#like that just came up once and then never again what WAS that

[gojoest]

curiosity (part 2) — gojo satoru

MDNI, f! reader, she/her pronouns, childhood best friends to lovers, college, no curse au, once again mention of ex gfs (one of them makes a brief appearance), pining, reader wears boy shorts, reader is a virgin (no virginity loss), so is satoru lol, mutual masturbation (handjobs + fingering), he cums on your belly (accidentally), pussyjob, first kiss, kind of proofread (sry if tenses are messed up), wc: 5.3k, dividers by @/cafekitsune 

this takes place the morning after the handjob you gave satoru and is basically a long ramble about two childhood best friends exploring each other’s bodies (nowhere near in moderation) but finding it difficult to redefine their bond. 

part 1

a/n: i didn’t think i would get around to writing a continuation but here we are... i fear there will be a part 3 as well in the future :’) i hope you enjoy! <3 

Last night Satoru and you slept together, in one bed, for the first time in years. 

Sure, it wasn’t just sleeping like you initially (and very confidently) suggested. Curiosity got the better of you after he, although not intentionally, showed you a side to him you had never seen before. And so, you got a bit handsy. 

Satoru stopped sharing a bed with you during sleepovers sometime early into high school. ‘You always hog the blanket’, ‘You toss and turn a lot’, ‘You breathe too loud’, ‘It’s too hot’... — is what he would say, and you didn’t think much of it. Shrugging it off as him being a rude idiot, trying to make you look bad. 

There was no way he’d actually tell you that he had started popping frequent boners around you, courtesy of puberty along with these unrequited feelings he started harboring for you the day you moved into his neighborhood at the age of four. 

It was embarrassing. He couldn’t possibly come clean to you — you were best friends. What if you came to hate him? What if you started avoiding him? 

He spent his high school years trying to get over you. He started dating around. But he never felt the same way with any of the other girls, a clear sign of which was his actions and the lack of dedication toward them. He’d often forget about promised dates or picking them up after school to walk home together because he was too busy following you around. Helplessly. Hopelessly. He couldn’t just leave you on your own even for a second, the thought of seeing another dude hanging around you would scare the shit out of him. Trying to let go yet strongly clinging to you. You didn’t need to like him back as long as you didn’t like anyone else either. Just stay by his side. 

And now, college isn’t any different. 

Well, it wasn’t. Until last night. 

Satoru couldn’t sleep after what happened while you dozed off quickly, as if the events that took place were nothing out of the ordinary. You seemed oddly comfortable which, truth be told, rose concern in him. 

He had a lot of questions. 

Do you like him? Weren’t you supposed to be at least a bit nervous if you did? Or were you simply so curious about these stuff that anyone would’ve been fine, it just happened to be him? He’s glad it was him. But what will happen with you two now? Will things be awkward? Can you go back to how you used to be? What is he supposed to say to you once you open your eyes? Will you start avoiding him? Should he pretend like nothing happened? 

“Shit, I fucked up”, he whispers, thumbing his forehead like he’s trying to get rid of a headache that isn’t even there. 

Please don’t avoid me, he thinks as his gaze shifts to you, still sleeping soundly. 

You were drooling on the pillow in your sleep. Your hair was a mess and your eyes were crusty, the dried residue sitting in the inner corners of them. The entire blanket was on your side too, covering only you while he was out in the open, his feet cold.  

What’s so good about you anyway?, he thought for a good minute. A soft smile creeping in on his lips. He couldn’t come up with a single thing that wasn't. 

“Mff...”, you let out a drowsy yawn and your eyes flutter open. Rolling on your back, you stretch your arms up and turn your head to look at Satoru. “Mowniiin’ ”, you drag out through another yawn. 

Satoru’s heartrate picks up. Here comes the moment he’s been dreading — facing the consequences. “Hey”, he greets back, a little bit dull in order to mask his nervousness as he acts out in his head all the different possibilities and the plausible end of your friendship. 

“You don’t have a boner again, do you?”, you ask bluntly, unaware of the sweat and blood he’d been shedding in an internal battle up until now, filled with fear that today might be the day he loses it all. 

“Really now?”, he gives you a look. Your crudeness is astounding him but in a way it also lessens the worry in his chest. “You’re really going to ask me that?” 

“...do you?”, you turn on your side again, a glint of amusement in your expression. 

“You know I am. Don’t you see it yourself?”, he clicks his tongue. 

You snicker to yourself. Of course you do. After all, the blanket was wrapped around you only while he laid exposed next to you with no layer to cover the bulge in his shorts. 

“Morning wood?”, you look at it. “Or is it because of me again?” 

“Stop assuming things, it’s morning wood”, he states point-blank. “It’s always like this when I wake up”, which was a lie. It didn’t always happen, or at least it wasn’t this insistent. 

“Hmm”, you nod. “Maybe you’re not cumming enough?” 

“That’s not how it works”, he sighs. “And this is definitely not something I’ve ever expected to hear from you” 

“Hmm”, you nod again. Peeking at him mischievously. “Can I—” 

“No.” 

“But—” 

“Cut it out, will you? What’s gotten into you ever since last night? Asking to touch me and what not?”, he snaps, frustrated.  

“But you let me” 

“Men can’t say no to that when they’re about to bust”, he lies, kind of. “But what the hell is wrong with you?” He thinks it’s so unfair to test him like this when he’s the only one with feelings. It is quite cruel of you. 

“I don’t know”, you shrug, a guilty pout on your mouth. Satoru never raises his voice at you unless something is really bugging him. “I’m not sure myself, but I liked it, what happened last night... I enjoyed it”, you quietly admit. 

“You did?”, his voice goes back to normal, but this time it’s his eyes that snap wide. A slight sense of hope creeps in inside his heart now. Maybe this little slip-up could kick start something, he starts to think. 

You nod. “Didn’t you like it too?” 

“...I did”, his face heats up and he covers it with a hand. The essence of the conversation and the fact you liked touching him made his cock even harder. It wasn’t just a simple morning wood at this point. 

“I want to do it again”, you tell him. “But do you?” 

“You ask me stuff like this when I am horny and expect me to turn you down?” He slowly slides his hand down his face, stopping it right over his mouth and cupping it into his palm. “Are you sure?”, his voice muffled. 

You shake your head affirmatively, with zero hesitation. “Can you touch me too? I got really wet last night while jerking you off... Your struggling face and the sounds you made were really...sexy. I wanted to cum too”, a tint of embarrassment in your tone now that you were saying this out loud. 

Your abrupt and not at all anticipated confession had Satoru almost chocking on his own saliva. Due to shock, it went down the wrong pipe when swallowing, leading him to cough profusely. “I am starting to think that you’re plotting to kill me one of these days” 

“It’s because you told me to come to you if I ever get curious about other things” 

“I clearly did not mean murder” 

You chuckle, and slowly peel the covers off you, throwing them out of the way and kicking them behind you. The shirt you’re wearing rolled up, exposing the boy shorts on your lower half and a damp spot visibly staining them on the front. 

“You're wet", Satoru points out, surprise and smugness mixed in his expression.  

“I thought you didn’t like to state the obvious”, you huff, rushing to fix yourself, but he reaches for your hand and stops you in your tracks.  

“Is it because of me?”, he looks at you with a glint of hope, giving you a taste of your own medicine, while guiding your touch toward his crotch. His other hand pulling his shorts and boxers down, just enough to take his cock out and press your hand on it — feeling less awkward and a little bit more confident about this now that he sees clear indications of your arousal. 

Sure, you touched him last night, but you didn’t see him... It all happened under the covers, so this was a first. He was big, both lengthy and girthy. Veiny too. Precum slicked the tip of his cock. The head was pink while the rest — a lighter shade but still a bit darker than his complexion. You didn’t think of it as pretty, yet it was stirring weird, unknown emotions and desires in you. 

“...yeah, ‘cause of you... I think”, you bury your face in the pillow, shying away, but at the same time you shamelessly wrap your hand around his length, giving it a slow first stroke, causing his breath to rasp in his chest. The needy little pant he let out the second you made contact with him urged you to rub your thighs together, the tension in your lower half growing heavier. 

Now with your roles somehow reversed, you realize how embarrassed he must’ve been last night... 

“Can I?”, he swallows nervously. His hand, slightly shaking, held out in front of your clothed pussy, waiting for your verbal permission before he goes any further.  

“Go ahead, I was the one who asked in the first place”, you reassure. 

Just like he did for you, you help your shorts down for him and place his hand between your folds. “But—”, you pause, timidly flinching at the foreign touch. “Don’t push your fingers very deep, I— well, you know...” 

He smiles. “I know, don’t worry”  

He was aware that you never had your first time. Neither did he, which you would probably never guess. 

Despite his rich and lengthy dating history, Satoru never went that far with any of his girlfriends. Not that the opportunity was never present — he had the looks and he had the charm so naturally they would throw themselves at him quite often. But he simply never desired them enough to even pop a boner. Well, sure it happened a few times here and there and only because some of them resembled you way too much. 

At the end of the day, his dick and his mind were oddly connected. And his mind, it was still stuck on you. Perhaps, deep down, he always hoped that one day you’d be his first. 

Just like last night, you were laid on your sides again, but this time both of you had your hands in each other’s pants. Your faces so close you were touching foreheads and breathing into your mouths. Not kissing, just breathing and exchanging pants and lewd moans as you worked your hands through the pleasure of the other, reveling in the sounds you each made.  

"Is this, um, okay... like this?”, he breathily asks, but what he truly means is ‘Am I doing this right?’, while he’s got his thumb on your clit, rubbing it in circles, and two of his fingers — index and middle — carefully gliding over your inner lips. 

You hum, biting your lip in an attempt to swallow the obscenity threatening to roll out of your tongue. Your mind was slowly going blank. “I-it f-feels real-ly g-good”, you manage through multiple pants. “Too g-good", you add, your grip letting loose around him, slowing down the strokes, the more he teased your folds. But, his free hand grabs yours, squeezing you back around him while he starts to buck his hips into your fist — a subtle reminder to maintain your ministrations, to not forget about him. 

