#holding it or being held it is still a leash
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
6 for you beloved 💜
HI NINA BELOVED... i just woke up from a 5 hour nap and it's 1 in the morning and i'm like whuhagasga. perfect time to be on tumblr.
6. Favorite title you used?
my titling for honkai has actually been ALL OVER THE PLACE HAJFLDKFSAFJKA because i find titling tiring and boring so i usually just listen to a bunch of songs and gather a bunch of appropriately titley lyrics in advance and then just dump them all in a list and refer from the list when i need it. except all of the songs i listened to before were félix songs. so i used those indiscriminately on renjing fics as long as the vibe of the title itself worked regardless of whether the underlying songs actually fit 😂😂😂
with that said my favorite is probably and i get the feeling that i'm living. makes me real sad but that's exactly the feeling i want from a major character death road trip fic. living again before the end. i have to lie down 🛌 AND it's actually from a renjing song for once 🤣🤣🤣
#i like most of my titles#dog leash dog and mad wandering man tickle my brain because of the alliteration#speaking of which dog leash dog is like. dog eat dog. but leash. because jing yuan is leashed to blade from the ritual but blade is also#leashed to jing yuan because he is being imprisoned for his crime#and it refers to the line in the fic where it's like#scarred at wrist or neck the mark still binds the both of them#holding it or being held it is still a leash#both of them are slaves to greater powers in a way and both are so codependently tied to one another unable to separate#unable to keep from biting each other's faces off#dog leash dog...#sorry. rambling.#🕊️#I LOVE NINA
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/34f0c114c5d511d10f27fdd29026b5c4/cf15d72a8af0675e-12/s540x810/88803b8030da06e64863c618c1fe015ba49a3275.jpg)
There’s truly no joy like a northern mix in snow up to their chest
I wanted to stay on the already trampled path around the meadow perimeter, Kal said we had to go through the middle so he could look for bunnies
#i ended up doing over a mile in snow up to (and sometimes above) my knees :’)#because i dropped my phone in the snow after taking videos of kal and didnt notice until we were back on the sidewalk :’)#then when i trecked back with a flashlight and my watch i found out i couldnt ping it without wifi#so i had to go back AGAIN to get zuzu so he could make a hotspot and we brought a shovel in case we had to do a grid search#thankfully the battery held on JUST long enougj to ping it#which was good bc it was a solid 40ft from where i assumed it fell out of my pocket so we wouldntve found it till spring#and it still works perfectly fine :D yippeeee#battery life might end up being a bit shot from the cold but so far it seems to be holding up fine#kaladin puppy#.txt#also kal is leashed here#his long line is actually a camping tie out cable (bc he snapped the metal on his regular long line) so its hard to see#kal is probably never going to be an off leash dog#because as much as i know he loves me. he would absolutely just take off to explore and he has the borzoi ‘wtf is a car’ gene#in theory he is trained with multiple recalls#in practice he is not. or at least not enough that id ever risk losing him
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Alterego AU of mhyk injected Snow and White thoughts into my brain cuz of how insane Cain and Snow's relationship in that AU is making me whenever I think about it. It's just so good in the sense that Snow is 100% on board with influencing Cain Terribly and how Cain is also just Way Off than how he is in canon but it's Still Him. The biggest difference is that Snow is allowing Cain's negative traits to be displayed openly while Arthur is actively Ignoring those negative traits and so Cain has to Hide any negative traits just so Arthur doesn't have to see any of it.
#aria rants#cain having snow as his master is so insane. its making me so insane and im being pushed so so close to being a snow and white fan#just to further understand their characters and be able to use that to further my cain insanity in regards to snow being his master#its just SO GOOD. snow being his master in alterego au is just soooo good!!! enabler! snow is an enabler! to cain!#and seeing cain just being Like That is SOOO GOOD!!! ive always entertained the idea of evil/antagonist cain cuz its so good#he has the tendencies to be a villain. just a small push... just a small push and he would Snap. i want him to SNAP#i want cain to just Let Go. let go of the facade. let go of the things holding him back in that way and just go WILD#even for a moment. i think cain needs to just go insane a bit to finally get the push he needs to get better#alterego au shown me the light that is cain in a different shackle but one that enables all his faults out in the open#yet hes still held by an invisible leash to follow one he allows to govern over his life to give meaning to it AND ITS SO GOOD!!!
0 notes
Text
♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, virginity loss, degradation, abuse of power, Christianity, blasphemy, medieval times, corrupt priest, torture devices, abuse, punishment, misogyny, public humiliation, execution of non-named characters
♡ FEM reader
A scold's bridle, sometimes called a witch's bridle, a gossip's bridle, a brank's bridle, or simply branks, is an instrument of mirror punishment utilized by the church to publicly humiliate women who speak out of turn.
And you’ve unfortunately been deemed one of them…
You can only regret it now—wish you’d kept your mouth shut—wish you’d just held your tongue and spared yourself the poetic justice. You’d even been warned—that’s the dumb part, the part that makes the regret even more bitter. You’d been told gossipping would only land you in a world of hurt, and you, brave-faced and foolish, had ignored the advice. And now you’re facing the consequences.
Branks, an awful contraption, act as a muzzle in an iron framework, caging the head—quite like a helmet—a heavy helmet. Tight and trapping, it’s enough to make your head ache after a mere minute of wear. But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is the bridle-bit—a metal wedge about two inches long and one inch wide in size, of which they slide into your mouth, pressing down on top of your tongue—silencing you entirely.
But being unable to talk is only the first and least of many discomforts—as it also makes your jaw cramp up, and makes a humiliating amount of drool run wild down your chin—making you look like some or other rabid street mutt that’s ben muzzled for its own good.
The chunky metal collar you’re made to wear doesn’t help negate that imagery, nor does the bell attached to it—drawing in the crowds to the town square where you’ve been put on display, fastened to the tron for public judgment and ridicule.
Oh, and they are full of it today.
Standing there, an army of justice—warped faces and pointed fingers. The kids throw rotten fruit, and the elders fouler words—calling you a Jezebel.
At least you’re not alone up there but sharing the burden with a handful of other miscreants. One’s bent over in the pillory beside you—another three stand next to him up on the gallows, shaking in their piss-soaked boots, noose loosely around their necks—soon-to-be hangmen.
Thank God the worst things are thrown their way—at least they’ll be set free of it soon.
The poor sinners hang there still as the sun starts to set and most of the crowd’s gone home for the day, crows picking at the jelly of their dead eyes while the town’s church officer leads you away by leash.
With your hands and arms bound behind your back, you stumble barefoot and gracelessly through the streets—yanked along all the way from the town square up the hill to the church at the top for your final ruling.
You’re made to kneel on the cobblestone where the clergyman chains your iron collar to the wall.
You’d always pitied those put in the jougs, though you’d also thought them deserving—never knowing you’d be one of them someday. Now you know first-hand what being deserving means. In a town as small as this, where word travels as quickly as you can speak them, only a few ill thoughts will turn everyone against you.
Everything is in a state of discomfort, but at least you’ve finally escaped the town people’s heckling—now secluded in the peaceful quiet of God’s house to reflect in solitude.
Or… at least, that’s the standard procedure for such offenses.
“Alright then, little magpie,” the church officer announces while unscrewing the cruel headpiece.
It’s surprising. You’d for sure thought he’d leave it on. It was your understanding that it’s common for the scold to wear the bridle until morning and only then be freed.
But in any case, be it by pity or mercy, you’re ever grateful nevertheless and won’t complain.
But then, promptly after freeing your mouth from the bit, the man takes hold of your exhausted jaw and gives you a grave warning in its replacement, “Speak out of turn again, and it will go back on for another day in the tron.”
Goosefleshed and ashen from the spoken threat, you do your best to abide by it and remain quiet like the other church mice.
To which the father hums pleasedly, “Nod your head for me if you understand now, magpie.”
You do, looking up at him obediently—hoping he’d see it as enough and deem your punishment fully served, maybe even remove your bonds and collar as well.
“Good.”
He smiles knowingly, then drops your head. Scoffing loudly, “But of course… a bitch will always prefer being free from the muzzle… Don’t necessarily make ‘em well-behaved.”
You flinch at the words, eyes wide, looking up into his gaze, feeling small under the weight as he leers down his nose at you worse than that of the crowd earlier.
But what really makes your stomach curl are his ringed hands and how they move to his robes.
“Let’s see if this newfound virtue of yours is true and not just another one of your brazen tricks, shall we?” he suggests, leisurely undoing the knots to his drapes.
“When I’m done, and if you have managed to hold your tongue, I’ll consider you disciplined enough to return home,” he explains, dropping his attire unceremoniously by his feet before taking hold of your chin again. “If not, the bridle will go back on, and we will continue the lesson in the morning and every day onward until your mouth is as honest as if in the confessional.”
Your eyes flicker between his and peaking forward, barely withstanding whimpering when laying your eyes on it—the thing below his belly nearing your face.
“Remember now, magpie, no making a sound—neither word nor moan. I want complete silence.”
The grip on your chin tightens, and your eyes dart back up to his.
“Now open that gossiping trap of yours and accept God’s judgment.”
His other hand holds it in a gentler caress from your face, giving it a few languid rubs before knocking it against your sealed lips, ordering them to open.
It shocks you—enough to have you swallow a gasp—almost making an illicit sound that would all but seal your fate with the scold’s bridle for another day of suffering.
“Did you not hear me, girl? I said–” Impatient and roughened by his anger, he lets go of your jaw and deals a sharp blow to your cheek next. “Open your no-good sinning mouth!”
The hand goes to your hair next, tangling within the tousled locks to give your scalp a hard tug.
Again you’re in danger of making a sound but manage to stifle it by screwing your eyes shut—quickly baring your tongue for the priest and pliantly accepting the salty offering placed upon it soon after as if receiving communion on any other Sunday mass.
“That’s it, magpie—” he says then, softer now in praise. “No more tall tales, no more nagging.” His grip eases up but remains to hold you steady as he slowly and rightfully slides his length down to the very back of your throat. Groaning, “Just be a good girl, now. Close your lips around me and suck—and you’ll soon be forgiven.”
You obey, locking your lips around him, tasting the sweat and tang, withstanding gagging as you force yourself into suckling and swallowing the foreign flavors down.
“Good. You see?” he sighs out in a groan, pleased while fucking your mouth.
Tangling both hands in your disheveled hair, he sets a rhythm of pulling you away and reeling you back in close—a tempo more than fair for an amateur throat like yours—only just deep and fast enough to make his weighty balls swing and graze your chin on every thrust.
“If all a woman does is run ‘er mouth—only using it to bitch and moan—they’ll never learn what it’s truly good for,” he gruffs, sinking deeper and settling there, holding your skull in place from pulling back. “But I’ll show yah—don’t worry.”
Your head soon heats up—bleeding red and thick with it—feeling tight and trapped and in dire desperate need to draw air—or at the very least, make some sort of discomforted sound in lack of it—yet under strict order to remain deadly silent.
“Good god, girl—I’m going all the way down that tight, hot guzzle—” he drawls, bullying deeper—and deeper. Hissing as he bottoms out, “Just the way God intended!”
His hips stutter, wearing your throat like a holster—lips stretched around his fat shaft, kissing his pubes with your nose buried in his well-fed belly.
With eyes rolling back beneath tightly shut lids, seeing spots of light in the enclosing void, you can’t help but flinch when hit with the glob of spit that falls and splatters between your brows. But at least the laughter that echoes throughout the church hall drowns out the sound of your heaving for air once he finally pulls out and frees your throat.
Maintaining a fist in your hair, he keeps you close—your temple to his hip, nose-kissing his strung shaft—struggling to catch your breath while his chuckles die down into humored hums.
“I’ve never had a throat that deep before,” he scoffs with a cruel smile—yanking your hair once again, pulling it back to make you face up. “One might call it witchcraft.”
Another hard slap is dealt in the same spot as earlier.
“Are you a witch maybe, magpie?”
And a third smack.
“Do I haf’to tie you to the stake next—have ourselves a roast?
Feeling your cheek sting white-hot, you shake your head—fighting to keep your whimpers at bay as silent tears dampen your cheeks—puffing up and rushing with blood post-strike, dulling to a numb yet lingering ache.
He doesn’t show mercy. Instead, it seems the pitiful display only makes him more rowdy—shoving you down to the cold cobblestone with an evil gleam in his eyes.
“Then let’s see you praise the Father,” he barks. “Bow and kiss his holy floor. I’ll judge whether you're a witch or not.”
You’re leash only barely gives you enough leeway to lower yourself. Hands remaining bound up tight behind your back, balled up and shaking in their knots as you bend over until your lips brush the dusty church stone.
“No, not a witch… but—” he hums, though not entirely convinced yet. “A true Christian would savor the taste of God's house.”
Your brows cinch, but you still do as suggested—producing your tongue and dragging it across the filthy tile—collecting dry silt and larger grains of sand—leaving behind a darkened wet trail on the otherwise ashen rock.
“That’s it, magpie,” the clergyman croons with a sneer. “Put that gossipping little tongue of yours to better use.”
You obey, eyes closed, continuing to lick the floor like a dog—fearing worse things would come if you didn’t. Wanting it all to be over and figuring if you just listen, it’ll be done quicker and as pain-free as you could hope.
“But do you deserve it?” he asks then, after a pause of watching you with his cock in hand, tugging it with raspy breaths getting rustier—continuing with a gritty tone, “An unwed woman can only serve the lord if she’s pure.”
His other hand returns to your hair for a third time, pulling you up by the tresses in a stinging grip.
“Are you pure, magpie?”
Goosefleshed by his darkened tone, you cower under his pointed glare. Keenly nodding your head as much as his hand allows.
Still, he doesn’t seem convinced. Huffing, “We’ll see.”
He drops you again. Now, with a new order, “Turn and bow with your tongue back on the floor.”
You do as he says, though shakily. Gut folding and churning within—throat tight, even under the metal collar, snaring—making your head pound with alarm as you shift on your knees until you’re facing the wall with your back to him, lowering your head down until your swollen cheek neatly squish against the cool stone—tongue splayed out on the earthy rock once again—with your rear raised for the priest’s inspection.
Your nails sink into your palms in the same painful crescents as before while the clergyman lifts your greyed and tattered frock like he’s unveiling a blushing bride—and, similarly to the groom, throws the skirt atop your sloped back, bunched up with the rest of your dirtied dress—leaving your legs and thighs and ass bare to his preying eyes.
He rumbles heavily, pleased by the sight of your pretty little virgin cunt—quivering in the crude and callous open air.
Crouched behind you in perfect level with it, you can all but feel his eager leer rake through you before his finger does—slicing through your pussy-lips and quickly disappearing inside your formerly untouched hole.
You flinch, squirming at the unfamiliar feeling—breaths damp against the ground as you await the verdict.
“It’s tight,” he grumbles, assessing you with a knuckle-deep digit, before scoffing, “But surely… no true virgin is this wet.”
Your eyes widen at the accusation, and he slips his finger out again and stands up with a sigh, “I can’t make sure with a finger alone.”
Then suddenly, he grabs onto of your hanches and lifts your hips higher until your thighs straighten up—and promptly lays his still-hard and hot-blooded member to rest between the cheeks. With his knees bent, a toppling tower over you, he slides through the crevice, rubbing upon your scrunched asshole as he does.
You stir for the first time, but his hold tightens in turn.
“Keep that tongue out, magpie. And don’t you dare make a single sound, y’hear? Or else the branks go back on.”
You fall still—scared in place—eyes screwed shut as his cock falls from the peak of your ass down to your glistened entrance, prodding the small opening with the tip, trying to force it inside, but kept at bay until the narrow ring of muscle finally gave and allowed him to tear through.
“Wheew—undoubtedly a virgin!” he whistles with his head gaining purchase. Groaning at the close fit. “Taut and tight and sensitive—and just perfect for taking seed.”
Meanwhile, you suck in a gasp—tongue still pinned to the floor—only barely managing to suppress the cry that had wanted to follow.
Choking it down, you nurse yourself through it with a string of deep breaths instead—even as he starts prying further inside—letting your cunt hold the head as he gives it shallow digs, working you open to take his full length.
“That’s it—good magpie,” he moans, pulling you back on his cock by your hips, treading you on like a sleeve. “Take it deep.”
He starts thrusting, and your breath weakens into thin stutters—tongue hanging limply from your mouth all on its own. Eyes glazed, looking toward nothing—rocked steadily as the corrupt priest pounds you like a cheap whore—sore cheek scraping against the stone floor.
And still, you’re silent—as if having taken a vow.
The only sounds echoing throughout the church are the clergyman’s grunts and the steady fwop fwop fwop of his balls clapping your sopping cunt—almost reminiscent of the church bell’s clangoring.
“Almost there now, magpie,” he chimes from above. “Milk my cock and take my seed in your womb, and you’re forgiven.”
It almost sounds too good to be true. Even as everything aches and you’ve become certain you might just remain mute forever onward, the thought of freedom is enough to bring new hopeful tears to your pitiful eyes. So, as the warmth of his release soils your inside, it’s also joined by overwhelming relief.
A moment or more passes. You don’t take your tongue off the floor, and he remains above you, pumping his load into your deep, dumping it all at depth as if burying some dirty secret.
At some point, he pulls out—cock now sluggish and spent. You feel its spillage matte on the inside of your thighs—also hidden as he drapes your skirt back in place.
Unbothered with his own clothes, he stands there before your bowed body—now with an accent of full-bellied satisfaction as he pronounces you free of sin in bad Latin—crossing his chest and kissing his knuckle before looking up to the ceiling at the God you’d grown sure he didn’t even believe in.
“Rejoice, magpie,” he mocks while leaning over you to untie your hands. “You’re now free to go.”
But as you lift your head, he still holds out on removing your collar.
Holding your chin instead, he looks down at you like before, saying, “But it would do you good to remember…” His free hand taps your cheek, softer now but hard enough to make you cringe. “You run that bitch mouth again, and in my church on your knees is where you’ll end up. Understand?”
And just like before, you nod your head for him—still as silent as a church mouse eager to escape the beast’s ugly jaws.
He seems pleased with that and gives you a crooked smile, purring, “Good.”
He then fishes the keys to your collar from his heaped robes and, at long last, unlocks it from your throat.
And by God, as you wobble out of the church, it feels as if you've been let free from hell.
♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist
#not really yandere but i can't be bothered to find correct tags#yandere x reader#yandere#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere smut#yancore#male yandere x reader#smut#yandere insert#yandere original character#yandere oc#yandere male#male yandere
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
🐾 snowprints
vet student!megumi x dog owner!reader
summary: when you find yourself in need of an emergency trip to the local vet clinic, it's late and the sign on the door is flipped to closed. luckily for you, animal science student megumi fushiguro is still around, and he's willing to help you and your dog out—and maybe get a little more than he bargained for in the process. but he's not used to letting people in, and you've never been particularly patient. when winter rolls around, will you be spending the holidays alone?
content/warnings: 20.7k words. complete. sfw. f!reader, you have a dog, megumi has his dogs, they are unbearably cute, megumi doesn't know how to communicate for shit, language, no use of y/n, christmas yay!!, aged up characters, including riko, she's in college, and she's a menace, (light) angst with a happy ending, mentions of deceased parents (typical fushiguro canon), soft, fluff, you know when your sister psychoanalyzes you at the kitchen table, car crash, alcohol, reader studies environmental science but can't keep plants alive for SHIT, so much unnecessary pining, gratuitous overuse of italics and em-dashes
note: this takes place in the same universe as out of my mind, but you don't have to read that to know what's going on here! though it may help with some context. happy hella late birthday megumi fushiguro you will always be famous
PART I // BATMAN & ROBIN
IT’S TEN O’CLOCK and dark when Batman decides to cause problems.
Batman, of course, being your three-year-old German shepherd mix, the one currently whining and staring up at you with big, dark puppy eyes while he holds one paw up limply.
“Oh, little buddy,” you sigh as you squat down in front of him, despite the fact that he hasn’t been little in a very long time. He’s been restless all night, so you caved and took him on a late night walk, and it’s so dark you can’t tell what’s wrong with his paw even in the glow of the phone flashlight.
God, fuck. Where’s the closest vet? The one in the city is definitely closed. You’re fairly certain there’s a smaller one somewhere on the outskirts of the JU campus, though, one that the pre-vet students use for clinicals.
“C’mon, champ,” you murmur, tugging gently on Batman’s leash. “Let’s go get you checked out, huh?”
The early September air is chilly, a little bit of a bite to it. You’re glad the temperatures haven’t yet dropped below freezing, so you don’t need to let your car defrost before going. “Up,” you say, patting the passenger seat with the door held open for Batman.
You punch the clinic into maps and pull out of your suburban street into the busier roads. It’s not far, thankfully, and you make a beeline for the door with Batman on your heels, not noticing until you’re right in front of it that the massive sign hanging on the door is flipped to CLOSED.
“No,” you groan, leaning forward and pressing your forehead to the cool glass of the closed door. You close your eyes, wondering what the fuck you’re gonna do, and then—thump.
You nearly jump out of your skin, eyes flying open and gaze raising to meet the amused eyes of a guy on the other side of the door, who’s trying and failing to suppress a smile that feels a little teasing. Oops.
You step back and wave sheepishly, and the boy unlocks the door and swings it open, taking in the sight of you and your limping dog.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I know you’re closed and it’s some ungodly hour on a Tuesday, I just didn’t know what else to do—”
“It's fine,” he says, waving it off. “I’m just cleaning up, it’s not a hassle. Come on.” Batman has no qualms about following the guy through the open door, so you follow, glancing around the small clinic. It’s pretty sparse, save for the bulletin board overflowing with pet photos on one wall.
“Fushiguro,” the guy says in introduction, glancing back over his shoulder at you. He’s got deep blue eyes that match his dark scrubs, and his hair sticks out every which way in a manner that feels intentional. He must be around your age. It takes you a beat to remember yourself and give him your own name, stuttered out as you pass into the back exam room.
There’s a white coat tossed haphazardly over a spinning chair, and the guy—Fushiguro—picks Batman up like he weighs nothing and situates him on the metal table.
“Hey, bud. What’s your name?” he asks, scratching behind Batman’s ears. Your dog is usually weary of vets, but today his tail pounds on the metal of the table as he raises his head to sniff at Fushiguro’s face.
“Batman.”
Fushiguro’s gaze snaps to you and he blinks, evidently thinking you’re joking. “No.”
“Yes.” You hold your index fingers up above your head to imitate your dog’s pointy ears. “Batman.”
“Oh. My god,” he says. “And what, you’re Robin?”
“I am not the sidekick in this situation.”
“Batman dragged you out here at eleven on a school night. You absolutely are the sidekick.”
You scoff, moving up to the table and stroking Batman’s fur. “Am I just a sidekick to you, little guy?” you coo. “You wanna be a hero so bad?” He noses happily at your palm.
Fushiguro side-eyes you, half-grimacing as he grabs Batman’s paw to look at it. He doesn’t seem to mind, which is honestly a shock. He hates people touching his paws, even you. “You baby talk your dog?”
“You judge your patients?”
“Course not,” Fushiguro says, smirking as he looks back at you. “Just their owners.”
You roll your eyes but can’t help the huff of laughter, and his dark eyes reflect the fluorescent overhead light as he turns away. He’s undeniably attractive—you don’t remember seeing him around campus.
“You go to JU?” you ask, and he nods.
“Sophomore. Pre-vet. D’you?”
“Nah, Kaisen.” Your school is a lot smaller than the neighboring Jujutsu University. They’ve got something of an athletic rivalry with Kaisen College, but you really don’t care. “Environmental science.”
“You know everything there is to know about trees, or what?” His tone is teasing, and you know he doesn’t mean anything by it. The fact is you do know more about trees than normal college students probably should. Doesn’t mean you can keep plants alive for shit, though.
You’d guess there’s actually a fair bit of crossover between your course of study and a pre-vet student’s bio track, but you say, “I specialize in rare long grasses, actually.” It comes out so deadpan that he glances at you, brows knit together, trying to gauge if you’re being serious. You only last a second before you crack under his scrutiny, and he shakes his head and huffs as he turns back to Batman, who is now trying to lick Fushiguro’s nose.
“Excuse me,” he says. This only seems to encourage the dog kisses, but Fushiguro decides to just ignore them. He hums, grabbing a pair of tweezers and squinting as he moves to pull something out of Batman’s paw. “Just a splinter. The pad of a dog’s paw is one of the most sensitive parts of their body, so it’s not surprising he was so worked up about it.” You watch as he pulls out a thin sliver of wood, probably from stepping on some splintering twig, and drops it into a tray on the table.
You watch as your dog drops his paw back to the table and stands up, tail wagging at lightning speed, like nothing was ever wrong. He jumps off the table before Fushiguro can grab him and bounds over to you, rubbing himself along the outside of your leg like a giant cat.
“How much do I owe you?” you ask, pulling out your card, but he waves you off.
“It was literally a splinter.”
“But—”
“Honestly, it’d be more work to boot up the payment system again anyway. Don’t worry about it.” He holds your gaze, and you can’t tell if he’s lying about the payment system or not, but you slide your card back into your wallet without complaint.
Something passes between you, some weird spark of recognition—not that you’ve met before. You know you haven’t. But you don’t typically have this kind of easy banter with strangers. Something about this guy intrigues you, and you don’t particularly want to stop talking to him.
But you’ve already kept him past close, and you need to get home.
The moment breaks when Fushiguro clears his throat, leaning over to grab something off the counter. “Right. Well, give me a call if he starts limping again, but he should be alright.” He holds out a hand and you realize he’s offering you a business card, weirdly professional for a student.
M. FUSHIGURO Veterinary Technician Trainee, JU
His number and email are printed beneath it in small sans serif lettering.
“Oh, you’re fancy.” You raise a brow at him, tucking the card into your jacket pocket. “Thank you. Seriously.”
“Well, who am I to refuse Batman?” he says wryly. He walks you to the door, and you try not to think too much of it—he just needs to lock up behind you, probably.
Before you slip out, he leans down and pats Batman on the head, earning a happy little tail-wag in response.
“Drive safe, Robin,” he calls, and you groan at the nickname as you unlock your car.
At home, you key his number into your phone and save the contact as fushiguro (cute vet). You sit there for way too long debating over whether you should text him—Batman’s fine, and it’s late, and he gave you a business card. Not exactly an invitation to flirt, tempting as that might be.
But you really want to.
“Should I text him?” you ask your dog, who’s decided to curl up right beside your bed and look up at you, waiting for an invitation. Your twin bed is not big enough for this and he knows it, but he always seems to think he’s a smaller dog than he really is.
Batman, unhelpfully, tilts his head at you, his perky ears flapping with the motion.
Maybe it’s because it’s past eleven and it’s dark out and you’re exhausted and you don’t have the best sense of judgment right now. Maybe it’s because Fushiguro’s just really cute.
