#< Without trying to stray too far from it

[curtins]

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

[bryan-writes]

The witch in the woods// chapter 1

Chapter 1// the routine

The mornings in your corner of the woods always started the same.

A thin mist clung to the forest floor, not heavy enough to obscure the sprawling wilds but enough to soften their edges, making everything seem a little more dreamlike. The dawn light bled through the trees in streaks of gold and lavender, kissing the dew that slicked the tall grass and wildflowers around your apothecary. The house was a weathered relic of another time, with its ivy-covered stone walls and a roof patched with mismatched shingles. It exuded a peculiar charm, a place out of sync with the world around it— belonging more to folklore than reality.

You liked it that way. The isolation wasn’t lonely; it was yours.

Inside, the apothecary brimmed with a chaos that could only be described as intentional. Shelves bowed under the weight of jars filled with dried herbs, seeds, and powders, their handwritten labels slightly smudged. Bundles of lavender and sage hung from the ceiling beams, their scents mingling with the faint sweetness of honey and the sharp tang of vinegar stewing in the back corner. A tangle of vines from a stubborn pothos plant crept down one wall, as though trying to reclaim the space for nature.

Thistle, your scrappy orange tabby, was already awake and sprawled across the counter where your mortar and pestle waited. His green eyes blinked lazily at you, his tail flicking with faint irritation when you nudged him aside to make room.

”Good morning to you, too,” you murmured, scratching behind his ears as you reached for the jar of coffee beans.

The routine was sacred, even if it sometimes meandered. You ground the beans in slow, rhythmic circles, savoring the earthy aroma as it filled the room. The sound of boiling water was comforting, a steady hum against the backdrop of birdsong outside.

But today, there was weight to the air.

It wasn’t the kind of heaviness that announced itself outright. It was subtle, threading through the familiar like a stray strand of hair in your tea. You caught it in the way the shadows seemed a little sharper, the edges of the forest darker than they should have been. It wasn’t enough to unsettle you, not yet.

You leaned against the counter with your mug, gazing out the window as you sipped. The woods stretched endlessly beyond your apothecary, their depths both inviting and unknowable. The trees were alive with movement— the flutter of birds, the swaying of branches— but there was a stillness beneath it all that you couldn’t quite place.

Thistle yawned dramatically and padded over to the windowsill, pressing his nose against the glass.

“See something?” You asked, though you didn’t expect an answer.

______

By mid-morning, the first townsfolk began to arrive. They trickled in one by one, their boots muddy from the dirt paths that led to your apothecary. You had long since stopped finding it strange how far people would come for your remedies— some from the town proper, others from the farms that bordered the forest.

An older woman came first, her hands knotted with arthritis. You mixed her a salve with mint and comfrey, chatting idly about the weather as she peered curiously at your shelves. A young man followed, bashful and stammering as he asked for a tincture to soothe his nerves before his wedding next week. You teased him gently, your laughter easing the tension in his shoulders as you handed him a small vial of chamomile and valerian.

Each interaction was its own little ritual, and you found yourself slipping into the rhythm of it easily, as if the odd weight in the air had been a fragment of your imagination.

But then there was the boy.

He couldn’t have been older than ten, with a mop of dark hair and wide, hollow eyes that darted around the room as though expecting something to leap out at him. He clutched a crumpled note in his hand, which he thrust toward you without a word.

The paper was worn, the ink smudged, but you made out the request easily enough: “For nightmares.”

You glanced back at the boy, whose small hands were trembling slightly.

“Bad dreams?” You asked gently.

He nodded but didn’t elaborate.

You turned away to gather the ingredients— mugwort, lavender, a pinch of crushed moonstone— and blended them into a small pouch. As you tied it closed, you felt the weight in the air return, heavier this time.

“Here,” you said, kneeling to his level. “Put this under your pillow. It should help.”

The boy stared at you for a moment before taking the pouch and bolting out the door. You straightened slowly, watching him disappear into the trees.

Thistle jumped down from his perch and wove between your legs, his fur bristling slightly.

“Yeah,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “I felt it, too.”

______

By the afternoon, the sun was higher, its light filtering through the trees in fragmented patterns. You took your basket and ventured into the woods, as you often did, to gather herbs and mushrooms for your apothecary. The forest was alive in ways that made your skin tingle— a rustling that didn’t quite match the breeze, a flicker of movement just beyond your peripheral vision.

You didn’t let it stop you, but the unease gnawed at the edges of your thoughts.

Deeper into the woods, you found yourself drawn to a cluster of thistle growing wild among the ferns. Its spiky blossoms were vivid purple, almost too vibrant for the muted tones of the forest around it. You crouched to harvest a few stems, wincing as the prickly leaves caught your fingers.

As you worked, you became aware of a presence.

It wasn’t loud or overt, but it was there— a subtle shift in the air, a feeling of being watched. You straightened slowly, scanning the trees around you. Nothing moved, but the weight of it pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Thistle, who had followed you out, arched his back and hissed, his orange fur standing on end.

“Okay,” you whispered, gripping your basket tightly. “Time to go.”

The walk back to the apothecary felt longer than usual, the shadows stretching impossibly long as the sun dipped lower in the sky. By the time you reached the safety of your porch, your hands were trembling again, and the ache in your chest hadn’t subsided.

You set the basket down and leaned against the doorframe, trying to shake the feeling.

Thistle brushed against your legs, his tail flicking nervously. You picked him up, burying your face in his fur for a moment.

“It’s nothing,” you told him, though you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince.

______

As the day turned into evening, the apothecary grew quiet. The last of the townsfolk had come and gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You lit a joint and settled into the armchair by the fire, the smoke curling lazily around you as you stared into the flickering flames.

The forest outside your window loomed, its secrets pressing against the glass like a dark tide. You could feel it now, pulsing just beneath your skin— a presence that wasn’t yours but had somehow claimed a piece of you.

And though you tried to dismiss it as paranoia, a small part of you wondered if the woods had always been this alive, and you just hadn’t noticed before.

Credit to @strangergraphics for the dividers :)!

[onehundredelevven]

Domestic life with bf!Toji.

It's a quiet evening in your shared apartment, the kind of night that feels like it's meant for winding down, but with Toji, nothing is ever quite that simple.

You're curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, but you can't quite focus. There's a heavy presence in the room—Toji leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes never straying far from you. His shirt's tight, hugging his body well, and the air between you thickens with a quiet intensity that only he seems capable of creating without saying a word.

You glance at him, feeling the heat of his gaze on you. "What?" you ask, a playful edge to your voice, though your heart races just a little faster.

He smirks, the same predatory grin that sends shivers down your spine every time. Every damn time. "Just wondering what's got you so distracted, doll. You're supposed to be reading.”

You raise an eyebrow, shifting in your seat. "I'm reading. It's just... hard to concentrate with you staring at me like that.”

Toji's chuckle is low, rough-like the sound of gravel underfoot. He pushes himself off the counter and slowly makes his way toward you, his steps deliberately measured, confident. You don't move, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper, something that pulls at your insides.

When he stops in front of you, he reaches down, his fingers brushing against your chin to tilt your head back slightly. His touch is light, almost teasing, but you know him well enough to sense the intent behind it. His thumb runs along your jawline, and you swallow, trying to keep your composure.

"You sure you're not just thinking about me?" he asks, his voice smug and a husky murmur as he leans in, his lips hovering just above yours.

You feel the warmth of his breath, the heat between you rising with every second of silence. The space between you is small, too small for both of you to pretend that there isn't an undeniable tension crackling in the air.

"Maybe I am," you say, your voice a little softer than usual. You want to push him, tease him, but part of you is already craving what's to come next. Toji doesn't wait for another word, his lips brushing yours in a brief, almost chaste kiss. It's a fleeting touch, but it leaves you wanting more, that sweet ache of desire you both are too familiar with.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, a glint of mischief dancing in them. "I'm gonna make you regret that," he murmurs, his hand sliding from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer with an almost possessive strength.

You gasp softly as he kisses you again, this time with more urgency, his lips pressing against yours as though he's been waiting for far too long. His hand moves to your waist, pulling you up, guiding you effortlessly toward him. The book you'd been holding slips from your hands, forgotten, as you let yourself get lost in the feel of him—his warmth, his scent, the roughness, the passion, the familiar weight of his presence.

As you both step into the rhythm of something more, something more than just playful teasing or lazy evenings together, you're reminded that with Toji, even the quiet moments are never really quiet at all.

He breaks the kiss for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, breathing raggedly. "You're mine, right?" he asks, the question more an affirmation than anything else.

"Always," you whisper back, your hands already seeking him, pulling him closer.

[lost-inthemeadow]

Till I have no choice but to do us part - Agathario

Summary: A 4 part rewrite of episode 9 of Agatha All Along because we deserved so much better than what we got

Features Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal

Chapter one: I stray not from the path, I hold Death's hand in mine

Word count: 2691

Alone in the woods, accompanied only by the corpses of the women who were once her family, Agatha Harkness trembled in the cold of the night.

After her coven had attempted to execute her—having nowhere else to go—she settled down under a tree by the river and tried her best for her sobs not to be too loud, afraid of any nearby animals hearing her.

She was supposed to be dead, gone, forgotten; her power—the one her coven was so scared of—had once again made her the villain. It was not her fault nobody ever bothered to teach her how to control it. From the moment she was born, her mother had been convinced that her existence was a mistake, a sin; all she knew she learned by herself, relying on books and ancient spells.

Now she was all alone, without a coven or anyone to care for her, and it was nobody's fault but her own. Still, under all the guilt, Agatha could not stop thinking about how good the other witches' magic had felt and how unsatiable her need for more was, being now more powerful than she ever had. It was a feeling that terrified her tremendously, but with the recent events, she swore not to let herself near another witch again.

As the sun rose once more, painting her dress with its yellow light, a nearby bush alerted her that she was no longer alone in the vast woods. Agatha sat down immediately, dreading the idea of fighting a wild animal, but instead, she saw a human figure emerge from the receding darkness. As the person approached, the sunlight lit them more and more, first revealing a long and beautiful green dress, then a pair of delicate hands, and then a face. The young witch had to shake her head, for the first thing she saw was a mere skull, but as she looked again and her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she found herself admiring a beautiful lady, with eyes as bright as the moon that looked at her lit with curiosity.

Lady Death herself—the mysterious figure—was hesitant at first, not wanting to scare the young woman away. But there was a certain pull, a certain need in her chest that urged her to get close and investigate why this young witch was alone in the woods, surrounded by so many corpses.

"Hello, little one." Death spoke her first words directed at someone who still breathed in decades. Her voice was soft, and her lips curved into a smile. "Say, what reason could you have to be alone in these woods at this early hour?"

“I could ask you the same."

"I've come for them, of course," she said, glancing at Agatha's breathless companions.

"For them?"

“It's my job to take them to the other side," Lady Death concluded. "Are you responsible for this mess?"

Agatha nodded, unable to look the woman in the eye as she did, ashamed of her actions.

"I like it. It suits you," she said with a complicit smile. Agatha couldn't help but look back at her, expecting everything but the answer she had received.

Lady Death had lost her heartbeat centuries ago—when the duty of death was bestowed upon her—but the moment she saw Agatha's big blue eyes staring at her, the faint feeling of the blood-pumping vessel appeared in her chest again, making it impossible for her to stay any longer.

As Death walked towards the shadows again, ready to collect the souls of the coven, Agatha stood up, quickly cleaning the dirt off her dress.

"Wait!" she called out.

"Yes?" Lady Death stopped for her.

"Will I see you again?" Agatha also felt that same pull in her chest.