You huff at his actions, but it’s only fair — you acknowledge.  

He must have quite the experience, you think. This thought a bit bothering you on itself, that he’s had his hand down other girls’ pants before, maybe his cock too, so he’s able to multitask like this... While this is a first for you. Unsure why, you feel like slapping him the more you think about it, picturing him with other girls makes you oddly jealous, but his fingers ease you back into pleasure. You’ll get mad at him later, you think. 

“Tell me if it hurts. Okay?”, he nuzzles his nose against yours — since both of his hands were busy now, this was the only way of asking you to look at him. 

He wanted to see your eyes and confirm for himself that you were indeed alright, that he was really doing this right because he’s never done it before, only seen it in porn. He was afraid that he’d get too distracted and hurt you unintentionally. You felt so good against his fingers that it was enough to make him lose control. All the wet dreams he’s had in the past can’t compare. He already had a lewd depiction of you in his mind that he used to jerk off to — about the way you’d look and feel down there, about the noises you’d make, about the ways your face would contort with fervor... But he realizes now that he was too frivolous and lacking in imagination. The real you beats it all. 

You look at him, your brows slightly lifted, lips closed but twitching in betrayal, threatening to let out the loud moan building in your throat. His fingers scarcely prodding in only weakening your resolve. 

“Let it out”, he speaks to you softly. “Don’t hold it back”, again with that sweet, sweet voice. 

"Shit, you’re so foul when you use that kind of voice”, you audibly gasp, and then let it all out.  

He chuckles. 

His pace quicker now, greedily trying to drag more moans out of you. His entire palm, squished between your legs, now covering your pussy, rubbing harder against your folds with his middle finger slightly curled so the tip of it darts inside you with every movement. Not too deep, just enough to not break your hymen. It was driving you insane and you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. You’re certain you have never been this loud in your entire life. And you really wanted to slap him again because you were the only mess right now, your urge going stronger after witnessing that cheeky expression on his face, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, too focused to make you cum — maybe he was paying you back for last night. 

But alas, you couldn’t do anything about it. You lost control, completely as he hit just the right places and brought you overwhelming, toe-curling pleasure. 

“Did it feel good?”, Satoru curiously peeks at you as you try to catch your breath. 

“Yes”, you heave. His hand was still there, fingers fumbling with your folds, hence why the tremors washing through your body took longer to quiet down. “Very”, you add. 

“Will you help me finish too?” 

You nod, fixing your loose grip around his cock but moving it in a quite relaxed manner, slowly. 

“Are you doing this on purpose?”, he huffs. 

“No. What’s the rush?” 

“We have classes” 

“We’re already late” 

You squeeze, your strokes now steadier — not faster, but heavier — as you drag your hand up and down, earning a gratifying groan out of him. “We can skip altogether”  

“And?”, he pants, with eyes half-lidded he looks at you. Are you going to suggest what he’s thinking about too? 

“We can stay like this for a bit” — you gather your pace. “Wash up” — accelerating it more after the pause. “Have breakfast” — and some more. “And do this all over again” — and... 

Satoru opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he moans low and throatily as his orgasm starts to build up. 

Was it the way you moved your hand or what you said that made him crumble so fast, he was not so sure. But it was quite the intense thing. He bucked his hips a little until every bit of drop was out, and he did so in a way that made you clench. The way he squeezed his eyes shut, nose scrunched up while he bit his lower lip, his hand gripping your waist to steady himself as he thrusted into your fist... It was way too of an arousing sight. 

He made a huge mess too. His cum sprayed all over your belly, uncontrollably. Your hand and fingers coated in it too. 

“Shit— I didn’t mean to”, he panics, jolting and rushing to grab some tissues from the nightstand, but you stop him. 

“It's okay”, you reassure him. “I think I like it”, you confess. “Next time you can cum on me intentionally” 

“There is really something wrong with your head, we should go get you checked out”, he mocks, but he hides his face in the pillow to conceal the smile stretching on his lips along with the already existing blush on his cheeks. Next time, huh?  

You stayed in for the day. Just as you suggested, you lingered in bed for a little longer, bickering back and forth, which put Satoru at ease. He was sick worried, but things were still the same between you two. Not quite as they used to be, considering last night and this morning, but you were still you. There was no tension, nor any awkwardness in the air. 

You washed up together over the bathroom sink, bumping hips as you brushed your teeth. 

He always kept a spare toothbrush for you for when you’d stay the night. He diligently changed it with a new one every now and then. Although you didn’t have any clothes over at his dorm room, he gave you his while complaining how thoughtless you were for not bringing spare clothing with you, only causing him more trouble with piling up more laundry. But he liked it, secretly. His t-shirts looked good on you, like you were his girlfriend. He didn’t have any clothes back at your room either, at first. There was no way yours would ever fit him, so he brought some and left them there. You always washed them with your clothes and they smelled like the detergent you’d always use. It made him feel like he was your boyfriend. 

Later, you had breakfast, and after that — another session of exploring your bodies. Again, you only used your hands. He sat you on the table and fingered you while you stroked his cock. 

You played some games, read manga, took a nap, ate lunch, and then you did it again. 

And again, after dinner. 

Then some more before you went to bed. 

You never kissed though, not yet. As if the kiss itself meant something entirely different in the light of what you were doing, something more intimate than masturbating each other. 

Day two and three were no different, you stayed locked in and repeated. You ate, you fucked each other with your hands, and you slept. 

Nothing changed on the fourth either, only that you ran out of food but ordered takeout. 

“Can you make it a bit spicy?”, Satoru spoke on the phone to a nearby restaurant he’d frequently order from. So frequently in fact that they knew his order by heart, and asking for the dish to be spicy was unusual of him.  

“Huh? You always make we don’t put any spice in your food? Are you sure?”, the takeout clerk gasped from the other side of the line. 

Scratching the back of his head, Satoru looked around to see if you were still in the bathroom before he spoke. “Yeah, I know. But, um— my girlfriend likes it”, he said, his face heating up with a red hue. 

You weren’t his girlfriend. Neither of you made an attempt to redefine your relationship, and he was too afraid to make the first step. What if you were simply acting out this way because you were indeed just curious?  

Either way, he wanted to say it. To say that you were his girlfriend. And it wasn’t the first time he’d done it. People would often time confuse you for a couple, and he’d never flat out deny it. You never knew about this though, it always happened behind your back. Either his friends being too nosy, or an old lady on the street telling him how good you looked together after you ran off to pet a stray cat. 

On the fifth day, some friends got a bit worried. You were gone for almost an entire week, skipping classes, so that was a given. 

suguru: wtf bro  suguru: u alive? 

satoru: yeah  satoru: more than ever 

suguru: huh 

satoru: i might have a shot with her  satoru: i'll tell u later 

suguru: with who? 

satoru: ur mom i've been pining over since i was four  satoru: be fr now  

suguru: wait  suguru: HER her??????????? 

satoru: yeah HER her 

suguru: wow it's happening? 

satoru: idk  satoru: ...kinda 

suguru: good luck bro  suguru: if you fuck it up i'll try my chance with her  suguru: so make sure u do ur best LOL 

satoru: i will beat u up and block u 

Naturally, it started to feel less awkward the more you did it. ‘Are you hard?’ or ‘Are you wet?’ being the initiating lines you were both dying to hear now, knowing well what they’d lead to. The answer was always ‘yes’, there was no denying that you were both hard and wet around each other for the most part. 

At some point you began skipping the questions, just letting your hands roam and find out. Consent was always silently present. 

Even when you weren’t being naughty with each other, it was different. You had definitely started seeing Satoru in a new light, which scared you a little bit. The way you looked at him, and the way you caught him looking at you — it wasn’t the same as it had been. There was more to it. 

On the sixth day, you tried something different.  

“My hands are tired”, you complain. 

“Let’s try something different”, Satoru proposes. 

He lies on his back, holding his cock flat against his stomach. “Hop on it” 

“What—”, your eyes pop out in shock. “I’m not ready for that, yet”, you squirm, holding your face in your palms. You were curious about intercourse, of course, but you were also scared. All the forums you scrolled through had a different take on it — some netizens said the first time was painful while others claimed they only felt a slight discomfort but nothing more. Many mentioned bleeding too. You didn’t know which category you’d fall into. And as much as you wanted it, the idea of putting Satoru’s cock inside you was quite intimidating. He was big. Will it even fit?  

Satoru chuckles. “I don’t mean that — just straddle me, sit yourself right on top of it and rock your hips back and forth” He points at his cock, “See, I am holding it down for you so it won’t enter you. You’ll just hump against the length of it and nothing more. It’ll feel good, I promise” 

You peek at him from between your fingers. “Okay”, you timidly agree. 

It was good, but short-lived. Unfortunately, you didn’t get to finish in this position because Satoru came too soon and too hard, his entire body shivering continuously. He had no idea what he was getting himself into when he proposed it but having your warmth and your slick on his cock directly from the source messed him up. It took him every ounce of restraint not to just slide it in and have his way with you. 

On the seventh day, after all the things you’d done, you finally shared your first kiss.  

It was nothing nearly romantic like it was in the books and in the movies. In fact, it kind of happened out of spite. 

It was around lunchtime. You both felt like eating pizza today, and so you ordered. In the meantime, while waiting for your food to be delivered, you hopped in the bathroom to take a quick shower. 

Satoru wanted to join you too, but you kicked him out, telling him to wait for the delivery guy. With a tail between his legs and a hangdog face he crawled back on the bed, huffing and puffing loudly so you could hear him and maybe pity him enough to invite him back... 

His brilliant performance of a sad puppy was interrupted by a knock on the door. This was quick, he thought, and jumped out of the bed, thrilled — he could pay for the food and sneak in to play with you... 

