember anything relating to my parents either, they're kind of a mystery that I haven't tried finding memories of. Especially since I don't have much memories in general, I just have information that feels right. I think I was pretty close to my uncle Prince Escalus when I was younger, though that kind of faded when I got older.

Alex's fictionkin ask game!

(mostly for fictional characters)

🌲 - what is your fictotype?

🪲 - do you miss your home? Or maybe you're happy that you're here?

🐸 - do you have any sourcemates? If yes, who/what are they?

🌳 - in scale 1-10, how are you similar to your canon?

🌿 - does your fictotype have a different sex/gender identity than your body/you?

☘️ - what aspect of life does your identity affect the most?

🪴 - is your fictionkin experience unpleasant or enjoyable for you?

🍃 - what reminds you of your fictotype? (E.g.: a figurine, a doll, a tv series)

🌄 - on what level is your identity? (E.g. spiritual, psychological, psychical)

🐢 - do you experience shifts? Of yes, how do they look like?

🥝 - what is your source?

🐛 - how do you feel about fanarts of you and fanfictions?

🌵 - do you look exactly like in your source or do you look different? If you do, then what is different?

🥀 - what do you think about ships with you?

🦕 - do you have/had a loved one in your source?

♪♪♪

So, yeah, that's all! :D

Reblog this, so the others can ask you questions or answer them all right now, if you want to :>

#💜✨#mercutio fictionkin #fictionkin #alterhuman #ask game #mercutio kin #shakespeare kin #romeo and juliet kin #romeo et juliette kin #retj kin

224 notes · View notes

sergeantbarnessdoll · 10 hours ago

Note

Bucky realizes just how dirty minded reader is after playing Cards Against Humanity with their friends, and realizes how to use it his advantage.

Dirty Mind » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky finds out how much of a dirty mind you have during game night with your friends and uses it to his advantage.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, vibranium arm kink, praise kink, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵 also, I’ve never played Cards of Humanity so this is based off of what I Googled and looked up on Pinterest

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

You managed to convince Bucky to go to game night at your friend’s house tonight. Actually, you promised him that you would buy him plums if he would go with you. In other words, you bribed a Super Soldier with plums.

Anyway, now here you two are. You guys are in the middle of playing of Cards Against Humanity. Bucky isn’t playing, because he doesn’t understand the game so he’s just watching. He’s also looking at your cards, which are pretty graphic to him, but he’s not complaining.

Bucky watched you put a card down after your friends did. He leaned forward to read it. His eyes went wide when he read it. That’s when he realized how dirty minded you are. He leaned back against the couch and smirked to himself, thinking of how he can use your dirty mind to his advantage.

You decided to stay the night at Bucky’s apartment after leaving your friend’s house. As soon as you closed the door, Bucky pinned you against it, catching you by surprise.

“Who knew that you had such a dirty mind, doll.” Bucky says in almost a whisper.

You bit your bottom lip and giggled, looking up at him.

“I thought I was making it pretty damn obvious all along, Bucky.” You say seductively, rubbing your hands against his strong chest.

“I’m sure you were, doll face. I just didn’t realize it until now what a dirty fucking girl you are.” He says lowly.

Bucky’s eyes flickered down to your cleavage, getting a clear view of it in the shirt you’re wearing. He bit his bottom lip when he got an idea. He nudged his leg in between yours to move them apart. You gasped when you felt his thigh touch your panty covered pussy. “Good thing I wore a skirt today.” You thought to yourself.

“Are you going to be a good girl and take everything I give you, babydoll?” He asks.

“Yes, Bucky.” You answered submissively.

“Good girl.” He praises.

Bucky’s vibranium hand disappears underneath your skirt, finding its way to your wet panties. His vibranium fingers rubbed your clit through your panties before moving them to the side. A shiver went through your body when you felt the cool feeling of his vibranium fingers touching your pussy. His fingers rubbed against your folds, smearing your slick around. You couldn’t help but look down at his vibranium hand in between your legs.