“You’re right,” you say, nudging Batman with a socked foot. “No use waiting. Say cheese.”
you: [1 Image Attachment] you: gotham city’s savior says thank you
It’s kind of embarrassing how you sit and stare at the screen for two minutes, waiting for him to answer. Batman snorts, like he’s making fun of you, and you lock your phone and toss it on the bedside table. “Oh, don’t start.”
Your roommate and best friend, Setsuko Sasaki, is studying abroad in Japan for the semester. It’s been lonely, strange without her occupying the second bedroom of your little rented townhouse. You’d like to say this is why you’ve resorted to talking to your dog, but that would very much be a lie, because you’ve always done this. Sometimes, when she’s home, Suko adopts a gruff, low voice and answers for him.
You jump when your phone buzzes and make yourself count to three before checking the screen.
fushiguro (cute vet): don’t mention it. always had a soft spot for batman, anyway. fushiguro (cute vet): his sidekick’s alright too.
“Oh, he likes you,” you tell Batman. “Wingman. Thanks, little buddy.”
you: well, send a bat signal if you’re ever in mortal peril and i might show up
After that, you try to push Fushiguro to the back of your mind. He doesn’t go to Kaisen, so it’s not like you can stalk him in the university directory. You have no reason to run into him around town. As the semester ramps up and you fall back into your routine of classes and exams and friends, you don’t think too much about the cute vet tech who happened to be around that one night.
Or, you don’t for a grand total of six days.
You’re on a jog with Batman, afternoon sun making up for the fall chill in the air that’s hung around since it stormed last night. You don’t intend to stop, but Batman abruptly sticks his nose in the dirt about halfway through your run and refuses to move.
“Dude.” You backtrack and see that he’s discovered a couple pairs of dog prints, pressed faintly into the damp earth. “Oh, you smell friends, huh?” He tugs you forward, following the scent of these other dogs. “Hey!”
The thing about having a massive German shepherd mix, even one as docile as Batman, is that he is inarguably a lot stronger than you. So you don’t really have much of a choice but to stumble along after him as he bounds across the grass and comes out on the other side of the path—you don’t normally come this way, because there’s a dog park over here and he gets way too excited.
But today he’s on a mission, and you only see two other dogs in the fenced-in park—two huge balls of fluff, one white and one black. “Fine,” you say begrudgingly, undoing the gate and letting Batman off his leash. “Go play. But we aren’t staying long.”
He bounds off toward the other dogs while you latch the gate behind you, and then a familiar voice has you spinning around with your eyes wide. “Bat signal wasn’t me,” Fushiguro says, raising both hands in a gesture of innocence. “They did it.” He points at the other dogs, who are now engaged in a butt-sniffing circle with yours.
“Fushiguro!” You grin, making your way over to him. Once the other two dogs have deemed Batman a worthy playmate, they move on to you, sniffing at your palms and circling around you until the black one jumps up and nearly knocks you over with the force of it. “Oh, hello!”
“Kuro,” Fushiguro chides, rushing forward to tug at his collar. “Hey. Down.”
“It’s okay,” you promise through a fit of giggles as Kuro tries to basically hug you. “Oh, you’re cute, aren’t you? Hi, Kuro.”
Fushiguro huffs out a breath of relief when Kuro finally gets down. “That’s Shiro,” he says, gesturing to the white dog, who is now chasing Batman around the park. “Think she’s found a friend.”
“He dragged me all the way here,” you tell Fushiguro. “Guess he missed you or something.”
“Just him?”
You grin. “What, you think I was out here pining after you?” He only smirks in response. “I don’t even know your name, M. Fushiguro. What good is a business card without your first name on it?”
He hums, shoving his hands into his pockets, considering. “Guess.”
“Guess,” you echo. “Okay. Um. Michael.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Max.”
“Nope.”
“Um, Maverick.”
“What the hell?” He looks at you with furrowed brows. “Who in their right mind would name their kid—”
“Okay, hey,” you interrupt, holding up your hands. “I just watched Top Gun, okay? What do you want from me?”
“M—”
“Nope, out of tries for today. Three strikes, you’re out.” He shrugs, wholly unaffected, like this is just how the world works and he’s got no say it in whatsoever.
You gape at him, planting your hands on your hips in affront. “I hope you know I will be insufferable every single day until I’m right.”
Batman trots back over, prancing between you and Fushiguro until he crouches down to pet him. “You come here a lot?” you ask, glancing around the empty park. “I’ve never seen you here. Or your dogs. I think I’d remember giant balls of fluff like that.”
“Yeah, not often,” Fushiguro says, pushing back to his feet. “But Kuro’s been so restless all day. Had to let him run his energy down somehow.” The dog in question is chasing his own tail in circles while Shiro looks at him, unimpressed. “You live over here?”
“Few blocks out, yeah.” Your place is between the two campuses, an easy walk to both places because Suko takes Japanese classes at JU. Apparently Fushiguro doesn’t live too far away, either, just on the other side of the skate park where you know your friend Hajime hangs out all the time.
By “hangs out,” you mean he probably (definitely) buys weed there, but that’s not your business. Maybe he and Fushiguro know each other—they both go to JU. But Hajime’s a senior, so probably not.
You don’t get the chance to ask because Fushiguro’s phone rings, and he sighs and answers it with a glance at you that might be apologetic or might be mildly irritated. Hard to tell with him.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” he says gruffly. “Okay. See you.” He hangs up and tucks his phone back into his pocket, then whistles for the dogs. “Time to go.”
“Good to see you,” you blurt before he can turn away. He seems a little taken aback, but you don’t break eye contact, and you think he might be on the brink of a smile.
“You too, sidekick.”
—
After that, the two of you start texting more often, gradually moving from photos of your dogs to real conversation. And you keep your promise to be insufferable about finding out his name. You send him new M-names every day, never seeming to get any closer to the truth. For his part, he refuses to call you anything but Robin, cementing your existence as a superhero sidekick and nothing more.
you: new theory you: the M stands for mr you: monsieur you: m’lord
He dislikes the messages in response, and you send him a teary-eyed emoji and hope the guilt is enough to get him to tell you.
It is not.
You and Fushiguro are in some sort of convoluted orbit around one another, sometimes colliding, sometimes drifting away. There’s really no reason you should keep stumbling across him, considering you go to different schools, live in different places, study different things.
But after that first day at the dog park, you might take Batman there a little bit more often.
Every time you talk, Fushiguro starts to take up more and more headspace. You find yourself searching for his flash of ink-dark hair, spiky and disheveled, in every crowd. Every set of fading prints in the grass or mud might be his, might be Shiro’s or Kuro’s. It’s stupid, how much you’re thinking about this boy.
At some point you start dragging your friends out to the coffee shops between your two campuses to do work, rather than the one in the student center. You justify it to yourself with the half-assed excuse that if you run into your friends less, you’ll get more work done, but really you’re just hoping he’ll be there. And your friends are happy to oblige, especially Riko, if it means she’ll get a glimpse of this mystery vet man you don’t shut up about.
Riko’s a year below you at Kaisen, but you know her from back home. She’s a frenetic ball of energy and indignation, and she’s fully prepared to go to every coffee shop in a ten-mile radius for the purposes of what she calls “the mission.”
But the coffee at the second place you try is actually god-tier, and you wind up there regularly after that, hunkering down to grind out your assignments in your spare time. It’s there that he finds you, sliding into the seat right across from yours so abruptly that you nearly fall out of your chair—your noise-canceling headphones really block out the entire world. He smirks as you sheepishly tug them down around your neck, glaring.
“Warn a girl, Jesus!”
“I did,” he drawls, taking a sip of his coffee. “Twice.”
“Boo.” You kind of forgot about your own drink because you were so into your work, and you pick it back up now, mostly for something to do with your hands. “Well, hi. What’re you up to?”
“Same as you, I think.” He nods at your laptop. “Mind if I hang out here?”
“You certainly can, but you’ve just stolen someone’s seat and you might have to fight for your life when she gets back from the bathroom.” His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and as if on cue, Riko is beelining toward the table from across the room.
“Well hello, Mr. Seat Thief. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Fushiguro seems to be gauging Riko, and you realize this is kind of the first look he’s gotten into your private life outside of your dog, and you’re irrationally nervous about it. But he scoots over and grabs a chair from the next table over, giving Riko a mocking bow in response.
“Better?”
Riko nods, and then grabs his coffee and takes a long drag out of it. He doesn’t object, and that should have been your warning—you can see when the bitterness of it hits her all at once, her face twisting in some combination of shock and despair and mild outrage.
“Oh my god,” you say as Riko grabs her water bottle and chugs to get the taste out of her mouth, aggressively shoving Fushiguro's coffee back toward him. “Of course you drink coffee black, you fucking loser.”
“What, you dump six cups of sugar in yours? That’s not coffee.” You flip him off instead of justifying this with a real response.
“I was gonna use that as payment for your crimes,” Riko gasps dramatically, leaning over the table, “but I was instead punished. You’re in my debt now.” She glares at him fiercely, turning up her nose, before abruptly abandoning the bit and grinning at him. “I’m Riko, by the way.”
He snorts, but a very small hint of a smile appears in a corner of his mouth. “Fushiguro.”
Riko nods and glances from him to you, as if to say really? This guy? You can already hear the analysis she’ll be giving you on the way home. Easy on the eyes, I get it, but does he like, have a personality?
“I did research,” you tell Fushiguro, nudging Riko’s shin under the table in warning. “On you.”
“You stalked me online, is what you’re saying.” You’re learning that he’s not a very expressive person. He treats laughs and smiles like rare currency, and everything you need to know about what he’s thinking is in the tiniest shifts—a downturned brow, a blink, a tilt of the head. You’re still learning, but you like to think you’ve got it down enough to know that this doesn’t actually bother him, despite the resting angry face.
“Yes,” you say, shameless. “Except when I typed in Fushiguro and your school, I got all these results for the editor of your campus paper. You have a sister?”
If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Tsumiki, yeah.”
He doesn’t offer more, so you push. “Older?” You already know the answer, but best let him believe the depth of your internet stalking is shallower than it really was.
“Two years. She’s a senior.”
“Cool. I don’t know a ton of siblings that go to the same school.”
“You’d be surprised,” he sighs. “My cousin and her twin sister both go there, too. And one my roommates’ half-brothers.”
“Convenient, I guess,” you concede. “Sibling discount or something?”
“Nah, but it was easier this way,” he says, pulling a textbook out of his bag. “Go—uh, our legal guardian works around here anyway.”
Riko raises a brow but doesn’t ask, which is a remarkable show of restraint for her.
Legal guardian. Parents aren’t in the picture, then. You want to ask but you don’t, not yet.
The three of you buckle down and get some work done, casually exchanging conversation over the next few hours, and eventually Fushiguro has to head out. “Rehearsal,” he says.
“Rehearsal?” Riko asks, glancing at you as if you know what he’s talking about. You don’t, but you have some absolutely ridiculous mental image of Fushiguro in choir and you almost laugh out loud.
But he just says, as if it’s nothing at all, “Oh, yeah, I’m in a band.”
“What?” you nearly shout, jumping out of your chair so fast it pushes across the floor with a scrrcck. “You’re in a band? You didn’t think to tell me this before? What’s it called? Can I listen—”
“Nope.”
“But—”
“Nice to meet you, Riko,” he says loudly, cutting you off as he slings his bag over one shoulder. He mock-salutes you, two fingers to his brow as he turns to go. “Robin.”
You sink back into your seat and watch him leave, only turning back to Riko when the door swings closed. She opens her mouth and you hold out a hand. “Don’t start.”
—
At some point you start calling, letting yourself fill the silence of your little townhouse with idle chatter as he listens. He’s not one for small talk, you learn, and he’s a good listener. And he pays attention. He remembers the stupid little details you give him, the names of classmates and professors you can’t stand.
“Katie from Ohio?” he asks when you’re ranting one day about the partner you’ve been assigned in enviro. “We don’t like her, correct?” We.
“We do not.” Katie from Ohio does not pull her weight in group projects, and it’s driving you up the wall.
“You tell your prof about it? Isn’t this your favorite one?”
“Yeah, he is,” you groan. Haibara teaches your conservation bio class, and he also taught ecology your freshman year, and he’s the best teacher you’ve ever had. “But no. I don’t want to bother him about it. It’s whatever.”
He hums, unimpressed. “Is it?”
You groan, feeling like you’re getting lectured by your parents. You hate when other people are right. “You want me to talk to him.”
“I’m just saying, if you get a shit grade and it’s Katie’s fault, don’t come crying to me.”
“I will, though,” you say, putting your phone on speaker and setting it on the counter while you pour dog food into Batman’s bowl. “It’ll be super dramatic. I’ll sob in your arms and everything.”
He snorts. “Talk to your prof, Robin.” You stick your tongue out like he can see you.
But you do talk to your prof, and Haibara is your favorite for a reason. Katie gets a shit grade. You do not. Fushiguro does, in fact, say “I told you so.”
By mid-September, you still have no idea what Fushiguro’s first name is. You’re at the end of your rope.
you: GOOD MORNING MASON fushiguro (cute vet): no. you: MORT fushiguro (cute vet): no. you: why don’t you want me to know. is it crazy you: melvin fushiguro (cute vet): NO. you: marie you: meghan fushiguro (cute vet): … you: well, that’s it you: i’m calling you maleficent until you tell me you: i’m gonna do it in public too you: so loud
INCOMING CALL: FUSHIGURO (CUTE VET)
You don’t greet each other when you pick up—you never have. Instead, Fushiguro just says, “You could’ve picked like, ten other Disney characters and you went with Maleficent?”
“Don’t hate. You’d rather be Mufasa? Boy’s dead.”
“Oh my god.” Everything Fushiguro says sounds long-suffering. You wonder what it sounds like when he laughs, really laughs, if those walls ever break down and he lets himself actually outwardly express his emotions.
“I can call you Mickey Mouse if you really want—” Batman starts barking from his spot at the window, and you groan, waving your hand at him pointlessly as you try to get him to stop. “Hey! No! There is nothing outside, what are you on about?”
“He probably just thinks you’re barking with him,” Fushiguro says unhelpfully.
“Oh, and yours don’t bark out of turn?”
“Not really.”
Now that you think about it, you actually aren’t sure you’ve ever heard Shiro and Kuro bark aside from excited greetings at the dog park. “What the fuck, dude? Do they teach you the secrets of the trade in vet school?”
“Nah, I’m just a natural.” He says it so deadpan you aren’t sure if he’s joking or actually being cocky.
“Come over and help, then,” you say, before you can think it through. It’s a Saturday night, and clearly neither of you have anything better to do.
You aren’t sure what exactly you’re expecting him to say, but for some reason you’re surprised when he just responds, “Okay.”
“Bring the dogs.” You text him your address, and half an hour later he shows up with the dogs in tow. Meeting him at the door, you see his car parked along the curb. It’s small, black, as unreadable and practical as everything else about him.
“That,” he says, pointing to the long-deceased cactus in the pot on your front stoop, “is dead.” Probably because it’s been there since August and you forgot it was there after one week.
“Yes, thank you, very astute.”
“Isn’t keeping plants alive your whole thing? What are they teaching you?”
“Okay.” You start to close the door, but Shiro bounces forward and noses between it excitedly, and you laugh, opening it to let her and Kuro in. “Be nice,” you warn Fushiguro, letting him step inside. He rolls his eyes as he passes, and Batman nearly knocks him over with how excitedly he leaps up to greet him.
He’s also barking, and you raise a brow at Fushiguro expectantly. “Okay, Dog Whisperer. Do your thing.” You close the door behind him, and in the two seconds that you’re turned away, Batman fucking stops barking.
You whirl around, planting your hands on your hips, and find Fushiguro kneeling in front of your very silent, very happy dog.
“What the fuck.”
He looks up at you with the most smug expression on his face, and you throw up your hands in exasperation.
“Hey, don’t pout about it,” he teases, standing and following you into the living room. “That’s what you wanted.”
“I wanted you to teach me how to make him stop, but apparently you just slipped him treats behind my back.”
“Insult to my talents,” he says, hesitating when Kuro leaps onto your couch. “Are they allowed—”
“Ah, yeah, it’s fine.” Batman follows suit. “Got enough dog hair on that couch to make another couch, probably.”
You suddenly find you don’t really know what to say. Because Fushiguro is here, in your house, on a Saturday, your dog is not barking, and you’re alone. Alone with a guy you are very much attracted to. Suddenly you just don’t know any of the words in the English language.
But Fushiguro seems entirely at ease. He always does, really. There’s a quiet sort of confidence about him, and you aren’t sure if it’s fabricated or not. He just looks like he belongs wherever he is, nonchalant about everything.
“Done any more stalking?” he asks, sitting next to Shiro on the floor. You flush a little, feeling weirdly caught out when you aren’t the one bringing it up.
“No, but I might if you don’t tell me more about this band of yours.”
He shakes his head, absently playing with Shiro’s fur. “Just a crazy idea my housemates had. We just practice in the basement. Probably not very good.”
You opt to sit on Shiro’s other side on the ground, and Batman uses the opportunity to lick you directly in the face, since he’s on the couch and you’re now eye-level. “Thank you,” you tell him dryly, shoving his snout away.
“Don’t get humble now,” you tell Fushiguro. “What do you play? Or do you sing?” You really can’t imagine him singing. Everything about this guy screams quiet bass player.
Apparently you’re right. He won’t tell you the name of his band, and allegedly he doesn’t have any gigs this month, so you let it drop—but only for now. “Cagey,” you accuse him, but you’re smiling.
You talk about your courseloads for the semester—his is pretty bio and anatomy-heavy this semester where yours is mostly ecology and conservation-focused, but there’s a bit of overlap in your curriculum, and you find that it’s easy to make conversation about your respective career paths, even though he won’t stop bringing up the fact that you managed to kill a cactus.
“They’re notoriously hard to kill,” he drawls. “Did you try to?”
“No!” You cross your arms over your chest indignantly. “Mean.”
“Honest and mean aren’t the same thing.”
You don’t really notice the sun going down until the living room is swathed in shadow and you have to flip on the floor lamp. It’s been hours by now, but it’s felt like minutes. Every thing you learn about Fushiguro opens up ten new lines of questioning, and you want to know so much more about him. But he shrouds himself in this mystery you can’t seem to get around.
Eventually you stand up to grab snacks from the kitchen, and when you return you find Batman practically on top of Fushiguro, licking his face while Fushiguro just takes it. Cute, you think uselessly.
Batman. But also Fushiguro. And also just the sight of Fushiguro playing with your dog and looking entirely at home on your shaggy living room floor. Fuck, he’s really cute.
“Have you always had dogs?”
He shakes his head as he sits up and nudges Batman off of him, gaze going just a little distant. “Not ‘til I was a teenager.” There’s more there.
“Your idea? Tsumiki’s?”
He shrugs it off, picking at loose threads on his sleeve that don’t exist, some nervous tic he’s developed that seems to only show up when you try to talk about him. Hence, shroud of mystery.
Like you gathered at the coffee shop, his parents aren’t in the picture—dead or absent, though, you’re not sure. He does tell you a little bit about his legal guardian. His name’s Gojo, and according to Fushiguro he is certifiably insane. He says this enough that you know he means it fondly—if he didn’t, he just wouldn’t bring Gojo up at all.
It shouldn’t be possible to talk so much and learn so little, but the hours keep slipping by and finally neither of you can hide the yawns punctuating your conversation. “I should go,” he says, and you reluctantly lead him to the door, crouching to say bye to Shiro and Kuro before you open the door.
“Drive safe, Fushiguro.”
You don’t expect him to respond, but he pauses halfway down your drive, turning to look at you over his shoulder. The moon is out now, and it casts him and his dark clothes in silver. You suddenly find you can’t look away.
Not that you really want to.
“Megumi,” he says.
“What?”
“My name.” He swallows, looking away quickly before looking back. “You can call me Megumi. If you want.”
Chill. Be chill, you tell yourself, trying to school your features into that same neutral expression Fushiguro—Megumi—always has, but you know it’s not working. You can’t help but smile. You feel, weirdly, like you’ve earned something.
“Okay,” you say, leaning on the doorjamb. “Megumi.”
Megumi.
You do one last little bit of internet stalking that night, because you just want to know.
His name means blessing.
—
Everything about Megumi’s house speaks to the collision of three wildly different college-aged boys tempered by the saving grace of one girl.
Remotes for a range of gaming consoles are sprawled across the floor, there are way too many half-empty bags of Doritos, and you’re pretty sure there’s just a single half of a drumstick stuck between two of the couch cushions. But there are also nice, dark tapestries pinned to the walls, string lights bordering the room, a couple plants that are better-kept than any of yours have been.
You know very little about Megumi’s three housemates except that one is a golden retriever in human form, one is a skater boy, and one is a senior named Kirara who somehow keeps them all in check.
“Sorry for the mess,” he says, gesturing at the controllers and chip bags that honestly don’t constitute a mess in your book. Not after all the boys’ dorms you’ve seen, including Hajime’s.
“I like it,” you say honestly. “Also, it smells good in here. I’m proud. Kirara?”
“Kirara.” He nods and leads you to the couch, where you confirm that yes, that’s a broken drumstick.
“I don’t even—Jesus,” Megumi says, pulling it out of the gap between the cushions and tossing it onto the low coffee table. “He breaks more of these than I think is normal.”
“He being skater boy or golden retriever?” you ask as you tug your legs onto the couch to sit cross-legged, facing him. You dragged Batman with you—Megumi said his dogs would appreciate the company—and he’s taken it upon himself to sniff every corner of the house before deeming it suitable for playtime.
“Golden retriever. His name’s Yuji. Skater boy is Ino.” None of his housemates are here—it’s a random Thursday afternoon and the two of you happened to not have classes after two thirty.
“How’d you meet them?”
“Kirara went to my high school, so I knew her before coming here. I knew Ino too, actually. Yuji—I don’t know that anyone really meets him so much as gets forcibly adopted by him?” He somehow manages to make his scoff sound affectionate. “Him and our friend Kugisaki. They’re crazy, but we were all in the same orientation group freshman year.”
“Your friends sound fun.” You like the idea of two outgoing freshmen just deciding Megumi had to be their friend. “How’d you know Ino?”
He tugs at the sleeve of his black henley, picking at a nonexistent string. There’s a bit of a pause before he says, “His—I don’t know, his mentor? Nanami, he knows Gojo. So he was around sometimes.”
You don’t really know what to ask, simply because there’s so much to ask. It doesn’t take a detective to know there’s a lot to unpack in Megumi’s past. “How long have you been…” What’s the proper term for this? “Has Gojo been around, like… since you were a kid, or...?”
Despite your attempt to catch his gaze, Megumi’s eyes are trained on the far wall. “Kind of. Yeah.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, you fight to keep your lips sealed, to not push. You don’t have a right to his past. He can tell you if he wants to. But you’ve always been impatient.
And it’s starting to become a pattern, this strange caginess about his own life. His family, his friends. Every so often he lets something slip, and then it’s like you can see the doors in his mind slam shut—six deadbolts holding you out.
You know a little bit about Gojo, but that’s where the information stops. You drop hints that you want to meet Tsumiki, and whether he’s protective or just too oblivious to pick up on them, you can’t tell.
Maybe, then, the issue is that you haven’t given him much either. He’s met your dog and Riko, but maybe you need to offer him more of yourself before he’s comfortable reciprocating.
So you do. You tell him about your family, sitting on his couch with Shiro at his feet and Batman between you, Kuro unable to sit still. He listens while you talk, unsettlingly attentive eyes intent on you. You live about a half-hour drive away from your parents' place, you tell him, though you don’t go home often.
“It’s not that I don’t like my family,” you sigh, leaning back into the couch cushions and stroking Batman’s fur. “It’s more just that they’re never there, always on business, wrapped up in their own shit. So there’s just… no reason for me to stick around, except a couple times a year on holidays.” You shrug. “At least here it’s not an empty house. Or it’s not usually. When my roommate’s not in fucking Japan.”
“At least Japan’s cool,” he says, shrugging.
You sit up, leaning toward him. “You’ve been?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, once. Gojo said Tsumiki and I weren’t allowed to hit sixteen without having been on a stupid-long flight somewhere. Which sounds insane, but that’s pretty standard Gojo logic for you, I guess.”
“That’s so cool,” you sigh, part of you wishing you could be on a stupid-long flight right now. On the way to somewhere warm, preferably. Fall is starting to give way to an early winter, and you’re not looking forward to running Batman in the cold.
Travel, at least, seems to be a safe topic, and the two of you trade stories about road trips and flights and different cities. You challenge Megumi to Mario Kart at some point and immediately regret it, because why is he so good?
After he thoroughly kicks your ass, you sink back into conversation, walk the dogs, and eventually part ways so you can get some work done.
megumi (cute vet): you know when somebody says they’ll text you when they get home megumi (cute vet): and they don’t? you: SHIT SORRY megumi (cute vet): you’re not dead. you: NOPE you: sorry i got back and then batman knocked over a lamp megumi (cute vet): you don’t have to cover for his vigilantism, sidekick. i already know.
You do feel bad for forgetting to text him, but part of you is a little warmed by the fact that he was worried. Not that he’d ever admit to being worried about anyone, except maybe a dog.
you: okay fine he was stopping a robbery you: happy? megumi (cute vet): depends on what they were trying to steal
The work on your desk says you should stop texting and buckle down on your assignments, but he starts teasing, and you start feeding into it, and then you’re on the phone again, and by the time you finally hang up it’s too late to reasonably get anything done.
You can’t say you’re particularly upset about it.
—
The semester ramps up quickly, and you’re drowning in work. That’s your excuse when your basil plant by the kitchen sink dies a week after you bring it home—you’re just busy.
Megumi notices, and the next time he’s over a rosemary plant mysteriously appears in its place. He denies any involvement.
When you aren’t with Riko or Hajime, on the phone with Suko, or hanging out with friends from class, you’re with Megumi. His place, your place, the dog park, the coffee shop. It hasn’t reached a point where your friends comment on how much time you spend together (except Riko, who has a loud opinion on everything and does not care if other people don’t want to hear it), but you like the hours you steal during the week just walking around or drinking coffee or trading idle conversation.
You even visit him at work one Sunday when the clinic is slow, watching him handle the few dogs and single cat that come through. He’s easygoing with the clients and has that same calming effect on every animal—like he speaks some secret language, understands them in a way other people don’t. You love watching him like this.
You like this guy. It’s not rocket science—you put him in your contacts as “cute vet” the day you met him. The hard part is that Megumi is too difficult to read. If he has feelings for you, you have no idea. You don’t think he’d go out of his way to spend time with someone he didn’t genuinely like, but whether it’s platonic or not is so fucking over your head.
Until you finally meet one of his friends.