He quickly tossed on a shirt and put on some shorts on the way to get the door. 

It was not the food. 

It was his ex, standing on his doorstep with her arms crossed over her waist, eyeing him demandingly. 

“Don’t tell me you’re so heartbroken over our breakup that you would lock yourself in your room and skip classes for an entire week?”, she scoffs. 

“Did you forget who broke up with who?”, Satoru snorts. 

For sure, she did not. Satoru did it quite cruelly, over text after ghosting her for three days. It was not his proudest moment but he didn’t care enough to feel guilty over it.  

And she was fully aware of it too. But still, she liked him a lot, in fact she liked him ever since orientation and it took her an entire year to work her way to him. She was desperate. 

She sighs deeply, dropping the attitude now. “You never replied to my messages” 

“Didn’t see” 

“You did, but you left me on seen” 

“Must’ve forgotten to answer” 

His answers were short and dry. The timing was simply bad, and he wanted her out of here before you came out of the shower, concerned that her being here would create a misunderstanding in your head. 

“Look, I am sorry I said all those stuff about your friend. But it bothered me, okay? You treated her more like a girlfriend than you did me, your actual girlfriend... I was constantly under the impression that—”, before she could finish a third voice cut her off. 

“’Toru”, you yell from behind him. “Is it the food?” 

Your hair damp, a towel wrapped around your body, you saunter over to the door from behind him to peek, but your feet freeze in place. 

Oh? That girl... his ex. 

You woke up happy this morning, in fact you woke up happy every morning for the past seven days but now your mood was foul all of a sudden. That same odd feeling you’d get whenever you thought of Satoru with another girl creeped in in your chest. While you brushed it off easily in the past, you couldn’t quite do so now. The irritation grew more insistent. Your demons were threatening to act up. 

“...there was something going on between you”, the girl finishes her sentence, then pauses to let out a short laugh and shake her head in disbelief before she continues. “I guess my hunch was right, huh?” 

You step a little closer, standing right next to Satoru. 

Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on came over you. Of course, you could read the room — she obviously came here to mend things up. And you were not happy about it. Not in the slightest. Was this annoying feeling tugging at your chest called jealousy? You didn’t have a reason to hate this girl, she did nothing to you. Yet... 

“Well, well. Aren’t you a smart one?” — you couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth right now but you didn’t have it in you to stop.  

Utterly amused, Satoru stared at you. He was shocked, in a pleasingly new way. A semblance of an idiotic smile plastered on his lips while he did nothing to stop you. 

“Should I perhaps solidify your hunch with a proof so you stop running after someone else’s boyfriend?”, you glare at her. 

Standing on your toes, you clutch a handful of Satoru’s shirt with both hands, pulling him down to the level of your face for your lips to reach his, and kiss him. 

Helpless in the face of your lips laid against his, he lets out an audible gasp. The sound of it vibrating against your mouth. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he thinks, but his eyes close anyway, melting into the softness of your lips. There was no tongue, just a long peck, and he couldn’t help but smile into it. 

Without breaking the kiss, you look at the girl from the corner of your eye, and you slam the door in her face. 

“Good riddance”, you murmur after pulling away from Satoru, and walk back inside. 

He never knew that a simple kiss like this could make him so dizzy that he would lose his balance and stumble. As if his feet got caught in something he involuntarily took a few sharp steps forward, putting his arms out to steady himself and avoid falling face down. 

“Hey”, he called out, slowly following behind you. 

“What’s her deal anyway?”, you keep going at it, still beyond irritated. “Didn’t you guys break up?” 

“Hey”, he speaks again, stepping closer. 

“And she's pestering you like this? The audacity...” 

“Hey—” 

“What!”, you yell, turning around to give him a scolding too because, knowing him, he probably didn’t end things with her in a manner that was polite and proper.  

...but he was right behind you, smiling at you affectionately with his eyes. It made your breath hitch, and your chest — feel a bit peculiar. 

“Hey”, he repeats again, softly. His hands squish your cheeks inside his palms and he slowly cranes his neck down. “Did you mean it?”, he asks through a whisper. 

You shift your gaze to the side, avoiding to look at him directly. “Did I mean what?”, you puff. 

“Calling me your boyfriend”, he tilts his head to the side, blocking your view and forcing you to look at him. 

“No... I was just saving your ass” — you try to break free to prevent the heat on your cheeks from warming the skin of his palms, from giving you away. But he’s holding you still. 

He leans in closer and whispers, “Would it be so bad if I was your boyfriend?” 

It was not a question as much it was a plea. Let me. 

“You’re a bit of a jerk sometimes, so maybe? I know for sure people will judge me for my poor taste” 

“Your mom won’t, she likes me”, he points out, proudly. 

“She likes you more than she likes me, her own daughter, so her opinion is invalid. In fact, she would tell you to go pick someone better”, you snort, and he laughs. She really did love him like her own son. After all, he grew up in her hands along with you. You spent day and night together, in and out of each other’s houses. 

“I am serious”, he gives a gentle squeeze around your face, an attempt to snap you out of the ongoing banter because he was desperate to know. You didn’t give him a proper answer, but you didn’t reject him either — there was still hope, he thought. “Would you hate it?” 

“...I don’t know”, you let out quietly, conflicted. 

“Should we try? Or are you only curious about my body?” 

“See? You’re kind of a jerk after all”, you pout. “Will things change... between us?” 

“Aren’t they already changing?”, he smiles. 

You hum, softly tugging at the hem of his shirt with both of your hands. "I don't want to lose my best friend if we screw this up” 

“Same”, he nuzzles his face closer. “That’s why, we won’t screw this up”, he quietly chants into you like a promise, drawing his lips to yours tenderly before either of you have the chance to panic any further about the implications of this change. 

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ʙ ᴇ ʟ ᴏ ᴠ ᴇ ᴅ⸻

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem Reader Part 2

Headcanon: What if Damien's obsession continue even after you broke up with Dick? What if his obsession grow as he grow up?

Note: Reader is the same age as Dick. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You never thought your life would look like this. Working in a small flower shop wasn’t what you dreamed of as a bright-eyed twenty-something in Gotham, but it was peaceful. You’d long since left the chaos of capes and vigilantes behind, including a certain acrobat who never could hold onto a girlfriend.

Now, at 33, you felt invisible. Your reflection in the mirror wasn’t what it used to be, and time had stolen some of the confidence you once had. You didn’t mind, though. You had your flowers, your little corner of the world, and the belief that love belonged to someone else’s story.

But then, there was him.

The first time he walked into the shop, you barely noticed him. Just another handsome guy buying flowers for some lucky person. It wasn’t unusual—flower shops brought in romantics, after all.

But then he came back.

And again.

And again.

Each time, he would only take flowers from you. If you weren’t behind the counter, he’d wait patiently, pretending to browse until you returned. If you were busy, he’d stand to the side, quiet and stoic, as though he had all the time in the world.

It became routine. He’d show up every Wednesday like clockwork, always choosing something simple—a bouquet of daisies, a handful of roses. He rarely spoke more than a few words. "I’ll take those." "How much for this?" "Thank you." His voice was low, smooth, almost hypnotic.

You didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was just particular. Maybe he liked the way you arranged the flowers. You didn’t dare entertain the idea that he might like you.

One day, as you were arranging tulips, your coworker Hannah nudged you with a mischievous grin.

“Have you noticed how Flower Guy only comes in when you’re here?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know, the tall, handsome guy with black hair and green eyes? He’s got the whole brooding vibe going on. Like a tortured poet who secretly reads love sonnets at night.”

You laughed. “Hannah, please. He’s just a regular customer.”

“Oh, sure. Because regular customers stare at you like you hung the moon and only buy flowers from your hands. Totally normal.”

You rolled your eyes. “He doesn’t stare.”

“He does, though. It’s kinda romantic. Maybe he’s secretly in love with you.”

You snorted. “There’s no way. He’s probably got a girlfriend or a wife. Guys like him don’t…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “Anyway, I’m too old for him.”

Hannah scoffed. “You’re 33, not 83. And you’re gorgeous. I bet he’s into you.”

You brushed it off, but Hannah’s words stuck with you.

One Wednesday, he came in as usual, dressed in a worn leather jacket and dark jeans. His hair was slightly tousled, and he looked… well, annoyingly perfect, as always.

But this time, something was different. He didn’t just take his flowers and leave.

As you handed him a bouquet of sunflowers, he paused, his green eyes locking onto yours.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You frowned, tilting your head. “Should I?”

He hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. “No. I suppose not.”

There was a long silence, and then he said, “Would you have dinner with me?”

Your brain short-circuited. “Excuse me?”

“Dinner. With me. I’d like to take you out.”

You blinked, genuinely stunned. “I… don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you’re—” You gestured vaguely at him. “You. And I’m—” You gestured vaguely at yourself. “Me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t follow.”

“You’re young. And handsome. And probably have women falling all over you. Why would you want to go out with someone like me?”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t see yourself clearly, do you?”

You laughed nervously. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for anything. Thank you, though.”

He didn’t argue. He just nodded, took his flowers, and left.

He didn’t stop coming. If anything, he doubled down.

One week, he showed up looking disheveled, his jacket frayed, his shoes scuffed. When he handed you the money for his bouquet, you noticed it was crumpled, like it had been fished out of a couch cushion.

“Are you okay?” you asked, genuinely concerned.

He sighed heavily. “It’s been… a rough few months.”

“Oh?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his expression pained. “Kicked out of work. Rent’s overdue. Been crashing on a friend’s couch.”

Your heart ached for him. “That sounds awful. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s life.”

You couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Maybe that’s why, when he asked again if you’d have dinner with him, you hesitated before saying no.

But Damien was nothing if not persistent.

Eventually, you gave in. Mostly because he wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Fine,” you said one day, throwing your hands up. “One date. Just to get you to stop asking.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

That night, he showed up dressed sharply but not overly flashy, carrying a single rose. He held it out to you with a small smirk. “For you.”