"Eventually, everyone will," was the last thing Death said before disappearing into the last bit of night.

After tending to the corpses, Agatha moved deeper into the forest, for the leaves and the dirt were now her home. Try as hard as she did, she could not stray too far from the clearing where she had met Lady Death, afraid she would miss her when she returned.

But a week went by, and she found herself alone every night, sitting under the same tree by the river, waiting for the bushes to alert her of the enchanting presence again. She understood then that Death would only come if she were needed.

Initially, she tried with a decaying owl she found while scavenging, but quickly realized the victim had to be freshly dead, so the next night she offered a skunk she had extinguished that afternoon. Both nights she perked up her ears and squinted her eyes, waiting for the figure to emerge from the bushes, but, once again, she never did.

That's when the young witch finally understood that, if she wanted to see Lady Death a second time, she'd have to offer a human for her to take. The idea brought chills down her spine, but still, she made her way to the nearest settlement and found herself a victim. A simple potion was all she needed, having lured the man to the forest with her beauty.

Under the tree, as the river sang its usual song—with the stiff corpse waiting—Agatha waited impatiently, almost wanting to scream to the moon to call Lady Death to her. It was not until the sun started its trip in the sky that the bushes again rustled, making Agatha shake like the cold of the night never had.

Lady Death was intrigued, wondering what kind of impossible favor the young witch would ask of her, so she approached again. "Is this for me?" she asked, pointing at the dead man.

"Yes. You are Death, are you not?".

"I am. What is it you wish in exchange for this gesture?" she asked.

"Only to see you, m'lady."

"To see me?"

"I figured you needed the company as much as I do."

Lady Death smiled faintly, getting even closer to Agatha. "Speak your name, girl," she ordered.

"Agatha. Agatha Harkness."

"Well, Agatha, I thank you for this offering," she said, removing her hands from her dark green cape. Lady Death offered an empty hand, from which sprouted a beautiful Bearded Iris. "Can I?" she asked, and when Agatha nodded, Death's gentle hands placed the blossom in her hair.

"You are a witch, too!" squealed the young woman.

Seeing Agatha's bright smile warmed Lady Death's newly placed heart, so she made a bed of flowers for her, filled with astounding shapes and colors. They sat down together as Death told the young witch about each and every kind—having never had the chance to discuss her love for them before—until the sun tinted the whole forest alight. By then, her neverending task called for her again, and she disappeared into the bushes like she had that first night. This time, Agatha did not dare to ask if they would meet again, for she would make sure they would.

Every day she would slip into the town at dusk, determined to find a new gift for Death. First, it was the man who dared put his hands on his wife, the woman who tried to poison her daughter, and the two siblings who benefited from the poor's ingenuity. But then she took the old lady who sat alone in her house, the town's widow, and the farmer with only his crops to keep him company. With each kill, Agatha became increasingly enchanted with the art of taking lives, and her daily hunts became not only a treat for Death, but for her as well. Every night Lady Death would come to collect her gifts—each time earlier than the one before—and they would spend their time together laying in a freshly made bed of flowers by the river, where they would talk each other's ears off for hours. They bonded over their wrongdoings and deepest desires, enjoying the opportunity to be fully themselves in each other's company. Agatha told her all about her coven, her awful mother, and that surprisingly good feeling she got every time she claimed a life. Death would talk about her victims, the way she enjoyed staying for a little while when a widow wailed at the corpse of her husband, and the flowers she loved creating.

Lady Death grew fond of Agatha's curiosity, tending her queries with detail and care. She adored looking at the stars while letting the young witch into her secrets, appreciating the attentiveness she was given in return.

"Do you take animals?"

"They don't need it. Only humans have trouble crossing."

"Can you bring people back to life?"

"No. My job is the exact opposite."

"But you can create life," said Agatha, signalling at the flowers around them.

"I can, but only for you," Death replied, causing Agatha's cheeks to burn.

It was not until seven sunsets later that Agatha had been brave enough to ask for Lady Death's name.

"I don't suppose I was ever given one," replied the green witch with a furrowed brow.

"Whatever do you mean? Everyone has a name!"

"I must be the exception. I've had many nicknames, but never a name of my own."

"Well, we cannot allow that to be."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"Why, we find you a name, of course."

And so she did. Agatha named her companion after the river that sang its symphony for them every night. From that moment on, Lady Death was not defined only by her duty. She was now Rio Vidal. She was someone. She belonged to someone.

That night, after Agatha made the name official by carving their initials in the tree they both so loved, Rio decided it was time to show herself, to reveal the form she feared Agatha would despise. Lit by only the moonlight, the skull Agatha thought was just her eyes tricking her that first night was in front of her again. Even without skin or muscle, the young witch could see Rio was nervous, so she took the time to trace every bit of bone with her fingers with the utmost care, offering a bright smile.

"Beautiful," Agatha said, taking Rio's face into both hands. Rio went back to her human form just in time for Agatha to join their lips together in a kiss that felt a thousand times better than taking a life ever would. The river beside their flower bed sang its song as they both gave in to each other, and the forest became the first witness of the time Death fell in love with a mortal.

Though the corpses were no longer needed, Agatha still took a life for her lover each day. Eventually, she had to move to a different settlement to find her victims, for her usual one had run dry. And find new victims she did, as a coven of seven witches dwelled near the next settlement she wanted to torment. She remembered her promise not to get near another sister in the craft again but was still overjoyed when she told Rio how the screams of the youngest member filled the air of the autumn afternoon as she took her power for herself.

“Does power feel as good as it looks on you, my love?" asked Rio, running her finger up and down Agatha's bare arm.

"It feels amazing," replied Agatha, her eyes closed as she enjoyed her lover's touch.

"Tell me more about this coven you found. Do they know it was you that took their sister?"

"They do not. She had been sent to gather in the forest, they did not see me take her."

"In that case, we will take their power for you, tomorrow after dawn."

"Will you stay the whole night this time?" asked the young witch, hope mixed with moonlight lighting her eyes.

"Not only this time. My duty is important, but I have no home besides your arms."

"We will have each other. We will be okay," replied Agatha.

The following morning—hands joined—they made the trek down their beloved river—stopping every few minutes so Agatha could pick the flowers Rio grew for her—until they found the witches' encampment. Before splitting up, Rio put all the blossoms together in a beautiful crown that Agatha made sure to wear, then she watched as her lover ran to the other witches—panting and huffing—to start with her deceivement. As the witches inquired about the reason for her troubled state, she apprised them about her coven having been murdered right in front of her eyes by a horde of angry townspeople, and her miraculous escape. The fellow craft practitioners clothed and fed her, offering her all their empathy and comfort.

Rio appeared after Agatha finished her broth, bony form deployed, and all the witches fell to their knees at the sight of her. They dared not look into her eyes and instead rested their foreheads on the dirt, so Agatha followed their lead.

"Fear not, for I have come not to take, but to notify," Rio announced. "Your youngest sister, with hair like corn and skin like syrup, is now with me. Her fret for her coven was so strong that I had no alternative but to come and bear the news to you."

She allowed them a few seconds of shock before she attempted to leave.

"Oh, almighty lady," called the eldest member, not daring to remove her face from the soil. "Is there anything we can offer in exchange for her life? Is there any deal you will take to bring our sister back where she belongs?"

"What is done is done. She is now mine," stated Rio.

"Please, ma'am. We will do anything."

"Look at me," Rio ordered, and all six witches obeyed. "The only way to bring your sister back is to trade her life for another. The balance must be maintained," she stated, her head tilted slightly.

The ruse worked perfectly, for all six of them took only a few seconds of exchanged looks before deciding that the life of the new, stray witch that had only just arrived mattered the least among them, and they all blasted Agatha simultaneously. The young witch received their magic with open arms, ensuring to take every last bit of it.

As their bodies decayed and their magic was drained, Rio's cackle filled the forest, enjoying the view as much as Agatha enjoyed the magic. "Yes, my love! Take it all!" she screamed with a malicious grin.

When Agatha's knees gave out, weak from the blast, Rio was there to catch her. The young witch's hands trembled, but her lips were curved in the biggest smile.

"How did you like that?" asked Agatha.

"I've never seen anything better," Rio replied, lost in the trance of her lover's beauty.

"Take care of this mess," Agatha ordered. Rio obeyed instantly, leaving to guide the witches to the other side.

From then on, Agatha and Rio spent their days hunting for witches to trick, finding new ways to give in to their lust, and loving each other like no other couple in history ever had. It was not every day they were together, for Rio's duty called for her every few days, but they cherished and made use of every second in which they were.

When autumn came to an end and the weather started to cool—despite witches usually living in open settlements—Rio grew the biggest willows, and with them, shaping them to her will, she built a crooked cabin for the two to spend the winter in. However, when the snow melted and spring came, they could not part from it. Death and love danced in harmony as they turned the place into their home, making it a sanctuary for all things they held dear. Unable to rip herself from her lover's embrace, Rio stayed longer each time, even if it meant more days absent, and she gifted Agatha the most beautiful garden to tend to while she was away.

[alwayssassydreamer]

Song #3

Song Prompt Challenge

If you cried out for more If you reached out for me I would run into the storm Just to keep you here with me

Warnings: none

Characters: Shanks x GnReader

It started like it always did with Shanks: a laugh, a drink, and that irresistible smirk that made it impossible to stay mad at him for long.

He had an uncanny ability to turn the most serious moments into a joke, disarming you with his charm and leaving you wondering how you’d fallen for him so hard.

Tonight was no different.

The Red-Haired Pirates had docked in a small, lively port town, the kind that catered to sailors and adventurers. The tavern was bustling, music and laughter filling the air.

You had tried to stay at the edge of the chaos, nursing your drink and pretending you weren’t scanning the room for that telltale shock of red hair.

But, of course, Shanks found you first.

“Hey there,” he greeted, sliding into the seat across from you with a grin that could melt steel. “Fancy seeing you here. Or did you miss me too much to stay away?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Shanks. I just happen to like this tavern.”

“Sure you do,” he teased, leaning back in his chair with that easy confidence. “And I just happen to like this table. Funny how life works, huh?”

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that escaped.

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he said, winking.It was maddening how easily he got under your skin.

But that was Shanks—carefree and irreverent, yet somehow always knowing exactly what to say to keep you from walking away.

As the night wore on, the two of you fell into the familiar rhythm of banter and stolen glances. Shanks was the life of the tavern, telling exaggerated stories and coaxing laughter from even the grumpiest patrons. Yet, despite the crowd, his attention never strayed far from you.

At some point, the conversation turned quieter, more intimate. The rowdy atmosphere of the tavern seemed to fade into the background as Shanks leaned across the table, his gaze locking onto yours.

“You know,” he said softly, “I’d do anything for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone.

“Don’t start getting all sentimental on me now, Shanks,” you joked, though your voice wavered slightly.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, his smile softening. “If you cried out for more, if you reached out for me—I’d run into the storm just to keep you here with me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the weight of them settling over you. Shanks wasn’t the type to make grand declarations, but when he did, you knew he meant every word.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “You’ve got this way of grounding me, of reminding me what’s really important. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

For once, you didn’t have a clever retort. Instead, you reached across the table, your hand brushing against his.

“You’re not going to lose me, Shanks,” you said firmly. “But you’ve got to promise me something.”

“Anything,” he said without hesitation.

“Promise me you won’t get yourself killed trying to prove something,” you said, your voice tinged with both affection and exasperation.

He chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Can’t make any promises there, sweetheart. But I’ll always come back to you. That much, I swear.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile crept onto your lips.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said with a grin.Shanks stood, pulling you to your feet with him.