It’s Riko’s doing, really. The two of you are at the coffee shop when she strikes up a conversation with a redhead in line, and it doesn’t take long for her to make the connection, probably because they’re both talking ten miles a minute and not holding anything back.
“Oh my god!” Riko screeches, turning to you after you place your order. “Hey! This is Nobara. She’s friends with Fushiguro.”
She beams at you. “How do you guys know Fushiguro?”
Riko answers for you. “The vet. She has a dog, the clinic was closed, he was there. It was probably super romantic.” You groan.
Nobara’s mouth forms a small O and then she says, “Ah, you must be the sidekick.”
You can’t stifle your laugh. “He even calls me that when he’s talking to other people?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “No, he doesn’t tell anyone anything. Ever. But that’s what you’re in his phone as, and I saw his screen before he could hide it.” She leans in conspiratorially. “He won’t tell us who you are, which means he’s into you, y’know that, right?”
“Um. Is he? I don’t really—”
“Girl,” Nobara says flatly. “He doesn’t talk to people. Yuji and I have to force that guy out of the house half the time. If he’s hanging out with you, it’s because he likes you. Not that he knows that, probably. He’s horrible at feelings. I offered to give him a free therapy session and he said he’d rather become a monk.”
Riko mutters something about how that wouldn’t be too far off from whatever aesthetic he has going on right now, but you’re hung up on something else—Yuji and I.
“Oh my god,” you say, realizing something. “You’re Kugisaki.”
Her entire face lights up and she bounces on the balls of her feet. “He told you about me?” she squeals. “Ooh, he does love me! I’m gonna give him so much shit! What did he say? Was it good?”
The three of you end up talking for half an hour, after you all get your coffee and find an empty table. Nobara talks a mile a minute, but you can’t help hanging on to every word she says—she has a lot to say about Fushiguro, and you feel like you might be learning more about him this way than from the numerous conversations you’ve had with him.
She lives down the street from his place. She knows Gojo, who is apparently exactly the way Megumi described him—loud and eccentric and kind of stupid, but a guy who obviously loves his kids. She and Yuji, true to Megumi’s recollection, basically forced their friendship upon him on the first day of school, and they’ve been a trio ever since.
“He doesn’t tell anyone shit,” Nobara says, echoing her own words from earlier. “I feel like I probably know more about him from Gojo than anything. Or reading his notifications over his shoulder.” She smirks. “But he’s a good guy. I wouldn’t put up with his shit if I didn’t mean that.”
“About—what you said earlier, about him… maybe having feelings for me,” you start.
“Definitely having feelings for you,” she corrects. “Whether he knows or not? Undetermined.”
“Right. Uh.” You don’t get the idea that Nobara is a person you ever want to argue with. “Could you not… mention anything about that? To him?”
She sighs. “Course I won’t. Y’know, the guys always say I can’t keep my nose out of things, but two of my roommates have been in love for years and haven’t done anything and I haven’t said a word. Even though it sucks out part of my soul every time they’re in a room together and they just stare longingly when the other one isn’t looking. They’re so stupid.”
“You and Fushiguro are also stupid,” Riko says helpfully. You glare at her, and she throws her hands up in exasperation. “What? You like him, right? You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t like him.”
“He is a good friend,” you say, feeling the burn in your cheeks give you away even before Riko starts cackling.
“I like you,” Nobara tells her, sizing her up. “I might regret saying this, but I think I need you to meet one of my housemates. You could be chaos goblins together. I feel it in my bones.”
Riko rubs her hands together like she’s plotting something, and you think you should probably keep her as far away from said housemate as possible.
Eventually, Nobara pushes to her feet, draining the rest of her coffee and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I gotta go, but I’m so glad I ran into you. I feel like a spy, knowing Fushiguro’s secret girlfriend.” She wiggles her brows at you, and you don’t bother denying it, just burying your head in your hands instead. “You guys should give me your numbers. I can give you Fushiguro intel.”
Riko immediately accepts Nobara’s phone. You wonder how Fushiguro will feel about all this—fond exasperation seems like the default emotion when it comes to his friends. But you give her your number, waving goodbye as she skips out the door, and lean back, thinking as Riko immediately starts to tease you about your boyfriend-not-boyfriend and how at least he has cool friends, even if he doesn’t have a personality.
You just keep looking out the window, trading snarky comments with Riko as it gets dark—earlier now, at the end of September.
“Are you ever gonna tell him?” Riko presses. “I don’t wanna watch you pine for the next six months.”
“We haven’t even known each other that long,” you insist, tracing patterns aimlessly on the tabletop. “And I don’t… I don’t know. I kind of want him to be the one to say something. Because if Nobara’s wrong and he isn’t actually into me, I could fuck everything up—”
“Isn’t actually into you?” Riko exclaims. “Oh. My god.” She waves a hand in front of your eyes. “Can you see? Do you need to get your vision checked? Do you—”
“Okay!” you laugh, swatting her hands away. “Message received, Jesus. Chaos goblin was right.”
“I wear that as a badge of honor,” Riko says solemnly.
Yeah. She can never meet Nobara’s housemate.
—
It’s a Wednesday, and you and Megumi are walking back to your place from the dog park. His car’s at your house, and the dogs have just had a very high-energy playdate that hopefully knocks them out for the night. The air is chilly and the sky dimming, and everything about it feels immaculately fall.
That’s where your conversation has ended up—the upcoming fall break, which is really just a Friday where neither of your campuses have classes. A three-day weekend really shouldn’t be called a break, you think. It’s misleading.
“You’re not going home?” he asks, and you sigh, shaking your head.
“Parents won’t be home. Not really much of a point.”
“We could—” He clears his throat. “We can hang out that weekend if you want. If you need the company.”
“You’re not going home either?” You glance over at him, a little puzzled. “Like—to Gojo’s?” His lips become a thin, tight line, and you wonder if you’ve somehow crossed some invisible boundary. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to, despite being on the brink of insanity because he doesn’t tell you anything, ever.
But then he says, “He’s a bartender. Not around weekends, usually.”
“Ah.” Nobara mentioned that.
You did tell Megumi about running into Nobara in the coffee shop, and he immediately looked like you told him that you hung out with Gojo and saw all his baby pictures.
“She’s nice!” you insisted, and he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.
“She has no filter.”
“She’s fun.”
“She’s Kugisaki.” He shrugged. “Learn anything interesting?”
You told him about your conversation, minus the whole feelings thing, and he agreed that Riko and Toge Inumaki should never, ever meet. “For the good of the entire world,” he said solemnly. “People would die, Robin.”
Now, as the two of you turn onto your street, he glances at you like he’s trying to find something. And maybe it’s how tired you are, maybe it’s the way his eyes look so bright even though they’re so dark, maybe it’s that weird streetlight-night aura that makes everything feel a little bit not real, but you find yourself studying him right back, meeting his gaze without shame.
You want to know him, to be a part of his life in the way he’s become a fixture in yours. You want to meet his housemates. You want to meet his sister, his family. You want him to open the door and stop acting like you’re going to rob him or something the second you get inside. He knows you better than that, right?
He blinks, and you smirk. “I win.”
“Wh—that was not a staring contest.”
“It’s okay,” you tell him sympathetically. “You can’t be good at everything.”
His laugh—his real laugh—isn’t anything like you thought it’d be, but somehow it’s even better. It transforms his whole face, some blink-of-an-eye shift that lights up his eyes and makes everything about him brighter, louder.
You want to make him laugh like that again. As often as you can, really. Always.
“What?” he asks, staring at you, the light lingering in his eyes, some sort of afterimage of his joy.
“I just—I like your laugh.”
He stops, and you realize you’ve reached the end of your driveway. You drop Batman’s leash and let him run around the yard, and Megumi’s dogs follow suit, knowing better than to go far.
“I like your laugh, too,” he says, a crooked smile spreading across his face. And somehow that feels more like a confession than anything he’s ever said to you.
You’re very close.
He’s leaning in and you’re almost subconsciously reaching up to meet him, heels leaving the ground, and he’s still got the slightest curve of a smile lingering on his lips, and—
“Oh!” Shiro jumps on you from the side, tail wagging excitedly.
When you look back up at Megumi, laughter on your lips, his smile is gone, and he’s looking away, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Megumi—”
“That’s my cue,” he says, a forced-sounding chuckle punctuating the sentence. “I should, um. Get back.”
“Oh. Um, right. Yeah. Totally.” You’re kicking yourself now, feeling stupid, foolish. Did you just mess this whole thing up? Was it too soon? Did you read it wrong?
Megumi opens the back door of the car and lets the dogs hop in before circling around to the driver’s seat. “Robin…”
You look at him, trying to squash the hope adamant in your chest. And he looks like he doesn’t know what to say, for a moment, his lips parting and then closing and his eyes darting around before they finally land on you again. “Night,” he says quietly.
“Night, Megumi.” You lift a hand in a half-wave. “See you.”
Batman stares at the street long after the car has disappeared around the corner, and so do you.
“Fuck,” you murmur, and then again, louder, “fuck.”
—
Megumi’s texts over the next week are less frequent and more distant—at least, you think so. Maybe you’re getting too in your own head about it.
From then on, he’s pretty quiet. You wonder if you fucked up. You haven’t talked about it, the kiss. Almost-kiss. Your texts start getting fewer and far between, and in the chaos leading up to midterms you almost don’t notice. Almost.
Lots of almosts, lately.
you: still on for break?
Part of you expects him to go back on his word, say something came up. Especially when he takes a half hour to respond. He’s just busy, you tell yourself. Stop being dramatic.
megumi (cute vet): your place at 5, right?
“Oh,” you say aloud to nobody but Batman, smiling a little. Well, that’s good. You can ask him what’s been on his mind lately. He just seems… preoccupied.
When break rolls around, you spend Friday out with friends and Saturday catching up on schoolwork until Megumi comes over. You’ve hung out so often—you don’t know why you’re nervous.
And it seems contagious. He still shows up at your door and immediately picks up a conversation you left off on the last time you texted him, but he just seems slightly out of reach, somehow. You let it slide for about twenty minutes before you sit him down on the couch and ask.
“Okay. What’s going on with you?”
“What?” You don’t know if he’s playing dumb or just actually doesn’t realize he’s been acting strange.
“You’ve been… look. You’re acting weird. And I feel like we need to talk about whatever happened last week.”
The ensuing silence makes you want to take it back, or say something else, or do anything to create sound in the little bubble of waiting that's formed around the both of you. But you make yourself wait. Give him the space to find words.
“I guess… there is something I wanted to talk to you about,” he says suddenly, flatly, without looking at you. Your mouth slams shut and you find yourself drawing back a little, the remoteness of his voice almost physically distancing.
“Uh,” you say, like the eloquent person you are. “Okay?”
He swallows once, hard, and he looks at you with so much reluctance you almost wish he’d just look away. Your heart is twisting itself into knots.
“I think we should… take a step back.”
“What?” you whisper. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “I mean—this is going… do you want a relationship?”
The question feels so abrupt you’re momentarily shocked into silence. But you know where he’s going.
He doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want—you. And it hurts more than you thought it would. It’s not so much a sharp stabbing sensation as a thousand needles worming their way into the crevices of your heart, slow and numerous and deadly.
Because you do want this. You want him.
“Yes,” you admit, quiet.
And he says, “I don’t.”
In general, you want to ask, or with me? But the words stall in your mouth, all blocked up and sticky, and you don’t say anything at all.
“You shouldn’t,” he murmurs, looking down. “Want that. With me, I mean. It’s…”
“It’s what?” you ask, hesitant. Another long, horrible silence.
“It’s never going to work,” he says, detached. Almost cold. “Us. This.” He’s still not looking at you.
“Let me ask you something, then,” you say, hating the unsteadiness of your voice. “Do you want it to?” Do you have feelings for me? You want to know if this is something he’s denying himself or if he really just doesn’t like you.
You know your own intelligence, though. You haven’t made up whatever this feeling is between you.
He doesn’t answer your question. Just murmurs, “You don’t know me.” And somehow it sounds like an accusation.
“You won’t let me!” you burst out, your voice louder than you intended. But all this caginess, this dancing around everything real, it’s got you at the end of your fuse. Shiro looks up and whines, Kuro leaping off the couch to stand in front of the both of you, curious. “I told you everything! I told you about my family and my friends and my classes and my hometown and my car problems and fucking Katie from Ohio, and you don’t say anything, Megumi, you won’t talk about your family, you won’t introduce me to your roommates. You won’t tell me about your band or your childhood, you took weeks just to give me your first name! What—are you just embarrassed of me? Do you think I’ll judge you? Do you not trust me? Is that it?”
“No,” he practically growls. “God, it’s just—you don’t understand—”
“You’re right, I don’t!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. Batman paws at your leg, wondering why you’re shouting. “So help me understand. I know I’m not patient, but if you have shit you’re not ready to talk about, that’s fine. But just say that. Tell me to wait and I’ll wait. Just—give me something.”
He looks at you and he’s utterly unreadable, doors slammed shut.
“If you don’t want me in your life, just fucking say so,” you spit, but your voice is wavering now, uncomposed and only loud so it doesn’t shatter. If he really said it, said I don’t want you, you don’t know what you would do. It would be too sharp, too painful, too much.
“You don’t want this,” he says instead, averting his gaze. His tone is measured and even and emotionless.
“Don’t tell me what I want,” you seethe, but your words come out quiet. “If you really think I don’t want this, it’s because you won’t let me.” You’re whispering now, worried that if your voice raises any more, it’ll crack the paper-thin walls holding back your tears. “Megumi…”
“S’better this way.” He rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes, a messy movement that seems so at odds with the evenness of his tone. “I… I have to go, Robin.”
And the strange, unstable feelings of betrayal and confusion and hurt morph abruptly back into something hotter, something angrier. Because how dare he come here, spend fall break at your house, listen to you spill your heart onto the carpeted floor? How dare he run away, say he doesn’t want this, and then still call you that stupid, endearing fucking nickname?
“Yeah,” you say icily, glancing away with your arms crossed over your chest. “You do.”
You count to five, silently, before he moves, and you don’t look when he does. You blink tears out of your eyes when Kuro hesitates, nosing at your hip before following Megumi out the door.
It slams, hard, and Batman stays perched at the entry, tracking him as he walks out of your house, your life.
You don’t move for a very long time.
INTERMISSION // A REAL GOOD START
MEGUMI FUSHIGURO IS in deep, deep shit.
That is to say, he’s lost control of the situation, which is the one thing he does not allow to happen. Ever.
He can’t stop thinking about you.
Sleep is hard to come by in the days after he fucks everything up. He keeps thinking about how it could have gone if he’d just—if he’d done anything else. If he hadn’t run off after he almost kissed you, traitorous heart thumping in his chest even while his brain screamed danger!
You became part of his life so fast and so naturally he didn’t know it was too late until the damage had already been done. If he let himself kiss you, he would drown.
But he didn’t. He shut you down instead, on a Saturday night that could have been different.
He makes excuses when Gojo invites him over Sunday afternoon, going into work early just to avoid him. Even if Megumi’s perfected his poker face, nothing gets past Gojo. It’s like he has some sixth sense for when his pseudo-kids are in emotional turmoil. He’ll force Megumi into a talk therapy session (run by the most unqualified bartender of all time) and he’ll die of embarrassment on the couch.
So instead of talking to someone, anyone, he throws himself into his work, into rehearsals, into school. He goes to the clinic early and leaves late. His fingers are sore from plucking the same lines out on his bass until his housemates go to sleep. His eyes are dry from staring at his laptop until three in the morning. But it doesn’t matter what he does. He can’t. Stop. Thinking. About. You.
The thing about being in a band with all of his housemates is that there’s really no world in which they don’t notice something’s off. They’re spending even more time together lately than usual with the Battle of the Bands going on, and his only relief is that none of them say anything—at least not aloud. There are a number of raised brows and the occasional questioning shoulder nudge, but it seems Yuji, Ino, and Kirara know him well enough by now not to push. That, at least, he’s grateful for.
Nobara Kugisaki is a different story.
It’s a Monday when she storms into his living room—she didn’t even bother knocking on the front door. Shiro and Kuro run happily around her legs, and normally she’d be fawning over them, but today she looks furious. He can almost see smoke coming right out of her ears, eyes narrowed to dark slits as she stares him down.
“Fushiguro.”
“You,” he points out, “do not live here.”
“And you,” she seethes, “have one minute to explain to me what the fuck you did.” Before he can say anything, she waves her phone around in the air and says, “Hi, Nobara, I was just wondering if Fushiguro seems okay to you? Things kind of fell off and I would feel weird reaching out but I’m just a little worried.”
She’s quoting you.
Texts from you.
Shit.
Megumi knows that you and Kugisaki have met, but for some reason it just did not cross his mind that you might have exchanged contact information.
Control the situation.
He clears his throat, refusing to break eye contact. “Well, she said it,” he huffs, his usual toneless expression. “Things fell off.”
You still wanted to check on him. He treated you like that and you still…
“You broke up with her.”
“We weren’t together—”
“You broke up with her. Are you a fucking moron? This girl—” She jabs her finger into her phone screen so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t hurt— “is so fucking cool. And she puts up with you. And you like her. And now you’re acting all weird. So what, you go over there and tell her you can’t be together? What the fuck, dude? Why?”
What a loaded question that is.
“Because,” he grits out. “It wouldn’t have worked.”
“It wouldn’t have worked,” Kugisaki repeats flatly, walking over to the couch and making herself at home way too close to him, staring him down. He turns his head away. God, she is so persistent. She is so annoying.
“Yeah, congrats, your hearing works. Can you leave me alone?”
“Tell me you don’t have feelings for her and I will.”
“I—”
“Look at me and say it,” she snaps.
Megumi looks at her. “I don’t,” he mutters.
Kugisaki rolls her eyes so hard Megumi can’t believe they stay in her skull. “Okay, sure,” she says skeptically. He doesn’t like this tone, where it’s going. “So if I set her up with Toge, you wouldn’t mind?”
“I—” He clamps his mouth shut, hands curled into fists. “Kugisaki, that’s not—”
“That’s what I thought.” Normally she’d look smug, victorious after pulling one over on him, but this is worse. She just looks… concerned. He hates it.
“Look,” she sighs. “You’re not going to talk to me, so I’m not going to waste my time. But when you figure this out—and you will figure it out, or I might kill somebody, and it will be you—I’ll be all ears.” Her gaze might as well be pinning him to the wall with how fierce it is. Sometimes he lets himself forget how much of a force Kugisaki can be, and right now, she’s got that glint in her eyes that he hates, the one that makes him feel like she knows something he doesn’t. “Understood?”
“If I say understood, will you get out of my house?” he grumbles. She says nothing, just looking at him, and he thinks maybe she could win a staring contest with a fish. For a long, tense minute, he doesn’t say anything, and neither does she.
Whatever. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’ll forget about it eventually.
He sighs, tipping his head back against the wall.
“Understood.”
—
Things seem to happen around Megumi, to him, not because of him. The last conscious decision he made was to end things with you, and now he’s just a passive witness to his own life. Ino has something going on with Nobara’s housemate, Yuji’s scrambling to pass his midterms, Kirara bounces between their house and Hakari’s place faster than he can keep track of, and Megumi… he just exists in the periphery, goes through the motions.
He keeps finding his thumb hovering over your contact name. A dog with a silly name comes into the clinic and he wants to text you about it. He hears a song that reminds him of you (every song reminds him of you) and he wants to play it for you.
He wonders if Riko has him on a hit list yet.
A voice in the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like Kugisaki keeps repeating, Why?
Why did he end things? Why did he bite the bullet so fucking hard?
Because you deserve better than him, honestly.
You don’t know me, he told you. What he didn’t say, though—because you wouldn’t want me if you did.
Part of him knows that’s probably unfair to you—your words keep playing back in his mind and not even his music can drown them out. You won’t let me! But there are things he can’t imagine saying out loud. Explaining the way his dad disappeared, not even showing his face again when his mom died—eighteen-year-old Gojo from across the street on their doorstep, promising he and Tsumiki wouldn’t go into foster care. Bloody knuckles from fighting middle school bullies. Gojo and Geto trying to raise a bunch of kids when they were still kids themselves.
Gojo didn’t leave, but he should have. Megumi knows he threw away so much of his life for him, for Tsumiki. He could have done so much more. He could have done anything he wanted. But Megumi held him back.
Maybe he’s holding him back even now. He knows Gojo would deny it.
The point is, Megumi has shit to figure out for himself, and you shouldn’t have to sit by and watch him deal with it. That’s not fair to you. Yeah, he went about it wrong, but—but this is for the best. You can find someone who actually gives you everything you deserve, and he can… whatever.
Megumi’s band, Shibuya Incident, doesn’t perform this Friday at The Fix—Shoko and Geto’s bar. They’ve already made finals. Tonight will just decide who their opponents are. But even if he’s not up there playing, the Battle of the Bands is a welcome distraction. Even if Ino’s just making lovesick puppy eyes at the stage the whole time and Yuji won’t shut up about wanting Taco Bell. Megumi lets himself get a little lost in the music, and Kugisaki’s band is good, really. He votes for them as soon as the digital form opens and then vows to never tell her.
They should win, but Black Flash takes it again. Kasumi Miwa and Maki’s sister and their friends. They won the whole thing last year. Great, Megumi thinks.
The night comes and goes, and he dodges Gojo on his way out of the bar despite knowing he’ll get a text about it later. And then they’re all piled into Yuji’s car on the way to get his beloved Taco Bell, and he’s just about convinced he’s done with feeling anything at all when Kirara screams.
For a second, there’s nothing at all.
And then the world comes back to life around him in a shock of colors and sounds and a lot of cuss words, mostly coming out of his own mouth.
“Holy shit!” Yuji shouts, yanking the wheel hard to the right, and Megumi can barely process the sight of the white car barreling toward them before there’s crunching metal and shattering glass, and it’s like he feels the collision as an aftershock, shaking all his bones back into place. The airbags go off and he’s blind, wind knocked clean from his lungs, and then he’s moving—no, he moves. No more passivity. This is real.
“Everybody out,” he demands, wrenching the passenger door open and taking in the sight of the crash. Smoke is billowing from the hood of Yuji’s car, the vacant passenger side of the other one entirely smashed in. “Everyone okay?”
Yuji circles around the back of the car and Megumi clocks immediately that he’s holding his wrist weird, wrong. “Yuji—”
“Ino, come on—hey. Hey. Ino.”
Kirara’s got one knee on the edge of the backseat and one hand braced on the roof of the car, and Ino is not making any move to get out.
Sirens. Who called the cops?
“Kirara?” Yuji asks, moving to help her, but she holds up a hand and looks back over her shoulder.
“Don’t. I got it. We’re fine. Just—bad memories, I think.”
Megumi knows Ino hates driving. He doesn’t know why, but he can guess. So he doesn’t push it. Kirara’s the psych major, after all. And probably the one with the most emotional intelligence and any semblance of tact. She’s got him.
He’s about to turn to Yuji when somebody stumbles out of the other car. The car that had been driving in the wrong lane,directly toward them. If Yuji hadn’t reacted so quickly, they’d all be dead.
“What the fuck,” he hisses.
It’s his cousin.
“What,” he says, louder, “the fuck? Naoya!” He storms over and grabs Naoya by the front of his shirt—his breath reeks of alcohol, and he’s laughing, like he didn’t just almost commit vehicular manslaughter. “What the hell, man? What’s wrong with you? Are you—”
He hears… screaming?
But not from here. Not in person. It’s…
Megumi looks at the cracked phone on the ground, having been flung straight through Naoya's shattered windshield. He looks at his shitbag cousin, who’s half tipping-over, legs like jelly under him.
“Naoya,” he growls. “Who. Is. That?”
“Hah,” he slurs. “Mm. My ex! My ex. She is… she is.”
He’s not making sense, but Megumi might get back into Yuji’s car and drive it into his cousin on purpose. Naoya was dating this girl—Megumi knows her. She's friends with Yuji. Some brand of art major, he’s pretty sure, and she's nice, way too good for him. And then what, she finally gets away and he still torments her? By drunk calling her from the car, letting her listen as he crashes? The blood in Megumi’s veins might as well be venom.
He shoves Naoya back with a scoff, letting him stumble over himself, and grabs the broken phone off the ground. “Hey,” he says, and she’s still screaming, this poor fucking girl— “Hey! Hey. Calm down. It’s—hello?”
“Naoya? What the fuck, Naoya—”
She’s definitely talking through tears, maybe angry, maybe scared.
“Not Naoya,” Megumi sighs. “Uh, this is Fushiguro.” She’s quieting a little on the other end, and he hears a guy’s voice trying to talk her down. “Listen. Naoya’s fine. Just… drunk. And an asshole. Are you okay?”
After that, the entire night is a blur.
He talks down Naoya’s traumatized ex-girlfriend on the phone, Ino’s girlfriend shows up and calms him down, and then Gojo and Nanami and Shoko are there and Hakari shows up and Gojo’s dragging Megumi to the ER with Yuji to get his wrist checked out and it’s sprained and Tsumiki is running into the waiting room and hugging the life out of him and Maki calls and Naoya’s got a DUI and then finally, finally they’re home. Megumi can barely keep his eyes open. He doesn't know what time it is.
He sleeps harder than he has in months.
—
Megumi is so fucking exhausted that when his phone starts buzzing the next morning at the kitchen table, he doesn’t actually think it’s real for a second.
INCOMING CALL: SIDEKICK
He’s hallucinating. Sleep deprivation, or something. Or maybe he actually got a concussion in that car crash and now he’s seeing things that aren’t real. That’s the only explanation.
That or you butt-dialed.
He doesn’t bother explaining himself to the others as he stands up and retreats to the hallway, almost letting the phone ring out before steeling himself and swiping to accept the call.
“Hey?”
He’s never greeted you like that before. It sounds so fake. He usually picks up the phone and just starts talking about whatever you texted him, or whatever weird thing he saw that he has to tell you about. Not hey. Hey is for people he doesn’t know. Doesn’t care about.
“Um. Hey.” It is stupid, what just the sound of your voice over the phone does to him. “I just saw this article about a car crash? Are you—”
“I’m fine,” he says, too fast, too sharp. Stop it. “Sorry. I’m—yeah. We’re all fine.”
You clear your throat on the other end of the phone. “Okay. That’s—that’s good. I just… wanted to make sure.”
He pushed you out, and you texted Kugisaki to ask if he was alright.
He pushed you out, and you’re calling to make sure he’s okay.
I’m not, he wants to say. I fucked up. I fucked this up.
I miss you.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I… appreciate that.”
Maybe he can still salvage this. Still be friends with you, at least. But that’s a slippery slope, isn’t it? He’ll just hurt you again. But…
“It was my cousin,” he offers, not really knowing why he’s saying it. Maybe as a peace offering. He didn’t tell you things before, important things. Maybe he can start now. “Drunk. On the phone with his ex.”