The date was… perfect. Annoyingly perfect. He was charming, attentive, and surprisingly funny. He made you laugh more than you had in years, and by the end of the night, you found yourself wondering why you’d ever said no in the first place.

He never told you who he really was. Not that night, not the next, and not for months. But eventually, you pieced it together.

It happened when you were flipping through an old photo album, reminiscing about your time in Gotham. And there he was. A scowling 13-year-old boy glaring at the camera.

“Oh my God,” you muttered. “It’s him.”

When you confronted him about it, he didn’t even try to deny it. He just smirked, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Took you long enough.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You knew me this whole time?”

“Of course.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t remember me. I wanted a clean slate.”

You wanted to be mad, but the truth was… you didn’t regret giving him a chance.

By the time he kissed you for the first time, you realized that maybe, just maybe, love was still a part of your story after all.

Part 1. Part 3.

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[0omillo0]

Calling you clingy

Jeongin x reader ;༊๋࣭ angst comfort

Jeongin wasn’t much for skinship and giving much attention—at least, not with most people. But with you, everything was different. He wanted to hold you, to wrap you in his arms when life felt heavy on your shoulders, to make you feel loved and safe. He knew about your past relationship—the one where your ex had made you feel like you were “too much,” had called you clingy whenever you tried to express your need for affection or reassurance.

Jeongin hated that someone had made you feel that way. So with you, he went out of his way to make sure you never felt like a burden. He’d pull you into his arms after a long day, kiss your forehead, and whisper, “I’ve got you.” You were his entire world, and he made sure you knew it.

But even the strongest relationships have their cracks.

It started like any other day. Jeongin had practice with the group, and you had work at your demanding job. He was stressed, but he’d kissed you goodbye that morning, promising to call you when he was free. You went to work feeling warm from the gesture, but as the hours passed, everything began to fall apart.

Your boss had been in a particularly bad mood, snapping at you over trivial mistakes. The girls in the office, who you knew were jealous of your relationship with Jeongin, whispered cruel things behind your back, loud enough for you to hear. By the time the day was over, you were emotionally drained and on the verge of tears.

You wanted nothing more than to call Jeongin. But you hesitated, not wanting to interrupt him at practice. You’d been told you were clingy before; you didn’t want him to think the same.

Jeongin, on the other hand, was having a nightmare of a day. Practice was grueling, and tensions were high among the members. Everyone was snippy, tired, and frustrated. Jeongin was trying to hold it together, but his patience was wearing thin.

His phone buzzed in his bag, but he ignored it, too overwhelmed to deal with anything else.

Your bad day turned worse when you stopped to pick up some groceries on the way home. That’s when a stranger approached you, his intentions anything but friendly.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he said, stepping into your personal space.

You tried to brush him off politely, but he persisted. “Come on, don’t be like that. Just one drink.”

“I’m not interested,” you said firmly, but your voice wavered. He didn’t seem to care, following you down the street as panic bubbled in your chest.

You grabbed your phone and texted Jeongin.

“Innie, there’s a guy following me.”

“Innie, please answer. I’m scared.”

When he didn’t reply, you called him. Once. Twice. Ten times. Each time the call went unanswered, your panic grew. Finally, on the tenth call, he picked up.

“Innie!” you cried, your voice trembling. “Please, I—”

“What do you want?!” Jeongin’s voice was sharp, laced with irritation. “Y/N, I’m busy! Can’t you leave me alone for five minutes? He was right… You’re so clingy!”

The word cut through you like a knife.

“Innie,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I… I’m sorry.”

He hung up before you could explain.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over as you ducked into a nearby alley, your body shaking with sobs. You felt completely alone. Desperate, you called your best friend, who immediately came to pick you up.

Jeongin didn’t look at his phone again until hours later, when practice was finally over. He trudged home, exhaustion heavy in his limbs, and sank onto the couch, grabbing his phone to check his notifications.

When he saw your texts, his heart stopped.

“Innie, please answer. I need you.”

“Innie, there’s a guy following me.”

“I’m hiding. Please, Jeongin, help me.”

His stomach dropped. He immediately tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voicemail.

“Y/N, please,” he texted. “I’m so sorry. Please let me know you’re safe.”

Minutes later, his phone buzzed. But it wasn’t you.

“She’s safe,” your best friend texted. “But she doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

Jeongin sank to the floor, guilt washing over him in waves. You had needed him—really needed him—and he had let you down. Worse, he had been cruel.

For days, Jeongin tried everything to make it up to you. He sent flowers to your best friend’s house, along with your favorite snacks and handwritten notes. But you didn’t respond. The silence was unbearable.

Then, finally, a text came through.

“I’m coming home. We need to talk.”

Jeongin paced the living room anxiously, his heart racing when he heard the door unlock. You stepped inside, your expression guarded, your eyes swollen from crying. He froze, guilt hitting him all over again.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You set your bag down but didn’t move closer. “You called me clingy. I… trusted you...”

His throat tightened. “I didn’t mean it. I was stressed, and I… I took it out on you. I was wrong. I should have answered. I should have been there for you.” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you down.”

“You weren’t just not there,” you said, your voice trembling. “You hurt me, Jeongin. You said the one thing I was most afraid of hearing. Do you know how hard it was for me to reach out? And you…” Tears spilled down your cheeks. “You made me feel like I was too much. Again.”

“You’re not too much,” he said quickly, stepping closer but stopping when he saw you flinch. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. You’re the best thing in my life, and I ruined it. I’ll do anything to fix this. —whatever you need, I’ll do it. Just don’t leave me.”

You looked at him, torn between your love for him and the fear of being hurt again. “I don’t know if I can trust you not to do it again.”

Tears were streaming down his face. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you if that’s what it takes.” He reached for your hands but didn’t hold them, waiting for your permission. “Please, Y/N. Don’t give up on me.”

After a long moment, you let him take your hands. “I need time, Jeongin. I’m not ready to forgive you yet.”

“I’ll wait,” he whispered. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

In the weeks that followed, Jeongin kept his word. He communicated openly about his feelings, and never missed an opportunity to remind you how much you meant to him.

When you finally felt ready to come home, he held you in his arms like you were his entire world. Because to him, you were.

It wasn’t easy, but together, you rebuilt what had been broken—proving that love, when nurtured with care and effort, could overcome even the deepest wounds.

tags: @intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @whoa-jo

[m3owcuryy]

౨ৎ ━━━ R U MINE?

━ cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater

━ characters: gojo, geto, nanami, toji

━ sum: catching him in the act. (modern au)

━ wc: 3.06k

━ tw: angst, m cheating, angst again, angst, no comfort :(, slight nsfw. MDNI.

lowercase intended!

━━━ GOJO SATORU

you stared in utter disbelief at the sight before you. the plastic bags, that were once in your hands, sat by your feet as you involuntarily let go of the bags of plastic.

"i'm so sorry." you muttered hastily, picking up the plastic bags and quickly excusing yourself from the place you once called home. all of the memories, that were once only good and filled with love, were quickly replaced with the feeling of disgust and utter sadness.

the scene of your boyfriend, very soon to be ex boyfriend, and a woman having sex in the foyer of his mansion, was quickly engraved into your memories. the sight of gojo satoru's bright blue eyes, widening upon the realization that you had come home to him, shirtless with his pants down to his ankles, fucking a woman in doggy style, as her hair was bundled up in his hand.

"[name]!" hearing your name slip past his lips, you quickened your pace. your hands shaking as you try to get your car keys out of your bag, tears threatening to slip past your eyes.

"[name]! listen to me!" his bigger hands grabbing the hand you were using to dig through your bag, making you quickly pull your hand away. taking a step back, you refused to look at him. you refused to let him see you break down into tears. you refused to let him see how he broke you.

taking the biggest breath you were able to muster, you shut your eyes tightly before looking at him. his disheveled hair, the trickles of sweat coming down his forehead, his shirtless body, his swollen lips. before you knew it, the tears began to fall, one by one.

"[name], angel, it's not what it looks like." sato- no, gojo, quickly added, the desperation in his voice as he tried to excuse his adultery.

"i'll come by within the next week to pick up my stuff." you ignored his weak attempts to make excuses. turning your back to him once again, you resumed to dig through your bag. you bite down hard on your lower lip as you tried to suppress the whimpers that threatened to escape your throat.

in another weak attempt to stop you, he hugged you from behind, whispering i'm sorry's into your ear, hoping to calm your shaking body. your body froze at the contact. his back hugs that you used to adore, used to make you feel safe and at peace, no longer gave you that feeling.

"you were just gone for so long, angel. that woman is nothing to me, i swear. i know i shouldn't have done it," his words didn't even reach you. "it won't happen again! please, forgive me! i can fix it! i'm the best, right?! i can do anything for you, i'll do whatever! you know i can make it right!"

it's funny. he was caught fucking another woman, and the first thing that came out of his mouth, 'you were just gone for so long'. his speech was quick and messy, his body shaking as he held onto you tightly, afraid if he lets go, you're actually going to leave him.

"'tor- gojo," you weakly spoke as you found your voice. "text me when you're available so i can pick up my things."

"no, no you won't. you're not actually planning on leaving me right?" gojo's embrace tightened. "it was a mistake! i'll atone, i swear! baby, please..."

you turned your body, softly pushing the white haired man away from you, your eyes meet his. his blue eyes, frantic as he tried to read your expression, as he tried to read what you were feeling, as he tried to read your thoughts. the man who was titled 'the best', couldn't read you.

"i trust that you would never do it again, satoru..." his eyes brightened ever so slightly, the feeling of hope and relief washed over him. he takes a step closer to you, before freezing. your next words broke down any sense of relief and hope he had felt, quicker than he had felt them come in. "because we're over."

━━━ GETO SUGURU

"do you think dad is sleeping?" nanako questioned as she sucked on her lolipop.