“Come on,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Let’s get some air. I need a break from all this noise, and I think you do too.”

As he led you out of the tavern and into the cool night, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm settle over you. With Shanks, life was unpredictable and chaotic, but it was also full of moments like this—moments where the world seemed to stand still, leaving just the two of you.

And as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close, you realized you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[emolgabrine]

OKAY SO

I think I got it. Kanto and Johto DO have different accents, as well as different dialects. I'm basing this both off the Hgss trainer themes and the real world dialects the regions are based on (Default for Kanto, Kansai for Johto.)

So, the Kanto has some trumpets and keytar, as well as some drums. The theme sounds more energetic

Johto's theme also shares the trumpets and keytar, but there's chimes instead of drums. It sounds like a battle theme, but like a casual song too.

So what I'm thinking is Kantonian accents have that kick of energy, and are more lower pitched. Meanwhile Johtonian accents have a little chime to them and are higher pitched. Those with mixed accents (and what those from outside regions assume everyone sounds like in both places) have both a kick of energy and a chime, with their pitch being in the middle of the spectrum.

Also with the different phrases, sometimes it's hard for those from the opposite region to understand what the other is trying to say unless they have family and/or heritage from said other region.

[keepingupwiththeboltons]

My bet on if they cave and add nettles to the show, is that they wont have her pop up behind a rock and suddenly exist and already have claimed sheepstealer, but instead theyll do something insane and stupid and have her claim the cannibal or some shit instead

[todayisafridaynight]

This might not be anything, but while writing about your fics, the way you have the characters' mannerisms down PERFECTLY got me thinking about mirroring...

There's a lot of it in 7 (Horii is a directorial genius etc etc), most of it more intentional than these probably are, but there's something so interesting about mirroring that takes the tone of a (relatively) fond memory, a familiar gesture, and inverts it in the way shown here.

OH I'M GLAD YOU'VE NOTICED THESE TOO I think I mentioned it months back (or I drafted a post 'bout it but didn't think it was anything noteworthy) but I always really did like how the Arakawa Family mimicked each other's mannerisms (also circling back to how Jo and Masato calling Ichiban 'Ichi' presumably after picking it up from Arakawa)!

Aoki actually does the same sitting gesture too! I went back to double check and skim through the rest of the game's cutscenes, and as far as I could tell unless I skipped a scene, it really is only these three that do this specific pose:

It's such a small detail but I love it immensely and it really does highlight their connections with each other and it drives me insane

[exchangell]

pretty girls make graves ch. ii : humphrey

in which the young helen bone and simon, chevalier de brimeu deal with the highs and lows of an empty marriage

[ketchuppee]

During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.

It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.

That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.

I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.

One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.

My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.

I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.

I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.

All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.

None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.

[dissapointu]

the Arcane characters cuddling with their s/o in the morning

————————————————————————

Jinx

You wake up to the soft sound of Jinx’s gentle breathing against your chest, the two of you tangled under a pile of blankets. Her messy hair is tickling your neck as she clings to you, her arms wrapped tightly around your waist like she’s afraid you might disappear. She’s still half-asleep, mumbling random things as she snuggles closer, her lips brushing against your skin.

“Mmm, you’re so comfy,” she mumbles, her hand moving up to lazily play with a strand of your hair.

You smile, brushing a hand through her hair and kissing the top of her head. Jinx giggles sleepily, her eyes barely open, “Stay here forever. I like you close.”

It’s not often that Jinx lets her guard down like this, but in the early morning hours, she’s the most relaxed, a playful smile curling at the corner of her lips as she pulls you tighter. You’re her favorite safe place.

Vi

The sunlight spills through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. You wake up to find Vi’s arm slung across your chest, her head resting on your shoulder. Her breathing is slow and steady, and her usually tough demeanor softens in her sleep. You try not to disturb her, but she stirs when she feels you shift slightly.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she grumbles, her voice rough with sleep. She tightens her hold on you, pulling you closer.

Vi chuckles softly as she nuzzles her face into your neck, pressing a kiss against your skin. “You’re too comfortable, you know that?”

You laugh quietly, one hand gently rubbing her back, and she sighs contentedly. “Mm… just five more minutes,” she mumbles, and you both drift off again, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

Sevika

You wake up to the feeling of Sevika’s strong, protective arms around you, her body curled around yours like a shield. Her head rests against the top of your head, and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything, just holding you close.

“Good morning,” she finally murmurs, her voice rough but warm as she presses a kiss to your forehead. Her hand slides down your side, pulling you closer into her.

“You’re always so warm,” you tease softly, feeling her smile against your hair.

She lets out a low, sleepy laugh. “I try,” she says quietly. Sevika’s thumb traces small circles on your back, the sensation soothing you even more. The world feels far away, and in her arms, you feel safe.

You’re not sure if she always knows it, but in moments like this, Sevika’s strength feels more gentle, her love softer than anyone could imagine.

Silco

The morning light filters in, and you wake up to the feeling of Silco’s body pressed close to yours. His arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you protectively as you lay in the warmth of the bed. You turn slightly to face him, his face relaxed in sleep, the coldness of his usual exterior melting away.

For a moment, you just watch him, tracing the lines of his face with your eyes, noticing how vulnerable he looks without his usual tense posture.

Silco stirs slightly, his eyes flickering open. He blinks at you for a moment before his lips curl into a small, sleepy smile.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his hand reaching up to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

You smile and lean into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. “Morning,” you whisper back, and his grip tightens just slightly around you.

“You’re always so peaceful in the morning,” he says quietly, his voice low. “It’s… nice.”

You curl into him more, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart as you drift in the quiet of the morning together.

Vander

You wake up to the feeling of Vander’s arms wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours as you both lie tangled in the sheets. His breathing is steady, and for a moment, you just lay there, listening to the rhythm of his heart as he holds you close.

“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice deep and soothing as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

You stretch and snuggle closer to him, your hand resting on his chest. Vander smiles, one hand moving to rub circles on your back. “You’re so warm,” he says with a chuckle.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply playfully, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles under his shirt.

Vander grins, pulling you tighter against him. “You’re always welcome here,” he murmurs, his voice tender and protective.

For a moment, everything feels perfect as you lay in each other’s arms, the world outside feeling far away.

Ekko

You wake up to the sound of Ekko’s soft breathing, his arm draped around your waist as he sleeps next to you. His face is relaxed, and for a moment, you just admire the peaceful expression on his face.

When he stirs, he shifts slightly, pulling you closer as he murmurs in his sleep, “Just five more minutes…”

You chuckle softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and that seems to be enough to get him to wake up fully.

Ekko groggily opens his eyes, his hand running through his hair as he looks at you with a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he mumbles.

You smile and kiss him softly on the lips. “Good morning.”

He pulls you closer, his hand gently caressing your back as he nuzzles into your neck. “I love mornings like this,” he murmurs, and you hold him just a little tighter.

It’s easy to forget the chaos of the world when you’re wrapped in each other’s arms.

Jayce

Jayce wakes up slowly, his body pressed against yours as he stirs from his slumber. He lets out a small groan, rubbing his eyes as he pulls you closer to him. You can feel the warmth of his body against yours, and for a moment, he just holds you in comfortable silence.

“Morning, love,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face.

You smile softly, nuzzling closer to him. “Good morning,” you reply, your voice still quiet with sleep.

Jayce chuckles softly and lazily runs his hand up and down your back. “You know, I never want to get out of bed when I’m with you,” he murmurs.

You laugh softly. “Maybe we don’t have to. Just a few more minutes.”

Jayce grins, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw. “I could get used to this,” he says, pulling you even closer as the two of you drift back into the warmth of each other.

Victor

You wake up to find Victor’s face just inches away from yours, his soft breathing tickling your skin as he lays beside you. His hand is gently resting on your waist, and you can feel the heat of his touch even through the blankets.

As you shift slightly, he stirs and his hand tightens around you instinctively. “Morning,” he whispers sleepily, his voice soft and groggy.

You smile and run your fingers through his hair, brushing it from his forehead. “Good morning,” you reply, your voice calm and gentle.

Victor opens his eyes, blinking at you for a moment before a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I could stay like this forever,” he murmurs, his voice full of quiet affection.

You snuggle up against him, closing your eyes for a moment, both of you content in the shared warmth and silence. It’s a peaceful start to the day, and for once, the world feels quiet and still.

Caitlyn

You wake up with Caitlyn’s arms wrapped around you, her head resting softly on your chest. She stirs when you move, and her eyes flutter open. For a moment, she just looks at you, her gaze soft and full of affection.

“Good morning,” Caitlyn whispers, her voice still a little rough with sleep. She presses a gentle kiss to your lips, lingering for a moment before pulling back with a smile.

“Morning,” you reply, your hand gently stroking her hair.

She stretches, still holding onto you, before letting out a content sigh. “I could get used to mornings like this.”

Caitlyn rests her head on your chest again, her arms tightening around you. “Just a little longer?” she asks softly.

You nod, smiling as you pull her closer. “Of course.”

In that moment, with her warmth and the quiet of the morning, everything else fades away, leaving just the two of you.

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie childhood friends is my kryptonite.

They meet in the woods outside Steve's house when they're eight and nine years old. Steve is out exploring because his parents are fighting again, something about a secretary and a jazzercize instructor that Steve really doesn't understand or want to listen to. He's done it before, venturing outside to explore the forest like it's his own private world. They never notice when they're fighting like that anyway and Steve always finds his way back.

Eddie, on the other hand, is new to Hawkins. He's nine years old and was just dumped on his uncle's front porch because his dad "doesn't need some brat who cries when the wires spark." Eddie was heartbroken and mad and scared and he loved his uncle Wayne but he didn't want to be comforted so he ran into the woods, Wayne too slow to catch him but calling his name.

After running a while Eddie trips on a root falling on his hands and knees, blood slowly blooming from his palms. He looks up and realizes he has no idea which way he came from or how to get back and releases all the tears he kept locked up tight since that night with the car.

That's how Steve finds him. He makes his way over, calling softly to the boy crouched by his favorite tree. The boy looks up, and the first thing Steve thinks is that he looks a little funny. His head is shaved down and his eyes are a little buggy and he's lanky in a way Steve's never really seen before. His second thought is that he always keeps bandaids in his shorts.

Together they sloppily patch up Eddie's knee and left palm, Steve pressing a smacking kiss to the other boy's knee like he's seen the other moms do for their kids at the park. They introduce themselves and Steve takes him to all his favorite places in the woods. They play knight and dragon and talk about how mean dads are until the sun starts to set.

Eddie gets nervous when the sun starts to set, not used to the unique darkness of the woods, but Steve is used to it. He takes Eddie by the hand and asks him where he entered and guides him home. Wayne finds them like that, he's clearly been doing his own forest wanderings in his search for Eddie and is quick to sweep his nephew into his arms and hold him close. Edde excitedly introduces his uncle to his "new best friend, Steve," his mood lifted significantly since that morning.

Steve waves goodbye and slips away before Wayne can insist on taking him home in the truck, but that's far from the last they see of Steve. After that night, every time Steve's parents get in a fight or his parents go to one of their long, important business dinners without him he makes his way through the woods and to the Munson trailer. The first time it happens Wayne doesn't even know what to say. Steve looks every bit the little Harrington that he is with his little Khakis and perfectly pressed polo knocking on the trailer door all proper-like.

"Hello, I'm here to see Eddie. He's my best friend."

Before Wayne can figure out what to say there's a blur of oversized black hand-me-down clothes barrelling through the door and tackling the younger boy to the ground.