“Oh,” you say. You sound surprised, but Megumi isn’t sure if you’re more shocked about his words or the fact that he gave them to you. “That’s… awful.”
“Yeah,” Megumi breathes. “Um. Yeah, he’s taken care of now.”
“Good. That’s good.” A dog starts barking, and Megumi feels his lips twitch up into an almost-smile.
“There he goes,” he murmurs. You laugh, and he’s actually smiling, now.
“There he goes,” you say fondly. “I should… go calm him down. I’ll…”
“Yeah, yeah, go,” he says, not sure how to end this. “Um, good… luck.” Stupid. That was so fucking stupid.
“Thanks. Bye, Fushiguro.”
“Bye, Robin,” he says, but the line’s already gone dead.
—
Megumi sees you three times in the month of November, and every time he feels ten times closer to a train wreck.
It snows in November, because it’s stupid and cold and winter comes early here, and there are prints leading toward the dog park. Imprints of dog paws and boots, side by side, and he’s a vet student. He knows what size dog those prints mean. He knows exactly who it is.
He lets Shiro and Kuro tug him all the way to the dog park, and he doesn’t even remember letting himself through the gate. He just knows that you see him right after Kuro starts panting excitedly, and you freeze.
He half-waves in the most pathetic, lame response ever known to mankind.
“Robin,” he says, the nickname falling off his tongue like nothing ever changed.
“Fushiguro.” You smile, hesitant, and he wishes it didn’t feel like a needle that you used his last name. He walks over to you—just following the dogs, he tells himself, that’s natural. Batman almost knocks him over in his excitement.
Megumi can’t not smile at a dog. That would just make him a bad vet, wouldn’t it?
“Hey, bud,” he says, crouching down to pet him. “Yeah, I missed you too.” When he looks back up, your gaze is a little distant, and he closes his eyes for a second, collecting himself. He pushes back to his feet and turns to you.
“Did you know I’d be…” You don’t finish the sentence, but he knows what you mean.
“I… snowprints,” he says, shrugging. It seems to be enough of an answer for you.
“Snowprints,” you echo. “We found you with tracks too, the first time. Didn’t we, Batman?” Like he understands, Batman slaps his tail against the ground and flicks his ears forward and back. Yep. Sure did.
He scrambles for something to say in the silence—small talk is the bane of his existence, but is it ever small talk when it’s you?
Small talk doesn’t matter.
Everything you say matters.
“So. They teach you how to keep plants alive yet?” he asks, and has to fight not to physically cringe after he says it. God, it’s like he never learned how to talk. But you laugh, which he counts as a win.
“No, but someone is significantly less barky, so thank you for that.”
He has you for five minutes before your phone rings, and you chuckle, showing him the screen.
“Ah,” he says. Riko. He doesn’t object when you go, slipping out through the gate with your phone pressed to your ear, because he doesn’t have the right.
But you text first, later.
sidekick: it was good to see you sidekick: and the dogs. obviously
“Look at that,” he mutters to Kuro, whose nose is nearly touching his phone screen. “You’re my good luck charm.”
megumi: you too, sidekick. megumi: and batman. obviously.
The second time, you’re crossing paths in the coffee shop, both of you on your way to other places. It’s brief and stilted and still leaves him feeling like a mess.
“Black?” you ask, nodding at his coffee. You’ve got a hat tugged haphazardly over your head to ward off the persistent snowflakes outside, and it’s—you’re cute. Fuck.
He huffs a laugh, looking down at the sleet-stained floor just to avoid staring at you and your cold-flushed cheeks. “What else?”
“Vanilla latte,” he says, glancing at your cup, because he wants you to know he remembers. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but he thinks you look pleasantly surprised.
The third time, you don’t see him.
He knew you had friends at JU, but he’s never seen you around campus before. You’re with the guy with the blue hair, always pulled up into two knots on the top of his head—Hajime, maybe?
You throw your head back and laugh at something he says, and it’s like—fuck. Laughter shouldn’t sound that poetic.
And he knows he can’t lie to himself anymore.
It’s time to talk.
Kirara would probably kick his ass the second he told her anything. Ino’s busy with his new girlfriend, Yuji’s an idiot, Kugisaki is… well, she’s Kugisaki, and he can’t handle that lecture right now. And he sure as hell isn’t gonna talk to Gojo.
Which means he only has one option.
When he knocks on the door of Tsumiki’s apartment, she takes one look at him and sighs, long-suffering.
“You finally ready to talk?”
This was probably a grave miscalculation. If Kirara would kick his ass for the way he treated you, Tsumiki might actually hang him from his ankles out the window and leave him to die. But not before he apologizes to you. So at least he’s got time.
He walks in without responding and ignores her invitation to sit, pacing the kitchen instead in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “I fucked up.”
“Yeah, I gathered,” Tsumiki says dryly, but she hops up onto the counter and looks at him, patient as ever. Tell me, she doesn’t say, but Megumi hears it anyway.
“I think I might be in love.”
—
To her credit, Tsumiki is dead silent for the entirety of Megumi’s rambling explanation. He’s a little hoarse by the end of it—honestly, he never talks like this. He feels like he just dumped his heart onto his sister’s kitchen floor and is awaiting some sort of judgement.
“Also, I think she hates me,” he finishes, finally sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. He tilts his head back and stares at the popcorn ceiling. “And I deserve it.”
For a beat, Tsumiki is silent. And then she says, “You wrote a song about her.”
He snaps his gaze to her so aggressively it hurts his neck. “What?”
She rolls her eyes and pulls something up on her phone, sliding up the volume and pressing play. She scrolls to some random point in the song, and Ino’s voice sings, “She’s got me up late starin’ at my phone, waitin’ for a text, feelin’ all alone.”
“Tsumiki—”
She turns it up, and Megumi looks anywhere but at his sister. There are plants everywhere, warm light filtering in through the windows onto herbs on the kitchen windowsill and succulents in the living room and god, everything reminds him of you.
“And she don’t even know what she’s doin’ to me, all my hopes are high-strung and she’s just gonna leave, no!”
“Okay! Okay, stop, I get it,” he huffs, dragging the heel of his palm down his face and trying to ignore her smug smile. “How did you even know?” he mumbles. “I’m not on the credits.”
“I know you,” she says dryly. “I also know Ino, and his lyrics are not that… I don’t know, poetically nihilistic.”
“I really can’t tell if you’re trying to insult or compliment me right now,” he says, sighing.
“Also,” Tsumiki says pointedly, “because this is what you do, Gumi.” He gives her a quizzical look in lieu of a response. “When people get close to you, you lash out and then you run away.” She hops off the counter and crosses the room to the table, pulling out a chair across from Megumi.
“No, I don’t,” he grumbles, tilting his chair away on its back legs and inadvertently proving her point.
She just looks at him until he relents, burying his face in his hands.
“I don’t think it’s unprecedented,” Tsumiki says gently, “considering the way we grew up. But you can’t keep shutting down good things, Gumi. You wouldn’t even be friends with Itadori and Kugisaki if they hadn’t forced their way past your bullshit. And you love them, right? They’re great. You know they’re not gonna hurt you.”
“Nobody knows that,” he huffs. “College will end and we’ll all go our separate ways and I’ll never hear from—”
“Nope,” Tsumiki says loudly, cutting him off. “Okay. My turn to talk. Shut up.” She glares at him, planting her elbows on the table. He feels stripped raw. “The whole pushing-people-away-before-I-get-hurt thing? You need to stop. You cannot look me in the eyes right now and tell me you don’t have people who would die for you, Gumi.”
He opens his mouth to object, but she swipes a hand through the air, silencing him. “I’m not done.” Megumi has only seen his sister like this a few times in his life, and he is fairly certain that if he tries to interrupt her again he might not leave this apartment alive.
“You have me. You have Gojo. You have Geto and Shoko and Nanami. You have all of your housemates, and Kugisaki, and probably all of her housemates too,” she says. “And none of us are going anywhere, okay? No walking out on the kids, no betrayal, no kicking you to the curb. So you need to get your head out of your ass, Megumi.”
Well.
“Look. It’s a defense mechanism. I get that,” she says, a little gentler now. “But you are not doing yourself any favors. And this girl? You’re in love with her, Gumi. That means she’s pretty special, okay? Because I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you look twice at a girl in your whole life. And I know she doesn’t deserve this, just as much as you know. So you have two choices.”
Megumi doesn’t think he’s going to like either of the two choices.
Tsumiki leans back in her chair, shrugging. “You can let her move on without you and keep screwing yourself over, or you can go tell her you fucked up and ask her to forgive you.”
He’s never liked asking for things. Tries to avoid it, actually. But he’s finding there are a lot of rules he’s willing to break when it comes to you.
“But if you’re going to ask this girl to step back into your life, you need to make sure you’re ready for it,” his sister says firmly. “You need to have your shit together. You need to know how you feel.” She pauses, catching his gaze, and once she has it she might as well be holding his face in her hands. He can’t look away, not when she’s looking at him this intently, like she’s waiting for an answer she already knows. “So. How do you feel?”
When he doesn’t answer right away, Tsumiki knocks on the table, like a dismissal. “Okay. You think about that, and when you know—you know.” She looks at him for a long moment after he stands up, those eternal curled locks of hair falling into her face, and he’s suddenly hit with a wave of affection, of gratitude, so strong he can barely stand it. Yeah, so he doesn’t have a mom. And fuck his dad. But Tsumiki—thank god he has his sister.
“Miki,” he says, before he can stop himself. “Uh—thank you. I…” He swallows once, hard. “Love you.”
Her smile is slow but wide, the kind that makes her eyes narrow just a little. “I love you too,” she says softly, and then she winks. “Hey, those words? That’s a real good start.”
—
When Megumi sees you next, he’s going to be ready. Just like Tsumiki said. He needs to know how he feels. So he thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks.
There’s a notebook in the bottom drawer of his desk, scrawled song lyrics he’ll never let anyone see. He fills page after page after page trying to figure out what’s going on in his head, in his heart, how he can make it make sense. Fit together like two hands, two sets of prints in the snow. He tries to imagine what he’ll say to you, how you’ll react, but every word he thinks of falls short, everything just sounds stupid in the face of how much you deserve and how little he can give.
He keeps thinking.
It’s December 19, Kugisaki’s Christmas party before everyone parts ways for break.
Megumi won’t admit it, but he’s having a good time. He brought the dogs, and he and Yuji have been bouncing around talking to their friends. Tsumiki’s here too, and when he loses track of Yuji he makes his way over to her, leaning silently against the wall.
“They’re cute,” she says fondly, and he follows her gaze to the hall—Ino is standing there with his girlfriend, Skipper, and there’s mistletoe hanging right above them. No doubt Kugisaki’s doing. Skipper laughs and pecks Ino on the lips before he says something and drags her down the hall, and then Maki and Yuta glance up at the mistletoe, look at each other in mutual horror, and pointedly do not walk beneath it. They’re finally together, but they wouldn’t be caught dead kissing in front of other people.
And he wonders what you’d do, if you were here standing under it with him.
He doesn’t have to say anything. Tsumiki reads him like a book.
It’s like this:
Megumi is very well-acquainted with loss. But he’s not sure he can handle this one.
He let his own insecurities ruin a good thing, a bright thing. He shut it down before it could start. He struck first and he fucking regrets it.
That’s it, then. Pity party over. Delusions down the drain. It’s time to get over himself, to get real.
Because the truth of it is that he doesn’t give a shit about his birthday, about Christmas, about the trees and the lights and the stupid fucking carols, if you’re not there with him.
Oh, he thinks. His sister has the audacity to smirk.
He stays, because this is Kugisaki’s party and despite everything, he does love her. He’s getting better about that, about acknowledging it—he has people who care about him, and he has people he cares about.
But when he heads out just a little bit early, after whispering your name in Kugisaki’s ear, she nearly slaps him for not going sooner.
“Shiro, Kuro,” he calls, heading for the door. “C’mon. We’ve got somewhere to be.”
PART II // TO TRYING
FOR A WEEK after Megumi walks out your front door, you drown in self-pity like the flower you killed in September with too much water.
And then you open your computer and type his name into the search engine with jujutsu university and band. It’s not hard to find—one of the first results is some Instagram advertisement about a Battle of the Bands at JU, from a couple of weeks ago. One of them’s got to be his. You could just ask Nobara, but—it feels weird, somehow. Wrong. Like you’re encroaching on part of his life that he so clearly doesn’t want you to be a part of.
You can’t helping asking her to check on him, though. You just—it’s probably stupid, but you want him to be okay. Not that you think him pseudo-dumping you would tear him up or anything. But there’s a not insignificant part of you that doesn’t believe what he said that day. Part of you that knows a defense mechanism when you see one.
The thing is, you could’ve asked your friends about him. Hajime goes to JU. He might know Megumi, and if not he could’ve found out. But you wanted this for yourself, this mystery of earning his first name and his history and his heart, except you thought you’d gotten two of the three and it turns out he’ll only ever give you one.
You start typing in the bands one by one, figuring eventually one of them has to be his. A search for Black Flash turns up an artist image of a group of people surrounding a grinning girl with bright blue hair. No Megumi, though.
Shibuya Incident, then. You key it into Spotify and rub your eyes when the artist profile comes up, like you’re maybe seeing it wrong. No. It’s him.
There’s a dark-haired girl who must be Kirara leaning on a familiar-looking guy with pink hair, face split open in a smile. Front and center is a brown-eyed boy with a beanie tugged lopsided over his hair. And in the back, standing, looking characteristically bored, is Megumi Fushiguro.
Why are you doing this? You shouldn’t be doing this.
But you’re scrolling before you know it. Most popular songs. They have an EP called Over Duress. And they have a single—released recently, it looks like.
Strike First.
You only allow yourself one second of hesitation before you press play.
“Catch feels real quick,” a voice sings—Ino, must be. “And they go real deep.” You can’t help paying attention the bassline. It’s steady, constant, holding the rest of the band together as Ino sings. The lyrics almost sink into the background until the chorus snags your attention, and you have to go back and replay it.
“I can hear the heartbreak saying, ooh, I’m on my way. So you strike first, strike first ‘cause she’s not gonna stay.”
Oh.
You understand, then, even if his name isn’t listed in the writing credits, even if you have no proof. Megumi wrote this song. You can hear him in the unfamiliar voice of the lead singer. You can feel him in the pattern of the words. It’s his.
He didn’t want you to leave, so he left first. Is that it?
You understand, but it’s not enough. Abruptly, you’re just—you’re angry. What a stupid reason to let something fall apart. You don’t owe him patience. If he’s not ready to commit, that’s not your problem, it’s his. He needs to figure himself out, learn to let people in, and you can’t just sit here and wait for him to do it. It’s not your responsibility.
It’s not.
There’s some sort of grim satisfaction in knowing that there’s nothing else you could have done.
“Forget that,” you mutter, closing out of Spotify and intending to just toss your laptop on the bed. Case closed. Moving on.
But something in your search results catches your eye first.
JU senior issued DUI after crash on 34th and Olson Blvd Friday night
Okay. So. Nothing to do with Megumi, right? Except it’s showing up in your search of his name. You click on the article, heart suddenly pounding.
Jujutsu University Campus Police responded to an emergency call at 11:41 last night after an automobile collision on 34th Street and Olson Boulevard, four blocks from the popular campus live music bar, The Fix.
“No,” you breathe. “What the fuck?” You keep skimming, everything in you loosening up when it says nobody was seriously hurt, but it just—whose car is that, Yuji’s? It’s bright red. Not Megumi’s.
You’re not really thinking when you make the call. It rings for so long, and right as you’re about to give up, he’s there on the other end of the line, and you realize you have no idea what you’re supposed to say.
“Hey?”
“Um. Hey.” You sound more breathless than you should, just sitting here on your bed with your laptop open to a student news publication. You don’t wait for him to ask why the hell you’re calling, barreling on before you lose your nerve. “I just saw this article about a car crash? Are you o—”
“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Defensively. Oh.
Right. This is overstepping, probably. He doesn’t need you checking up on him. You should’ve just texted Nobara. You should’ve just not read the article, actually, shouldn’t have typed his name into your search engine. He probably thinks you’re a creep who put Google alerts on for his name or something. You don’t have any real excuse for how you stumbled across this fucking article.
But then he says, “Sorry. I’m—yeah. We’re all fine.”
Thank god, you think. But you just clear your throat a little and say, “Okay. That’s—that’s good. I just… wanted to make sure.”
The silence is so long you think for a moment that he’s hung up on you. But then, very quietly, he says, “Thank you. I… appreciate that.”
You don’t really know where to go from here. He’s fine. Of course he’s fine. Why the hell did you call him in the first place? It’s not like he’s going to offer you any information. Because he doesn’t tell you anything, which was the whole problem in the first place—
“It was my cousin.”
You blink.
“Drunk. On the phone with his ex.”
“Oh,” you say, more of a surprised noise slipping out before you can bite it down. It’s less shock at the actual words than the fact that he’s giving you something, that he’s offering you this. You scroll down in the article. Naoya Zenin. The senior in the headline who got a DUI. “That’s… awful.”
“Yeah,” Megumi breathes. “Um. Yeah, he’s taken care of now.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Batman chooses this moment to start barking at absolutely nothing out the window. He actually has been a lot better about that recently, but it’s like it’s his mission today to embarrass you on the phone with the guy who dumped-not-dumped you.
“There he goes,” Megumi says lightly, and you laugh a little, because he sounds almost fond when he says it.
“There he goes,” you echo. “I should… go calm him down. I’ll…” What? You’ll what? See you around? No you won’t. Talk to you later? Unlikely.
“Yeah, yeah, go,” he says. “Um, good… luck.” With what? Batman? Life?
“Thanks. Bye, Fushiguro.”
You slam your finger down on the red button before he can reply.
You don’t want to know what he says. Your name, or sidekick, or Robin, or nothing at all.
—
You try to forget about him, but it’s hard.
Every time your phone buzzes with a message from your friends, classmates, family, your heart jumps, foolishly thinking it might be him. You follow Batman to the dog park without making the conscious decision to, and berate yourself when you realize, lead him off in another direction. Your rosemary plant dies and you hear him in your head, teasing you—isn’t the environment your whole career? Better shape up, sidekick.
Riko prepares a half-hour long PowerPoint presentation about all the reasons he didn’t deserve you in the first place. She must’ve told your roommate, too, because Suko calls you in the middle of the night, Japan time, just to check in.
A week into November, it’s dulled a little bit, the hurt. You’re still startled when he shows up at the dog park, but… not unpleasantly so.
“Snowprints,” he says when you ask if he knew you were here. One word, but it means more to you. Snowprints means he knew what he was walking into, and he came anyway. Snowprints means he saw a chance and followed it to you on purpose.
That’s progress, isn’t it?
You see him at the coffee shop and he remembers your order. It shouldn’t mean anything, but it does. Snowprints and a vanilla latte.
He said he didn’t want this, but you just… don’t believe him.
But you’re not waiting for him. If the cute guy from ecology asked you out tomorrow, you’d say yes. This boy isn’t dictating your life while he figures himself out.
You hope he does figure himself out. But you won’t hold on to scraps.
And you do start to forget, a little. The cute guy in your ecology class does not ask you out, but your friends and your studies and your needy dog are enough of a distraction that Megumi isn’t in the front of your mind all the time. The semester is flying by, and you make an effort to keep in touch with Nobara despite everything—she really is fun.
It’s approaching break before you know it, and you’re going home for the holidays soon, though you’ll probably be back before the new year because Setsuko needs a ride. Man, you’re excited to have a roommate again.
Your suitcase is half-packed, poorly folded clothes covering the whole of your bedspread in some futile attempt at organization. Christmas is in six days—well, five, you think idly, glancing at the clock. Half past midnight. You should go to sleep, but your bed is covered in clothes and you need to finish packing for your drive home in two days.
“Hey, no,” you lecture as Batman sniffs at a shirtsleeve dangling over the side of the bed. You can tell he’s considering making the leap and taking a nap on top of all your freshly laundered clothes. “No. Stay down.”
You push to your feet, yawning, and then Batman freezes in place, his ears perking up and forward like he hears something.
“What’s up?” you mutter, and then his head snaps toward the door. “Dude, what? It’s past midnight—”
The doorbell rings.
“The shit,” you mutter, trudging to the front door. Irrationally you wonder if your roommate’s home early, but that’s stupid—she’d have needed a ride from the airport, and she has a key.
You don’t know what you expect when you nudge Batman aside and open the door into the cold night, barely holding him back from the cracked door with your leg.
Oh.
You’re face to face with Megumi Fushiguro, and your heart does a diving, spinning leap into the bottom of your stomach.
His lips are slightly parted like he stopped speaking mid-word, eyes wild with urgency, and you suddenly wonder if he’s in trouble, if something’s really wrong. Snow peppers his dark hair, the porch light bouncing off the white specks and making him look like he’s sparkling.
You can’t find any words. None at all, nothing that can actually articulate the shock and confusion and barely-squashed hope. What is happening?
“Robin,” he says. And then he says your name, your real name, and—it’s like a dam breaks.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so fucking sorry. I—I’ve had some time to think and I really, really messed up and I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up to you but I have to try to explain, I—it’s me, it was all me, all my fault, you’re amazing and I’m insecure and I let that get in the way of something really fucking good and that was stupid, so stupid, and I like being with you and I like knowing you and I want you to meet my friends and my weird messed-up family and I want you to know me, I want to let you know me, and I’m sorry I didn’t just because I got too in my own head about it, about you. You take up so much headspace it’s insane and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since—since, I don’t know, since I fucking met you, and I—”
The multi-colored Christmas lights strung between the pillars of your front step cast colors and shadows over him as he rambles, his cheeks red from the cold and maybe something else, and you can’t take it, watching him like this, desperate.
“Fushiguro.”
But he’s on a roll now, the words spilling from him like they’ve been building up in the hollow space of his throat for years, and he’s not stopping now. You’re not sure he even hears you over the rapid, panicked lilting of his own confession.
“You should turn around right now, slam the door in my face, I get it, I deserve that, and I don’t have any excuse that matters, but I realized how important you’d become and that scared me more than anything I’d ever felt because that meant I could lose you, you could leave—”
“Fushiguro.”
“And it’s—I fell in love with you months ago,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, and I love you, I’m so in love with you, and I—”
“Megumi.”
He finally stops, panting, every part of him frenzied and undone. His lips are still parted around a word he hasn’t said, freeze frame, the remote in your hands. “Will you just come inside?”
The silent second feels like ages, years, maybe, and you can see the disbelief in his irises, like he’s afraid to trust this, afraid to hope.
“No,” he breathes suddenly, and something comes dangerously close to cracking in your heart. Did he come here, say all this, only to leave you again?
“I—”
“No, because I brought the dogs and they’re sitting in the back of my car right now,” he explains, sheepish. An unbelieving, slightly hysterical laughter bubbles up out of you, warm and surprising and not at all unpleasant.
You grab Megumi by the dark fabric of his coat and yank him toward you, pressing your lips to his cold ones, hand slipping up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s like your warmth leeches into him limb by limb, slowly unfreezing him both from the cold and the frantic fear that you’d turn him away again, and it’s below freezing but he’s melting beneath your touch, and you missed him so, so much.
You pull back, your breath fogging in the air like an echo. “You idiot,” you tell him. “Go get them, I want to see them.” You cross your arms over your chest, leaning on the doorjamb and finally processing how cold it is out here. It’s like it’s sinking right into your bones. “And then get your ass inside.”
He smiles breathlessly, standing still for a moment, and then it’s like he just snaps into action, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he waits another second. The dogs run up the path before he does, and you let them barrel into you and then have their little reunion with Batman while Megumi catches up.
“Come sit down,” you tell him, shutting the door and closing out the cold air. “And tell me more.”
It’s almost like nothing ever changed.
You talk for hours in the lamp-lit living room, surrounded by three tired dogs and a record spinning in the corner. But this time, Megumi talks more than you’ve ever heard him talk. He tells you everything.
How he pushed you away and justified it to himself by saying you deserved better, when really you deserved the truth. How his dad left and his mom died young and Gojo was barely legal when he took him in. How he had a lot of issues with his self-worth growing up, and even now, and how it took him a very long time to accept that people care about him. How it was Tsumiki's idea to get the dogs, because after their mom died he couldn't stop having nightmares. How he wanted to call you every day and then he finally cracked and he went to Tsumiki and she psychoanalyzed him at the kitchen table and he sorted out all his shit so he could show up here like an absolute nuisance and beg you to give him another chance.
“That’s all I wanted, you know,” you tell him, the both of you on the floor, leaning against Shiro and Kuro as they sleep. Batman’s made himself comfortable on the couch, occasionally using his vantage point to lick you right in the face. “You, being honest. You didn’t have to tell me about your parents, y’know, if you didn’t want to. But just…”
“I know that now,” he murmurs sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Really. But I’m trying to get over the whole self-sabotage thing. Trying to… try. In general. With people.”
And he means it. Because the only time Megumi has ever lied to you was the day he told you he didn’t want this, and you knew even then that it wasn’t true. He might try to be all stoic and poker-faced, but he’s not a very good liar. You smile. “That’s a good start.”
You’re facing each other, knees touching, and you reach out, hand palm-up between you. He glances at you before he makes any move, like he’s asking—are you sure? But then he laces his fingers through yours. His hands are way bigger than yours, fingers folding over your own, warm and encompassing. Something about it feels very right.
“So I was wondering,” he starts, and this new side of him that is so hesitant but also hopeful is maybe the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. You squeeze his hand a little, and that seems to embolden him enough to ask whatever it is waiting on the tip of his tongue. “Uh, would you… want to meet my housemates?”
—
“They’re crazy,” Megumi says, standing outside his house with you the next day. “I mean it. I don’t know how to prepare you for—”
“Megumi,” you cut him off, laughing. “No disclaimers. I’m friends with Riko, remember?” This actually seems to be an effective argument, because he smiles a little, putting his hand on the door.
“Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”
You are tackled the second you cross the threshold.
“Hi!” someone practically shouts in your ear, full-on bear-hugging you as you stumble back, laughing.
“Oh my god,” Megumi groans. “Itadori—”
“Sorry!” he yelps, pulling back and awkwardly offering a hand like he didn’t just squeeze the living daylights out of you. “I’m Yuji. Kugisaki’s told me all about you and Fushiguro said—”
“Itadori,” he says again. You immediately understand what Megumi meant. This boy is legitimately no different than the two dogs who have come to crowd around your legs. Actually, Shiro and Kuro have greeted you significantly more calmly than Yuji has. It’d be difficult not to like him, you think.
“No, you’re fine,” you laugh him off, using the handshake to pull him back in. “You’re fun. I like you.” Yuji grins victoriously at Megumi and lets you go, and you finally move out of the entryway and into the familiar living space.