"maybe." mimiko shrugged watching you unlock the front door of the small apartment.

"if he is we should keep quiet," you told them, opening the front door as you looked at the two twins. "your dad is probably really tired."

letting the sisters go inside first, you chuckle softly as they both excitedly took their outside shoes off, running up to their shared room with their new bags of clothing that you had purchased for them. lining up their shoes beside your's, you notice another pair of shoes laying there. ones you haven't seen before. shrugging off the weird feeling that had taken over you, telling yourself one of the girls had gotten another pair without your knowledge, you make your way to the kitchen planning on preparing tonight's dinner.

the sounds of hushed whispering reached your ears. stopping whatever you were doing, you stayed silent. thinking the girls wanted to play a joke on you, you ducked behind the small island, planning on scaring the twins instead. hearing the steps come closer, you jumped up with a 'boo'.

expecting to see the twins, you were met with a random woman shrieking and suguru's shocked expressions. you froze. the sound of two pairs of footsteps running down, fell deaf to your ears.

there stood, your boyfriend shirtless with dark red marks on his chest, down his abdomen.

"who the fuck are you?" nanako questioned, her voice loud with authority, breaking whatever hypnosis you were in.

with no words, the woman quickly left, picking up her shoes that you had spotted at the entrance. the apartment was silent. geto looked back and forth towards you and the two sisters, as he struggled to say anything.

"nana, mimi." you called to the two girls, who looked at you upon hearing their names. "would you guys please go upstairs? i think your dad and i need to talk."

"no!" nanako exclaimed. her eyes red with anger. "whatever you guys have to talk about we should know too right?! i mean, i'm sure it's not what it looked like right?!"

"[name]..." geto could only mutter. your eyes made contact with his.

you looked down at the cutting board that laid in front of you. the vegetables that were in the midst of being cut for a family dinner, was completely forgotten. the erratic beating of your heart, and the feeling of betrayal consumed you entirely.

"say something!" nanako pleaded to her adoptive father, who only looked down with shame.

"dad..." mimiko spoke. "don't tell us you cheated on [name]..."

"we were just starting to feel like we finally had a mom!" nanako yelled as she began crying. "you just had to fuck it up?!"

the sight of nanako getting upset on your behalf, the tears that threatened to fall from mimiko's eyes, the sight of your body shaking as you held back tears for the sake of the twins, broke geto suguru.

"i..." geto spoke up, but no words followed.

"girls," you finally looked up, the heartbreakingly sad smile you gave the two, made them begin crying slightly harder. "go upstairs, i'll be there to talk to you guys after i talk to suguru. please."

giving into your pleas, the two hesitantly made their way upstairs, leaving you and geto alone. silence engulfed the two of you. you stared at the long haired man, your eyes raking up his body. your eyes following the trail of multiple hickeys that littered his chest.

"why?" your voice so weak, so destroyed.

"i don't...i don't know..." geto answered truthfully, the sound of your heart shattering echoed in your ears, your eyes no longer being able to keep the salty water at bay.

"if you didn't want to be committed, why didn't you say something?" you cried, a sob escaping your throat.

"i did!- i do! i don't know why, it just happened..." geto spoke, his words breaking your heart even more. the deep red marks across his chest that was out for the world to see, a loud reminder that geto suguru, didn't love you. and if he did, he didn't love you enough to stay devoted to you.

choked sobs escaped your throat. you covered your mouth in attempt to calm yourself. you took a deep breath, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.

"we're done."

geto's eyes snapped to your's hearing your sentence, his eyes widening. you swallowed hard, walking around the island and past geto's frozen body. as you walked past him, he took a hold of your hand, gently tugging to keep you from continuing your way up the stairs, forcing you to look at him.

"you're not actually going to leave me and the girls," his eyes looking through your's. "right?"

"i loved the girls as if my own, sug- geto." you cried. "i loved you, took care of you, devoted myself to you and this is what i get in return?"

you snatched your hand out of his grip. you stared at him deep into his eyes, tears fell out of your orbs as if never ending. you turned your back, making your way up the stairs to mimiko and nanako's room. before ascending even more, you stopped. without turning around you spoke before continuing your way up the flight of stairs.

"we're breaking up."

━━━ NANAMI KENTO

it had been a while since you've seen your beloved boyfriend due to having a business trip over seas. nanami kento, the man you desperately wanted to marry and have a family with. a hard working man, never trying to work overtime, loving, soft, gentle and so much more.

you had decided to surprise him at his office with his favorite lunch, wanting to eat with him before he had to go back to work. making your way through the building, greeting familiar faces, a skip in your step as you made your way to his office.

giggling to yourself as you spot his windows covered with blinds, you knew he was working himself to the bone, trying not to stay at the office longer than he has too. a bright smile made it's way to your features as you fixed yourself, wanting to look presentable for when you surprise him.

taking out the spare key he had given you to his office, with the reason being, he didn't want to be disturbed as he worked with people entering his office unannounced. only you being able to get to him whenever you felt. you brought your phone out, pressing record, wanting to make a cute memory of you surprising him after being away for so long. you unlock the office door.

you brought your phone out in front of you, recording. the smile you once had immediately dropping.

there sat nanami kento in his chair, with his cock out and his assistant on her knees, tits out and mouth around his dick.

"WHAT THE FUCK, KENTO?!" you yelled tears falling down your face as you quickly put your phone down, never stopping the recording.

with a yelp, his assistant raises to her feet, sloppily fixing her shirt as she tried to walk past you. grabbing her shoulder, you forcefully make her face you.

"i would hit you, but i refuse to touch a whore." you sneered at her. she rolled her eyes at you with a scoff.

"not my fault he's easy. besides you obviously couldn't keep him satisfied, so i helped him." she snapped back with a smirk. with a laugh, you waved your phone in the air.

"i hope you have fun living in the street, where you belong, slut." her eyes widened in realization. immediately breaking down, nanami's assistant begins to stutter out words.

"isn't that too much?" nanami's voice made you snap you head at him. seeing him zip up his pants, he hesitantly walked over to you, his eyebrows furrowed.

"oh, shut the fuck up, nanami." you bit back with so much anger, shocking him.

ignoring the woman who cried as she ran out the office, your eyes never left his. the feeling of anger and heartbreak grew in you as he stood there staring at you, your tears never ending. your tears mixed with anger and sadness.

"when did you get back?" nanami asked, his voice weak. "i thought you were back next week."

you scoffed. "why does it matter, huh? so you wouldn't get caught fucking a skank?"

his silence angered you even more. seething, the video that had ended upon you raising your phone in the air, without hesitation, you sent it to the company's ceo, having met him at nanami's work parties, along with sending it to any of the other office workers' phones that you had saved. including sending it to nanami kento.

to whoever watched the video, the sound of you silently giggling in excitement as you unlocked the door, then quickly turning into sheer horror at the obvious scene of nanami and his assistant. the video soon catching your conversation with the assistant.

the realization was soon hitting him. he was scared.

"you're fucking disgusting." you spat, roughly wiping your tears away, before leaving the office.

"live a fan-fucking-tabulous life, nanami kento."

━━━ FUSHIGURO TOJI

"what do you think i should make for dinner, megu?" you asked the teenage boy who sat beside you as you drove the two of you to your apartment.

"gyudon sounds good." megumi answered shortly after.

the two of you held conversation, soon making it to the apartment you had moved into a few years ago. making your way upstairs with megumi close behind. unlocking the front door, you and megumi begin putting groceries away, soon beginning on making dinner.

"did you tell your dad we didn't continue to the arcade with yuiji and nobara?" you asked as you cut up the onions.

"nah," megumi shrugged. "do you have any ideas of what kind of food you want at the wedding, mom?"

mom. the feeling of megumi calling you that never got old. it made your heart leap with joy knowing megumi saw you as his mother. you had known megumi for almost five years, it took him so long to get used to you being around due to his father's past histories of bringing random women home. he thought if he got attached, you would disappear too.

just a few months ago, megumi began calling you 'mom'. the memory still fresh and with forever be engraved with the first time he accidentally called you his mom. soon it began being a habit of his to call you 'mom' or 'ma'. but that was another story for another time.

toji proposed to you a year ago, at a jockey. of course being in love with him and his son, you said yes. you and toji's wedding was set to happen in a month. as time ticks, the closer the wedding got, the more excited you had become (including megumi).

you and megumi continued to make dinner, before your guys' attention had been brought to the sound of the front door knob jiggling.

the sound of a woman moaning and mouths smacking against one another, reverberated around the apartment, making your stomach drop. toji and a random woman making out as he carried her into the house, as you and megumi looked at the sight in horror.

the sound of you dropping the glass soy sauce bottle shattering onto the floor, made toji and the woman pull apart from their kiss and to the noise. toji's eyes widened, seeing his son and his fiance standing there.

dropping the woman, he shoved her out of the apartment, closing the door roughly. he stood in front of you and megumi. without knowing, you began crying. tears pouring out of your eyes as you stared at him.

"again, toji?" you whimpered, covering your mouth from the sobs that were escaping your throat. the broken shards of glass on the floor, perfectly depicting how your heart felt.

"again?" megumi repeated, his eyes narrowing at his father. "what do you mean again?"

"go to your room." fushiguro's rough voice demanded at his son.

"no. what does mom mean by 'again'?" megumi pried, his fists clenching.

"go to your room before i make you, megumi." fushiguro demanded, his voice getting stern.

rubbing megumi's back in comfort, you whispered. "please, just go. i don't want you and your dad to fight."

"tch." megumi clicked his tongue, pushing past his dad, slamming his room door shut.

"seriously, toji?" you sobbed. "you're doing this, again?"

the sight of you sobbing, ignited something in him. the diamond ring on your finger, glistened in the kitchen's lights. all at once, the realization of his actions cam dawning upon him, but it was too late.