"STEVE!" Eddie absolutely screeches. Wayne is half worried he might take out one of the kid's eardrums, but seeing the wide smile Eddie has plastered on his face, Wayne decides not to say anything.

From there on Steve and Eddie are thick as thieves. Steve spends all his free time at the Munson trailer playing with Eddie and the stray animals. Despite some of Wayne's concerns, their friendship remains strong through the years. With Eddie in the grade above and the grades almost completely separated, they hardly get to interact at school, which only serves to fuel Eddie's disdain and Steve's disinterest in school. Middle school is much the same. They spend almost every waking moment together in the woods or in the trailer but live almost separate lives at school. It's not even that they're trying to hide it, it just never comes up.

When Steve starts climbing up the social ladder it isn't intentional at all. He doesn't have a lot of friends in his grade, certainly not any that come close to Eddie's status in his life, so he kind of just talks to everybody. He plays on the middle school basketball and baseball teams and does well, and before he knows it people are suddenly flocking around him and vying for his attention. He doesn't pay it much mind honestly.

Eddie on the other hand never fits in anywhere. Steve and Wayne are just about the only people in his life he cares about, and despite their overwhelming love and acceptance he can't help but turn out cynical. He struggles with anger management those first few years with Wayne, frustrated with being abandoned by his dad and separated from Steve and it all culminates in him being ostracized from his peers.

It isn't until high school that the rest of Hawkins clues into what's been in front of their faces the entire time. The high school is much less separated so while they won't be sharing any classes, there are many more opportunities for them to hang out.

On day one of Steve's freshman year he's already on the roster for both the basketball team and the swim team and there's already a small group of boys hanging around his locker ready to ride his coattails. They notice Steve seems distracted, turning his head back and forth when he's not struggling to get the lock undone. When he finally manages to wrestle the thing open, Eddie makes his move.

In a move reminiscent of that first day on Wayne's front porch, a blur of black second-hand clothes and dark curls barrels into Steve from the side taking him down to the linoleum floors. The guys around Steve's locker are ready to step in and beat this guy to a pulp until they hear raucous laughter coming from the both of them. They are treated to the sight of rising King Steve and established Freak Munson rolling around on the floor like unruly puppies and don't know what to do with themselves.

When the boys calm down and stand up, arms slung comfortably around each other's shoulders, they're met with the very confused faces of Steve's kind-of-friends.

"You know this guy Steve?"

"You and Munson are friends?"

"What the fuck was that?"

Steve and Eddie share a very confused look, neither of them having realized that people have no idea they're friends. They look back at the guys with two devastating "are you dumb" faces and say:

"Uh, yeah, Duh."

--------

Years down the line, after queer awakenings, a healthy dose of heartache for them both, and a properly dramatic star-lit confession Eddie and Steve both absolutely love regaling anyone who will listen with their love story. Steve insists that he knew from the moment Eddie looked at him with those big bug eyes that he would love Eddie Munson for the rest of his life. Eddie, on the other hand, insists that's bullshit and instead insists that he was the one who fell first "it doesn't count if you were a child Sevie you didn't understand what love was!" that day in the hall when he realized how tall and handsome his best friends had become when they got up off the floor.

Either way, they both eat up the looks people give them as they share their tales of pining, self-discovery, and true love.

[nyankochan]

Mating Season: Dragon Slayers x fem!reader

Synopsis: You personally hate when mating season comes around, because you are hopelessly lost to your desires. At least you have your mate to generously take care of you. Pairings: [SEPARATE] Natsu x Reader, Laxus x Reader, Sting x Reader, Rogue x Reader, Gajeel x Reader

Content: MDNI, fem! reader, reader is also a dragon slayer, rough sex, unprotected, bodyworship, breeding, Dacryphilia (Natsu), overstimulation, Slight asphyxiation (Laxus) mates (heat and rut cause it makes sense in my head), oral (male and female receiving), dirty talk (Sting & Gajeel), pet names (Sting calls you Angel and Gajeel calles you doll), slight degradation (Gajeel), shower sex (Rogue), cowgirl (Sting), I hope I didn’t forget anything else but sorry if I did.

Word count: 5.4K (I'm tired of my foolishness)

A/N: hoping I resurrect the Fairy Tail fandom with the upcoming release of Fairy Tail 100 year quest. I was going to add Cobra and Acnologia but this shit just got too long

Like clockwork, when early spring rolls around, around mid March to early April, you begin to notice changes. They're subtle changes, unnoticeable to even your closest friends around you at first. You're more antsy when away from your partner for long periods of time, and you've started nesting in your shared home. Just about every article of clothing that has yours and his scent has been gathered and formed into a little fort that brings you a sense of comfort when he's away for work. Still, it does nothing to quell the desire aching in between your legs, and as the days wear on, you grow increasingly frustrated and thus irritable. While you don't mean to, you end up snapping at your guildmates more frequently during this time, only mellowing down when your partner is around and you're comforted by the smell of their pheromones.

It's soon becomes virtually impossible for you to go on quests for an extended duration, and your partner subtly becomes clingier. He's on edge, without even realizing it, always guarding you from other males who foolishly stray too close and making you wear articles of clothing that smell like him. They begin picking fights with others more often, sometimes over the littlest things. They also always return with a gift of some sorts after completing a quest: jewelry, your favorite candy, useless trinkets that just caught their eye and thought you'd like. Your satisfaction appeases their ego and instinct to court you.

The changes in behavior is subtly picked up on by the rest of the guild and virtually no one questions it when the both of you go missing for a few weeks.

Natsu - 「Heated Passion」

Natsu is easily the densest and most combative during mating season. Although you've been mated for about three years now, he never seems to pick up right away what season it is, and you’re too embarrassed to vocalize your desire for him to fuck you senseless. Therefore, the rest of the guild is unfortunately victim to his pent up anger and overprotectivess. Gray talks to you? A fight. Loke offers you something he collected on one of his missions? A fight AND he’s trying to one up him with something even better.

Nastu is particularly hostile with Laxus and Gajeel, as they are the only other male dragon slayers. Laxus couldn’t be bothered. Gajeel on the other hand, definitely taunts him, but not to the point where he’d go so far as to do anything to you. He just likes pissing Natsu off. He would never disrespect someone else’s mate.

Of course though, Igneel had taught him what mating season is. Natsu’s not that dense. Rather, it just takes a minute for him to realize what time of year it is, and when he does, you’re his for the month.

The air is hot from the scent of Natsu’s pheromones mixing with yours. Your mind is hazy and clouded with lust, so you’re not even sure what day it is anymore. Your body is achy and littered with bite marks, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, only wanting more.

“N-Natsu~” your pleas are a weak whimper.

Natsu currently has one of your legs thrown over his shoulder while his mouth’s attached to your weeping cunt. He eats you out like a starved man, greedily slurping down all you have to offer. As his tongue moves in and out of your folds at a rough pace, he holds your thighs tightly, burying his face deeper in between them. It doesn’t matter how many times he tastes you, he will never be satisfied. He gets painfully hard just from eating you out, his cock stiff and leaking pre-cum against his abdomen, and he could cum alone from the way your fingers weave in and tug on his hair.

This unfortunately means you’re left overstimulated from orgasm after orgasm. The bad part is, due to the intense haze caused by the excessive pheromones, Natsu truly doesn’t realize until you’re crying, practically begging for him to stop.

“N-no more.” You writhe against the sheets, turning your body to pull away from the greedy dragon slayer. “C-can’t cum anymore.”

A low growl resonates in the back of Natsu’s throat. He grabs and pulls you by your ankle, an easy feat from the way your legs feel like jello. You’re then pinned under his heavy body, sweat and heat radiating off the close proximity of his chest.

“Mine,” Natsu grumbles. He kisses away the tears trickling your cheeks before nuzzling against your neck. You let out a small whimper feeling the swollen head of his cock press against your hole. As you tense, Natsu intertwines his fingers with yours, a soft, subtle reassurance. “Mine…mine…please don’t leave, y/n”

“I’m yours, Natsu.”

Natsu’s canines graze the side of your neck before biting down harshly to draw blood. His hips snap against yours at quick pace while you keen helplessly against him. You feel so deliciously full, his cock reaching the deepest parts of your inner walls leaving you a moaning mess. Still, you want him closer, deeper. You wrap your legs around Natsu’s waist, your own hips bucking up to meet his. The newfound angle has you both shuddering from pleasure.

“Mine,” Natsu grunts. “Mine. My mate.”

See, when Natsu gets close to cumming, he begins to whine. His thrusts become more frantic and erratic as he desperately chases his release. Not even for his own pleasure, but his dragon instincts are telling him to breed. To fill you up and dripping with his seed.

He captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, biting your bottom lip teasingly. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix and you’re coming undone. Your body shivers and your legs are twitching. Your orgasm releases another wave of pheromones which ultimately pushes Natsu over the edge.

With a low whine, his hips press against yours as his own release hits. He stills completely, ensuring he emptied inside you completely before collapsing on top of you.

After a moment of post-sex clarity and some of the intense pheromones disappear, you groan, “Natsu, you’re heavy.”

But he’s already passed out, and you’re stuck in his hold until he rouses you up for another round.

Laxus- 「Electric Desire」

Laxus tries hard to not show his annoyance when mating season rolls around. After all, you two have been mated for the longest out of any couple, so at this point, he should be used to it by now, right? Wrong. Laxus, despite not showing it, gets jealous easily. He won’t say anything directly, but it’s hard not to notice his intense aura that becomes somewhat suffocating to those around him when a member of the Thunder Legion, or worse, another male dragon slayer gets too close to you.

Laxus is less subtle about whisking you away. In fact, he has no problem with throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you out of the guild to your shared apartment.

“Oi, Laxus!” You squirm in his hold. “Put me down already. I’m capable of walking on my own.” Laxus merely ignores you and the strange stares you both get as he walks through Magnolia. After all, it’s taking everything in him to hold his composure as your scent makes him harder and harder. “Laaxusss~” you whine only to be met with a harsh slap against your ass.

By the time you guys make it home, Laxus has more than enough pent up frustration to release and you’re more than happy to receive. The moment the front door closes, Laxus wastes no time pressing you against it, his large hand around your throat as his lips roughly capture yours. You moan into the kiss, beginning to feel lightheaded. Although you do your best to push Laxus back to breathe, his massive frame overpowers yours. He pins your hands above your head, nudging your legs apart with his knee to get even closer. The overwhelming scent of his pheromones sends blood rushing to your head, a euphoric feeling of the pain, and it felt like you could pass out any moment.

You shamelessly rolled your hips against Laxus’s, groaning at the feeling of his erection straining against his pants. At this, Laxus lets out a throaty growl. Once again, he has you over his shoulder. The relief of air is brief as you’re soon thrown on to the living room couch. You don’t even make it down the hall to your shared bedroom.

Laxus was instantly over you. His hands ran under your shirt, tearing upward at the hem. And you didn't resist when he made short work of your pants. There was already a growing wet stain of your arousal on your lacy panties.

"I'm so wet for you, Laxy," You moaned, grinding your hips against your boyfriend trying to receive some sort of relief from friction. Laxus pinned you down, making you whine more, as he tears your underwear off.

“You like testing my patience, don’t you?” Laxus grunts, through his cheeks are beginning to flush red as the hazy desire begins to chip away at his restraint. He swiftly removes his shirt in one movement and starts to unbuckle his belt, freeing his aching cock from the confines of his boxers.

The thing about Laxus was, he was big. He knew it. You knew it. He was a descent size even before getting erect. But you supposed with the increased testosterone during mating season, he somehow grew even bigger. The swollen, leaky tip is an angry red, and it throbs in Laxus’s hand as he aligns himself at your entrance.