“Ino,” you say, pointing at the boy in a beanie, and then shift to the girl crouched in front of the TV, rummaging through a bunch of games. “Kirara.”
The conspiratorial smirk Kirara gives you—along with the way the Wii games are scattered all around her like a personal hurricane—makes you think she might not actually be the long-suffering order in a house full of chaos. More likely, she and Ino and Yuji are only kept in check by Megumi’s neat freak tendencies and blunt nature.
“Hey.” Ino grins. “Okay, I gotta ask, is your dog actually named Batman? Because that’s awesome.”
“She’s been here for two seconds,” Megumi chides, but you nod happily. You are very proud of your dog’s stupid name.
“Well, I approve,” Ino shrugs, patting the space next to him on the couch.
And it feels natural, the way you fall into place with the rest of them. For all Megumi pretends they drive him insane, it’s obvious he loves his friends, and he seems relaxed around them even as you waste away the afternoon chatting and arguing and getting your ass kicked in Mario Kart (specifically by Kirara, whose undefeated record pisses off all the boys but makes you even fonder of her).
By the time night falls, you feel like you’ve been friends with all of them for years. You learn all about the band—Megumi didn’t tell you that they won the Battle of the Bands, which you plan to give him shit for later. They ask you about your school and friends and seem to actually, genuinely want to meet them.
You go home for Christmas, getting your annual few rare days of quality family time, but Megumi sends you photos from Gojo’s with Tsumiki and the dogs. You respond with a picture of Batman in a Santa hat.
megumi: they really want to meet you when you get back. if you want.
A smile splits across your face before you can stop it. Because this is exactly what you wanted—for Megumi to want you to meet his family, to know that part of his life.
“What are you smiling about?” your dad asks from the couch, and your blush must be answer enough, because he turns to your mom with a raised brow and mouths boy. You shove your phone in your pocket. You weren’t prepared for the interrogation, but it’s too late now.
The thing is, if your family had asked you if you were seeing anyone even last week, you’d have nothing to say. And maybe you shouldn’t dump all this information on them when it’s still so fresh, so new.
But something tells you this is going to last. He wants you to meet Tsumiki, to meet Gojo. You won’t keep him from your family if he doesn’t keep you from his. Plus, your parents leave on another trip in two days. You’re not sure when else you’ll get the chance to tell them this in person.
“So,” you say, before they can start grilling you. “His name is Megumi.”
—
There are prints in the snow.
It feels uncannily familiar, walking your usual path with Batman and seeing the two sets of paw prints and accompanying boots. You place your own footsteps in their wake, laughing at how they dwarf your own shoe size.
You aren’t supposed to see Megumi until he picks you up to go to Gojo’s tonight, but it seems fate—or Batman—has other ideas.
You let him drag you all the way to a big, snowy clearing, where you see your boyfriend and Kuro standing in the snow. It takes you a whole five seconds longer to make out Shiro, who basically blends right into the landscape.
The dogs, per usual, see you first, and Megumi turns at their excited noises to see you. He wastes no time setting off across the field toward you, and you grin, meeting him in the middle.
“So is this a coincidence, or is someone following me?” he asks, meeting you at eye-level as you crouch to greet the dogs. Batman basically shoves his nose in Megumi’s face in response.
“Snowprints,” you say, gesturing to the trail behind you. “Seems to be a theme.” Behind the wall of Kuro’s dark fur, you plant your hands in the snow, letting a mischievous smile grow on your lips. “Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you, because—”
You throw a massive snowball right at Megumi’s face.
“Oh,” he says, swiping a gloved hand across his eyes but leaving flakes of white stuck in his brows, on his lashes. “You’ve done it now.”
“Protect me,” you whisper to Kuro, and then you run.
All-out war. The dogs are thrilled at every snowball that misses its mark, all of them leaping to catch the wayward projectiles in the air, and you and Megumi chase each other and trip over the snow and wind up in a big, snow-covered mess on the ground, staring up at a shockingly bright afternoon sky.
You can barely breathe, you’re laughing so hard. “You’re crazy,” you pant, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, then your palms. An absolute mess of snowprints—his, yours, Shiro’s, Kuro’s, Batman’s—cross over each other in the snow, revealing patches of browning grass here and there, showing the signs of your battle. “Aw, hey. It looks like a giant heart.”
“Sap,” Megumi snorts.
“Buzzkill.”
“Instigator.”
“Oh, yeah?” You grab a fistful of snow and put it right on his head, letting it melt into his tousled, snow-streaked hair. “Well, I’ll instigate, then.”
He laughs, shaking his hair out like a dog, and tackles you back into the snow. “Then I’ll instigate something else.”
You’re so cold you can barely feel half your face, but it doesn’t matter. Not when he kisses you like this.
—
The first thing you think when Satoru Gojo opens the door is damn, he’s tall.
The second is holy shit, those are the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
“Gumi!” he shouts, enveloping him in a very one-sided hug.
The third thing? Yeah, you like him.
“Gojo,” Megumi grumbles, half-heartedly pushing him away, but the fondness of the interaction doesn’t escape you.
“And I’ve heard all about you,” Gojo grins, pulling you into a hug as well—you don’t hesitate to hug him back, because now you know exactly what this man has done for Megumi and Tsumiki. And he’s important to Megumi, so he’s important to you.
Megumi telling you about his childhood and Gojo was one thing, but him actually wanting you to meet his family is another. You feel warm all over as Gojo ushers you into the apartment, where Tsumiki is already busy making dinner. She nearly drops the pan in her hands at the sight of you. “Hi!”
“You all hug so much,” Megumi says flatly when she hugs you too, and she just grins and forces him into an embrace as well.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
“Shut up.”
“Love you too.”
“So,” Tsumiki says, turning back to the stove and insisting you sit down and make yourself at home when you offer to help. “Tell me about you.” Instead, she enlists Megumi to be her kitchen assistant, and you aren’t sure why it’s so surprising that he knows how to cook, but it is.
The four of you talk about school and the dogs (who are at home with Suko, now that she’s finally back from Japan) and your families and friends, and you can see Megumi growing more comfortable as the night goes on, once he’s sure that Gojo isn’t about to whip out a bunch of embarrassing pictures of him as a kid or tell you all his darkest secrets. Tsumiki is sweet and you take a liking to her immediately, talking all about her job running the campus paper. Gojo tells you about the bar he works at, about his college friends who founded it.
“Do you have to work tomorrow, then?” you ask between bites of the best meatballs you’ve ever had.
Gojo shrugs. “Yeah. But if I wasn’t, I’d be hanging out with all the same people I work with, anyway. Not so bad, huh?”
“We’re actually probably going to swing by the bar tomorrow,” Megumi says, avoiding Gojo’s gaze in favor of looking at you. Gojo lights up. It’s endearing, how excited he is at the prospect of seeing all of Megumi’s friends. “You coming?” Megumi asks Tsumiki.
“To the bar or the house party?”
“Both,” Megumi shrugs.
“Only if you are,” she says not to Megumi but to you, teasingly.
“Yeah, I gotta meet the rest of his friends. All of Nobara’s housemates.”
“Oh, I love them!” Tsumiki says. “Mm, you’ll get along with Yuta. I mean, everyone does. Oh god, and Toge. And S—yeah, okay, all of them, actually. Have you met our cousin Maki?”
“No, but they all sound great,” you say honestly.
“They are!” Gojo says loudly. “They can give you so much dirt on Megumi.” Megumi glares at him with a complete lack of heat.
“You and my friend Riko would get along,” you say, but as soon as you say it you’re not sure it’s true. Either they would immediately gang up on Megumi and make his life a living hell, or Riko would have the same dynamic with Gojo and they would argue until somebody threw a punch.
Megumi stares at you incredulously. “They can never meet. Ever.”
Except they do, because you bring Riko to the bar the following night. You feel like this might have been a dire miscalculation, because not only does this mean she’s meeting Gojo, but it means she’s meeting Nobara’s housemate who, in her words, is a kindred “chaos goblin.” This means that they’re both comm majors with too much time on their hands and they make it everyone else’s problem.
Toge Inumaki is the very possibly the only person you’ve ever met who can match Riko in terms of sheer chaos. It is terrifying. They’ve known each other for a grand total of five minutes before they’re planning a full-on bracketed Just Dance tournament with Rasputin as the final battle.
“You’re insane,” you tell Riko fondly, and she grins at you.
“I think we’re brushing over the fact that you think Rasputin is the hardest one on there,” Gojo says, leaning over the bar incredulously.
“What, you think your old man knees can handle it?” Riko asks shamelessly, and you excuse yourself as they launch into bickering worthy of siblings.
But nothing explodes, and you meet Shoko and Geto and Utahime and Nanami, and all of Nobara’s housemates, including Megumi’s cousin. She’s very no-nonsense in a way that you appreciate, and after you shit-talk Naoya with her, you feel like you’re probably going to be very good friends.
It’s well past eleven by the time you all get back to Megumi’s place, leaving Gojo to ring in the new year with his own friends. Someone puts the ball drop on the TV in the living room and you all scatter across the space, a swell of conversation and laughter as midnight inches closer.
It’s like this:
A living room full of your friends and his, laughing and smiling and teasing and playing Just Dance really aggressively (but that’s just Toge and Riko, really). Megumi’s knee pressed against yours as Tsumiki forces him to smile for a picture with you. Nobara throwing her arms around you, insisting you settle a debate between her and Yuta about the superior shape of pasta noodle. Sneaking off to Megumi’s room while Yuji is distracted, stealing kisses in the dark. Listening to his whispered commentary in your ear as the drinks and sleep deprivation start hitting Toge and Yuta and they get existential on the floor. Suko telling everyone all about Japan and the occult club she started at her university there. Yuji being way too into the idea of starting one between JU and Kaisen, launching animatedly into a discussion of all his favorite conspiracy theories.
Five minutes to midnight, Kirara pops open a bottle of champagne and passes you a glass, and you wave it in front of Megumi teasingly.
“What, you wanna toast to something?” he teases, leaning in toward you. “You gonna say to us? That’s pretty Hallmark movie of you.”
You hum, swirling the glass, lifting your gaze to meet his. “To trying,” you say. “And also vigilantism?”
And there’s his laugh, better than the ball drop, the streamers, the disco ball that came from god knows where in the corner. “I can get behind that,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “To your superhero dog,” he says, leaning in closer. “And his pretty cool sidekick.” He kisses you as the countdown hits one, and you’re laughing against his lips, savoring the warmth of his hand on the back of your neck.
When he pulls away, it’s only by centimeters, just enough for him to lock eyes with you. “And,” he breathes against your lips, “to trying.”
directory // my masterlist | out of my mind !
jjk taglist open: just send me a message!
@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro @bisforbuse @risararelywrites @idkidk32 @gojodickbig @stargazing-with-choso @anonymity-222 @honeyyhuggs
a/n: sorry this took like twenty years and it's SO LONG. heh. i'm incapable of short-form content. it was fun to write though. let me know what you thought, and be sure to pop over to out of my mind (and, if you're curious about naoya's ex, greta's sukuna spinoff, if you are NOT a minor)! thanks loves :)
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#megumi fushiguro#megumi x reader#fushiguro megumi#megumi fushiguro x reader#tsumiki fushiguro#megumi's shikigami#jjk au#college au#satoru gojo#nobara kugisaki#yuji itadori#riko amanai#setsuko sasaki#scry writes#toge inumaki#yuta okkotsu#naoya zenin#maki zenin#kirara hoshi#fushiguro x reader#takuma ino#jjk x reader
552 notes
·
View notes
Text
Watch me uno reverse Kevin Kaslana on Phainon.
__________
Under the golden thread of Okhema, you dream of Aidonia, of being held in the arms of your god who has long since departed. As a servant blessed by Thanatos, fellow daughter of the river Styx, alike to your sister- Castorice, everything you touch will seemingly rot, destroy and return to the soil be it friends or foes.
Cursed, they said. Blessed, you think. For the moment you stepped foot inside the golden gate of the Mnestia, a gaze has been lingering on you, obsessive, desperate and suffocating. You try to brush it off, the civilian doesn't dare to approach you. You are here to finish your duty as told by the prophecy, you said to yourself. Here, your comfort matters little or nothing at all.
And there you met him, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae- the deliverancer- saviour of Amphoreus- the nameless new king. For one who has been surrounded by darkness in the embrace of Thanatos like you, his smile was as bright as the sun. A sudden emotion crawls up your spine. Your mind becomes blank, your eyes wide, with heels dug into the marble floor and body frozen like stone.
It was almost enough for you to run away in fear of being captive in this endless sunlight city. Like the Titan Kephale has stolen away the breath of freedom that you possessed.
Like any other, he can't touch you. You take it as a small favour from all the suffering you have endured under the guidance of Thanatos. But yet, he still searched for you, seeking you out whenever possible. And you realized that he would not hesitate to lay down his life and many others if it means being able to touch you forever.
"Please wear this, my dear." He placed the box onto the table and looked at you with hope in his eyes. Still you shake your head. Phainon's shoulders slump in defeat, he huffs and pouts but comply nonetheless and stepped back five steps. After seeing that, you carefully go and open the box. Inside was a long cape, made of blue and golden thread almost identical to his.
You wrap the cape over your shoulder on you, still unsure of what this meant. Phainon then raised his hand, one side of the cape lifted itself up and traversed to his side. He gets down on his keen as the cape wraps around his hand and wrist.
The deliverancer then raises the piece of fabric up and kisses it, soft yet passionate as if he were kissing you instead.
"I have asked Aglaea to craft this for you. In this way, they will know that I belong to you." he whispered, closing his eyes, almost in bliss. "Until I find a way to be worthy of your touch, please bear with this, my love."
"Agy, why did you do that? You already know how [Name] is around Snowy right?" Tribbie couldn't help but question the demi-god.
"If you already know the answer then why ask, my dear friend?" Aglaea chuckles. While she does feel rather bad for the young girl, it is her duty to do so.
"Crafted by Thanatos, Chosen by Talanton, she- the left hand of darkness shall enforce all rule on humanity, serving peace by her hands that hold the leash." The Goldweaver mused, reciting the prophecy.
Phainon will not raise his hands against her even when law and freedom stance against one another. But to ensure that he doesn't lift a finger towards Okhema, towards Amphoreus, she needs to be there and be the leash that hold the mad dog back.
"All will be well, my dear" Aglaea quietly said, using the golden thread to pull the blanket over the young girl sleeping figure. "I will need you to play your role a little longer."
#(•^°)/ burning down the kitchen#yandere hsr#amphoreus#hsr x reader#phainon x reader#yandere phainon#yandere phainon x reader#hsr phainon#hsr phainon x reader#Phainon
425 notes
·
View notes
Text
↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/cc09e03192ecdcbb6ee4d280ed350fd9/e34e20d7d7e79b91-f2/s540x810/efd9a3b8fe9834d48ecd4ee0a5f89dcb68b5a4ea.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b11b714b3bfec84a1a30f19f4bcf00cc/e34e20d7d7e79b91-bd/s540x810/16b4c44f5e25ad5cf903508ffd4090e4b632e648.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/80b568cddd39dffb728269d3116f0473/e34e20d7d7e79b91-b7/s540x810/df5c8c007a9f1b6d59a1bf5700e851d7bd763c71.jpg)
☒ Part One Part Three
☒ Summary: Vox was getting too attached to you. You should have noticed it sooner when he began treating you with more consideration than anyone else. But you assumed it was all an act. You were sorely mistaken. You hoped that Alastor had a plan to get you out of this arrangement.
☒ Warnings: wife!reader, she/her pronouns used, angst with slight comfort, strong hints of vox being in love with the reader, vox kisses reader on the forehead, alastor and the reader actually kiss and hug, lucifer is silly in this, jealous!alastor, reader expierencing a lot of conflicting emotions, lots of inner turmoil
☒ Word Count: 2,166
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ea2bfd2b43fc3ee35a3f44472bd0e80e/e34e20d7d7e79b91-eb/s540x810/a793c05033ae9855fce362598cbd68387ce303ba.jpg)
The ride back to Vox Tec Headquarters was quiet. However, Vox held onto you tightly the whole ride home.
Home? Is that what you consider this godforsaken place now?
You lost your way, and seeing your husband tonight after several years reminded you of what once was your home.
"Who" your home was; Alastor.
But that resentment you had for him still lingered in your heart.
It would be a lie if you said you hadn't gotten accustomed to Vox's company. Even now, he helped you out of the car. Holding your hand tightly all the way up to your bedroom. Vox was a gentleman when it came to you. He respected your privacy, turning his back while you changed into something more comfortable. But he was also possessive, and that struck fear within you.
He was soft-spoken while he tucked you into your bed. The same bed that Vox picked out specifically for you. He knew what colors, what patterns, and what textures you liked. Taking it all into account when he bought you your blankets and clothing and accessories.
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Vox cooed, rubbing your arm softly. He sat at the side of your bed, eyes locked with yours. You tensed from his touch. The conflict between appreciating his gentle caress and knowing it was wrong to feel that way made guilt pool in your gut.
"I'm fine," You lied, averting your gaze from his. Vox's touch trailed lower, giving your hand a firm squeeze before he stood. "It's been a long day for you. Try to get some rest." He spoke calmly. Turning his back toward you before making his way to your bedroom door.
"V-Vox," You called out, stopping him in his tracks before he could take his leave. "Yes, sweetheart?" He turned to face you, offering you a welcoming smile. You balled the duvet up in your hand. The same one the man standing before you hand-picked for you. "Thank you for respecting my wishes today." You whispered before turning on your side. Not wanting to see Vox's expression to your earnest words.
The room was silent for a few beats. Making you feel as though Vox was seeing right through your lies. Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you squeezed your eyes shut. Hoping that he would either reply or take his leave already. Your train of thought was cut off when you felt a set of lips press against your forehead. Vox's lips.
"Anything for you, sweetheart." Before you could process the kiss Vox gave you, he was gone. You turned around the moment your bedroom door closed shut.
Fuck. You were in deep shit.
Vox was getting too attached to you. You should have noticed it sooner when he began treating you with more consideration than anyone else. But you assumed it was all an act. You were sorely mistaken.
You hoped that Alastor had a plan to get you out of this arrangement.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ea2bfd2b43fc3ee35a3f44472bd0e80e/e34e20d7d7e79b91-eb/s540x810/a793c05033ae9855fce362598cbd68387ce303ba.jpg)
Alastor paced around his suite, wracking his brain on how to free you of your contract. Being on a leash himself kept him constricted in some ways, but there had to be a loophole. The Radio Demon tried to keep his composure, but knowing that his beloved wife had been confined by Vox, of all people, was unacceptable.
He never thought you would fall prey to someone as pitiful as Vox. But Alastor also knew that his vanishing without a word didn’t leave you with many options. He ached for you, truly. The Radio Demon loved you with everything he had. Even the parts of himself that never saw the light of day. Alastor’s deepest thoughts and emotions were all reserved for you.
“Hey Alastor, you in here?” The door swung open quicker than The Radio Demon could see. Alastor quickly straightened upright, clearing his throat before addressing The Princess of Hell. Who just so happened to barge into his room. “What is it?” Alastor beamed painfully wide as his patience wore thinner by the second. He didn’t have time for Hotel duties at the moment. You were his top priority.
“Sorry to barge in, but... my dad is here! Just wanted to keep you in the loop!” Charlie exited without another word. She sensed an air of malice and wanted no part of it. Alastor was a feared overlord, and she retained a handful of horror stories about The Radio Demon himself.
A lightbulb went off in his head. This was perfect- Lucifer was the answer to breaking your contract with Vox. All he would have to do was get on The King of Hell’s good side. Alastor let his shadows carry him to the foyer, being met by the sight of none other than Lucifer himself. “Uh, Charlie! Who is this?” The short man shot Alastor a pointed look. “Alastor! It’s a pleasure, quite a pleasure indeed!” The Radio Demon shook Lucifer’s hand firmly. Biting back the insults he wanted to utter due to The King of Hell’s stature. Opting to play nice for the sake of your soul.
“Yeah, uh- good to meet you. Anyway, Charlie mentioned something about a tour, so we must be going!” Lucifer’s tone was passive and short. Alastor knew it would take a bit more false kindness to get on his good side. “Oh, allow me! I am the executive producer of this lovely hotel, after all!” Charlie smiled widely, finding it flattering that Alastor cared enough about the hotel to offer his services. Little did she know that he had ulterior motives. “Aww, that’s a great idea! Thank you, Alastor. I’ll leave you both to it!”
Lucifer stuttered as he tried to find the words to protest. But it was too late. Charlie was already enamored in a conversation with Vaggie. “Come along!” Alastor’s smile grew wide as Lucifer treaded behind him. The moment they reached the second floor, Alastor spun around. Meeting Lucifer at eye level. “Let me cut to the chase! I have a favor to ask of you, Luci!” The Radio Demon quipped. “I knew there was something off about you. Well, cmon spit it out. I came here for my daughter! I don't wish to waste my precious time with common demons such as yourself.”
Alastor contemplated biting his tongue off at that moment because the words that threatened to tumble out of his mouth were way beyond foul. But instead, he took a breath, reminding himself of the greater good. “I’m glad you mentioned your darling daughter, Charlie! You see, she and I made a little deal of sorts! I would be willing to forfeit our contract in exchange for another contract being terminated!” The Radio Demon was bluffing, but he was sure the fool would buy it. Lucifer’s chest puffed up in defense. Alastor could see the wheels turning in his head as The King of Hell contemplated the trade. “Lemme guess, you got yourself in a bad contract and need some help getting out of it?” Alastor’s laughter filled the hallway from the remark. Not even Lucifer himself could get Alastor out of his deal, but that was beside the point.
“Oh heavens, no! This is about my wife. She sold her soul to one of the Vees. I need that deal to be reversed! So, do we have a deal?” Alastor outstretched his hand. Hoping that Lucifer would shake it without further delay. “The who now? The Bees? Fine, fine. I don’t really care as long as my Char Char is out of harm's way. You got yourself a deal, Malastor!” Alastor cringed at Lucifer’s lack of awareness. He was truly in his own world. But that worked to The Radio Demon’s advantage. So it didn’t really matter either which way. “Lovely!” With that, the two men shook on it. Sealing their deal. Alastor chuckled under his breath from how easy that had been. Lucifer was a common idiot. No wonder the state of hell was in shambles, he thought.
But with the King of Hell under contract with him, it was only a matter of time until you were back in Alastor’s arms. He would make sure of that.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ea2bfd2b43fc3ee35a3f44472bd0e80e/e34e20d7d7e79b91-eb/s540x810/a793c05033ae9855fce362598cbd68387ce303ba.jpg)
A cool gust of wind stirred you awake. It was nearly three in the morning when you heard someone calling for you. The radio static laced Alastor's voice as he spoke your name. Surely you were still dreaming, right?
"Don't be alarmed, my dear! It's only me." Alastor sat atop your bed. The same way Vox had earlier. His long fingers played with a strand of your hair, pushing it out of your face as he gazed upon you. "How did you get in here?" You nervously whispered. Slowly, you sat upright, grabbing ahold of your husband's face. His cold flesh meshed well against your warm hands. He really was here.
"I have my ways!" Alastor quipped, leaning forward to capture your lips with his. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you melted against him. Oh, how you missed his touch. Seven years was far too long without him and hurt feelings aside, you loved this man with your entire being. "My love, if you get caught-" You whispered against his lips, but Alastor simply silenced you by stealing another kiss.
"Nonsense! It's nothing I can't handle! Don't worry your pretty little head, I have an infallible plan to get you out of your contract with Vox." Excitement surged through you from the good news. "Really? That's amazing!" You beamed, wrapping your arms around Alastor's neck. Hugging him as tightly as possible. Your husband relaxed under your touch. Allowing himself to enjoy this long-awaited moment with you.
"I need you to hold out for a bit longer, my dear. Can you do that for me?" Alastor whispered into your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back with the pads of his thumbs. You nodded fervently. Whatever it would take, you would endure. "Yes," You sighed a breath of relief. Freedom was nearly within your reach. It was only a matter of time. Suddenly, a knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts.
"Sweetheart? Are you awake?"
Fuck, it was Vox.
You frantically pulled away from Alastor's embrace. Presenting him with a frightened look. "Go, now!" You nervously hushed, giving him one last kiss before he stood. Alastor's classic grin remained, but his eyes were full of remorse for you. He hated to leave you here like this, but there was no other way. Just a little bit longer. Alastor whispered a small "I love you" before his shadows enveloped him. Whisking The Radio Demon away right in the nick of time.
Moments later, your door swung open. Revealing a worrisome Vox. "Sweetheart, why didn't you answer me?" He quickly made his way to your side. His slender fingers grasped your chin. Vox tilted your head every which way, scanning for any abnormalities. "I-I'm sorry! I had a nightmare... so I was still pretty out of it when I heard your voice." You lied. Trying your hardest to force a smile his way. Vox's expression softened from your confession.
"You see, this is why I insisted on installing cameras in your room. I would be able to get here sooner at times like this." Vox sighed, pulling you into his chest. His arms enveloped your waist. "No cameras in here, you promised..." You mumbled into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his frame loosely. If you were entirely unresponsive, Vox would know you were being furtive. So you played your part. Whatever it would take, right?
"I did promise. You're right, sweetheart. But the offer still stands." Vox squeezed you tighter. The embrace bordered the lines of discomfort from how he held onto you. All you could do was nod against him, hoping he would release you sooner rather than later. "I-I know, thank you." It felt like pulling teeth, forcing out those words. Slowly, Vox pulled away. He gently pressed your shoulders down before tucking you back into bed.
"Try to get some more rest. It's still early, sweetheart. If you have another nightmare, just call out to me. I'll be here." Vox pressed another kiss to your forehead before standing up. He walked over to the chair that resided in the corner of your room. Vox made himself comfortable, gaze never once faltering from you. You squeezed your eyes closed. Forcing yourself to doze off despite the pressure you felt from his watchful gaze.
Alastor had remained outside your bedroom window. Overhearing your and Vox's entire conversation. His blood was boiling. Is this what you've had to endure for all these years? Alastor clawed at the side of the building right beside your window. His anger was only building the more he replayed the air of discomfort you illuded. Vox made a grave mistake thinking he could win you over.
You were his wife, and he would remind Vox of that fact. It was only a matter of time.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ea2bfd2b43fc3ee35a3f44472bd0e80e/e34e20d7d7e79b91-eb/s540x810/a793c05033ae9855fce362598cbd68387ce303ba.jpg)
tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts
#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x you#alastor x you#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel x y/n#hazbin hotel imagine#alastor imagine#alastor angst#alastor hazbin hotel#vox x reader x alastor#vox x reader#vox x you#hazbin hotel angst#hazbin hotel vox
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
You said dom reader is okay so I am LAYING MY BRAINROT ON THE TABLE—
I'd like to respectfully request Overblot Boys (sans Riddle) being dominated by the reader (preferably afab & gn, there's so much submissive fem reader stuff out there & I want rep as a dom-leaning vers).