"i know, i know," toji's voice unusually soft compared to the voice he used with his son. "i swear this was the last time. i promise. you can forgive me again, right?"

shaking your head, as you continued to sob into your hand. toji tried to embrace you, but was shoved away. looking at you in masked shock.

"toj- fushiguro," you hiccuped through your cries. "i can't. not anymore."

his eyes widened when we watches you taking the engagement ring off, placing it on the table.

"there's no way you're leaving, right?" he asked, afraid of your answer. the once composed, daring and rough man, began to crumble right before you. "the wedding is just a few weeks away. you can't- i've made plenty of mistakes, i'm not perfect. i won't do it ever again, especially when i've made you my wife, c'mon, doll."

"that's not how this works!" you yelled at him between your sobs. "i'm done, fushiguro."

"what about megumi? he finally called you 'mom', right? you're not seriously throwing that away." fushiguro spoke with haste.

"i will always, and forever be there for my sweet megumi," you hiccuped. "together or not, fushiguro, megumi can reach me whenever he needs, i'll fill in the shoes as his mother until he no longer needs me."

"what about me? i need you." fushiguro tried to hold you, but you move away from him.

"no," you whimpered. "the wedding is off, we're done."

note(s):

not proofread

i hope this wasn't too ooc! i wrote nanami and geto as people who wouldn't care at first but once it all settles in, it starts to hit them hard, lmk if i should do a pt 2

[maybanksprincess]

im your baby

WARNINGS: a little angsty, fluff towards the end, cussing, mentions of sophia, insecurity, reassurance, alcohol consumption, suggestive-ish, mentions of marriage.

lias note — requested by my lovely mootie @rafenroostersgirl, this ask was so amazing and I loved writing about it! im not the best at angst so please excuse any mistakes :( thank you so much for the request. go read her ask here!

pairings: crybaby!reader x rafe cameron

Rafe came to the bar to get a little tipsy and forget about his problems for a while. Ward had been up his ass for what felt like the longest, he had plenty of contracts at home waiting for him to sign, lots of business deals to seal, and on top of everything, he had to deal with your clinginess.

It was very often that you'd get clingy and always want to be around him, but he was a busy man, he'd never dealt with anyone wanting to cling to him, so it was difficult to adjust to. He was used to always being alone, or too busy to think about anything else but what he was working on.

This whole relationship thing was new to him, so naturally he isn't a very touchy-feely guy, and wants his own space, but you were the exact opposite. You always wanted hugs or attention, constantly pulling on his arm or clinging to his side.

he was honestly used to hooking up with girls and leaving the second after, until he met you. Something about you struck his interest, something he couldn't ignore. But geez, no one told him how exhausting it was to have a girlfriend.

On top of everything, he would get strange glances, and cruel words spread over the island about him all because he's dating a Pogue. no kook dates a Pogue. Out of everyone on the island, you'd sort of figure Rafe would be the one to be telling someone else that. But no, he was actually the one in love with a Pogue. Someone who came from the cut. How embarrassing for him....

as he's lost in his thoughts, he's suddenly interrupted by a sweet voice coming from behind the counter. He puts his drink down on the table, his movements slightly sluggish from the bit of alcohol he'd already consumed. he tilts his head up to look at her, taking in her toothy smile, and bartender uniform that she has on.

his thoughts are interrupted once more when she looks down at him, speaking softly "are you okay?" she asks, with a gentle and concerned look, while whipping up a drink for another customer sat at the bar.

he nods his head vigorously, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. he peels his eyes back open and look up at her behind the counter, "yeah 'm fine. jus' a real shitty night." he says, lifting the cup back to his lips.

she tilts her head, gently trying to press the issue, seeing that he was stressed and upset. "Do you want to talk about it?" she says, picking up the cleaning supplies for the counter. his eyes study her, watching as she cleans off the counter, his pupils dilated.

he ponders on the question in his drunken mind for a moment before replying, his words slightly slurred. "yeah, yeah. can i get another one of these though?" he says, raising his glass.

she nods, grabbing the glass out of his shaky hand, pouring the alcohol into it, waiting for him to speak when he's ready. after a few moments, the buzzed blonde lifts his head again, looking up at her.

"My girlfriend, she's just so annoying..." he starts, "I mean she always wants to be next to me, huggin' me and shit." he says, waving his hand and rolling his eyes. he snatches the half empty glass, bringing it to his lips once more, taking a long sip, his words slurred, and voice unsteady.

he swallows the liquid with a loud gulp, turning to narrow his eyes at the brunette once more. "im not used t' that, y'know? its all new to me..." he says, a hint of vulnerability behind his words.

---

Rafe had been ignoring you for a few days now, figuring out ways to end the conversation faster, trying to avoid your affectionate gestures, staying out later, being too busy with work to hangout, it was starting to make you feel like he was seeing someone else.

you looked at his shared location, driving to the location it showed to you. taking a deep breath, you step out of the car, entering the crowded bar. you fiddle with your hands shyly as you walk around to find the buzzed man.

When you finally spotted him, you almost felt relieved, until you saw him talking to the pretty brunette behind the counter, her smile making your insides churn. You came to a halt, hesitating for a moment, before continuing to walk over to him.

you reach out with shaky hands, tapping his shoulder softly, the familiar feeling of the tears starting to form in your eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.

He sees the tears forming in your eyes and he immediately feels a sense of protectiveness and guilt, pulling you to his broad chest, giving you a hug the best he can in his drunken state. he knows better than to say anything, so he waits for you to speak.

"Are you seeing someone else?" you hiccup through the tears, not daring to bring your head away from his chest, soaking his shirt with your salty tears. he shushes you softly, cradling your head like you were the most precious baby in the world.

"no, no, no, hey, 'm not cheating." he slurs, the strong scent of alcohol on his breath making your nose turn up in disgust, but he doesnt seem to realize.

the tears continue to spill looking from him to the lady pouring drinks for people, silently sizing her up, figuring out how she was better than you. Rafe grabs your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head so he can look you straight in the eye.

even if he was drunk, he really loved you and he wouldn't cheat. no matter how sensitive, clingy, impatient, and poor you were, he knew who his girlfriend was. And for you he was willing to try and change his ways.

he grabs your hand in his bigger one, intertwining his fingers with yours, leading you out of the bar and to his car that costed more than your life.

he cups your cheek in his large hand, the coolness of his ring hitting your damp skin as he looks down at you with soft, vulnerable eyes that are reserved for only you. "Baby you gotta believe me when I say I only want you." he pleads, using the pads of both his thumbs to wipe your tears away.

you sniffle and nod, soaking up his reassurances, and leaning into his soft touches. you knew despite rafe's rough exterior, he was trying to change. and you wanted to be there for him.

"I know..." you mumble softly, pulling him into a tight hug, making up for all the lost time. "Just promise you won't try to hide your feelings anymore. when things get bad at home, you can talk to me."

"i know," he says on the verge of his own tears. "Which is why I wanna marry you... I wanna be with you the rest of my life." a few tears fall from his blue eyes as he speaks.

he pulls away from the hug to slip his gold signet ring off his finger, staring at it for a moment before grabbing your left hand, slipping it onto your ring finger.

"I don't have a wedding ring on me right now," he chuckles in between his happy, drunken tears, "but for now, I want you to have this." he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the ring on your finger, his lips lingering for a few moments.

you open your mouth to say something, but you didn't know what to say. you pull him into another tight embrace, sighing softly in relief of being in his arms again, admiring the ring on your finger that was once on his.

"I love you so much, Rafe." You say, even though you could barely speak through the intense emotions that were flooding through your veins.

"I love you too, sweetheart. and I'm gonna be the man you need, the man that you deserve. you hear?" he says, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, picking you up with ease, pressing kisses to your neck.

a mischievous grin spreads across his face, nibbling on your neck. "gotta bring y' home and make it up to you. huh baby?" he grins.

[serotosin]

Cockwarming w Sevika

(would like to add this is only my second time writing anything NSFW so no i am not the best and the more i reread this the more i hate it so here i am posting it before i hate it too much, anyways enjoy ya little sevika enthusiasts)

It started with you coming into sevika’s space, desperate for attention and it ended with her annoyed and you sat on her lap with the strap buried deep inside you, she was annoyed at you’re bothersome antics and desperate attempts for attention and this was your punishment.

Her grip on your hips were unyielding and every small movement never escaped her notice.

“Quit moving.” She warns in a low tone as she delivers a small warning smack to your thigh, yet her eyes never look up from what she’s doing

She doesn’t see the need in your eyes, the furrow of your brows, the way your bottom lip is stuck between your teeth as you bit it. She didn’t have to look at you to know what your expression was.

“Sevika..please-“ Your pleas gets cut short as Sevika raises a brow and looks up at you with a silent warning in her eyes

“I said no. You’re going to sit here and warm this cock like a good girl, okay?” Sevika responds in a cold tone but you didn’t miss the lust in her eyes as she looked back at her task

You bit back the urge to whine or whimper as you knew the better you listened the more likely you were to get what you wanted…but the feeling of being so full, the tip pressing against all the right places even with each unintentional movement was making your need harder to contain.

Minutes passed and to you it felt like hours, you were so needy you started to try and subtly shift your hips, just a little as you were desperate.

“What did I tell you?” Sevika says as her grip on your hips grows increasingly tighter, she speaks through clenched teeth

“I couldn’t help it! This is torture!” You whine out as you grip onto your own thighs as you lean forward a bit, Sevika’s irritation makes her snap.

In one quick movement the stuff on top of the desk was thrown to the floor and she stood up, pushing the toy deeper into you as she pushed you with her and bent you over the desk, she didn’t wait to start snapping her hips into you, driving the toy into you over and over again as her hips slam against your ass.