“While I’m still somewhat sane,” Laxus huffed, nudging the tip slowly inside the warmth of your cunt. His body was flushed, muscles tense. “I apologize in advance. I don’t think I can hold back.”

Your raised your hips in anticipation. “Then don’t.”

Laxus glided the last couple of inches, burying his shaft to its hilt inside you. He groaned at the feeling, gripping your hips so tight they'd bruise. He was stretching you so wide that you felt like you would rip apart, your stomach bulging slightly from his size.

With a languid roll of his hips, he experimentally pulled his length out from the clamp of your hole. And with a sharp snap of agility only a dragon slayer could demonstrate, he drove himself back into your, the sheer force of his scorching length shot the first wave of pleasure through the both of you. Laxus's body shuddered slightly anticipation. You dug your nails in Laxus's shoulders trying to keep him close. That first penetration gave way to a succession of increasingly rougher thrusts that threatened to shatter your pelvis with all the force Laxus was propelling into you. Each sharp, shooting pang of pain only amplified your enjoyment and arousal.

Laxus growled, fucking out of pure aggression. You could feel it with every frenzied pump of his hips. Lewd moans and the slapping of flesh resounded through the room. You began feeling light headed all over; your hips ached and your insides burned from Laxus's sharp violent thrusts.

Laxus groans, a telltale sign of him getting close. He hovered over You, leaning down to kiss you. His hands trailed up Your bare chest to your nipples that became erect from pleasure. Lips trailing up the side of your neck, Laxus left several bite marks. He reached the area where he had previously left his dragon slayer mark on You and sucked and bit at it aggressively.

"Ah a-ah t-that feels funny." You squirmed.

“you're mine and mine only," Laxus grunted before he bit down harshly. The mark didn't burn as bad as the first time Laxus had bit you, but it didn't mean that it still didn't hurt. “Mine…”

Laxus fumbled slightly, his aggressive and frantic rutting becoming slower and slightly sloppy, instead. You felt your own orgasm building up, to the point of almost bursting. Your body felt hot and sticky, yet you needed something to tilt you over the edge.

"L-Laxy... I need to cum," you whine. "It hurts. Please!"

"Heh..." Laxus laughed with a pant. "Always such a needy little thing."

Laxus's large hand grazed your clit. You shivered at his touch, crying out as Laxus's thumb traced over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Laxus felt his dick twitch and pressed harder, touching you teasingly slow.

"Mm-ngh- I-I'm g-gonna cum," You whined. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt your insides snap. You cried out, your body spasming slightly.

"Fuck," Laxus swore. His cock, unbearably hard, buried itself all the way to the hilt inside you. It pulsated with each subsequent spurt, swelling still as he emptied inside your womb. The stimulation leaves you trembling and out of breath.

You have little time to recover as your mate puts you over his shoulder and takes you back to your bedroom. He’s still painfully erect and hasn’t had his fill of you yet.

Sting- 「Radiant Sin」

Sting is the most cocky and the biggest tease out of all the dragon slayers. It’s almost like a game to him, and he takes great satisfaction in the sight of you begging for him. Still, he is quite the jealous one and like Natsu, picks fights with the males he feels threatened by in the guild. Poor Yukino doesn’t quite understand the change in behavior at first and tries to mediate some of the conflict, but Minerva, for lack of a better word, tells her to just leave it alone and not to get in between the stupid fights of hormonal men.

You on the other hand are rather antsy. You can tell it’s that time of the year, and you’re slowly losing your composure, becoming more flustered due to the pheromones Sting was unintentionally releasing while trying to arm wrestle Orga.

Rogue is the only one to notice your growing discomfort. While he isn’t really affected by your scent in the sense it turns him on, but rather it’s giving him a headache. And since he views you like a little sister, he hates to see you suffer and your dumbass mate neglect to take care of you.

“Y/n, are you ok?” Rogue gently coaxed, brushing your hair out of your face, noticing how warm and flushed you felt.

“It’s just a little…hot, Rogue,” you mumble, trying not to let him pick up on the way you’re practically squirming in your seat. He’s a fellow dragon slayer, so even as embarrassing as it is, he knows what’s going on. And, he knows how to get Sting’s attention.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Rogue said, “as you know I value our friendship and respect your relationship with Sting.”

You’re too dazed to quite understand what he meant until you picked up on a new scent: Rogue’s own pheromones. As compared to Sting’s almost vanilla like scent, Rogue has a more deeper, woody fragrance that definitely stands out against the sweet scent you’re emulating.

It’s almost instantaneous the way Sting’s head snaps over to your direction. One quick look at your flushed expression and he’s abandoning whatever he was previously doing, rushing to your side, not before roughly shoving Rogue to the side. Rogue merely ignores the menacing glare he receives, while Sting quickly scoops you up into his arms bridal style and dashes out the guild in a flash of light.

By the time you both make it back to your shared apartment, Sting himself’s starting to feel the effects of his rut beginning to mess with his head. The whole time he was carrying you, you kept nuzzling your head into his neck, whimpering quietly with need.

“Sorry Angel,” Sting huffs, trying to set you on the bed, but you cling to his shirt, not letting him go.

“Sting, please,” you beg.

“Please, what, Angel?” Sting coos, prying your hands off of him and pinning them above your head with one hand while the other teasingly traces down the side of your waist. “I can’t help you if you don’t use your words.” You pout, making your mate chuckle at your expression which he honestly finds cute.

“Please, touch me.”

“But I already am.”

You huff in frustration, not in the mood for games. You try hopelessly and fail to break from Sting’s hold. Something about you being so powerless and fragile against him fueled an inner carnal desire within Sting, not one just to protect but in his eyes, you were his prey. And he wanted to dominate you in every way.

“A-ah, fuck,” Sting swore, his composure slowly crumbling away. He tore away your clothes. The sight of you bare and exposed had him brimming with desire. “You’re so beautiful, Angel. And you’re all mine.”

You couldn’t help feel flushed at his words, covering your face in embarrassment when you felt something prod at your cunt. Sting wedges one finger into your core, then a second one, scissoring you to stretch you out. You whimper at the penetration.

“S-Sting…”

“Shh, just relax.” Sting adds in a third finger. Now, the burn is gone and a satisfying stretch is left in its place. You moan. Your hips involuntarily buck against his hand, searching for more relief which makes the blond chuckle. “Eager, are you?”

"Sting, please," you whimper as you chase your high. Sting’s thumb circles your clit, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. You clench around his fingers, signaling your release, but at the last second he pulls away. You whine at his teasing and pout.

“Don’t worry, Angel,” Sting said, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere in the room. He palms himself through his trousers, the low guttural groan he lets out has you shivering in anticipation. His self control has run out. “You’re not going anywhere until I have you cumming around my cock and carrying my child.”

You quickly help Sting remove his pants, eagerly wanting him to fulfill his dirty promise. Sting pulls you into his lap so that you're straddling him. His hardened erection pokes at your core, making your tremble with need. He teasingly rubs against your clit, but never actually enters which makes you whine.

“Please, Sting, don’t tease me.”

“Heh, you’re cute when you beg.” Sting grabbed your hips and slammed you down on his cock. The sudden penetration and deep angle made your breath hitch. Tears prickled in your eyes. “Fuck. Fuck. You feel so good.” String groaned.

Desperate for more, you slowly raise yourself up and down the length of his cock, with minor assistance. Letting out a low moan, Sting tilted his head on the back of the headboard. He loved the way you felt around him. You were so tight, which meant he could only stretch you out more, and you equally loved the feeling.

Eventually, Sting retook the control, bucking upwards in tangent with your own movement, making him reach that sweet spot that had your legs trembling. "Ah fuck, Angel, you take my cock so well!" Sting panted.

He felt you tightening around him even more, practically trying to milk him for everything he had. His dick twitched before the first spurt of his cum shot into your womb.

"S-shit."

Sting hugs you into his chest, biting down on your neck to ground himself. You slump against his hold, all your energy gone as your orgasm washes over you. You stomach feels hot and bloated from being filled with Sting’s release.

You don’t even get a full minute of rest before Sting flips you on your backside, his cock poking at your entrance once more.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet.” A mischievous grin spreads across Sting’s face. “I said I’m not stoping until you’re pregnant with my baby.”

Rogue - 「Shrouded in Lust」

Rogue is the most gentle of the dragon slayers. Your relationship is relatively new as you’ve only been mated for about a year and a half, therefore he often still treats you like porcelain. In fact, he feels guilty when his desires take over, even though neither of you can help it. He often prioritizes your pleasure over his own, so sometimes you have to coax him into letting you take care of him.

In fact, Rogue honestly falls into rut a few days before your heat finally starts, and he’s pretty embarrassed by his lustful urges and tries to somewhat ignore them. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t deny his instincts, and no matter how much he fucks into his hand, it doesn’t replace you.

Rogue grunts as he comes for the nth time, painting the shower wall white with his release. It’s his fourth shower of the day, and the desire only feels more intense, nagging at him and making his head fuzzy. He quite honestly can’t take it anymore.

You’re practically a saint when you arrive home. You immediately notice the thickness of the pheromones clouding your apartment. It catches you somewhat off guard at first and makes you dizzy. After dropping your belongings off at the door, you quickly follow the smell to the source, growing hotter as the pheromones intensify. You’re surprised and immediately worried upon finding Rogue sitting in the running shower, his eyes completely glazed over and out of it.

“Oh my god, Rogue!” You’re instantly at his side. The shower is ice cold but his face is flushed red with fever. “Rogue, love, can you hear me? Come on, let’s get you dry.” Rogue is all but limp as you step into the shower to hoist him up, getting soaked in the process. The water turns your shirt sheer, your nipples poking through your bra as your intoxicating scent fills Rogue’s nose. His breath hitches.

“I-I’m sorry.”

You don’t get the chance to respond when you’re hoisted up and pressed against the shower wall. Rogue’s lips attached to yours in a frantic, desperate manner, and you become acutely aware of his little problem down stairs.

“Mmph, ah! Rogue, w-wait,” you groan.

“I-I’m sorry.” Rogue buries his face into your shoulder, heaving heavily. “I-I can’t control myself. I’m sorry but fuck I need you so bad.”

You cup Rogue’s cheeks, placing a tender kiss on his forehead, making him whimper at your gentleness. “It’s ok. Just let me undress. I don’t like the feeling of wet clothes.”

Rogue has just enough patience to let you remove your clothing. But the minute you unclasp your bra and throw your panties to the side, that restraint breaks and he pins you back against the shower wall, caressing your supple skin. “I’m sorry I’m so impatient, but I want to put it in so bad.” His cheeks are burning red from embarrassment as he grinds shamelessly against you. Despite the shower practically feeling like ice now, the overwhelming arousal has him burning up.

“C-can I put it in?” Rogue peppered kisses against your neck, nipping at the skin. “Please?”

“Always such a gentleman,” you shakily exhale, grabbing Rogue’s leaky cock to align at your entrance. “Fuck me like you mean it, Rogue.”

At your request Rogue bullies his cock in your cunt. As you whimper, he lets out a guttural groan of satisfaction. The feeling of your tight hole finally clamping around him made Rogue want to cum on the spot. Did you always feel this good?

"Ahh f-fuck..." Rogue stammers. His mind slips into a haze of lust, and his body moves on its own, rutting into you rough and fast in desperate search for his release. He hikes your leg up higher around his waist to fuck into your deeper. You gasp at the feeling, the uncomfortable arch in your back made your toes curl and stars dot your eyes.