Those poor boys all need some therapizing & to get out of their own heads so bad— so what's a better way of doing so than taking charge and making them forget how to speak by pleasuring them? Sure, they can be defiant; and they can deal with a firm hand correcting them. But good boys who admit they need help & ask for it can be rewarded with fucking until they're empty and fuzzy-headed. ^^
The only one I had a semi-specific scenario in mind for was Jamil— him being blindfolded while being sucked off. His attempt at trying to regain control leads to him getting a smack on the ass & tied up so the reader can mark his pretty torso with hickies that they press on while cooing to him & edging him until he yields.
... can you tell I've been repressed lately? Lmao-
WALK EM LIKE A DOG. 𝝑𝝔
૮𐔌ྀི ´ ཀ ྀི 𐦯ྀིა 𝐍-𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 !! ; Sub!Leona, Jamil and Azul (separate) + Dom!F!Reader ➜ cws: Brat taming, nipple play, biting, blindfold use, gag use, spanking (once), restraints (Jamil), mommy kink, crying, use of strap on, praising (Azul), leash and collar use, cunnilingus, praising, hair pulling (Leona). ᡴꪫ
꒰ † ੭ — Part 1; I absolutely loved writing for this idea! Though I'm still wondering about what to write for the rest, don't mind if it's late, haha! <3
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/7dedb9d90dce6c1eec3da6113e6c8803/91511af0aab94449-45/s540x810/b030e4b6c8538ba091d923c4ad75dbb0f34be881.webp)
❝ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋 ❞ — 🪦
This man is definitely a brat, always running his big mouth off. So to make him behave you blindfolded him and put a cloth around his mouth, good, now he will finally shut up. You leave trails of kisses down his neck, biting and sucking on his sensitive spot. You kneel down and stroke his cock a few times before taking it in your mouth.
God, it felt so good, he could feel your eyes were on him— his back arching as he gripped the sheets. His moans were muffled by the gag, he tried to pull away but you held him, landing a smack on his ass. “Behave, if you want to cum, you'd have to be a good boy.” You spat out, smiling at his state. You continued what you were doing, pressing kisses on his cock and edging him! When are you even gonna let the poor boy cum!? Atleast he's listening to you like a good boy after being tied up because of his bratty attitude. <3
❝ 𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐋 ❞ — 🪦
He'd be such a pathetic crying mess, your good little boy! Just shower him with praises and kisses while you thrust inside his hole with your strap-on and he's already fucked dumb. He can only focus on how good it feels, maybe being weak isn't so bad, if he gets to be in your arms. You'd wipe away his tears and tell him he's the best.
Worship his body, play with his sensitive little nipples, leave love bites on his skin— he loves it all, he'd show them off with no shame if he wanted to. He'd definitely be ashamed about the noises he's making so he buries his head between the pillow as you fuck him. Maybe this guy also has a mommy kink! <3
“Gonna cum for mommy, yeah? Let yourself go, my baby.”
❝ 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀 ❞ — 🪦
He'd never admit he likes you dominating him, people are supposed to bow down before him— He is the king, isn't he? But no, you're currently sitting on the bed while holding the leash attached to his collar. How degrading. He can't believe he enjoys it!
His tongue darted out, lapping up your sweet juices. Your fingers tangling itself in his hair as you pull his head back, “How about you beg and maybe I'll end your punishment? Fair deal, right?”
He doesn't meet your eyes but whispers something you can't hear, “What was that, sweetie? You're always so loud, what's wrong, hm?” You try not to laugh at the pathetic man in front of you, you can see his ears turning red as he speaks louder, “P-Please let me pleasure you—”
“Good kitty, go ahead.” You watch as he eagerly dives back, you grip his hair tighter as you feel your orgasm coming. You pull him closer and cum in his mouth, he licks you clean. You let go of his hair, letting him catch his breath, “Well done, now, let's reward you for being good for me, shall we?” <3
#𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐄'𝐒 :: 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 (ᵔ◡ᵔ)#sub character#dom reader#twst smut#twst x you#twst x yuu#twst x y/n#twst x reader#twst x female reader#twisted wonderland smut#twisted wonderland x yuu#twisted wonderland x reader#leona kingscholar smut#leona smut#leona kingsholar x reader#leona x yuu#leona x reader#jamil x reader#jamil x yuu#azul x reader#azul x yuu
482 notes
·
View notes
Text
Moon Goes To A Grand Prix
Blurb bc I'm once again sick and dying
Series Masterlist
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/51346ada9037e157c7b718d97a450fb1/5116717da76f1c14-32/s540x810/1e8506b4880d630fb4c15b223a183c6546935b3e.jpg)
Moon the raccoon wore his little blue harness as his mom scanned her way into the paddock. It was the Friday of the Miami Grand Prix, meaning the paddock was just a little quieter than the Saturday and Sunday.
Everybody in the paddock stopped to stare as Moon came trotting past. He walked just a couple of steps ahead of his mom, like a loyal dog on a leash.
When they got to a busier part of the paddock, Y/N scooped Moon into her arms. "Should we go and find your dad?" She asked him as she scratched the top of his head.
She walked through the paddock with Moon in her arms, heading towards the Williams garage.
They were stopped several times along the way, with Daniel Ricciardo being the first. "Moon!" He shouted as he strode towards them.
Y/N held Moon towards him and Daniel took him from her like he was a baby. He turned towards photographer's facing them, getting a picture with Moon. "I can't believe Moon is finally attending his first Grand Prix," he said, handing him back to his mother.
"Hes grown so much, I know," Y/N answered, placing him back on the floor. Immediately Moon set about sniffing Daniels shoes. "We're off to go and find his dad," she said along with her goodbyes.
The next person to interrupt their journey was Oscar Piastri. "Moon Moon!" He called the moment he saw him.
Moon went trotting towards him, happy to let Oscar pick him up. "There's my favourite nephew."
"Nephew, Osc?"
"Yeah," Oscar answered, holding Moon against his McLaren shirt. "We've got to get him in Orange at some point."
"Well, when Logan and Lando are teammates, I'll consider it," she said with a cheeky grin.
Oscar rolled his eyes in a very unserious manner. "Has he been introduced to everyone yet?" He asked as she began walking away, still holding Moon. Y/N had no choice but to follow.
Oscar insisted on introducing Moon to as many of the people at McLaren as possible.
When a little raccoon came trotting up to him, Lando ran away, again in an unserious manner. But Moon loved the chase and found himself climbing up Lando's jeans.
On their way to the Williams garage they were stopped by Pierre Gasly and Charles Leclerc, all insisting on saying Hello to Moon. Carlos Sainz insisted on giving him food and Lewis Hamilton was only to happy to meet him.
Eventually Y/N got to the Williams Garage with Moon. "Where's your dad?" She said to him and he pulled on the leash, almost as if he understood up.
Logan didn't notice them at first. His back was to them as he spoke to his engineers.
Y/N let Moon get closer. She let go of his leash as he climbed up Logans leg.
Finally, Logan turned around. He grabbed Moon from his leg and held him in his arms as he looked around for his girlfriend. "Hey," she said, grinning up him.
Holding Moon cradled in his arms, Logan walked over to his girlfriend. "Hey," he replied, unable to hide his smile as he dipped his head down and kissed her.
She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to hold him close, but with Moon in the way she couldn't. So, she settled for tucking herself into his side. "Moon and I wanted to wish you good luck today," she said, closing her eyes as she leaned against his shoulder.
"I've got my good luck charms here, I'm bound to do well."
But Y/N shook her head at that. "Ah, Fuck, Logan. You jinxed it."
Before he could respond with anything other than a laugh, there was a shout from across the garage. "IS THAT MOON?" Cried Alex Albon as he came running towards them.
It was fine, the three of them would get family time later.
#logan sargeant#logan sargeant imagine#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant fluff#logan sargeant smut#logan sargeant x reader smut#logan sargeant x you#f1#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula one#formula one imagine#formula one x reader#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#ls2#ls2 imagine#ls2 x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
SMOKE & FOG
0.1 Red Smoke
pairing: jinx x reader (romantic) , isha x reader (siblings)
synopsis: Your entire life has been dictated by a debt you owe to Smeech, one that grows with every move you make. He holds your sister and you on a tight leash, one mistake leads to your sister being taken and your only option is to fight or die.
word count: 2.7K
warnings: villainous activity, murder, oppression, mistreatment, blood & gore, hurt/comfort, drugs & drug use, canon violence, suggestive themes, angst, spoilers, cursing, fighting !!
Red smoke filled the air, perhaps it was the blood dribbling that mixed with the air around it, or it was the suffocating rage from every child who watched as their parents, cousins, siblings and friends were torn to shreds by the flying bullets. There was no one who could save the poor souls on that bridge, there was barely anyone left alive except for Vander, his grunts of pain and adrenaline could be heard through the bridge, screams and cries of pain and terror came from those he faced off against and yet after a moment, it just stopped. There was nothing. Just silence. My body was hunched under a rock, shielding my little sister’s extremely frail body in my arms, she was a baby, still wrapped up in a little blanket that we could barely afford, her cries came from every loud noise and all I could do was attempt to shush her– fear and adrenaline being the only reminder of why I was still under here with her. However whenever the loud noises stopped and shooting gave out, what replaced it were footsteps. The relief that coursed through my body was unimaginable. Finally, it was over, win or lose. I didn't care, I just wanted to escape back home with Isha and our parents.
There was a silence that raged over the bridge as I climbed out, bodies piling on top of others, eyes wide open with dread still stricken upon their face, they all looked scared as if they weren’t ready for death and yet here their lifeless bodies laid. It was sickening, a soft cry escaped my lips as tears welled up in my eyes, where were our parents? Where did they go? They were on this bridge just like everyone else so where were they? I couldn’t run, as much urgency was in my body, I couldn’t move my legs fast enough to form a sprint, I just walked. Shielding the little girl in my arms from all the pain and terror, I wouldn’t let her see this, I wouldn’t let her remember this, I wouldn’t let her grow up in a time like this– it was all gonna change, it was gonna be different whenever she was growing up. Those thoughts in my head were the only thing that kept my head up high as I walked past the bodies. The bodies of friends and our parents, the bodies of those who fought so hard for something that should be a human right, whether they were from Zaun or from Piltover. The bodies of those who fought for Respect.
The rain is riotous, beating down on the small covers and hoods of those walking the streets of the undercity, no man or woman laid safe. One foot in front of the other, don’t look around. My gaze held towards the floor, looking around would only drag me into the reality I live in. Children on the streets without parents, working for scammers and con artists, insufferable and disgusting but we had to make money somehow. Not everyone was gifted with a silver spoon in their mouth and a warm bed to sleep in, not everyone was given private dance lessons and piping hot food that could feed an entire village for just one meal. Not everyone was born in Piltover and the price? Your life. There was no respect in the city of Zaun, at least not anymore, Vander was killed by Silco in some raging fight that took place in a warehouse and he was the people’s last standing symbol of peace. After Silco took over, shimmer raged through the streets and took over like a disease, even after his death it still runs rampant thanks to his goons. I am one of those goons, I am someone keeping it on the street, money is money and a job is a job, it hurts so many people but I do what I have to do to keep my family safe.
A small groan of annoyance escaped my mouth. I was only 17 years old but I had the weight of another human laid atop my shoulders. She could be no older than 7 but definitely not younger than 5 years of age, Isha, my sister. I don’t really know when her birthday is, not like we could celebrate it anyways, there are no birth certificates or calendar here, so we just assumed that it's sometime during the end of the year because that's whenever our parents would say happy birthday. 11/16, that is the birthday I have written down for her, the only one we care to acknowledge. My mind filled with grief as I entered the booming building, music blaring from the speakers and the cacophony of deals being made by every wall in his building was overwhelming and sickening. I turned my nose up in disgust (not like I was any better than them), as I turned towards the office building, a high rise, with glass windows to watch over the place as if he was some ghost. Smeech, one of the worst men I have ever met in my entire life, he had no good qualities, I would have rather he not offered me this job at all then let me watch as people waste their lives trying to get even a sniff of shimmer. Good and bad news was that the selling rate was down, more people were getting snatched off the streets while trying to find buyers and the production rate was too high to keep up with the missing sellers so whoever was left had to pick up the pace.
Caitlyn Kiramman’s enforcers were running circles around us, she made us look like chickens with our heads up off, which wouldn’t have mattered to me if it wasn’t for the fact that I couldn’t keep up. I had too many boxes on me at a time and too many lurkers and followers while trying to do my job, if he kept pushing me like this then I’d certainly get caught. With a heavy knock on his door, I pushed it open without waiting for confirmation– this was important. The rat creature moaned in annoyance upon even seeing my face.
“What do you want, child?” The sickening smoke of shimmer made its way out of his mouth while he smoked, filling the room with its pungent smell. Had it not been such an addictive drug I would have been turned away but something kept my feet from moving, a small inhale was all I took before turning my head away from his nonsense. “Less materials on my person. I’m carrying way too much cargo with not enough people to give it to. All my regulars are in hiding because of the enforcers or have already been grabbed! I have no one to sell to and walking around with even a drop of shimmer will get people arrested nowadays. What do you think they’ll do to me with eight vials full of it?” Despite the urgency in my voice, I didn’t raise my volume or lose my cool, I knew better than that, I knew my place, I wasn’t gonna be killed over such a trivial thing. I couldn’t be killed, I had to make it back home to raise Isha and make sure that she wasn’t alone, if I didn’t do it then no one would. “You’re a smart enough kid, you can figure it out. You sell the product, you get the money and you give it back to me. You’re already behind on repaying this debt of yours, don’t make me charge you an annoyance fee.” My debt.
I owed him my life because he was willing to take me in and promised that as soon as I paid him off he would let me and Isha go however every time I got even remotely close to freeing us, he would charge me some random out of the blue fee and added it to my tab making it once again out of reach. I knew it was on purpose, I knew he was never truly going to let us go but there was a small hope in that mind that maybe one day I could make enough money so that he doesn’t expect it, so that he has to let us go. A whine escaped my throat as I tried to reason with him, as I pleaded. “But sir-” “Make it a stupidity fee, how are you this incompetent? It’s just business sweetheart, and you’re behind on your dues anyways, there isn’t much room for you to be arguing with me. Out.”
I didn’t say a word after that, I couldn’t, I took whatever strength I had that would carry me out of the room and pushed until it led me out of the building.
Two hours later and I’ve only sold two vials, one to an elderly woman who looked like she was well on her way to death’s door, I tried to convince her that it wasn’t actually worth it to buy but she didn’t listen, something about being glad that she didn’t have to spend another moment down here was freeing to her and the second vial to someone from Silco’s old crew. They could buy plenty more but they chose not to directly interact with Smeech himself so they went through his buyers and even though we aren’t supposed to sell it to them, I did anyway. I tossed the gold coins up into the air with a smile, I completely overcharged him but who cares? “When did we say selling to Silco’s crew was back on the table, blighter?” Debt collectors, they roamed the streets while we were making deals, my head wasn’t in the right place, I completely forgot. Stuffing the coins into the small bag across my waist, I shrugged. “What’s it to you? We’re all charlatans, are we going to bypass the fact that you guys are charging children for crimes they didn’t commit to keep them in your debt? Or the old people you trick into owing their entire lives to you knowing that they won’t be able to afford it?”
My teeth clicked in arrogance, I held nothing over them but calling them out felt good to roll off the tongue, they needed to be checked every now and then too. “You’re just blood thirsty animals.” They scoffed at me, scoffed, my presence to them was insignificant, that I was aware of but seeing it play out in front of me still stabbed at my heart a little bit. “You forget yourself blighter. Perhaps we should.. remind you? Yeah?” The confirmation wasn’t for me and yet I couldn’t stop my head from shaking. This was going to end in bloodshed, there was no avoiding it but I wasn’t scared, I couldn't be scared of them. One thing went through my mind, I have to get home to Isha. My hands raised to cover my face, eyes peeking out behind my clenched fists to stare them down, I was ready for a fight.
I shouldn’t have been so naive to think that I could fight all three of them at once, however it was the only option. The taller gentleman rushed towards me first, swinging his arms in whatever way they would move towards my body. I looked like a child compared to them, they were unnaturally tall and buff and their suits didn’t hide it at all. My body dipped towards the floor as his hands rammed into the wall, I swore I could feel the ground shake, but that didn’t waver my spirit. I struck his chest with every force in my body, it wasn’t a lot but enough to knock him back up against that very same corner, not even a second to breath as I was bombarded with another man racing towards me, his palm struck my side, launching me into the wall. It cracked upon impact and my body felt like it shattered, every limb hurt to move, with a split second I moved to the right, his second punch landing into the wall right next to me. My eyes expanded and my pupils dilated and I pulled away from the wall and steadied my body and stance once again, but arms wrapped around me, a crushing weight that stayed on top of me and kept me in place. A scream erupted from my throat as I tried to escape, struggling in every direction as the weight on top of me only got worse, it got tighter, more restricting until crack. The vials. The shimmer, it was still in my bag, how many vials did he crush? Was it seeping into my skin? My mind went blank, the weight was no longer crushing me but I didn’t know what was happening? My face connected with the floor, was I dropped or did I hurt him? I didn’t mean to hurt them, even though they probably could have killed me. The intention wasn’t to get anyone hurt besides a simple warning.
When my eyes opened again all of them were on the floor, blood spilled out of wounds I didn’t remember making and my hands were covered in it. I tried wiping my face but it only smeared the blood already there, what have I done? Before I could make sense of anything the screeching from an enforcer came from the other side of the alleyway. I shook my head, this wasn’t me, I didn’t do this! I was innocent! Why wouldn’t my mouth open to explain? I opened up the pouch and raised one of the vials, I still had four safe but two of them were cracked, those were probably the two affecting my mind, my heart, my body. I could hear my heart in my ears, the thumping and beating as if I was inhuman, was I still human at this point? As soon as I raised the vial of shimmer, their guns were out? Panic was sewn into my nerves, I couldn’t get shot, were they gonna kill me? Leave my body for dead? Would I ever be found? Isha. My mind went blank and my eyes were bloodshot, I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t see straight, I blacked out.
When I woke all I could feel was crimson dripping down my hand, the puddle beneath me only growing wider, spreading through the cracks in the small alleyway. Enforcers. Dead. Three Enforcers were dead and three debt collectors right next to them. The topsiders would hear news of this soon and my boss would hear about his debt collectors being missing but I couldn’t worry about it, what was the last thing I was thinking about? Isha? Isha. Where was she? Where is my sister? I couldn’t care less about the head I bashed into the wall just a moment ago or the knife I plunged into another man’s throat or the Enforcer’s gun that I lodged into a man’s side as a distraction before his untimely death. Smeech’s debt collectors would probably be after her especially if they were after me, they knew where I was so they certainly had to know where she was.
I needed to get back to my sister. My sister. My sister, Isha, I need to get back to her. Ichor running down my arm no longer bothered me, the ever growing pain in my abdomen only lingered as I ran and yet I didn’t stop. I couldn’t even remember how I got that injury but I couldn’t stop, my legs carried me to the last place I saw her. Three more dead debt collectors (this seemed to be a brand), shot straight through the head. Clean. Not a single mistake, completely intentional, whoever made the shot knew exactly what they were doing. A waft of pink smoke wavered from the body, it was fre- pink? shit. Jinx. There was only one person in town creating such imagery and also being such a great shot, no enforcers were in town (not anymore) and to be honest none of them were this great of a shot even if it was close range. The wanted posters of her face made her look psychotic, terrifying, right on brand to what the topsiders thought everyone looked like. I couldn’t let this go, I was still alive and the dead men meant that my sister was still out there too.
A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed the very first chapter!
taglist ; @llycrow @katethejinxwife @hank-girl @ayedomino0 @jiunxo @vivispace @d-demqn
317 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Younger Kind Part 60 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Your bachelorette outing and Bradley's bachelor party are both hosted by the same person, but they couldn't be more different. Spending an evening at home with Noah is reminiscent of your babysitting days, but now he's asking you some pertinent questions.
Warnings: pregnancy topics, swearing, smut, drinking, angst, fluff, and age gap (18+)
Length: 4500 words
Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader
Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/5a1e6b2131606a5bfb5cf53cfd533ea1/e5f3b504ca0e5c36-59/s540x810/05e2d0da3bbf18cbbc3b5ed91ccab405fb1b4b62.jpg)
Natasha was outside in her SUV on the driveway, ready to pick you up for your bachelorette outing. You refused to call it a bachelorette party since it was just the two of you going out for the evening, but Bradley made sure his best friend knew to spare no expense when it came to anything you wanted.
"It's just pedicures and pottery," you whispered against Bradley's lips with a smile as he held you close so he could feel your round belly against his body. "I'll be home in a few hours."
He grunted softly, kissing you a little deeper before releasing your lips. "We'll still miss you," he murmured, letting his hands roam along your hips while Noah sat on the area rug and worked on one of the new coloring books you picked up for him. "And don't overdo it." When Natasha started honking her horn, he let his forehead rest on your shoulder. "She's the worst."
You just laughed and kissed his cheek as you said, "She's the best, and you know it, Daddy."
It would have been impossible to dispute that fact. She was the one who took care of you when Bradley wasn't stateside. "Go have fun."
"Bye, Mommy!" Noah said, popping up to give you a hug when Bradley released you. He scooped his son up since he didn't want you lifting anything, and you gave Noah a kiss on the forehead.
"Have fun with Daddy," you told him, kissing him once more before heading outside to Nat's idling SUV.
Bradley stood on the porch with Noah and waved until you were out of sight, and then Noah asked, "Can we get Mommy a coloring book?"
"Hey," Bradley said, nudging the door open while also making sure Skittles didn't get outside without her leash on. "That's a great idea, Bub. Maybe a Princess coloring book? You can give it to her for the wedding?"
His son looked so much like a tiny version of himself, and he had to stifle his laughter as Noah nodded stoically and said, "Yeah, she'd like that. I have so many great ideas."
Bradley took him back inside, and they ended up stretched out on the floor together. Noah continued with his masterpiece while Bradley started searching for options on his phone. After a few minutes, he found an independent shop that made coloring books with different themes based on photos that you send to them. "Do you like this?" he asked his son, holding up his phone.
Noah looked at the sample pages as Bradley scrolled through them. He nodded and said, "Mommy is prettier than that."
"She absolutely is," Bradley replied as he realized the wedding was in a week and didn't know if a custom book could even be completed in that short amount of time. "Let me see if we can get something like this for her. If not, we can always save it for her birthday."
His son started to pout at the mere mention of having to wait longer for it, so Bradley started typing up a message to the owner of the shop, hoping that he'd be able to explain that it was for his wedding. Once that was done, he checked the time and asked, "Do you need a snack before dinner?"
"Ants on logs," Noah replied without missing a beat. Bradley had no problem with the healthy snacks you somehow tricked the two of them into eating, but he was always told he never got the peanut butter proportions right.
"Yeah, okay. I can try to make them the way you like-"
"Mommy left some in the fridge."
Bradley chuckled as he stood up, coaxing Noah to abandon his coloring project for the time being. "Of course she did. She's the best." Somehow even when you weren't here, you had everything covered.
-----------------------------
"Okay, so if you could ditch Bradley and marry a celebrity, who would you pick?"
You burst out laughing in the pedicure chair next to Natasha with your hands resting on the roundest part of your belly. "Who said I would? Even if I could?" She gave you a look followed by an eye roll before you said, "You'll laugh at me, so I don't even want to say my answer."
"Just say it," she prompted as you dragged your foot through the warm water.
You groaned and said, "I like all the older, DILF-y actors."
Natasha started cackling as you covered your eyes with your hands. "You have a type!" she said amidst her laughter. "And your type is Rooster!"
You thought back to all the time you wasted with Greyson and other guys your age and grimaced. "I don't think that was always my type. It's a more recent development, and I'm not mad about it." You moved your hand on your belly and added, "Boy suck. Men are at least marginally better."
"Well," she said, leaning a little closer to you like she had a secret. "You found a good one. Or rather, I kind of found you for him. But regardless, he's a keeper. Kind of because he has Noah."
"Mostly because he has Noah," you told her, and then both of you were laughing.
After your nails were painted a vibrant purple, Natasha took you out for dinner and let you eat until you were full. You could tell your body and appetite were changing by the day, but you refused to feel self conscious about it in front of her. The two of you were sharing a slice of cake for dessert when you said, "He really did plan almost everything for the wedding. All I did was help him pick out matching suits for him and Noah to wear. And I picked out some flowers and my dress, but that's it."
Natasha hummed as she took another forkful of dessert. "I'm telling you, he'll always be good like that. He's a planner. Very responsible."
You felt silly telling her what was on your mind, but you said it anyway. "He pays my credit card bill. Not that I spend a lot! I try not to! I usually just buy groceries and things for Noah." She nodded like your words weren't as startling as you thought they were. "I kind of wanted to surprise him as a thank you, but if I buy something, he'll see it on the credit card statement."
Maybe you should have been wary of the smirk that found its way to her lips when Natasha said, "What if I rally the boys one night this week and take him out for a little bachelor party?"
"Oh," you said softly. "You'd do that? Just something lowkey?"
"Super lowkey," she agreed with a nod.
You could easily imagine them going to Top Golf or out for some drinks. "I think he might really like that."
"Or.... and just hear me out," she said, holding up her hands innocently after handing her credit card to the waiter. "Or, you let me absolutely roast him for the night."
You studied her face; how bad could it be? She was Bradley's best friend after all. Even if she was giving him a hard time, she'd probably make it fun. "What did you have in mind?" you asked as the two of you left the restaurant and headed for the pottery boutique down the block.
"A few things I'm going to need your approval for," she replied casually. And while you worked on making yourself a mug that said Noah's Mommy, you listened to Natasha's not-so-lowkey plans for Thursday night. By the time your mug actually looked like a mug, you gave her full approval.
"I almost feel bad about this," you told her with a laugh.
"I don't."
-------------------------------
The following evening after Noah was in bed, Bradley set you up for a nice shower while he cleaned up the kitchen from the chicken enchiladas you made for dinner. When Nat called him, he held his phone to his shoulder with his cheek and kept working.
He answered the call and asked, "Hey, what's up?"
"Your bachelor party with me and the guys starts at six o'clock on Thursday evening."
He laughed in response. "It's funny that this is the first time I'm hearing about it."
Bradley could practically feel her rolling her eyes through the phone. "Just be ready to go."
"Ready for what?" he asked, knowing better than to just trust her with this. The dating app was one thing, and that had turned out great in the end, but he wasn't going to blindly go with her on this.
"Uhhh... just some stuff."