“This what you wanted, Hm? To be fucked? Have this tight fucking hole ruined by me?” Sevika says through gritted teeth as she reaches a hand around to start circling your clit and the other hand grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you back

“Y-yes…Fuck…yes!” You moan out your response as you had quickly became cock dumb, unable to focus on anything other than the way sevika fucks you and handles you

“Look at you, practically drooling over how i’m fucking you” Sevika reaches down and grabs your thigh, lifting it onto the desk so she can drive the toy deeper into your dripping cunt, squelching with each deep thrust

Your eyes were half lidded and to sevika, you had the most sluttiest expression she had ever seen and she was loving it, she started to rub your clit faster as she placed her free hand on the desk next to your head, her head dipping to place her mouth right next to your ear

“Be a good girl, Cum for me…all over my cock, c’mon baby…” Sevika coo’s into your ear, knowing that her sweet tone would send you over

You gripped the wood of the desk under you as you had felt your orgasm wash over you, your eyes rolled back and you arched your back down and pressed your chest against the cool material as you moaned out desperately, squeezing the toy so tightly as you came all over it, Sevika’s name leaving your lips like a prayer.

“Good girl…such a good girl for me..” Sevika slows her movements as she turns her head and places a soft kiss on your shoulder

Once your orgasm had passed she slowly slid out of you and took the harness off and set it aside, she sat back in her seat and pulled you with her, letting you curl up in her lap, your head laid on her shoulder as she ran her fingers through your hair

“You did so good for me, baby…I love you” Sevika whispers softly as she kisses your head then lays her cheek on top of where she just kissed

“I love you more” You mutter out as your eyes were already closing and sleep was soon taking over

[docdudo]

Familiar 141 - Young Witch!Reader (Part 4)

"What?" You asked, your voice quiet and laced with a hint of snark, just as annoyed as you were cautious of them.

There you were, pressed against the big, red armchair they had placed you in, staring back at the four familiars with a mix of annoyance and fear, eyes never leaving their intimidating figures.

Yes, they were your familiars now, but... it's a big adjustment to get used to so quickly.

You were still cautious, that's to be expected...

"We're going to have a talk." Price says simply, though his serious expression just makes you sink deeper into the armchair. "It's a bit overdue, but we wanted to ensure the bond had settled nicely before addressing any of this."

His comment makes you glance down at yourself, glaring at the gold bands still snugly wrapped around your arms and legs.

"First of all, let's start by the most important part. We can see you're not a part of any Coven. Where did you use to live, doll?"

You huff slightly at his question, since you were pretty sure Kyle and Johnny already told him about your little conversation outside.

And, by the way, why is this jerk speaking in the past?? 'Used to live'??

"I live with my grandpa at the edge of this forest..." You answer quietly, still clearly annoyed, but toning it down to avoid being rude to these ancient beings.

Your comment made Johnny scowl once again, huffing in annoyance as he crossed his arms quietly in the corner of the couch. Kyle still wore a pensive expression, tilting his head slightly as he listened to your words once again. Simon merely cocked an eyebrow, maintaining his relaxed posture as he leaned against the nearest wall. And Price, he simply nodded slowly, a slight frown forming on his face.

"Right..., your grandfather, you say?" John repeats slowly, watching you nod with conviction.

"Witches dinae have 'grandfathers'." Soap grumbled, still pretty much annoyed with your insistance.

"Watch it, Soap." Gaz sneered, slapping the back of his head.

"Ah won't! How do ye want me calm when all I can hear is that a human man kidnapped a baby witch??" The snarl he let out with his words made you flinch back in the armchair, looking between the two of them with hesitant and scared eyes. "A fuckin' man, Gaz! Are ye not worried??"

"The two of you, out."

Silence fell over the room as Soap and Gaz turned to fix Price with piercing stares, their expressions etched with angry defiance, making it painfully clear they had no intention of leaving.

"Do I need to repeat myself, lads?" He snarled, turning to stare back at them with a face you wish you never see directed at you.

"We're leaving." Gaz huffs in controlled anger, getting up from the couch and grabbing Soap so he can pull him by force out of the room.

Soap resisted a little, just a little, but as soon as he saw your scared expression, body pressed firmly against the armchair, he relutantly matched steps with Kyle, leaving the room.

Ghost seized the opportunity, pushing off the wall and walking to the couch to sit beside Price, where the other two were sitting moments ago. He was bigger than the others too, such a large man that was impossible not to be overwhelmed by his presence. Then again, the one they call their captain, Price, is just as bad when it came to intimidation.

"Sorry about them, doll," John drawled in his gruff voice, though it still carried a gentle undertone. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, bringing himself almost to your eye level. "Those animals don't know how to behave in front of a kid. But don't blame them too much, first time actually interacting with a witchling."

"Talk a bit more about your gran'father, won’t ya?" Ghost rumbles gruffly, his voice so much like Price’s that it catches you slightly off guard for a few moments, just blinking slowly in his direction.

Now that you were alone with these two, the atmosphere felt completely different compared to being alone with Soap and Gaz. Sure, they were all powerful and intimidating, but these two were in a league of their own—much scarier, more imposing. Maybe it was the way Price spoke with unshakable authority, or the way Ghost sat manspreading on the couch, leaning back as if he couldn’t care less, his face almost entirely masked except for his piercing eyes.

It was intimidating, and it made you freeze up in fear of saying something wrong. You weren't sure why they had taken such interest in your grandfather, or why Soap keep insisting 'Witches can't have one', but you knew something was wrong here (which isn't impossible considering that you knew basically nothing about real witches).

"He's... he's just... it's just my grandfather..." You mumble quietly, keeping your eyes on your own lap, away from their intense expressions.

"I understand tha', but could you talk a bit more about 'im?" Ghost says simply, slowly, leaning forward on the couch similar to Price's position. "Human, innit?"

"A-Ah, yes.... he's... he's nice, mhm... short too, but that's because he's already old..." You were still speaking quietly, but you felt a bit more confident talking about your grandfather, eyes slowly going up. "He's... 79 this year, but he doesn't like celebrating his birthday... says it makes him feel old...... ah, he always lived around here, never liked living too close to people. Likes nature and all that..." You shrugh a little, not really knowing what they wanted to hear.

You're pretty sure your grandpa is a very simple old man; There's no reason for them to be so cautious. Even if that guy was some kind of criminal in his younger years, he's surely no threat at all now a days, not when he's already this old and thin.

You feel the need to voice your confusion, this is going too far.

"He's... very normal, I don't understand what's... the problem here..." You mumble, frowning a little as you finally gather enough courage to stare back at them.

"How much do you know about witches, darlin'?" Prices asks back, still pretty much patient and calm.

That's good. Except that he's still not actually answering your damn question-!

"Dunno, not a lot." You grumble back, shruging once again. "What does that has to do with my grandpa? He's human."

"You see, witchling… witches don’t usually live with humans," Ghost says softly, as if trying not to offend you.

You continue to stare at him with an impassive expression. You’d already deduced as much, but you still didn’t see the problem here.

Price lets out a small chuckle at your confusion, shaking his head slightly.

"What we're trying to say, kid, is that it's pretty rare to find a witch not living in a Coven. It's dangerous for witchlings to be alone. And… the only male interaction a witchling should have is with other witches' familiars."

The way he speaks is surprisingly soft, but it’s clear he’s trying to clue you in on the fact that your situation is highly unusual. In truth, he also seemed a bit unsettled by the idea of a witchling like you living with a man. They were all uncomfortable with it, actually—trying their best to remain at least somewhat civilized, resisting the urge to immediately lock you away in their arms and ensure no one ever got close to you again.

"Ah… so all witches are women?" You had sort of deduced that a while ago from things your grandfather had said, but it was good to finally have confirmation.

Their reactions, however, told you that maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. Ghost, his face mostly hidden beneath a skull balaclava, immediately widened his eyes in surprise, his body going rigid on the couch. And Price, who had been wearing a faint smile, dropped it instantly, his expression turning more intense than ever.

They spent a few moments in complete silence, simply staring at you, before Price finally spoke again, his voice cautious.

"…Yes, witches are all female." He then closes his eyes, seemingly gathering strength and patience—or something like that. "I guess that's to be expected... you're clearly new to this."

"And all familiars are male." Ghost adds, now calmer, his eyes serene and his posture more relaxed.

You blink slowly at that, nodding a bit. That's new information for you, so does that mean...?

"So... witches have babies with familiars?" You ask innocently, tilting your head slightly to the side.

And once again, their entire demeanor shifts as they freeze, shocked expressions plastered across their faces (or, the most shocked their mostly expresionless faces went).

"YA GOT TO BE FACKIN' KIDDIN' MAH!" Soap yelled from somewhere deeper in the house, causing you to sit up straighter in alarm—though the quick sound of Kyle shutting him up with a slap quickly followed.

Was that a stupid question to ask?? What's with these reactions??

"No, no, witches do not have kids with familiars." Price quickly interjected with a firm voice, his brow furrowed in a mix of concern and disgust.

"Price, it's a baby witch…" Ghost reasons, still a bit rattled but mostly unbothered by now. "She doesn't know any better."

"Then we'll teach her," Price says with finality, getting up from the couch in one fluid motion and approaching your small curled up form on the armchair.

You let out a small, indignant sound as he picked you up effortlessly in his arms, patting your back gently to calm you down. One of his hands went to caress the gold bracelet on your arm, a satisfied smile crossing his face, as if reminding himself he had a witch once again.

"Mhm, me and Kyle will take our time teaching her everything she needs to know. Gonna be a proper witch, aren't you, witchling?" Ghost rumbles gently, his voice so low it almost sounds like a growl.

You watch him get up from the couch to stand by Price, your gaze lifting to meet his face. You’re just a little alarmed as he rubs your cheek with the back of his gloved hand in a gentle caress, rumbling quietly from his chest.

You keep forgetting these beings are not humans like you're used to.

"Why cannae be a teacher too?" Soap drawls from where he’s now leaning against the farthest wall, Kyle just smiling in amusement as he stands by his side, arms crossed.

"You're not cut for it." Ghost deadpans back, still rubbing your cheek with the back of his hand.