"T-there! A-again!" You beg, wrapping your arms around Rogue's shoulders to hold him close. "I-I-m close-" Capturing your lips again, Rogue sucked hard on them in order to bruise. With his free hand, he jabbed his thumb against your clit, proving additional stimulation.

You squealed as you came, biting down on Rogue's tongue. The action made him growl. You clit pulsated, feeling like it was still vibrating. Tingles raced through veins, rocking your entire body.

"F-fuck, I'm close!" Rogue pants. Low grunts and moans left his lips. The feeling of You tightening around his dick even more was enough to send him over the edge.

He comes with a low groan. His body rocks and he presses you against the wall, biting into the crook of your neck. You squirm feeling him release into your heat. From the days of pent up frustration, Rogue cums hard and a lot. So much that you feel it trickle down your leg, making you shiver.

There's silence between the two of your for a few moments as you both recover from your orgasms.

“How long have you been hiding it from me?” You gently brush the wet hair out of Rogue's face. His cheeks flush red in embarrassment, which he tries to hide by burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"About four days..." he mumbles shyly.

"You don't need to keep things like this away from me, love. I'm yours as much as you are mine." The gentle kiss you place on his forehead, though endearing, instantly makes him hard again; his body betrays him as his stiff cock aches for your touch once more . You could only giggle at Rogue's embarrassed whine. "Go ahead. I'm all yours."

Gajeel - 「Iron Heart」

Gajeel is another major tease. Your bratty behavior only turns him on and enacts a predatory desire within him. He doesn't particularly care who hears his dirty words in response to any attitude you give him and quite honestly, takes it as a challenge. In fact, it turns him on the way you become instantly shy and bashful when he threatens to "punish your little ass" in public.

"You're so vulgar," you huff angrily. "I can't stand you."

"Gihi," Gajeel merely laughs, following behind into your shared room.

"you have no sense of shame! I won't be able to look at Lucy or Cana the same again."

Gajeel grins. He thinks it's cute how you put on the tough act despite how much he towers over you. "I don't really give a damn. The whole world can know how good I fuck your pussy for all I care."

Your cheeks flush red, the heat burning more as he corners you to the bed. "Y-you asshole!"

"Yeah?" Gajeel groans. You’re appalled when he palms himself through his pants, a noticeable tent forming at his crotch. Was he seriously turned on right now?! "What else?" Gajeel taunts.

"Y-you y-you-" You stammer over your words as Gajeel pins you to the bed.

"What? Where's that attitude of yours now?" Gajeel's devious smile only grows wider at the way you squirm against his hold. "Since you like running your mouth so damn much, why don't you put it to use. On your knees."

Your body obeys before your mind could register. Gajeel sits on the bed while you drop down to your knees before him. After you unbuckle his belt and release his stiff cock from the confines of his boxers, a relieved groan left Gajeel's lips. He was a lot bigger and had a lot more girth than you anticipated. Did your insults really turn him on that much?

"A-ah! Don't tease me, doll," Gejeel moaned. He threw his head back as Your warm mouth fully enveloped the head of his dick. Another moan left his lips as you began harshly sucking on him. You forced yourself to deep throat him. Whatever you couldn't fit, you used your hand to stroke him. Gajeel bucked his hips up, nearly making You gag on him and tears prickle in your eyes. You continued to slurp and grace every inch of his cock with your tongue. The sensations made his mind go blank.

"F-fuck! You suck me so good." Gajeel grabbed You by the hair and pulled you away from him much to your confusion. He then stood from the bed in front of you, holding your head. His dick throbbed, precum oozing from the tip. His release was so close, he could feel it from the way lust hazed his thoughts. "Open up. Let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours," Gajeel said.

You gladly did. He shoved his entire length in your mouth, making you gag. His grip on your hair tightened as he let out a shaky moan. He pulled back before forcing himself back in again and again. You couldn't breath. Drool dribbled down your face as you damn near choked. Seeing your lewd expression only turned Gajeel on more.

"You like that doll?" He panted. "You like choking on my fat cock don't you? That pretty little mouth of yours feels so good around me. I could cum on the spot." You only whined in response. Your hands gripped Gajeel's thighs as you tried to steady yourself and get used to his rough pace. "You like when I fuck that mouth of yours, don't you? You're such a good girl. Taking all of me like that."

His cheeks flushed red. The pressure of his release finally snapped. "Ugh fuck! I'm coming!"

Gajeel quickly halted his movements. He practically had a death hold on Your hair, emptying into your mouth. He came a lot and suddenly. You coughed, spitting some of the salty seed out once it unexpectedly hit the back of your throat.

You tried to regain your breath after being practically forced to choke on his length. But the sight of you sitting in front of him with his cum all over you was enough to make Gajeel hard again.

"Strip," he commanded. "I'm not done with you yet doll."

You quickly shed your clothing and undergarments, leaving you completely exposed before the male. Gajeel licked his lips hungrily, eyeing you up and down. His stare made you bashful, but to the dark haired man, you were the most gorgeous thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

"Absolutely beautiful," Gajeel mumbled, pressing his lips against Yours. You eagerly let his tongue explore your mouth while his hands groped your breast. You moaned meekly and rubbed your thighs together.

"Gajeel...please..." You whined. The dragon slayer let out a little chuckle.

"So impatient doll~" Lifting you up with ease, Gajeel carried and gently laid you back on the bed without breaking the next kiss. He cupped your cheeks while biting your lip teasingly. "I'm going to fuck you so hard that you won't even remember your own name."

With that, Gajeel rammed his cock into Your wet core. You cried out in pain at the sudden penetration. You held on to his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his waist. Your nails dug into his back leaving red marks.

"F-fuck!" He put one hand on the headboard trying to steady himself. "Ahh you're so tight doll," Gajeel groaned, giving his hips an experimental roll. The way you clenched around his cock nearly made him cum on the spot. He captured your lips again before pulling out and hitting again. His pace soon quickened and the two of you lost yourselves in the pleasure.

"Ah fuck doll, you take my cock so well!" Gajeel panted. Sweat covered both your bodies as the sound of skin slapping against each other filled the room. "You like it when I fuck you senseless, don't you? You're clenching around me so tight I could just explode."

"G-Gajeel! Please!" You moaned out. Gajeel grabbed both of you legs and placed them over his shoulders. The new angle hit harder and deeper. You cried out, begging for more.

"Such a greedy girl aren't you? You like it when I'm this deep in you?" Gajeel grunted. "No one else can make you feel this way. Got it?" When you couldn't form any words to respond, Gajeel slapped your thigh making your squeal. "I said you got that? Who can fuck you this good?"

"Y-you-" Y/n gasped.

Gajeel grabbed your hair, pulling harshly. "I don't think I heard you properly, doll. Who can make you feel this good?"

"You Gajeel!" You yelled. He smirked letting out a chuckle.

"Damn right." His orgasm quickly approached. His pace faltered just a bit, making his thrusts more sloppy. His low grunts turned into loud moans. "Ah, fuck I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come so deep you're going to be dripping with my seed."

A loud moan left his lips. His hips stilled and his release hit; he bites down on to your shoulder, drawing blood. You shivered feeling yourself be filled. After he was sure he finished, Gajeel pulled out and sat back on his heels. He stared down at you with a satisfied look on his face as some of his seed leaked from your swollen sex.

Gajeel then flips you over, hiking your ass up to the height he wants.

“W-wait-Gajeel-“

"Gihi We're not done. By the end of the night, everyone will know who you belong to."

Round 2?

[omi-boshi]

"Hey, Kiyoomi-kun!" Shion yells from the open door leading to the locker rooms, voice a little breathless. "Your phone rang." Kiyoomi quirks an eyebrow in curiosity. There's still 15 minutes left of their break and truthfully, Kiyoomi is not inclined to leave the comfortable position he's resting in: sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him as he caught his breath. Still, he rises to his feet and ambles towards the locker room. Kiyoomi typically has his phone on Do Not Disturb. If anyone's messaging him at this time, it could only be one person: you. He thumbs his phone open; the screen flashes with a photo of you and him from your most recent anniversary, before he clicks on the message that, just as he guessed, came from you.

It's a video.

For a moment, he considers saving it for later just in case it ends up being racier than what's acceptable to play in public but the motion blur from the thumbnail suggests anything but that. Besides, it's barely past 5PM, you're only on the way home at this time.

Ultimately, curiosity gets the better of him and he plays the video without further ado.

"Hey, babe!" Your voice crackles through the speaker. In the video, you're running. The backdrop is the familiar landscape of the neighborhood you both reside in.

"This is proof that I would never try to bring home a stray dog." You look off to the side, the camera tilting with the motion and showing the dog that's running alongside you. "See, Kiyoomi!" You look towards your phone. Despite doing your utmost at feigning disappointment and concern at being followed, your giddiness bleeds through your voice and it's enough to pull a smile out of Kiyoomi.

"See! I'm running! I'm running away from you!" Your voice lowers in volume as you direct your words to the dog. It's immediately followed by, "Come on, buddy! Come on— Go away!" You say the last part to the camera. Eyes wide, as if you were looking directly at Kiyoomi and convincing him in person.

Kiyoomi falters at the way you try your damndest to tamp down your grin, the faux disappointment coming back as you address him through the video. His grin widens.

"What are you doing? Go away!" You turn to the dog. "I said run— run away—come on, come on—Run, buddy—Run away!"

As you grow increasingly breathless, Kiyoomi's amusement crests, sending him into fits of laughter that catch the attention of everyone within the vicinity. His laughter continues as he watches you run with this dog, at one point, even waving it over when it strays too far.

By the time the video abruptly cuts off, the fatigue Kiyoomi felt from practice is replaced by this warmth in his chest brought about by your valiant attempt at not leading a stray dog into your home. When his laughter subsides, Shoyo bounds over towards him, curious at what has the reclusive spiker so amused. "You seem happy, Omi-san. Something good happen?" Kiyoomi spares him a glance, laughter dying down, and a soft quirk to his lips that Shoyo has learned can only be pulled out of him by you. "Yeah... I think we're getting a dog."

(based on this silly little video)

[kaysungshine]

𝓛𝓸𝓯𝓲 𝓛𝓾𝓼𝓽 ♡

{ Pairing } - Producer.bf!Jisung x afab.gf!reader

{ Genre } - NSFW; s/f/d(dark)*, PWP, established relationship

{ Synopsis } - Your boyfriend doesn't know any other method of stress relief, other than creating music. He can get so consumed by it, it can become the stressor. So you decide to present him with a new method. That's how you found yourself walking down the street in nothing but lingerie and a long coat.

{ WC } - 2.9k

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, *forced orgasm/slight dubcon if you squint, everything is consensual but there is begging for more when reader might be at her limit so that's why I'm including dubcon (for those who may find it triggering)*, use of pet names (baby, angel, mine, my love, good girl & Ji), very lowkey needy/soft dom & romantic sub dynamic, worshipping reader, oral (f. recieving), squirting, overstimulation, unprotected piv (do as I say & not as I write, pee after sex too!), creampie, cum feeding & eating, fingers in mouth, pussy worship, I may just have gotten carried away with oral fixations okay? FORGIVE ME.

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - I originally was going to post a Hyunjin oneshot next, but I wanted to finish this one in time for Jiji's birthday! It's 2 am on the 14th where I am heheh. Hopefully you all like it. Han producing music will always be hot asf for me personally lmao. Barely proofread.

The air was cool, seeping underneath your long wool coat. In any other circumstance, on a late fall night, the coat would be enough to keep the chill out. Today however, it wouldn't. But you still kept walking, determined to make it to Jisungs studio. 