“Looks like I have a dirty girl on my hands.” Bucky whispers in your ear.

Literally.

“I bet I can get you to cum so fast with my vibranium fingers.” He said softly in your ear. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at it.” He says with a smirk.

“Bucky, please!” You whined.

“What do you want, babydoll? Tell me what you want.” He says, kissing your neck.

“I want you to- fuck… I want you to fuck me with your vibranium fingers.” You tell him through a moan.

You felt the tips of Bucky’s vibranium fingers circling your entrance before sliding two fingers in your pussy. A soft moan left your lips at the feeling of the cool vibranium in and against your pussy.

Bucky watched the expressions on your face change each time he thrusted his vibranium fingers in and out of your pussy. Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned your head against the door. He took the opportunity to kiss along the column of your throat. His teeth nipped at your skin.

“Bucky…” You moaned breathless.

“I love the way you moan my name, doll.” Bucky murmurs softly.

Bucky sped his fingers up, curling them and hitting your sweet spot perfectly. You bucked your hips against his vibranium hand and moaned loudly.

“Did I find your little spot?” He coos.

You moaned and nodded. Bucky curled his fingers every now and then as his fingers continued to fuck you. He curled his fingers against your sweet spot again, making your knees buckle. Bucky wrapped his free arm around your waist to keep you from falling.

“Your legs getting weak already, babydoll?” Bucky asks in soft voice.

Your hands held onto his chest and you nodded your head yes.

“Tell me, doll…” He begins, kissing just below your ear. “What else do you have on that dirty little mind of yours?” He asks curiously.

“I- oh fuck…” You paused to moaned. “I want you to fuck me in every position you can think of all over this fucking apartment.” You admitted. “I want you to spank me and choke me too.” You added.

“Fuck…” He growls, feeling his cock become uncomfortably hard in his jeans. “I’ll fuck you all you want as soon as you cum on my fingers.” He says.

Bucky sped his fingers up. His thumb applied pressure to your clit as he rubbed it. Your hands clutched the fabric of his t-shirt. Your orgasm was building up fast. It felt like you were going to fall apart on his vibranium fingers any second.

“Oh fuck! Bucky!” You moaned loudly, throwing your head back against the door.

“I know you’re close. Cum for me, doll.” He says lowly.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a pornographic moan left your lips when you came. Bucky’s vibranium fingers fucked you through your orgasm. His fingers came to a stop and his thumb gave your clit one last rub before he took his fingers out of your pussy.

You lifted your head at the same time Bucky licked your cum off his vibranium fingers, moaning at your taste. You felt a new wave of wetness while watching him do that.

“You taste incredible.” Bucky said. “I hope you’re ready, because you’re in for a long night, babydoll.” He says lowly with a smirk plastered on his face.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

134 notes · View notes

hcneymooners · 10 hours ago

Text

⋆ heart on a sleeve.

(lowkey toxic!)bsf!vi x bsf!reader. men & minors dni.

pt. i ( you are here. ) / pt. ii.

synopsis: vi is handling her breakup badly, but you refuse to give up on her. it's part of the deal when you're irrevocably in love with your best friend.

cw: vi exhibits toxic behavior but is more complex than toxic, this part is sfw but part ii is going to be explicit, pit fighter!vi, implied alcoholism, emotional hurt/comfort, second chances, implied friend breakups, not actually unrequited love, vi is trying her best and so are you, blk-coded reader but all are welcome to read.

notes: inspired by the beautiful @avonnimimi. adore her. also the raccoon thing actually happened to me, lol. love you.

you've always loved winter in the city. winter is your season. the world grows unnaturally quiet underneath the suffocation of snowfall; you can finally hear yourself think. the heat is cranked up as high as it can go without bothering you and you sit on the floor, hips groaning as you stretch them out.

tonight, the snow falls soft and quiet, less fervent than the day before, catching in the glow of streetlights. you’re in a navy blue sleep set, your silk shorts clinging to your cocoa-buttered thighs. the fabric is covered with detailed illustrations of eopards, their mouths open and demanding. despite it not being your preference, you have your best friend on the phone as you contort yourself into different shapes. she keeps shooting you looks as your joints pop, your bones waking up from their slumber.