"Natasha."
"Bradley."
"What did you do?"
There was a brief pause before she said, "Just be ready for dinner, booze and some strippers."
With a deep sigh, Bradley closed his eyes and said, "I'm going to have to check with my wife-to-be about the strippers, Nat." You had to know by now that you had nothing to worry about, and he wasn't even all that keen on going to a strip club, but he didn't want you to be upset.
"She knows the plan."
He froze as he loaded the dishwasher. "She does?"
Natasha laughed, and Bradley swore he felt his skin crawl. "She does. Be ready for six o'clock on Thursday."
"We have work on Friday-"
She already ended the call. Bradley finished cleaning up when he heard you getting out of the shower. "God damn it, Nat," he muttered as he turned off the kitchen lights and made his way back to the bedroom where you were all wrapped up in a towel.
"Hi, Daddy."
He groaned at your words and your little smirk. "Hey, Baby. Can we talk for a minute?"
Your eyebrows shot up as you held your towel around you a little tighter. "What's wrong? Is it something about the wedding? Did the marriage license not go through? We only have six days."
"No, no," he promised, reaching for you. "It's not that. It's... I just got off the phone. With Nat."
You looked relieved as you leaned against him. "Good. I was worried for a second."
Bradley didn't quite know how to approach this topic now that he was here. Natasha would be as tenacious as a junkyard dog about her plans, so he had to say something. "You don't have anything to worry about."
You laughed softly. "That sounds nice."
He cleared his throat and said, "Nat called about my bachelor party night?"
It came out more like a question than a statement, but you just nodded and said, "Dinner and drinks and the strip club."
"Yeah," he rasped. "You approved this whole thing?"
"Mmhmm. To be fair, it was all her idea. I just told her it was okay."
Bradley tipped your chin so you were looking up at him, your face fresh and perfect after your shower. "If this plan is not okay with you, then I'm not going."
"It's okay with me," you replied easily. "I trust you."
He studied your face. "I feel like I'm going to end up babysitting everyone on a work night. Two days before the wedding."
You snorted in response. "You'll have fun. And so will everyone else. You should go."
"Yeah, I'm going," he groaned. "Nat will just have the guys drag me out if I don't go willingly. But I don't really care about looking at strippers. I got you and your perfect tits right here at home."
You didn't stop him when he slowly tugged your towel from your fingers and pulled it open. And yeah, your tits looked perfect, but so did the swell of your pregnant belly and your soft skin. He was hard as soon as the towel hit the floor.
"Daddy," you whined softly, shivering in his arms. It was December, and the nights were chilly in San Diego; you had taken to snuggling with him even more than usual in your sleep. "Now you need to warm me up."
"My pleasure," he replied, scooping you up and dropping you carefully onto the king sized bed that you picked out for the room. "Let me start right here," he whispered before he kissed you softly, covering your body gently with his. "Feeling warmer?"
You shifted beneath him, spreading your legs wider so he was nestled against your pussy, his cock straining against his jeans zipper. "A little bit," you whispered innocently.
Bradley smirked, and when he brought his hand up to stroke your breast, he said, "I told you, I got these perfect tits right here."
"Bradley," you giggled as his fingers skimmed along your skin, but when he stroked his thumb across your tightly furled nipple, you arched your back and made a raspy gasping sound. Your eyes went wide as you looked up at him. "Oh my god," you moaned.
"Are you okay?" he asked, pulling his hand away, but you were already nodding vigorously.
"It felt really good." The words rushed right from your lips as you rolled your hips up to meet his. "Different, I guess. I can't explain it."
When he rubbed your nipple between his thumb and index finger, he smirked. You were instantly squirming and moaning, reaching for his zipper with one hand and his hair with the other. Your eyes were wild even though he was being gentle, and he dipped his head down to whisper in your ear. "You're extra sensitive right now. It's the pregnancy hormones." He plucked and stroked as you started panting. "God damn, Princess. You like that?"
"Yes!" Your voice already sounded broken, and he'd barely touched you.
"Shh. Keep quiet like a good girl." But his words and hand seemed to have the opposite effect on you, because you just got louder. Bradley reached down to where you had his cock free from his zipper and pulled your hand up to his lips. He kissed your fingers before shoving them a little rough into your mouth. "You have to be quiet if you want me to play with you."
You moaned around your own fingers but nodded your head, and at least you were quieter now as Bradley kissed his way from your neck down to your tits. He didn't know how he was going to manage you when there were two kids in the house trying to sleep, but at the moment, he didn't really care. You were going to be his wife in a few short days. That thought alone had him bucking his cock against the bedding as he ran his mustache along your peaked nipple, inhaling your wildflower scent.
When he pulled your nipple into his mouth and sucked, he could tell your breasts were already a little bit bigger than before. Soon you'd be bigger everywhere. Getting even more sensitive by the day. He was painfully hard right now, listening to your muffled screams and tasting you. He licked and sucked until your tits were both damp from his mouth and overstimulated from his mustache.
When you started bucking up, Bradley eased his hand down to cup your pussy and found that you were soaked. He couldn't remember Meredith getting quite like this as he dipped his middle finger into your slick and easing it down to your hole.
"Daddy," you gasped as you pulled your fingers from your mouth. "I'm going to come."
You looked shocked by your statement as you sank down around his finger. He could already feel your tight pussy fluttering around him as he whispered, "You want me to make it so good?"
His only answer was a whimper as you bit your lip, and he knew he'd make sure you were always taken care of in every way. Carefully, he added a second finger and started to circle your clit with his thumb. You were shaking a bit, your pretty tits bouncing softly as he ran his nose down the valley between your breasts.
"Be a good girl. You know where to put those fingers, Princess," he coaxed, watching you slip them between your lips. Then he let you have his mouth on your tits again, while his hand worked at your pussy. He carefully drew a shaking orgasm out of you as you slobbered on your own fingers, not stopping until he was afraid you'd be too far gone soon.
"Daddy," you whined around your fingers as he ran his tongue flat across your nipple.
"Let me fuck you," he begged, realizing he was already close and needing to be inside you. "Please, Baby."
You reached for his cock and guided him home, and he fucked you with his jeans barely pulled down, coming inside you after just a few strokes. You were the picture of sated perfection with his cum oozing out of your pussy and your wet fingers skimming along your swollen belly and breasts. You were his young, pristine babysitter and his pregnant wife-to-be and everything in between. "I love you."
"Keep me warm all night, Daddy."
---------------------------
As you sent Bradley off with Natasha, you shared a conspiratorial look with her. You only felt slightly bad for keeping the bachelor party plans to yourself, and ultimately it made you feel good when Bradley went out for the night in an old pair of jeans and an uninspired shirt. He didn't look the part of a man who wanted to try to dazzle some strippers, and you loved him for it.
"Bye, Bub," he said, kneeling to kiss Noah where he stood at your side. "Be good for Mommy." Then he stood and kissed you deeply. "I won't be out late, okay?"
"Stay out as late as you want," you told him, running your fingers along his cheek as he pulled away from you. "Just don't have a hangover on Saturday."
He smiled and focused on your face even as Nat and the guys yelled at him from Javy's car in the driveway. "Our wedding day. It'll be perfect. Like you."
"Go," you told him with a laugh even as you had butterflies in your belly. "Have fun. We'll be here when you get home."
With one more kiss, he was off and jogging down the walkway. You watched him climb into the backseat, then they all waved at you as Javy backed out of the driveway with Natasha in the front seat. You were wondering how long it would be until Bradley called you to tell you he had in fact been taken to see a bunch of male strippers. The guys had apparently all been so excited when Natasha mentioned the strip club, she had a hard time holding in her laughter. The plan all along was that she'd take Bradley and the rest of them to dinner and then to The Tiger's Cage- San Diego's premier male review.
But you didn't hear from them at all while you and Noah ate macaroni and cheese together. You still didn't hear a word as the two of you took Skittles for a short walk to look at Christmas lights. You even let Noah dip his hands in green paint to make a Christmas tree art project to hang on the refrigerator, but nobody called or texted you.
"Mommy?" Noah asked as you got him changed into his dinosaur pajamas. "Are you going to adopt me?"
You smiled and kissed him on his chubby cheek. "I am," you promised. But when you looked at his face, his brow was pinched with worry.
"Is it going to hurt?"
"Oh, Noah," you said with a surprised laugh, pulling him into your arms and holding him against his growing younger sibling. "Not at all! It won't feel like anything."
"Then why are you going to do it?" he asked, face muffled by your shoulder.
You soothed his back with your hand, considering his question. For all intents and purposes, you really were his mom. Bradley added you to his will; if anything happened to him, Noah was solely yours. "I kind of want to have a little piece of paper with an official signature that says we get to be together forever. Does that sound okay?"
"That's adoption?" he asked.
"That's adoption."
"Yeah, okay," he agreed with a little shrug before climbing into bed. "Can I sleep with Skittles again?"
The pup appeared in the doorway, always excited to hear her name. "She can stay in here until Daddy gets home." You set the dog in bed with him and gave him a little kiss on his forehead as he yawned. "I love you."
"Love you, Mommy." He was half asleep as you turned on his night light and left the room. When you checked your phone, you smiled, having finally received the message you were waiting for.
Bradley Bradshaw: Nat brought us to The Tiger's Cage. My name is on the marquee. It says CONGRATULATIONS DADDY BRADSHAW
You were doubled over in laughter, holding your belly and trying not to wet yourself. Because he also sent a picture. All of the guys were lined up under the marquee sign, and you were pleased to see that they all looked like they were being good sports about the entire thing. Bradley was the only one who looked slightly mortified.
You texted back Go have fun, Daddy Bradshaw!
Natasha sent you some random photos as you got ready for bed. You were surprised Jake was there, given your history with him, but even he looked like he was having fun. You laughed at a picture of Bradley drinking something pink and blended, and then the photos stopped.
You wondered what was going on, but you kept yourself busy. Bradley told you not to clean up, promising to take care of everything tomorrow night before the wedding in the backyard on Saturday afternoon. Since you had the time and the privacy, you tried on your wedding dress one last time, sliding the fabric along your legs and zipping it up your side. You grabbed your purple paper crown, which was looking a lot worse for the wear now, and set it on your head.
When you looked in the mirror, you smiled. The dress fit like a dream and hugged your bump. The crown looked fun at the moment, but you wouldn't wear it on Saturday; you were pretty sure Bradley considered it a 'bedroom' item at this point anyway. Mostly, you looked happy. Like someone who was accepted in this perfect place. Like a woman who was needed here. And you needed the Bradshaw boys to be your family.
You wore the dress around for a few minutes before carefully unzipping it and getting ready for bed. It was late now, but you requested the day off tomorrow, and you wanted to see Bradley when he got home from his bachelor party. After you checked on Noah and Skittles, you curled up on the living room couch.
Every time you stopped to think about the wedding, you got a little anxious. When you asked Bradley what he had planned for dinner for the reception, he just told you he had everything under control. He said all you had to do was show up with some sort of wedding vows, but he didn't tell you anything that he had planned.
You dozed off on the couch, somehow still exhausted all the time, and you had no idea how late it was when you woke up to the sound of laughter and a key in the front door.
"You smell like Axe body spray. I can't believe someone is marrying you."
"Jesus fuck, Nat. I smell like Axe because you took me to see male strippers."
"Well, I know I had a great time tonight," Natasha cackled as she guided Bradley inside, and you stood up with your hand clasped over your mouth. He was a swaying mess, and he was holding a huge wad of cash and a bag from a convenience store.
"Princess," he crooned softly when he saw you, and your heart skipped a beat at the look in his eyes.
"Hi, Daddy."
And then he was on you, so gentle in his overindulgence, it was almost surprising. He was looking around like he wasn't sure what to do with everything he was holding, trying to touch your belly.
"I'll see you on Saturday," Natasha said with a smile as she closed the door behind her, and then you were alone with him.
"What's in the bag? Are why are you holding a roll of cash?" you asked as you guided him to the couch.
He sat down hard and handed everything to you as you stood between his splayed legs. "The strippers were dudes. I made Nat and Javy stop so I could get you some Skittles. I'm really drunk. Can we get married soon?"
When you looked in the bag you found six packs of your favorite candy. "Wow, you must be very intoxicated if you bought a pack of Sour Skittles too."
"Did I?" he asked before stretching out on the couch. "Shit. I'll eat them. Come here."
You sat on the floor next to him and handed him the bag of Sour Skittles as you counted the nearly seven hundred dollars you were holding. "Bradley, where did this come from?" you asked in alarm.
But he just crunched on some of the candy in response. "Oh, these are fucking nasty. Baby, can we please get married?" he rambled, dumping more Skittles into his mouth.
You pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him there. "Were getting married in like thirty-six hours. Now can you please tell me where you got this money from?"
"Huh?" he grunted like he'd never seen it before. "Oh. Oh, that." Then he casually dumped the rest of the Sour Skittles and chewed them up while you laughed and shook his arm.
"Bradley!"
He swallowed and dropped the wrapper on the floor before pulling you up onto the couch with him. "Jake got tips for stripping, and Nat made him give me the cash."
"I'm sorry, what?" you asked with in shock as you tried to settle into a comfortable position on him.
"They tried to get Daddy Bradshaw up on stage. I pointed to Jake and said it was him."
You couldn't stop laughing now. "But you got the cash?"
"Yeah," he said, eyes drifting closed as he propped his arm behind his head. "A wedding gift. For the honeymoon."
Just as you settled your head on his chest, you popped back up again. "Are we going on a honeymoon?" You started to feel a little apprehensive about going away for an extended trip without Noah while you were pregnant, but Bradley brought his big hand up to settle on your back as he snuggled in a little more.
"Next year. After the baby's born. Anywhere you want to go."
He really did kind of smell like Axe body spray, and he definitely needed to take a shower, but you let him hold you for a few minutes while he slept.
------------------------------
Part 61 will be their wedding! Thanks so much for reading and letting me share this family with you! We're almost to the finish line. Thanks @caitsymichelle13 for the request about the coloring book; stay tuned. And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls
PART 61
@hotch-meeeeeuppppp
@chassy21
@solacestyles
@daisyhollyxox
@wintercap89
@blog-name6996
@bcon24
@chaoticassidy
@avada-kedavra-bitch-187
@katiebby04
@marantha
@averyhotchner
@abaker74
@heli991113
@k-k0129
@noz4a2
@shanimallina87
@little-wiseone
@ccbb2222
@xoxabs88xox
@thedroneranger
@cherrycola27
@fanboyswhore9
@xomrsalliej4787xo
@desert-fern
@sylviebell
@wkndwlff
@horseslovers2016
@gennyanydots
@mattyskies
@hookslove1592
@blahehblah
@sadpetalsstuff
@local-spidey
@schoollover
@lex-winchester
@magicalmorg
@nicole01-23
@jessicab1991
@happyrebelruins
@samsgoddess
@ughthisisntright
@bellaireland1981
@sagittarius-flowerchild
@mygyn
@yuckosworld
#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster x you#rooster x reader#rooster fanfiction#rooster imagine#bradley rooster bradshaw imagine#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw imagine#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw x female reader#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#top gun imagine#top gun maverick imagine#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#roosterforme#the younger kind
633 notes
·
View notes
Note
hey im 21 and i just found ur blog im obsessed w the rodimus x reader thing u wrote and I was wondering if you could write smth similar for either shockwave or soundwave x reader (or both??? 😳) - I luv to see a human bringing a bot to their knees and ur writing is top tier
lovedrunk ᴗ。‿✷
soundwave x gn! human reader
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/cd64eeb252422d05c11881555458bb4d/35f29b4f9bd3f545-b3/s540x810/5dce22d2517580ea7c8b16378da164e7e4b2677a.jpg)
warnings: nsfw! drabble. thank you for the patience! ✷
warmth splashes down your back, gooey and metallic. the sensation forces your eyes open, lashes dew-kissed with tears. it envelopes you with grounding peace, even though your nerves are rattled and you can barely force out a gasp.
you're surprised when you're gently turned around, facing the reflection of your own desires staring cherubly back at you. it's sweet, the gesture itself hinting neediness.
soundwave's visor is blazing crimson, heat radiating from his dark-blue accents bold on his bulkier frame. he didn't possess the proper eyes to convey his drunkenness on you, but his attention is felt nonetheless, square on the trembling of your hands.
he's looking at his transfluid, pretty shades of pink painting your soft flesh and drying like polish. you glitter and sheen.
you can hear the way his fans click and reset in efforts to keep his temperature level, too. it's tantalizing.
"keep going. wanna feel you in me again."
although he fully could overpower you and at first glance it appears he is - spike pressurized, slamming deep and mechanically with a passion that an hollowed-out being like him shouldn't possess - that isn't the case. the metaphorical leash is held tight in your palms, knuckles white from the squeeze.
"as you wish."
does his vocalizer fizzle at the end, or is your imagination playing tricks?
so intimate, the way his giant servo cradles your spine. you meet his thrusts with shallow rocks of your own, admiring the thickness go in and out with little trouble. creamy arousal glistens near flaring biolights lining his shaft. his digits fist in your hair and you nod, approvingly.
"mmn, just. like. that. just like t-thaaat, ooo-oh!"
soundwave's creaking groan deep at his spark rumbles within earshot and has you blushing, toes curled as he starts to speed up. he doesn't share your need for breaks but to his surprise and maybe, while not admitted delight - you do keep up better than assumed.
you press your lips to your arms which have unfolded above your head, mouth gushing with spit. soundwave thinks the laughter, shrill and wanting and happy, is the most enchanting music that's touched this side of the planet.
it's even more so when it's all for him.
the sun crescents above as he continues to plow into your tinier hole, perversion at its finest when even the tightest of valves could hardly hold candlelight to what you provide. in a different world, one where conquering wasn't so atop his natural duties, he'd have you seated in his lap. except, you'd be looking down on him, that messy spit of yours lolling off your tongue, into his intake, down his chin - he's yours, he's all yours, don't you see?
"i... i am close." soundwave sounds grittier than usual.
even with your insides rearranging, just a chip from a titans resolve is more than enough to invigorate. a single touch to his chest and he's leaning back, taking you with him in a gentle scoop. still doing his best to keep going, trying not to peak when it's clear you're still starving.
his e.m. field shrieks for you. could he brand your handprints on his chest, near his crest?
delirious. he must take up with shockwave. what makes humanity so addictive? do you have some sort of biological spell, a mixture of chemicals and haunting charm that drives mechs mad?
"that's right. fill me. take me." bouncing. you look evil, little beast, little monster. "t-take it." keeping in time with that everlasting torture his spark beats, his helm dips back, arms shaking. "overload. overload in me, soundwave, coat all of me in you, fuck, fuck, fuck-"
a whimper. it took hours, but it's well earned. he whimpers, as you slowly lift up to the tip, only riding enough to suction his spike at the most sensitive area in efforts to gain every drop he has to give.
you don't have to repeat yourself. with a roar, he jackhammers a final time violently, steam whistling between his exposed seams and shit, you wouldn't have it any other way. overload he did, enough to spurt and bubble, stare staggering between the remnants dribbling from your sore body, to the sheen of sweat, then the grin that's stayed picture perfect.
primus. you're still going. you're still moving, groping your own body roughly. one day, you promised he'd be allowed if he kept up his behavior. he can't find himself to do anything but lay back and watch, the cavity in his chassis aching.
soundwave may be loyal to megatron, his brother in arms, the decepticon cause.
but you? he worships you.
robolvrr 2025.
a/n : thank you again for the patience! i will be revisting both waves because i can't resist them (sorry for edging y'all LMAO.)
#maccadam#transformers x reader#transformers#valveplug#/nsft#soundwave x reader#soundwave x human reader#transformers x human reader#/nsfw#me: lets get tipsy and write heehee
259 notes
·
View notes
Text
You Should Be Sad
subby!Scarlet Witch x Avenger!Fem!Reader
Summary: You're the last line of defense against the Scarlet Witch.
Word Count: 770
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, R uses her power to make W do what she wants, Dom/sub dynamics, Mommy!kink, Daddy!kink, R calls Wanda bunny, W calls R Mommy, W calls R Daddy, R has W rut against her,
A/N: She came to me in a fever dream of 3 different night time meds while I was sick.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/087964385286f8e53d01fbc892c5a7d5/e19d0aa9d7636155-2f/s540x810/f171ed510d6389cfa1384faccd9009f9fdc2e4b4.jpg)
The most powerful being in the multiverse was known as The Scarlet Witch and the only one she'd ever submit to was you.
The wind whipped around you, dust and debris being blown around you. The crumbling remains of Karmer-Taj around you as Wanda settled down in front of you, heels clicking against the stone. Her green sea glass eyes narrowed at you as she stopped in front, looking down at you.
“Move out of my way Y/N.” An anger you'd heard directed at others, but never you. Your face showed no emotion and you were surprised she wasn't backing down. Before Thanos turned everything to shit the look you were giving would have had her on her knees. Begging for forgiveness for misbehaving.
“Wanda. Don't make me say it.” You threatened to use your enhanced ability to manipulate your voice. You saw the flash behind her eyes. The realization and you watched her falter for a moment. As if she was internally fighting herself.
“Your old tricks won't work on me anymore.” She called out, trying to seem tough, but you knew better. You knew voices better than anyone and though she tried you could still hear it; her fear. She knew it would work just as it always had.
When the two of you first met She believed your voice to be inferior to her mind. She was proven wrong very quickly when you made her get up from the meeting, introducing you to the team, to come next to you and get on her knees. It was something she never lived down from Tony.
You raise an eyebrow, head cocking to the side. “Are you sure you wanna test that bunny?” You changed the inflection in your voice when using her nickname. You visibly saw her shiver and tense. She couldn't even say anything as she gave a nod. A smirk coming over your face. “Heel.” You commanded and though Wanda tried to fight your voice she walked forward, stopping in front of you. Looking into your eyes which already looked a little glazed. “Sit.” You held out your leg for her to sit on your boot. Her arms wrapping around your leg. Cheek finding your thigh. “There's my good girl. Now, you're going to give up on this chase. You will give up the dark hold. You and I will go home and we will never speak of the atrocities you've committed. Those are the terms of your freedom.” You threw out the word freedom, both of you knowing Wanda didn't have freedom.
Wanda didn't know what freedom was outside of the small leash she's always been given. Hydra, the Avengers, you, Vision, Westview. Westview was the closest Wanda knew of freedom. Look where it's gotten her, right back to your leash that she should have never unclipped.
“Please Mommy I'm sorry. Can be a good bunny for you! Promise!” She cried out. You ran your fingers through her hair. You wonder when the last time was that she actually took care of herself. Her hair was greasy and you wonder for a moment if it's because she was too absorbed in the dark holds leash.
“I know you will be bunny. Mommy's going to keep you with her at all times. Always make sure that head is too fuzzy so you never think about leaving.” After the first time you'd used your power you had gone to apologize only for her to ask that you do it again because she ‘didn't want to think anymore.’ In the moment you didn't know everything that was going on with Wanda, but now you do. She'd be more than happy to submit so she wouldn't have to think anymore. “Rut.” Wanda's hips started without thought. Little whines and whimpers falling past her lips, “You want your boys back bunny? Want to be a Mommy?” Wanda looked up at you with glazed eyes. Her head nodded frantically. “If you're going to be Mommy then I guess I'll have to be Daddy from now on. “Call me Daddy.” Wanda let out a moan.
“Daddy! Daddy makes me feel good please Daddy can I cum?” She begged.
“Stop.” All movement stopped. “Stand.” She scrambled to get up, looking at you with a pout, upset that you've edged her. “If you actually thought I'd let you cum right now Then you're dumber than I remember.” A whine came from the back of her throat. You cupped her chin. “We're going to go talk to Strange and apologize. We're also going to be helping rebuild the temple. Am I understood?”
“Yes Daddy.”
Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @mrsromanovaa
#ley writes#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff smut#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff x fem!reader#wanda maximoff x female reader
565 notes
·
View notes
Text
What about a pet/conditioned Whumpee wearing a collar, out in public with Whumper, who is holding the leash attached to the collar. Sometimes Whumper would make Whumpee sit, roll over, do tricks, even to go far as to give them dog food and call them a good boy for it.
But eventually, bystanders file a complaint to the police of public indecency and strange behavior of both Whumpee and Whumper.
When the police arrive, they find that Whumpee isn't speaking, Whumpee won't say a single word. Only shake their head and stick their tongue out at the police in annoyance.. how these men would dare to separate them and their owner.
Then eventually, Whumpee finds themselves in custody of the police, being interrogated.
"Is the man abusing you?" "Are you being held against your will?" "Is that your father?"
And Whumpee is confused, these mean people are keeping their owner in another room.. are they hurting him? no, don't respond. Don't give these people anything. they aren't your owner-
So they contact a citizen offered for special occasions to come in by police, a somebody with a case yet still opened.
It's caretaker.
Whumpee and caretaker exchange a look at each other, both not taking their eyes off each other. Whumpee in a collar sat down in the interrogation seat, and Caretaker all dressed up, standing in the doorway.
"That's them, officer. that's Whumpee."
And Whumpee breaks.
#whump prompt#❇ 🍬🎀#❇ post#whumblr#whump#whump prompts#whump scenario#whump writing#whumpee#conditioned whump#conditioned whumpee#pet whump#pet whumpee#owner whumper#whump stuff#whump community
313 notes
·
View notes
Note
can we pleaseee get something happy 🥹 perhaps like a dad!pedri fluff? ♥️♥️ love you’re work by the way!
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/7891d518a16b3ec0f8424b818a3d0889/0828bcba1c625db6-8c/s540x810/c014b1146e2e11592b42ec386086571b8d4a3c11.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4511cc37e71062a06368038560b3ee60/0828bcba1c625db6-a0/s540x810/ac997c0e1fae6e1c05ae3919e13ebf42244cae72.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/67712246f43957cd0df40554039c39a2/0828bcba1c625db6-68/s540x810/1ed211249162b58cfc5c84863b7456eb6520fd34.jpg)
She’s Mine. pedri gonzález x fem!reader
🤍 summary: You and Pedri had a baby girl and you can’t get over how he is as a dad.
🤍 warnings: extremely adorable fluff + baby mara ☹️💕
🤍 wc: 500+
🤍 yap! i love you guys so here’s something happy <3 congrats on being the first request anon !!
🤍 my girls <3 extra special dedication to pedri’s real wife @planetpedri !! &&. @ar4ujos @hrts4havertz @iovepoem @joaoflms @halfwayhearted 💕
Three years ago,
It had been a few days since you had given birth to your beautiful baby girl, Mara. As soon as Pedri laid his eyes on her and held him in his arms he said, “She’s mine. She’s all mine” and you couldn’t help but smile. He had been excited for this baby the whole nine months through, helping you through the entirety of the pregnancy. Even though he won’t admit it, you swear he started crying when you revealed it to him.