You focused on the clicking of the heels on the boots you wore. And the sound of the wind picking up, signalling a blustery night ahead. The small sounds calm your nerves. 

You were anxious about Jisung's reaction, he was in one of his moods again. You understand, you truly do. Juggling everything he has to on his plate, it was no easy feat. There were times he'd just let that dark veil take over, and shut everyone out without even meaning to. 

You knew he was in that state again when you hadn't seen or heard from him in three days. It wasn't for lack of effort on your end either. Every phone call sent to voicemail, every text sent by you was met with the same response;

'At the studio, I'll text you after, angel'.

You knew it was time for intervention when Chan texted you that he was only coming home, at 2 in the morning no less, to shower and change. No eating, no resting, just back to the studio afterwards.

This had happened twice before in the almost year you've been dating. Each time you remember talking with him afterwards, he always said the same thing;

'making music is my stress relief.'

That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that he is also a workaholic. One who easily gets lost in the creative space he has built a career off of. And once that diligence sets in, it's hard to shake off. 

So here you are, ready to try a new approach. Ready to offer a new kind of relief. An alternative. 

You and Jisungs sex life was far from boring. Far from infrequent, you'd say too. But it surely was more... monotonous. You'd never complain about it, and neither would he. There was nothing wrong with it. It just happened at the 'perfect' times in your relationship. 

Before bed, after date nights, on monthly anniversaries, to express massive amounts of love, etc. 

It was never to celebrate happiness, calm anger, or comfort sadness. Never to relieve stress. 

You were determined to change that. There was no reason you could not help him in any way you could. And in this aspect, you knew you could. 

Still, you were nervous. This would be new, he never did well with new. 

Your footsteps stopped, leaving only the sound of the wind in your ears. Until you pressed your badge against the card reader, listening to the beeps, to the gears unlock. 

Once inside the lobby, the clinking of your heels against the vinyl tile filled your ears. Each step matches the thumping in your heart, you find yourself speed walking.

 You smiled and gave a little wave to the staff in the lobby, and they returned it. 

In the elevator, the sound of its melodic music filled your ears next. The whirring background noise the machinery made, stopped, as you reached your desired floor. 

There was silence when you stepped off. The flooring is carpeted now, and soundproof rooms lined the hallway leaving the night quiet. 

You took a deep breath and made your way to the door you knew was your boyfriend's. It was unlocked, thankfully. 

You let yourself in, seeing the silhouette of your boyfriends back facing the door in the blue lighting. 

He was all about ambiance in this facet of life, having LED's lining the ceiling. The only source of light in the room, besides the glowing screens of his monitors. 

He was sat in his chair, headphones on, hood up, head nodding in tandem with his fingers tapping. 

You took the opportunity to slide your boots off. Opting to keep your coat on, you brushed your hair over one shoulder. You took your badge from around your neck, and tossed it on the leather couch that was against the wall. 

Padding your way over to him, you place your hand on his shoulder lightly. He tenses under your touch, and turns his head. He's frowning when he first faces you, eyebrow furrowed together. 

When he sees you though, he softens. The corners of his mouth slightly upturning to a small smile. 

"Baby..." He whispers, sliding his head phones off. Soft lofi music is filling the room from them. 

He grabs your hand off his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. He's pressing soft kisses to your palm, and placing it on his cheek. 

"It's late my angel, why are you here?" He says in a husky voice with more volume. 

Your heart flutters at his gentleness, and you bend down to press your own lips to the top of his head. A musky, yet spicy vanilla scent fills your nostrils. His scent. 

"I'm here to help you baby." You murmur to him softly. 

That caught his attention. He fully swivelled around to face you, taking both of your hands in his. He gazed up into your eyes, a curious look on his face. 

You smiled down on him, feeling nothing but love for this man. You'd relax him in any way you can. You placed a hand on each side of his face, bending down again. No more words were said as you kissed him. As your hands slid down his neck, his found themselves on yours, pulling you closer to him. Matching your eagerness.

You let your hands fully slide off him, and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Your trembling fingers were working the buttons on your coat. One by one, releasing the fabric from your bare skin. 

You stood up, letting the coat fall from your shoulders.

Jisung lets out a soft gasp, and licks his lips. 

Exposed to him, was his favorite lingerie you owned. It was a bra and panty set, satin and lace. Revealing. 

All white. 

Your boyfriends favorite part. He always said that the contrast against your melanated skin was a work of art. He joked about commissioning Hyunjin, if he didn't have to see you essentially naked.

So here you stood before him, presenting yourself to him. Silently willing him to do as he pleases. To take your body and use you to decompress. You were too nervous to say it.

He traces the swell of your breast with a finger, curving around the delicate lace. It's a simple touch, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps blooming on your skin. 

"So sexy." He mumbles, eyes roving your whole body. 

He stands up, kissing you desperately, and walking you back to the couch. Your knees hit the back of it, and you're forced to sit. Lips ripping away from his, panting at the desire in his eyes. 

All your nerves were gone. New or not, it would never change the fact that Jisung craved you as much as you craved him. 

He held himself up with his hands on the back of the couch, and hovered above you for a moment looking you in the eyes. 

Then he was sinking to the ground, on his knees, between your legs. His hands smooth over your thighs, making them pliant with soft kisses, before he spreads them open. Your pussy is glistening behind the lace, and he licks his lips again. 

His hand glides from your thigh, to your heat. Thumb brushing against that sensitive bud, the friction eliciting a whine from you. 

His eyes snap up to you, and he holds your gaze as his tongue licks a stripe up your clothed core. The tip of it flicking deliciously against your sensitive clit. 

"Mmmm..." He groaned at the taste of you, "All for me?"

You moan at his tongue swiping against you again, and again, "All for you, my love." 

His fingers hook underneath the band of your underwear, and he peels them off you. He's whimpering, watching as strings of your arousal stick to them. The cool air is hitting your sex, before puffs of hot air from his mouth is. And you're shivering again at the sensation. 

A gasp escapes you when his tongue slides between your folds. Lapping up your juices, and suckling at that bundle of nerves. You listen to the wet sounds his mouth is making against you, along with the broken melody coming from his head set. You get lost in it. 

Your hand finds his hair, and you're grinding against his mouth. He's whimpering and moaning with you, one hand palming at his bulge. The other has fingers teasing your entrance. 

You let out a loud moan when two fingers push into you, and your grasp on his hair loosens. He takes the opportunity to get air, panting, mouth hanging open. His cheeks, chin and lips all shine in the dull blue light. 

His fingers continue to pump into you as he watches your face contort for him. He's smiling with lidded eyes, basking in the fact that he's making you feel so good. 

"Ji..." You moan, needing more.

"My beautiful baby, let me worship you a little longer." And he's diving back down.

His tongue focuses on your clit, and fingers coaxing that gummy spot inside you. He's pulling moan after moan from you, making out with your lower lips, bringing you closer to the edge. Your thighs start trembling around his head, and he has to grip the fleshy part of one of them to stop you from squeezing him before he's finished. 

You're spilling over the edge, body alight and your release coating his fingers, and face. He's lapping up every little bit, determined to taste your pleasure on his tongue. Only when you start to whine from constant overstimulation does he stop. 

He's kissing his way up to your lips, leaving a wet trail behind him that you couldn't bring yourself to care about. 

You're not sure when he managed to discard his pants and boxers, but you feel his hard, bare length pressing against your inner thigh. 

He's rubbing his member against your pussy now, letting your slick and his saliva cover him. Kissing your neck as he's rocking against you, he whispers, "Angel, do you have another one for me?"

Of course you did, you knew you did. You needed to feel him, you needed to please him. So you started nodding fervently, eyes rolling in the back of your head when he sucked lightly near your ear and jaw. 

He had a grasp of his cock now, dragging the head through your folds with added pressure. Each squelch of your juices sounds like music to your ears, anticipation building in your body.

"'Gonna make you feel s'good." He's whining into your neck. 

He has your legs around him now, as he fills you slowly, both of you savoring the sensations it brings. Your pussy spasms around him, and it has him grunting. 

"Always feel so good squeezin' me..." He mumbled, letting you adjust, "...exactly what I needed..." 

Then he was pumping into you, and you felt it. All the frustrations he was holding onto, all the stress, all the vexation. He was translating it into the energy he used to pleasure you. Letting go of it all. 

You couldn't hear the soft lofi music coming from his head set anymore, instead the slapping of skin and heavy breathing mixed with moans were filling the room. You'd never be more thankful for a soundproof space. Neither of you were holding back. 

Your moans only being interrupted by quiet curses, and his being peppered in between praises of how good you feel for him. He made it known he was chasing your high before his, begging you to cum for him. 

"Please angel," he whispers against your lips, "need to feel you cumming on my cock."

His pace became quicker as he kissed you, and his hand slithered down to play with your clit. Your back arched off the couch at that, angling him deeper inside you. He groaned, and his thrusts faltered for a second indicating he was close. 

Regardless he was determined to finish you, and his tone grew more demanding, "Be a good girl... cum for me, angel."

And that was all your body and mind needed to let go, legs locking around him and body shaking. Your hands slid under his hoodie, and nails dug into his back. It was the kind of intense orgasm, that your moan got stuck in your throat, instead a rough growl coming out. 

You sounded absolutely feral for him, and you were. 

That was what pushed him over the edge, a slew of curses leaving his mouth as his hips stuttered. With a final harsh thrust, he cums deep inside you. All of the negativity has dispersed from his body, and he collapsed back to his knees. 

You're both panting, trying to catch your breath. You jolt when you feel his fingers in your folds, over sensitivity taking over yet again. He's spreading you open, hypnotized by the way his cum is drooling out of you. 

"So perfect, fuck." He says as he drags his finger through it. 

He's bringing it up to your lips, and your mouth opens instinctively. You're sucking his finger into your mouth, his essence salty but familiar on your tongue. 

His eyes are locked to yours as you work his finger, licking it clean. He slips a second finger in your mouth, letting you cover them in your saliva before he dips back down for a taste himself. 

You're whining around his fingers when his tongue glides against your clit, and your hips try to retract into the couch. Quickly, he has both hands on your hips, securing you in place so he can continue tasting you. 

"We taste so good together, my love..." He's mumbling against you. 

His words will never fail to coax submission out of you.

Your hand flies back to his hair, as good as it feels you're trying to pull him away. He's just burying his face deeper, tongue dipping into your entrance to make sure he's tasting everything. 

"Ji... s'too much... I can't-" You're pleading, even though you feel yourself succumbing to the overwhelming brushes of his tongue.

He hisses when you finally succeed in pulling him off you, "Please angel," He's begging again, "Just one more. I know you have one more for me." 

"Fuck, Ji, I-" 

He silences you with his tongue flat against you, another lick up to your clit "Please, need to hear you cumming one more time for me." He whines and starts leaving sloppy, wet kisses on your pussy. 

You always knew he was more of a giver. That even though it was you who had cum twice, and he only once. He preferred it that way. Even if he was the one needing the release more, he thrived more on your pleasure.

"Just be gentl-" You try to say, but cut yourself off with a groan. 

He's eagerly slurping at your core. Lost in the moment, all he has is your pussy on his mind now. Messily licking and lapping at every inch. He's shaking his head and moaning into it, keeping you pinned in place by your hips. 

You feel another orgasm starting to build quickly, clenching around nothing. He risks you bucking your hips roughly into his face, and takes a hand off your hip. He's pushing two fingers into you yet again, and you're seeing stars. 

His fingers curl, and his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly. You feel your release slip away from you, and your cumming on his face again. Yelling his name. He only grows more determined.