“baby, i don’t think you’re supposed to be sounding like this at twenty-one.”

“don’t worry about it, lia. that’s why we stretch.”

dalia rolls her eyes from where she looms across the screen, her skin dark and gleaming post-shower.

eventually, you settle, loose and limber, and begin scrolling through old photos on your phone. your gold rings catch the light as you swipe past memories – vi teaching you to throw a proper punch, both of you sprawled on the quad during finals week, the night she got that bartending job. you’d celebrated with cheap champagne and a close call (read: climbed right into her lap and almost kissed her.)

your shared apartment feels hollow tonight. vi's combat boots aren’t kicked off by the door, her jacket isn’t thrown over the kitchen chair. her location is turned off and it eats at your stomach, but you try to self-soothe.

traces of her are everywhere – the worn boxing gloves hanging by the entry, the pile of mechanics textbooks on the coffee table, the polaroids magnetted to the fridge. your favorite was from last summer: vi half-asleep on the couch, head in your lap, while you read your sociology textbook.

dalia took that one, said something about capturing moments that matter.

you remember the night vi moved in, both of you drunk on cheap wine and possibility, sprawled on the empty living room floor.

"mama," she'd said, grinning up at the ceiling, "we're gonna make this place ours." and you did – vi's fight posters next to your framed family photos, her protein shakes beside your san pellegrino, your shared vinyl collection taking over the windowsill.

it was your most desired dream: to have a beautiful life. with her, if you could have everything you truly wanted.

your mom's daily check-in text slides gently over your screen: how's my baby doing? vi still being stubborn?

before you can reply, your phone buzzes with another call.

( three months ago )

vi's sitting on your bathroom floor, knuckles bloody from another underground fight. she's been taking more of those since caitlyn left, each one more reckless than the last. you don't say anything, just kneel beside her with the first aid kit you've kept stocked since freshman year.

"you don't have to keep doing this," she mumbles as you clean her wounds.

"i know." you focus on wrapping her hand, trying not to let your fingers shake. "i want to."

she watches you work, something unreadable on her face. "why?"

you don't answer at first. just keep wrapping, gentle as you can. some questions are too dangerous to answer honestly. still, you try.

“you’re never going to stop doing this to yourself,” you say finally. “this ache, this punishment—it’s going to live inside you for a while.”

you can feel her looking at you, blue eyes following the bend of your neck as you slick the splits of her skin with paste. her gaze is heavy. you refuse to look up.

“when i was younger, i found a racoon in my backyard. it was so sick, but i was so little and tried to save it. i called animal control, because i didn’t understand how they “handled” situations.” you flip her hand over, thumb grazing her palm. “i asked them to come pick it up, to rehabilitate it. he told me to look away, but i still held out hope. he shot it right in front of me. i cried, i think. still think about it.”

you’re still holding her hand, and she takes over the grip. she exerts pressure and tilts your chin up, bringing you back to her. your eyes are wide and luminous, two planets.

“when i see you, it’s like that,” you tell her. “except i know better now. i take care of it, of you, myself. it makes me feel like there’s a better chance at survival.”

you shuffle onto your knees, body tensing as you push yourself up. vi catches you by the ankle, tugs until you stumble against her bandaged chest. she presses a weak kiss to your calf.

“thank you.”

“mmhmm,” is all you answer, thumbing at her brow before leaving.