Months later, Mara began to babble, saying things in her baby language only she could understand. Then her first word came; Papi. Another moment that Pedri refuses to admit made him shed a tear.
Once she started to walk, she followed Pedri everywhere. If he went to the bathroom, she would stand outside the door and wait for him. He wanted to cook? Okay, so did Mara. She was a daddy’s girl through and through, begging mommy to take her to his matches. And you would, wearing a jersey that was a little too big for her with her daddy’s name on the back and pigtails in her hair.
A year later,
Mara had begun speaking in full sentences. It was kind of broken, but she still tried her best. She had grown to be friends with Raphinha’s son, Gael. While the two kids hung out, Pedri and Rapha did too. You would stay and talk to Raphinha’s wife, Taia, and both of your families would sometimes go out together as one.
You remember one night Mara was a year and a half years old and you and Pedri were having a quiet argument while she slept. Your voices began to raise from just above a whisper, waking your baby.
“Mamá, papi, are you okay?” She asked, an innocent tone in her voice. She had inherited Pedri’s big brown eyes, which just added onto the softness of it all. Naive Mara was, not yet having the capability to pick up on things.
“Everything’s okay, nena. Come here,” Pedri answered for the two of you, Mara climbing into bed with the two of you, your small family falling asleep together.
A year after that,
Pedri and you decided it was time for Mara to have a friend at home, thus became the idea of ‘Nilo.’ Nilo was not one specific dog yet, but the two of you decided together that that was going to be its name. You decided to surprise your baby for her second birthday, and excited was an understatement.
“It’s a puppy!” She exclaimed as she chased Nilo around, petting him repeatedly once she reached him.
You caught Pedri smiling at his baby and his new dog. “He’s all yours, nena.”
The four of you would now go on trips together, one being the zoo. Mara was now fully walking and you and Pedri had taught her to hold him on a leash.
She would walk him around and show him the animals, pointing at one and saying, “Look Nilo!”
The ones she couldn’t see at her height she would whine and her papi would pick her up. She would gasp and say, “Mamá! Look!” And point out the color of the animal.
The next year,
There was a home match in Barcelona and Mara hadn’t been to one in a while. This time, you went with Gael and Taia, the children wearing customized jerseys with their own names on them while you and Taia represented your husbands.
At this game in particular, Pedri scored with Rapha’s assist. Although the kids didn’t quite understand it much, they still celebrated their fathers’ goal and assist together.
Instead of his signature celebration, Pedri decided he was going to dedicate his goal to his girls; you and Mara.
#sakashq#pedri#pedri x you#pedri x reader#pedri gonzalez#barcelona#fc barcelona#football#la liga#laliga#pedri fluff
240 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello. Was wondering if you’d be willing to write about a dom Elijah with a reader who’s just being an absolute brat and he’s over it please?
Cat and Mouse
18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}
It's your anniversary party, but you are terribly bored, and the one person you actually want to be around isn't playing fair.
♡♡ Thanks for the request anon(s) This was a blast to write, dom Elijah makes me feral too ♡♡
5.3k words - Warnings: smutttt, Elijah being playful, dom!Elijah, rough sex, anal sex, choking, hair pulling, Elijah using his tie as a leash, oral sex, and a game of hide & seek....
Elijah was a gentleman in the most basic sense of the word; his smile was disarming, his words were polite, and his eyes were soft and caring. And, for the most part, that was true.
And to the untrained eye, it looked as though Elijah was simply guiding you to a quiet corner, hand placed lightly on the small of your back, a gentle smile on his face, and a sparkle in his eyes.
But once you were alone, it was very clear Elijah was not going to be as kind as he was making himself out to be. You had been misbehaving, and he was about to give you a reminder of exactly what happened when you did.
You were going to pay dearly for what you had been doing. And it was all because you were bored.
You had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get Elijah to notice you, and you had been failing at it miserably.
The party was his idea, and you didn't care much for them. But, like everything else, Elijah was very convincing and got you to agree. You were now regretting that.
It was your anniversary, and while you were happy to be with Elijah, you hated parties, especially ones where you were the guest of honor.
Elijah had made sure every last detail was taken care of, and he was determined that everyone had a great time, and that included you. So when he caught you rolling your eyes, or looking bored, he was quick to correct you.
You only wanted one thing out of this special day, and it wasn't something you could do in the middle of the crowded ballroom.
So, after yet another failed attempt at getting him to pay attention to you, you decided to do the only thing you could think of.
You would start annoying him.
So far, the only person you'd managed to annoy was yourself. You hadn't even made Elijah blink.
So you decided to start small. You started with little things.
You would pretend to affectionately adjust his tie, but leave it in a way that you knew would irritate him. He didn't even acknowledge it.
When he pulled you on to the dancefloor, you would purposefully step on his toes, scuffing up his perfectly polished shoes. He just chuckled softly and held you tighter, but still didn't say anything.
After that, you got a little more desperate.
You were standing beside him, trying to talk to one of the other guests, but you had no idea what they were talking about, and you didn't really care. Your hand wandered from his side, down to his hip, then further down to his ass. You gave it a little squeeze.
Elijah didn't even flinch.
He kept talking like nothing had happened, and you had no idea if you had managed to piss him off, or not.
That was until he excused the two of you and guided you away from the ballroom, his hand firm on your back, his smile gone, and his eyes dark and serious.
"Do you think you're funny?" Elijah asked, his voice low.
"Yes," you replied.
His hand was still light on the small of your back, but his fingers were pressing into your spine, forcing you to stand straight. His smile was still pleasant, but his lips were tight and his jaw was set.
You were in a quiet corridor, out of earshot of the other guests. He backed you up against the wall, his hands on your hips, holding you firmly in place.
"You have been acting out." His voice was still calm, but his tone was sharper, and you winced at his words. "You've been defiant, and rude, and you disobeyed me, and I'm beginning to suspect it's a deliberate choice."
He was right, it was deliberate, you wanted to piss him off, make him react. You liked pushing his buttons, but he was always so controlled, it was getting harder and harder to get a reaction from him.
You had this secret fantasy, to get Elijah so riled up that he would lose his cool and fuck you like an animal. To fight, and struggle, and have him pin you down, and take what was his. You had always felt safe with Elijah, he is your loving husband, he would never hurt you, but sometimes, when you were in the mood, you wanted to play rough.
And when you saw him in his perfectly tailored tux, you couldn't get the image out of your head. You needed it, so badly. You couldn't wait anymore, you were sick of him being so polite, composed, and controlled.
You wanted him to be rough, aggressive, and dominant. You wanted him to hold you down and have his way with you. You had discussed this fantasy with him before, and he'd been... not dismissive, per se, but not willing to fulfill it. He'd explained why, he was afraid he would hurt you. But you were no delicate flower; you were a vampire like him, and you could take a rough fucking.
"Yes, and?" You replied defiantly.
His eyebrows arched slightly and a slow smile spread across his face.
"Since you want to act like a child and play games, let's play one," His voice was steady and smooth, but the fire was in his eyes, and a thrill ran through your body. "You will run and hide, and I will come and find you, and when I catch you..." he leaned in, his mouth next to your ear, his breath hot on your skin, "I will have my way with you."
Your mouth went dry, and you could feel your heart pounding. You licked your lips.
"What do I get when I win?" You asked, your voice trembling slightly.
"You won't," Elijah said matter-of-factly.
You stared at him for a moment, waiting for the inevitable 'but,' but it never came. You didn't have a chance of winning. He was faster and stronger than you, and you both knew it.
"3...2...1." His voice was soft and playful, and then you heard the sound of his feet as he rushed off.
You spun around and tried to catch him, but he was gone, and all you could see was a blur. You began to run, your heels clicking on the hardwood floor as you hurried through the compound.
You sped all the way back to the party, stopping suddenly when you entered the ballroom, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. You quickly fixed your dress and looked around. There was no sign of Elijah, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he wasn't following you, maybe he was giving you a chance.
As you looked around the room, searching for a place that you could use to your advantage, you felt his warm hand on the small of your back. He pulled you against him, his hand sliding up and caressing the nape of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair.
"Behind you," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, his other hand sliding around your waist. He pulled you flush against him, his hands roaming over your curves.
You pulled away from him and spun around but he had vanished. He was faster than you, his movements quicker, and you struggled to track him.
It was equally infuriating and arousing how he teased you, playing a cat and mouse game. He was having fun, and it made you want him even more.
The crowd of guests parted and you saw him, leaning against the far wall, a glass of champagne in his hand, his gaze fixed on you. You stared at him, daring him to approach you, but he didn't move. He was just grinning, his eyes sparkling as the music changed, and Elijah moved.
You watched him walk toward you, his steps confident, his shoulders squared, and a wicked smirk on his face. Then he was suddenly gone, and you gasped.
You searched the crowd frantically, but he was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared again, and you knew it was futile to search for him. You knew he was watching, enjoying the chase.
"Just admit defeat and I'll go easy on you," his voice was a seductive whisper in your ear. You didn't know how he did that, and it sent a chill down your spine.
You swallowed hard, and looked around. He wasn't there, but you could still hear his voice, feel his breath on your skin.
"Or perhaps you want me to chase you, to hunt you down, and fuck you in front of all these people," he chuckled, and your face flushed, and your pulse quickened. "Maybe that's what you've been trying to accomplish."
"You think too highly of yourself," you retorted, hoping your voice sounded calmer than you felt.
"You look like you're talking to yourself in the middle of the ballroom," Elijah's voice was smooth, and he sounded like he was right behind you. You spun around, but he wasn't there. "You should be careful, or someone might think you're crazy."
You were growing tired of the chase; of Elijah's smugness. You were frustrated, and horny, and you were starting to hate him a little. You headed towards the stairs, deciding that you were going to lure him to a more private setting.
Just then you heard the sound of tapping against champagne flutes. Elijah was making his way to the stage, a microphone in his hand. He looked perfect, standing tall and proud, his smile wide and dazzling. You felt your heart race. You stood there, frozen, as Elijah addressed the guests.
"It's time for my wife and I to make a toast," he said, his voice deep and resonating. He looked at you, gesturing you to come to the stage. You felt everyone's eyes on you and you had no choice but to follow. He wrapped his arm around your waist, his hand resting on your hip.
"When I first met my wife," he said, his eyes focused on you, "I knew right away that she was the one." He smiled down at you, and you smiled back, a blush spreading across your cheeks. He pulled you closer, his fingers digging into your flesh. "She is the most beautiful, intelligent, and strong woman I have ever met. And now, after all this time, I'm more in love with her than I ever thought possible." He was looking deep into your eyes, and you felt your knees go weak. He pressed a gentle kiss on your lips, and you melted into him. "Happy anniversary my love,"
The crowd cheered and clapped, and the band started playing again. Elijah kissed your cheek, then whispered in your ear, "We're not done playing yet. Go and hide, and don't let me find you." His voice was a growl and his lips were hot on your ear. You pulled away and stared at him, your heart racing, and you saw a glint in his eye. He was still playing with you, and you were ready for him. You rushed off, and Elijah was once again chasing you.
You managed to make it to the top of the stairs, looking around frantically, trying to decide which way to go. You could feel his eyes on you, and it was making it difficult for you to focus.
You decided to turn left, and headed down the hall. As you turned the corner, you saw Elijah standing at the end of the hall, by the window, looking out. He turned and looked at you and you bolted in the other direction.
You heard him chuckle softly as you ran, and he followed close behind. You almost made it to the landing, but his strong arm snaked around your waist and hauled you backwards, you let out a squeak as he threw you over his shoulder and carried you down the hall.
"Let go of me," you demanded, trying to struggle out of his grasp.
He kicked open the door to the nearest bedroom, and stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
"Behave," he ordered, throwing you on the bed.
You glared at him, and sat up, you were not going to give in, not yet. He pushed you back down with one hand, the other undoing his tie and sliding it off.
The vision of him, his hair messy and his eyes wild, his jaw clenched, his hands working at the buttons of his shirt, was one that would be burned into your memory forever. It was the most erotic thing you had ever seen, and you couldn't take your eyes off him.
He smiled, and slid his shirt off, and then undid his belt, pulling it free. He tossed it aside, and his hands went to the button and zipper of his pants.
"Take off your dress," he ordered.
"No."
He smirked, and grabbed the fabric in the center of the dress, and yanked. It ripped apart easily, and he tossed the ruined garment aside.
"It wasn't a request," he growled, pushing his pants down, and stepping out of them.
He grabbed your thighs, and yanked them apart, and crawled up on the bed between them. His hands moved up to your waist, and he pulled you closer, his lips crashing against yours.
You melted under him, and his tongue parted your lips, seeking yours. You moaned as he kissed you, and you could feel his hard cock pressed against you.
"You have been so naughty," he murmured, pulling away, and looking down at you. "And I have been patient, I've given you plenty of chances to stop, and now you've reached your last warning."
He pulled back, and his hand came up to cup your face.
"Be a good girl and apologize," he purred.
"Fuck off." You replied defiantly.
He growled and pulled you up, flipping you over and yanking your hips up, his fangs sunk into your ass, making you cry out.
"Say you're sorry," he growled, licking the bite.
"Never," you hissed, pushing back against him.
"You are such a brat," he chuckled, grabbing your hair and pulling it, making you arch your back.
He grabbed his tie, wrapping it around your neck and using it as a leash, pulling you back against him, his hand reaching down to your panties. His fingers gently rubbing over the wet fabric, a stark contrast to his rough grip on your neck.
"These are a little wet, my love," he teased, sliding a finger underneath the material, and running it along your slit.
"Shut up." You hissed, your legs shaking, and your pussy aching.
"What was that?" He growled, pulling the tie tighter, forcing your head back so it was resting on his chest. He looked down at your desperate expression, your cheeks flushed and your lips swollen, and licked his lips.
He pushed you back down onto the bed, pressing your face into the mattress, and slid the panties off, tossing them aside. He let out a low, satisfied moan, as he got a view of your perfect, dripping cunt.
"Looks like I've found the perfect punishment," he purred, sliding his hands over your ass, squeezing the flesh.
He reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. Then he flipped you over onto your back, and pulled you to the edge of the bed, and spread your legs, exposing your glistening pussy.
"You can beg all you want," he said, spreading the lube over his fingers. "But until I think you're sincere, I won't fuck your pretty little pussy."
"I hate you," you spat, as his fingers slid over your ass, coating it with lube.
"I love you, too," he replied, a wicked smile spreading across his face.
He pushed one finger into your tight asshole, making you gasp.
"Hmm, when was the last time I fucked this hole?" He asked, slowly pumping his finger in and out. "Must have been a few months ago, it's very tight."
"Please," you whimpered, as his fingers stretched your hole.
"You'll have to do better than that, darling," he purred, adding another finger, stretching your hole further. His hand came down hard and smacked your thigh, leaving a red handprint behind.
"Fuck you," you growled.
He chuckled, and pulled his fingers out, and lubed up his cock, stroking it.
"Oh, I plan on it."
He leaned down, and pushed the head of his cock into your ass, and then stopped, a smug smile on his face.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He said, his voice low and dangerous. "You wanted me to lose control, to fuck you like an animal."
You tried to wriggle free, but he had you pinned. He was stronger than you, and he knew it. He grabbed your throat and squeezed, cutting off your air.
"Well, here we are." He growled, pushing his cock deeper into your ass, until his balls were pressed against your skin.
He wound the tie around his fist, pulling it towards him, and used it as a leash, dragging your neck upwards, forcing you to look at where you were connected. His other hand reached down, and rubbed your clit, his thumb swirling around it.
"Please," you moaned, and his hand came down again, and smacked your pussy.
"What was that, darling?" He teased, his fingers rubbing circles around your clit, as his cock twitched in your ass.
"Please fuck me, I need you," you whimpered, your pussy throbbing.
He began to move his hips, the muscles in his stomach tensing as he pounded your ass.
"Such a good girl," he moaned, his hand coming up and smacking your face. "You're being such a good little whore, taking my cock in your ass."
You opened your mouth to say something, but his fingers slid into your mouth, causing you to gag and choke.
"Don't worry, I'm going to fuck that pretty little pussy soon," he moaned, his pace quickening, as his hips slapped against yours. "I could never deny my wife such pleasure."
He pulled his fingers from your mouth, and slid his hand down your body, his fingers dancing over your skin, and then slipping inside your cunt.
"Such a beautiful pussy." His voice was thick, and he licked his lips. "And it's all mine."
He was completely in control, and he was enjoying every second of it. The look on his face made you ache. He was so beautiful, and powerful and you loved it. Your whole world narrowed to the sensations his skilled fingers and his thick cock were drawing out of you.
He pulled on the tie, restricting your breathing, and the feeling sent a surge of arousal straight to your core. He pushed his fingers deep inside you and rubbed his palm against your clit, and you writhed beneath him, moaning and gasping. Elijah watched your every expression, pushing you right up to the edge of release and then he pulled away, leaving you glaring up at him in frustration.
"If you behaved tonight, I would let you cum," He cooed, before releasing the tie and sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, watching you with amusement.
"Now you will have to wait for my permission," He smirked. "Come and ride your husband's cock."
You glared at him, but obediently did what you were told, you were too pent up to not accept the compromise. You crawled up the bed, and straddled him. Elijah looked up at you with a smile, his dark eyes sparkling, the lines around his eyes deepening. His arms came around you and slid up your back as he kissed you, teasing your mouth with his tongue. You relaxed into him, and returned his passion, but he caught your hands before you could put them to good use.
"Turn around, my love. I want you to sit on my cock with that pretty ass of yours." He commanded.
You swallowed and nodded. You rotated yourself, placing your knees either side of his thighs, and rose up onto your knees. His large hands went to your ass, kneading the plump flesh, and spreading it wide. You lowered yourself carefully, moaning as his cock eased into your pussy. You sank all the way down, until your thighs were touching his, your soft rear pressed against his body.
Elijah groaned and his fingers dug in. You placed your hands on his thighs and began to rock your hips, sliding up and down his length, the friction sending waves of pleasure through your body. His cock filled you up perfectly, and you were soon riding him fast, desperately chasing the orgasm that he had denied you.
He watched the way you bounced, the way your ass cheeks jiggled, the way your wetness coated his cock, the way your body reacted to him. He was hypnotized, his eyes glued to your every movement. It was in these moments he couldn't believe you were actually his wife, that this wasn't a dream. He saw how much you wanted and needed him and it thrilled him beyond words.
It wasn't just the sex. It was the way you'd react to little things. How you would blush at even the smallest gestures, the way you gasped when his fingertips would graze the small of your back as he leaned in close, or the soft little moans you would make when he kissed and touched you, it made his heart ache with love and desire.
You were his drug and he was hopelessly addicted, the chase, the hunt, the thrill was not just pleasurable, it was sustenance. Every time he took you it made him a stronger, more confident, more capable man. And when you would moan his name? He was lost. Utterly lost.
His tie was still hanging off your neck, the fabric moving back and forth against your back with each movement. His fingers danced up your spine and he wrapped the tie around his fist and used it to pull you against his chest.
"Aren't you forgetting something," He grinned, licking the shell of your ear, making you shiver. "Don't I deserve an apology for your behavior from earlier?"
"Not a fucking chance," you hissed, and tried pull away but he pulled tighter and pushed deeper.
"Wrong answer." He chuckled darkly, letting go of the tie and pushing you forward with such force your hands came off his thighs and pressed into the bed, stopping yourself from falling face-first into the sheets. You looked back at him with a glare, but he just laughed and shook his head. His strong hands dug into your hips, and he began to thrust his hips hard, the smacks of his skin against yours echoing in the large bedroom. You reached back, needing to touch him, to get some purchase but he wasn't having it.
He could see that you were panting, trying desperately to stay afloat in the ocean of ecstasy he was drowning you in. But the real reward was listening to the desperate sounds escaping your mouth. You loved this, you wanted him to be rough with you and he decided to take it a step further.
Elijah let go of your hips and you immediately got off his lap and started to climb up the bed to escape but his reflexes were far better than yours. He yanked you back by your thighs and you kicked your legs to get free but that only served to egg him on.
"I've told you to behave." He warned in a low, seductive voice.
You felt the pull of his tie again, and he yanked you backwards, positioning you so that you were on all fours. You gasped as he pushed your knees together, then he slammed his cock inside you, the angle hitting a spot that made you see stars, his other hand wrapping the tie around his fist. He used the leverage to pound into you, the bed slamming against the wall, and the sounds of his groans making you clench around him.
"Elijah," you moaned his name, your hands fisting the sheets, you were almost there, you were so close to sweet release.
You knew this game very well and you played along perfectly, whimpering and mewling as his cock stroked every inch of you. Your sweet sounds fueling him as he continued to ravage your soft cunt.
"Such an insufferable tease." He groaned. He let go of the tie and tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing your head down into the mattress.
He was completely lost in the moment, his control completely shattered. Your words, and actions, had snapped the reins, and he was letting himself go, to his deepest, most primal, instincts. He gave your hair a hard tug, the way you liked, and your back arched involuntarily, causing him to pound into you even harder.
"That's right, beautiful wife," he cooed. "You're going to cum for me, aren't you?"
You nodded, unable to form any words, your brain overwhelmed by the sensations. You could hardly breathe, your mind a clouded mess. He pulled you up, holding you by the jaw and pressing his fingers into your mouth, making you gag.
"Beg me," he snarled. "Beg me to let you cum."
You tried to form the words, but he was holding you so tightly, his cock thrusting into you so roughly, that all you could do was moan. Your eyes rolled back in your head, drool dribbling out of your mouth, the sounds of your garbled speech muffled by his fingers.
"That's it," he whispered, his lips against the shell of your ear.
"Cum for me, sweetheart."
His voice broke through the fog, and the moment his permission was given, you felt your body convulse, the intense pleasure coursing through your veins, sending you into an orgasm that was so powerful it made your limbs go numb. You collapsed forward, but Elijah held you upright. Your muscles had given out, the pleasure was so overwhelming that you couldn't even muster the energy to keep yourself propped up. All you could do was moan softly and let him continue to fuck you senseless.
He pulled his hand away from your mouth and grabbed your hips, pulling them back into his thrusts, using your spent body for his own pleasure. He was close, his movements becoming erratic, his hips snapping, his nails digging into your skin.
He let out a long, low, groan as his cock throbbed, filling you with his warm cum. He thrust a few more times, emptying himself inside you, and then slowly pulled out, letting you fall on to the bed.
He leaned over you, gently removing the tie and kissing along your spine, his hands softly rubbing the marks he had left on your body.
"Are you okay?" He asked, his tone soft.
"I'm ok" you sighed. "But my ass is not happy with you."
Elijah chucked and propped your hips up a little, licking a stripe from the cleft of your ass, all the way up to the back of your neck. You shivered, goosebumps erupting on your skin, you felt his hands on your hips and he quickly turned you over, making you squeak in surprise.
He kissed his way down your body, stopping to worship each of your breasts, and then moving down to your pussy. He spread your legs and ran his tongue over your slit, collecting his own cum that had begun to trickle out of you.
"Eli," you whined.
He hummed in response, and his tongue pushed deeper, lapping at your cunt, swirling around your sensitive clit. He was being gentle, his tongue teasing, his fingers rubbing soft circles into the skin of your hips.
You were perfect, his angel, his darling, his beautiful wife, and he had been so rough with you, he couldn't help but try and make up for it. He knew that you could take him, that you loved the rough sex as much as he did, but still, he always felt bad afterwards.
He could never stay rough for too long and tended to give into your soft whining, caresses and sweet kisses. It was why you were his wife, no one had the sort of power over him the way you did, and you both knew it. And there was truly nowhere else he would rather be, then between your legs.
He loved the feeling of your hands tugging on his hair, the way your thighs shook around his head, the way you clenched around his tongue, the sounds of your soft moans and whimpers. It was music to his ears, and he couldn't get enough of it.
"We taste like a dream," he murmured, licking his lips.
You chuckled, and then gasped when his tongue flicked over your clit, making your legs spasm.
"So sensitive," he purred, and then sucked the little bud between his lips, his fingers digging into your skin.
He could feel the pull of your hand, and he lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, the pupils blown wide. He crawled over your body, and lowered his lips to yours, kissing you deeply.
You moaned softly, tasting the two of you together, and he groaned in response, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling at the strands.
"That's what we taste like, baby," he growled, his tongue plunging into your mouth. His lips wet and messy, his hands roaming over your body, his hips grinding against yours.
"It's so good, isn't it?"
"Yes," you gasped.
"I love it when you're covered in my cum," he murmured, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. "When your pretty little pussy is full of me, when I can smell myself all over you."
You bit your bottom lip, and let your eyes slide closed, taking in the scent of his skin, the feel of his lips, the way he was rocking against you. He was teasing you, and you wanted it, you wanted his cock to stretch and fill you again and again until you were delirious with pleasure. You'd never known someone who could turn you into this wreck so completely and efficiently, but here you were again.
"Stop talking," you whimpered, grabbing hold of his hair.
"Sorry baby." He mumbled against your throat, leaving open mouth kisses along your skin. "Are you ready for me to fuck you again, my gorgeous wife."
"Yes, fuck yes.." You moaned as you lifted your hips and wrapped your legs around him. He slowly pushed his cock back into your pussy, watching as you arched and moaned under him.
"Do you think I can fuck you till dawn?" He purred, pressing soft kisses against your neck. "You'd like that, wouldn't you baby, to be filled up all night?"
You hummed in response and he slowed down a bit, giving you deep, long slow strokes, taking his time, and enjoying the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around him. He loved watching you come undone, to hear the moans and whimpers of delight fall from your lips, to know that it was because of him and only him.
This time he would make love to his wife, for however long she wanted, until morning if necessary. Because how could he not? When every look, every breath and every sound was the manifestation of a desperate plea, how was a husband to deny such a desire from a woman as beautiful, as delicate and yet as stubborn and as irresistible as you.
♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡
♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vampiresluv ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡ @loving-and-dreaming ♡
♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡ @idk00sblog ♡ @savannaounana♡ @cs-please ♡ complicatedandconfusing-25 ♡ @hamiltimes ♡ @akala6670229 ♡ @yeaiamme2 ♡ @itsjulzandmydiamonds ♡ @spideysbabe ♡ @witch-of-letters ♡ @elijahmikaelsonsboy ♡ @rosecentury ♡ @sekaishell ♡ @ziayamikaelson ♡ @amanda08319 ♡ @starshipcookie
#elijah mikaelson#the originals#the vampire diaries#vampire diaries#tvdu#elijah mikaelson smut#elijah mikaelson imagine#elijah mikealson imagine#elijah mikealson#elijah mikaelson x reader#elijah mikealson x reader#tvd#the vampire diaries x you#the vampire diaries x reader#the vampire diares imagine#the vampire diaries imagine#the originals imagine
316 notes
·
View notes