He leans back so he can watch the beautiful, writhing, mess he reduced you to. The thumb of his other hand is replacing his mouth, continuously flicking your bud. He doesn't slow his movements as you ride out your orgasm, instead picking them up. 

Your world turns white, and you feel yourself squirt on his hands. He's watching you in awe, whispering more praise for you as your juices spray over him. 

"So fucking sexy, my good girl."

"That's it, let go for me, let it all go."

"Knew you had one more in you, all for me."

"My perfect angel."

It's when you start to slip into that floaty space that he finally stops. He doesn't want you too gone, he's limited in the care he can provide here.

He's positioning you to lay on the couch, and he's laying behind you. You're both wet and sticky, and heaving for air. Yet, it's blissful. 

You lay there for what could've been minutes or an hour, you weren't sure. You were content in each other's touch. Your arm reaches back to caress his head, fingers combing through his hair. He's humming. 

"I love you." You finally murmur. 

"I love you more, angel. Thank you for this." He says, and kisses your shoulder. 

"You caught on quickly to my idea." You giggled.

He laughed with you, "I caught on halfway through it, actually. I was just beside myself with desire for you." 

You blushed at that, and you were thankful he couldn't see it. 

"I mean you showed up in my favorite set..." He whispers and starts toying with the lace on your bra, his finger slipping underneath to flick your nipple, "In ONLY my favorite set. How could I not show you how much I admire you." 

You felt his length harden against you again, and he rolled his hips slowly as he gripped your hip. 

You knew the night was far from over. 

As for how you were both going to escape and clean up? Well that was a problem for future you. 

Taglist:

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[heirofnight]

meddling

azriel x reader drabble

word count: 2k - longest drabble ever, i'm so sorry

summary: reader just escaped a horrific past that has left her closed off and in need of isolation. she takes up residence at the house of wind, finding solace in the private library. she's content to keep to herself, but a meddling house and a stray little shadow have other plans.

a/n: i wrote this very quickly, this is more like a stream of consciousness than a well-planned piece of writing lol. also my first time posting so pls be kind 😭 i just felt like writing and then ... this happened. ok enjoy!

azriel was a silent, watchful protector of yours when you initially arrived at the night court. studying you, observing you from afar. you spend most of your time on the third level of the house of wind - shy and in need of isolation. your past was something you were desperate to forget. but, even after your relocation to velaris, your mind was murky. you'd tried sorting through thoughts and emotions that you'd pushed deep down in order to survive, but it all felt akin to wading through waist-deep mud in heavy, laced-up boots. you'd found solace in the private library on the third floor, only doors down from your own chambers. many mornings you awoke, dressed, and shuffled to the warm library that was lit with beams of light from dawn's glow. you'd curl into your favorite chair that overlooked velaris and the glistening sidra far down below, taking in a centering breath. it felt like muscle memory, and the house had learned of your routine. a warm teacup waited for you, right beside your well-loved armchair. your tea was the perfect temperature: the house had learned that too. and every morning, a sly, stray tendril of shadow wove its way through the half-opened library doors. it noted your presence, your general state of well-being, before darting away playfully to relay this information back to its master. yes, rhys had asked azriel to watch over you, but even az knew that this level of attentiveness was overkill - even for him. you'd peek up at the tiny shadow each morning, expecting it now. at first, shortly after arriving at the house, you'd blink up at it - not having the mental energy to delve into its motive. now, a couple of months later, you'd felt more settled. more relaxed. and you almost considered this lone shadow to be a sweet little companion, the only being that dared approach you this frequently. you'd give it a soft grin each morning, and it would swirl happily, lazily, before departing as quickly as it came.

you were always cold. try as you might, you often only felt true, comfortable warmth when bundled beneath the layered blankets that adorned your oversized bed. you knew you shared this hallway with azriel, but rarely ever saw him. you'd hear him arrive late at night every now and then - assuming that he'd just returned from some sort of mission. what you didn't know, however, was that azriel had tried his hardest to silence the thump of his boots against the stone floor every single time he approached the arched door of your room. before, when he only shared this hallway with cassian, he'd make noise on purpose upon arriving home. his own way of letting his brother know that he was home and safe, without having to strike up any sort of conversation. he was drained after most missions, had enough of speaking. but with you occupying the room next to his own now, he wouldn't dare disturb your well-deserved, peaceful slumber. az assumed with the past you'd endured, that you'd trained yourself to sleep light. not a sound, don't fuck this up, he'd think to himself, willing his shadows to silence his footsteps entirely. even with the suppressed steps, he still tightened every single muscle. stepping so slowly, he knew he must look ridiculous. if cassian ever saw this, saw him, he would never live it down. on several occasions, your heavy wooden door had unlatched on its own during the night, leaving just enough of a space between the frame and the door that azriel could see the beige drapes that fluttered lightly against your windows through it. your sweet shadow companion would leave az's silent side to dart through the crack, and return just as quickly to whisper cold, shivering against his master's ear. to deter the draft from chilling your bones any further, azriel would reach a scarred hand out to the doorknob, closing it as silently as possible - making sure to pull until he heard the slight click of the latch.

you'd often opted to eat your meals either in the library or in your room - the house setting out a plate and silverware for you wherever you'd decided to spend your time that evening. you didn't allow yourself to wonder what the members of rhysand's family must have thought of you - a secluded, timid female that went out of her way to avoid the members of a family that had tried so hard to give her a home, a place to heal. you'd always quickly push those thoughts to the back of your mind, wanting to focus on taking care of yourself, and not others for once.

tonight, you'd chosen the library. you'd recently begun a trio of books that you'd found on one of the overflowing shelves, and you were unable to put them down once you'd started. you didn't notice the time, didn't notice the mid-afternoon sun become dusk, making the sidra glow like wildfire. you did, however, notice the grumble of your stomach once it became evening. the light of day was gone - the library now filled with the warm glow of faelights, dim candles sitting in golden candelabras, and a crackling fire within the hearth across from you. you frowned to yourself, noticing now that the house hadn't placed dinner on the mahogany coffee table that sat in front of the fire. you glanced around, the thought of verbally speaking to the house itself feeling a bit silly. you briefly told yourself that asking the house may offend it - that was even more laughable. could you offend a house? while silently mulling over these questions, that sly, sleek little tendril of shadow slowly approached you from the door of the library. it curled and twisted its way to you, stopping at your right hand to weave its way around your wrist. you looked down at it curiously - it had never touched you before, had never gotten this close. you'd deduced at this point that it was one of az's shadows - figured that it was just curious about the new presence in the house. however, it began to twirl, trying its best to get your attention. "yes?," you whispered aloud. speaking of silly interactions, you thought briefly. it weaved through your fingers, as if it were trying to hold your hand, before darting towards the door and stopping in the doorway. it was waiting for you; wanted you to follow. you cocked a curious eyebrow, slowly closing your book to set it on the table before you. gathering your linen dress in your hands, you stood, hesitantly walking towards it. "where are we going, little one?," you whispered towards it. the shadow responded immediately by darting down the hall and to the left, towards the stairs. you quickened your steps to catch up to it, only to find it waiting on the landing of the staircase for you. once you spotted it, it darted away again, down one level. peering over the railing, you noticed it twirling towards the doorway of the dining hall. family dinner was taking place, and judging by the various muffled voices and laughter you were able to hear from the staircase, everyone was present.

you tiptoed quietly down the stairs, which you realized was probably pointless. you were sure at least one of them had already picked up on your approaching scent by now. the patient shadow still waited by the door for you, swirling and twirling happily. inviting you inside to dine with its master and his family. you took a deep breath, watching as the shadow darted back to azriel's shoulder, whispering something against the shell of his ear. immediately, az's head snapped towards the doorway, meeting your own nervous gaze before you had the chance to escape without being noticed. his presence felt grounding - it had since the first time you met him. he didn't speak much, but neither did you. he felt familiar, safe, and you wondered briefly if it was due to the affection you'd grown towards his shadow that checked on you dutifully since your arrival - an act that you assumed was azriel's doing.

your hands were clasped in front of you as you nervously played with your fingers. you surveyed the room, taking everything in: the relaxed family, the spread of delicious food on the table. azriel continued to watch you with a calm, yet indiscernible expression on his face. the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, trying to convey that it was okay, you could come in. rhysand noticed you next - he followed azriel's distracted gaze to the threshold of the door, finding your small frame standing there. "well, look who it is," rhys drawled politely, loud enough to quiet the rest of the family sitting around the table. everyone's gaze found you at once, and you swallowed thickly. your eyes darted back to azriel's in a silent plead, his hazel eyes feeling like a lifeline. az nodded once, gaze soft and kind. "why don't you sit down and join us? we were hoping you would," rhys stated sincerely, gesturing a sweeping hand out over the spread of food. “help yourself, y/n. if you don’t see something you’d like, the house will prepare a more suitable meal," he smiled warmly. as if on cue, a goblet of wine, plates, and silverware appeared in front of an empty chair - courtesy of said house itself. you smiled softly, at the high lord, at the house's display of affection towards you. "thank you," you spoke warmly, perhaps the first time most of them had ever heard you speak at all.

the empty seat that was now prepared for you was right next to azriel, and you slowly made your way towards it. you felt the prying gaze of everyone at the massive dinner table, and silence still encompassed the room. your eyes flitted around nervously, and azriel tracked the movement immediately. he cleared his throat once, a silent, stoic glare tossed to his family. they got the hint, and all fell back into comfortable conversation amongst each other - attention no longer all on you. you took your place next to him, staring down at your empty plate. your hands fell into your lap, your fingers fiddling together once more. azriel watched you from his peripheral, not wanting you to feel balked at.

he leaned over finally, speaking so only you could hear, "would you like to try the potatoes?", his tone was warm and soft - comforting. you darted your gaze over to him, only meeting his eyes for a moment. he was much more intimidating up close, and you were far too shy.

"they're my personal favorite," he continued on, the corners of his mouth curled upward. you let out a small breath of a laugh, playing with a stray thread on your gown. "yes, please," you whispered to him, eyes raking over the large elaborate plates and dishes set in the middle of the table, searching for the potatoes he spoke of. before you could reach towards the gold serving spoon that sat within the buttery dish, his hand had already grasped it, bringing a heaping serving right over to your plate.

"i've got it," he spoke softly, dishing your meal. you nodded once, cheeks heating at the action. it continued this way, azriel asking if you'd like to try each entrée and side, one by one. he'd offer his own personal opinions on each one, and you'd both laughed at the way he'd described the asparagus - "absolutely abysmal," he'd report, nose scrunching dramatically.

after your plate was adequately filled, az went back to his own food. you began to poke at yours. "thank you," you whispered over to him after a moment. he glanced over at you and replied with a friendly smile, and over his shoulder appeared a small tendril of a shadow - your meddling little companion that had also apparently conspired to bring you closer to its master. it twirled your way happily, looping through your fingers and up your arm. you laughed softly, meeting azriel's sparkling hazel eyes. he smiled fondly at his shadow, "i'm sorry, sometimes it feels like they have a mind of their own," he paused for a moment, watching the smoky tendril weave through your hair. "they like you," he whispered, meeting your eyes with a grin.

"don't apologize," you replied softly. "i like them too. i think they knew i needed company," you said pointedly, not dropping his gaze for the first time all evening. he nodded in understanding, plopping another bread roll onto your plate.

"well, welcome to the family, y/n," his words were soft, but the weight you felt in your chest was overwhelming. warmth, true warmth, spread through your limbs, snuffing out the chill that had left you constantly shivering.