(one month ago)

the party's too loud, too crowded. bass thrums through the floor like a second heartbeat. you're watching vi across the room, watching her drink too much, watching her laugh too sharp when someone mentions caitlyn's name.

when she starts another fight – with who? does it even matter anymore? – and ends it with kissing someone else, something in you breaks. you slip away to the bathroom, sink to the floor in your party dress, press your hands against cool tile. you hate crying. hates how it makes you feel exposed, vulnerable. but the tears come anyway.

the door opens. dalia's there, sinking down beside you. she doesn't say anything, just pulls you close, lets you hide your face in her shoulder.

"baby girl," she whispers, but you cut her off.

“lia, later. please,” you rasp.

the bass keeps thumping outside. you can’t hear your heart, but you can feel it. you’re always fucking feeling it. you keep crying.

( now )

for years to come, you will always remember this moment. how you paused before hanging up on dalia and picking up for vi.

“violet?” your voice is low, tired.

across the line, somewhere cold and devoid of you, vi shivers. she loves when you say her full name, wants to eat you whole when you let it rasp across your tongue and teeth until it falls free.

“hey, angel. look, i swear m'fine to drive," she slurs before you can continue asking after her. your heart drops. “i just wanted to tell you ‘m on my way home.”

"violet, where are you?" you're already grabbing your keys, oversized park half-falling off of you.

"just... just leaving jinx's. cait was there with her new fucking—“ her voice cracks. "doesn't matter. i got this."

"stay put. i'm coming to get you."

“what? no—“ there’s a sound suspiciously like her dropping her keys. “fuck, ‘m dizzy.”

“violet,” you’re beginning to panic, your voice rising. “vi, listen to me. are you in the car?”

the door slams across the line. you have your answer.

“vi, please listen to me. i’m coming, okay? i’ll be right there. please don’t start the fucking car.” nothing. “violet! i know you can fucking hear me.”

it’s about five minutes of silence, before she speaks again. you’re borderline hyperventilating, hands shaking as you try to locate jinx’s number to get her to go outside and stop her sister.

"nah, you don't gotta—"

the sound of screeching metal cuts her off. then it’s dead air. you're running to your car before the call ends.

ᥫ᭡.

the accident scene is a nightmare made real. you find her car wrapped around a lamppost, driver's side crumpled like paper. your heart nearly stops until you see her stumbling away from the wreck, that familiar shock of pink hair catching the streetlight. she's swaying dangerously on the icy sidewalk. your hands shake as you guide her into your passenger seat, trying not to think about how close—

she reeks of whiskey and wears that same leather jacket she's had since her fighting days. The one with the worn elbows and faded patches. the one you helped pick out years ago, before university, before caitlyn, before everything got so complicated.

"you should've minded your own business," vi mutters, breaking the tense silence. her words have edges, sharp ones meant to cut.

you grip the wheel tighter. "you could have died tonight."

"yeah? maybe that would've been better than—" she cuts herself off, but you both know what she means. better than feeling like this. better than watching caitlyn walk away.

"don't." your voice cracks. "don't you dare. what the actual fuck is wrong with you, violet? why do you say shit like that? you have to stop.”

vi turns to you, eyes blazing with that familiar fight-night fury. "or what? you'll lecture me again? tell me how i'm throwing my life away? save it. i don't need another person telling me how to live my life."

the car comes to a stop at a red light. your layered necklaces catch the glow, throwing golden shadows across the dashboard.

"you think this is about lectures?" the words come out quieter than you meant them to. "vi, i found you in a crashed car. do you have any idea what that felt like?"

"oh, here we go. make it all about you, why don't—"

"yes! for once, let me make it about how i feel!" your voice rises, surprising both of you. you never yell. never let the mask slip. but tonight is different. tonight you almost lost her. "because i love you too much to watch you destroy yourself!"

“you don’t even fucking know me, [name].”

you can feel the heat rising. your throat is growing tight, and you know how this will end.

“we’re best friends, vi.”

her eyes flicker over the side of your face, and you’re just such an easy target and her mouth is opening and—

“i’m only yours.”

the light turns green. neither of you moves. no one’s behind you, both on the road and in real life.

“you,” you whisper, “are so fucking mean to me sometimes.”

embarrassment rushes through you. your face feels hot, and the ball in your throat is so large you’re struggling to breathe. you’re going to cry. maybe she can tell, because she lurches upward and jerks toward you. you jerk back, staring a hole through your windshield.

“[name]—“

you run the red light.

ᥫ᭡.

a week later, dalia corners vi outside the campus coffee shop. you're not there to see it, but the story spreads fast. the city feeds on scandal and t thrives on the misguided.

"you know what?" dalia gets right in vi's face, fury radiating off her small frame. she looks like a wind-up doll, braids freshly done and her hands balled into fists. “i’m sick of watching you treat her like this. she's been there for every fight, every breakdown, every time you needed someone. and what does she get? you taking her for granted, acting like she's disposable."

vi's jaw tightens. "you don't know what you're talking about."

dalia is yelling now, drawing attention. vi’s pretty sure jinx is observing, bright blue teetering in her peripheral vision. her sister had ripped her a new one after receiving your belated messages.

"don't i? because while you're out here playing self-destruct, she's at home crying over you. she'll never say anything because that's just who she is – she loves too damn much and asks for too damn little. she ain’t one of those weak-ass little bitches you keep messing with, but she was never good at establishing boundaries with you. i don’t know what the fuck she's on, but i'm off it. i'll say it."

something in vi's expression shifts, breaks open.

"she... she cries over me?"

"god, you're dense," dalia spits. "she's been in love with you since sophomore year."

vi stumbles into your empty apartment at 1 am—early for her—, still reeling from dalia's words.

“hey, angel?” she calls out, more habit than hope. only ghosts answer.

she finds your room too neat, closet half-empty. your parka's gone. your heavy jewelry box has left a perfect dust-free silhouette on the top of your vanity. she rummages through your desk and finds your monogrammed passport holder gone. she sinks onto your bed, head in her hands.

her phone's in her hand before she realizes, your number dialing. voicemail. again.

“[name], i... i fucked up. i know i fucked up. i’m sorry. please... please pick up. please." her voice breaks. “please, mama.”

seventeen calls. seventeen voicemails. silence.

finally, desperate, she calls dalia.

“look,” she begs, voice raw. "i need to fix this."

dalia's quiet for a long moment. "you're lucky i love that girl so much," she says finally. “she’s going to see her parents. her flight leaves at 4. terminal c. don't fuck this up again."

ᥫ᭡.

vi misses the flight.

ᥫ᭡.

your parents' house hasn't changed. same bright warm kitchen, same family photos lining the walls, same smell of your mom's cooking. it’s been two weeks post-fight. you’re recentering, need space to breathe, to remember who you are without vi's gravity pulling at you.

your dad keeps giving you those knowing looks over breakfast. you’re his daughter emotionally, your mom’s physically. they always joke that your mama said copy-paste, that you stole her entire face.

"sometimes," your dad says one night, his voice carefully light, "loving someone means letting them figure things out on their own."

you re-adjust one of your rings, a nervous habit. it was a gift from vi—two angel wings set on a thin diamond-speckled bar spread across two of your fingers. she’d fought for it. you were pissed. you never took it off, even though you rarely mixed metals.

“mmm. yeah, i know, daddy."

your dad finds you again in the kitchen at midnight, making tea you won't drink. you look so small in your grief, eyes blinking owlishly at the draft of your introduction to ethics paper. you’re wearing your glasses, the frames thick, and he smiles at the sight. you only used them when your eyes became too dry for contacts.

"you want to talk about it?"

you shake your head, then nod, then laugh wetly. your screen blurs into a smear of white and blue.

“i don't know how to stop loving her, daddy." your head drops. “why is this shit always happening to me?”

he pulls you close, kisses your forehead like when you were small. he chooses to let the language slide this one time.

"maybe you're not supposed to, baby. maybe it's not about stopping."

“i know,” you sniff, wiping your face. “i just wish i could pause it when things get bad, take a minute.”

“and that’s fair, baby. nothing wrong with that.”

“love is hard, baby girl.” your head whips up, finds your mother sitting in front of your computer. “you don’t have to pretend otherwise. no one here is going to shame you.”

your heart quakes with so much love that you start blubbering again. your parents only smile, pressing twin kisses to your oil-wet scalp.

“i’ll finish the draft for you, honey. get some sleep,” your mom says and you try to protest, only to get served with her “keep talking” look.

“‘kay,” you tell her. “thank you.”“mmhmm,” she tugs you into another hug. “finish your tea, baby.”

ᥫ᭡.

at the airport, you're going through security when your phone buzzes again. this time it's dalia.

d. <3: girl, you're not gonna believe this.

you hear her before you see her. vi's voice cuts through the airport chaos: "[name!] wait!"

you turn, lower the volume on your playlist. she's there, pink hair wild, still wearing her leather jacket despite the cold. she's holding a ticket.

“i missed the first flight, so i was gonna go to your parents. i couldn’t get a plane out ’til yesterday but then,” she says, breathless. "dalia told me when you were leaving. i... i couldn't let you go without—" she runs a hand through her hair, frustrated.

"i'm shit at this. but mama, please listen to me. i need you to know i'm sorry. not just for that night. for everything. for not seeing what was right in front of me."

you hold yourself very still, careful. hope is a dangerous thing, and she’s starting to rumble within you.

"violet…”

her eyes light up at the sound of her full name, and she rocks onto the balls of her feet.

"i miss you," she says simply. "and not just as my best friend.”

your eyes widen, and vi steps closer. her face is soft and open. somehow, you know she’s aware of your biggest secret. you’re gonna whip dalia’s ass.

“ i think... i think maybe i've been missing you for a long time without knowing it."

the airport bustles around you, but all you can hear is your heart beating too fast. vi takes another step, careful, like you might spook.

you look so beautiful to her, face bare and glazed with what she knows is a mixture of skincare and vaseline to combat the dry air of the plane. you’re being swallowed by your oversized sweatsuit, the hoodie absolutely massive and bubblegum pink. she focuses on your hands, finds the ring she gifted you. you flex your fingers, and her eyes fall on the small “vi” inked between your thumb and pointer. it’s stylized to look like roman numerals but it’s her name.

yours is tatted on her too, just behind her ear.

“look, vi. i—“ your top teeth worry at your bottom lip, plush and pink like a tulip.

"i know i don't deserve another chance," she says softly. "but if you're willing to give me one i swear to god, i’ll take what i can fucking get.”

you look at her – really look at her. she's a mess, clearly hasn't slept, probably bought the first ticket she could find which meant the airlines had robbed her blind. but her eyes are clear. present. seeing you maybe for the first time.

“i think you still have some things to deal with. like cait.”

“who?” she says, and you know she’s posturing, but it makes you laugh. vi grins, pleased with herself.

“don’t piss me off, violet,” you tell her and she closes the distance, threads her hands along your hips.

your body conforms to the comfort, to the familiarity. you close your eyes, lean your forehead against her chest. she’s so thick, so broad, that she shelters you. the world is so quiet here.

"slow," you say finally. "we’re taking this slow."

her smile breaks like sunrise. "slow," she agrees. "i can do slow."

above, your gate is called over the speaker. vi adjusts your necklace, takes your suitcase and bag. her fingers linger as you transfer them to her hands, sending a pulse down to your stomach. it’ll be hard to be careful. gentle. new.

“c’mon, mama,” she murmurs.

her hand is held out. you take a minute, maybe two, but you still hold it.

bonus:

d <3: so y’all kiss yet, or what?

you: you got one more time.

#vi x y/n #vi x you #vi x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi fluff #vi arcane #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane fanfic #female!reader #fem!reader #black!reader #blktumblr #wlw #lesbian #sapphic #vi x fem reader #vi league of legends

119 notes · View notes