"Ah'll let ya knae I'm totally cut for it." He smiles back deviously, approaching you all with confident steps and an amused Kyle right behind him. "Right, lassie?"

Ghost rolls his eyes slightly at Soap's antics, hovering close to you as Price gently lowers you to the ground, in case you lose your balance.

"I still don't get it..." You mumble, a bit confused as you look up at their faces. "And... my grandpa... he must be worried about me... I-I have to... go back..."

Johnny immediately frowns at your words, approaching you instinctively like you were gonna run away any second now, but Price nods slightly, pensive.

"Actually, that's a good idea. Let's meet this "grandpa" of yours."

[mixingandmelting]

Give Life Another Chance

Summary: He had always had your back when he was Robin. He'll always have your back even as an Outlaw

Word: 3.9k

A/N: Finally did Jason's version of childhood friend to lover trope!

Soft, black curls and a smile that could win the hearts of millions- there were so many good points you probably should’ve noticed first. But having been kicked out of the orphanage again and preoccupied to find a safe place to sleep on the streets for the night, your mind was slow to process that you were just saved from being jumped by Robin. So, your brain chose to point something else out as it registered.  Like how haughty he was being with both hands on his hips and an eyebrow raised as he had asked why a kid like you was out in the street this late. 

“You’re short.” 

“…Seriously? Instead of a thanks you tell me I’m short?” 

You were going to ask him if he had any plans on denying what you had just said when one of the thugs on the ground let out a groan. 

“Let’s go!” 

Quickly, boy wonder wrapped an arm around your waist before using the Batarang to pull the two of you up one of the near-by buildings. Surprisingly, you never once let go of him nor scream as he swung from one building to the next. Was it from trust? Survival instincts? You don’t know.  The next few minutes blurred as two teens continued to swing from building to building until he finally landed in front of a 24/7 burger place.

“Wha-where-“

Where did he get the cap he plopped on your head from? When did he change into the hoodie and sweatpants? Your head was spinning from so many unanswered questions that he was practically dragging you into the restaurant with a firm yet gentle grip around your hand. Shuffling you into a booth, he sat across from you and ordered two sets of the same burger meal. 

You both sat there quietly until the food came out. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Robin asked, noticing you hadn’t touched your food yet. 

You blankly blinked at him then at the food in front of you. Slowly, you reached for the burger and took a bite. Then another. You take the napkin he offered across the table to wipe your mouth and cheeks from both the food stains and tears while eating. 

By the time you finished, you both were slurping on your soft drinks, stuffed and satisfied.

“Well?” He asked, his eyes behind the domino mask trained on you. 

“… Why?” He must’ve expected you to ask him from the shrug he gave. 

“You looked like you needed it.” 

You looked like you needed it? 

“You were planning to sleep out tonight weren’t you? How were you going to do that on an empty stomach?” 

“I…” You paused for a moment, fiddling with your thumbs. “I’m used to it.”

He didn’t cue you or pressed for answers. It was all on you, spilling everything you’ve gone through from how your parents had abandoned you at age four from being chased by loan sharks to how you were continually being kicked out of each orphanage you enter for accidentally catching the employees embezzling funds meant to maintain the place. 

The one question he did ask was about school. He didn’t pursue further when you told him everyone knew your clothes were from hand-me-downs and the Salvation Army. 

You appreciated how he didn’t offer words of faux sympathy, simply muttering with an “I see”. You were curious what expression he was making though as he had his head turned toward the window and the hoodie pulled over his head blocked your view. 

Once the glasses were emptied, you both headed out. 

“Do you have any friends at your school?” 

You weren’t taken off guard anymore, finding yourself adapted to your current situation. 

“No.”

“Then head to this place. It’s nicer compared to all the others you were placed in.” 

Unexpectedly, an address for somewhere in the nicer neighborhood of Gotham was neatly written on the napkin.

“Yeah, and how am I supposed to get there? Have them let me in? It’s not like I have a social worker or anyone who’ll fill the paperwork for me.” 

“It’ll be fine. Just take the bus and walk there. Once you get there, just give them your name and then, they’ll let you in.” 

It was suspicious to say the least. At the same time, you didn’t have anything to lose.

“Then you have to promise to come visit me tomorrow.” Childishly, you stuck your pinky out at him. “ ‘Cause if you don’t, it’ll be your fault I’m dead.” 

“You aren’t going to die,” he snorted, yet wrapped his pinky around yours. “If anything, it’ll be a step forward to make life a bit better.” 

He was right. Life did get better when you arrived at the written address. With no hesitation despite the time of your arrival being past 1:00 AM, a kind woman welcomed you in and helped get you situated. For a week, you were busy getting used to the new environment where everything and everyone was… well, normal. None of the other kids looked as if they were struggling or waging war for survival. The adults were attentive and fostered healthy maturity. 

It helped that Robin had decided to visit you every night rather than just the next day. Along with checking in that you were okay, he listened to everything you had in your mind. The struggles, the challenges, the confusion from how none of your past experiences could’ve prepared for this big of a change. In a good way of course. 

Too bad the visits became less frequent once you started going to your new school. He mentioned about getting in trouble for not focusing on his patrols the last time. Your disappointment must’ve been evident when he proposed to do the  “pen-pal thing”. Using how you mentioned you’d do anything to thank him on the promised night as an excuse, he apparently had been wanting to do it but didn’t have anyone until you. 

That’s how you ended up leaving your window open ajar every night, having slipped a letter between the slim gap between the sill and the window itself and getting one back the same way, same place.

School on the other hand was eventful. Your only friend was Jason Todd, who, you had to admit, put in a lot of work to get close to you. To be fair, you didn’t expect someone to approach you all friendly on your first day. There were some hiccups along the way, however you guys managed to get through them and became buddies. 

There wasn’t a day you guys weren’t hanging together. Homework was being done at the library, talking about the books you both recently read during lunch. The time you both didn’t talk to each other was during class. Unlike you who sometimes found the drawl on Homo sapiens boring, Jason was soaking in all the knowledge with enthusiasm. You once called him school-freak from how much he loved to learn, being in school and exploring the topics the teachers were going over. He retorted that you were mad you couldn’t beat him in getting a higher grade during the last exam. You simply snatched his book and ran away with it, not appreciating how he was right.

With Robin during the night and Jason during the day, you were brighter and friendlier. Slowly, yet surely, you were found smiling more and approachable. Your schoolmates and teachers warmed up to you, treating you like one of them. You also had a place you could call home temporarily, where you could relax and enjoy the presence of having somewhat of a family.

The serenity and joy you had ended up lasting for two years. Jason suddenly stopped coming to school. Robin hadn’t visited you for a while nor sent you a letter. With Robin, you assumed it was because he was busy fighting criminals alongside Batman. Jason? You got worried about him. You tried to get in touch with him in every possible way you can. You asked the teachers, who were also worried as they didn’t know why he hadn’t been attending. You used the school’s directory book they hand out every year and sent letters to his residence. 

It was when you got the courage and called his home phone you were given the news. It went from shock. Denial. And then devastation. You felt completely ruined. Your eyes were glass and devoid of emotions when you had gone to his grave, dressed in black, holding a bouquet of red roses (he once said in passing that they were his favorite). 

Your one friend you made for the first time in life- you refused to believe he was dead. The news reported it was from an incident related to the Joker, making things much harder from the sheer weight of reality. Especially knowing the survival rate of the victims when the notorious villain was involved. 

You managed to maintain sanity superficially, convincing everyone that you were over it. That you were fine. Never realizing the reason for you to hold on was from the belief that Robin would soon visit you again when he had time or at least take the letters that were growing longer where you switched size of the envelopes multiple times.

Things became complicated when Batman, who hadn’t been seen with Robin for so long, made an appearance with him again. Problem was, the Robin next to the older man wasn’t your Robin. Instead of soft curls, his hair was silky and straight. The costume was different. The way the new Robin smiled wasn’t the same as the other Robin. Your Robin.

During the time Robin wasn’t present, you had thought he was severely injured.  Hence your expression of concern was always written in your letters, even in the midst of your grief. But what if. Just what if- 

You wanted it to be not true so much as you matched dates to events. The day of Jason’s death to around when Robin stopped sending you letters. The day Jason was seen with a cast to the day Robin wasn’t present on a mission. It was a cruel, awful joke played by the fates. Your Robin was Jason Todd. And the people- no, person- you loved with every fiber in your heart was dead. 

Jason, on the other hand, was never really into people back when he was a kid. Helping those in need and bringing justice so those suffering would finally have peace? Of course. He would always do it. Interest in a specific person though? He didn’t until he found you walking out and about in the middle of Park Row. Initially, out of empathy from knowing what it was like living in that awful area of Gotham, he was planning to follow you in the case you decided to get your hand dirty and mess with the wrong nest. He was proven wrong and soon changed his assessment of you to respect when he watched you give candy from your bag into the hands of the little kids hiding in the alley. You weren't being dumb about it either, posing it as if you were threatening contrary to what had actually happened. The longer he followed you, the more he saw how knowledgeable you were, knowing when to pick fights and when to keep your head low to stay out of trouble as you walked through the different alleys.

It made him more curious about you, from how you managed to save an adult man from a beating by tripping the assailant with the cover of his sidekick being the one to kick a nearby can. When he read the information he was able to find about you, he felt bitter. It was one thing to live with a dead-beat dad and a drugged out mom, but it was a whole different situation when having to live out in the street without a roof to cover your head most of the time, trying to get by on your own with no adults. 

He tried to think of something, anything to help you that night, after closing out the files that had been on the monitor in the Batcave. He started out with following you around during patrols and beating up anyone who seemed suspicious or approaching you with ill-intent behind your back. In his spare time, he was figuring out ways to get in a better child-care system considering you were still a minor, just like him. After hearing about his old man sponsoring to open an orphanage in central Gotham, he mustered the courage to put in a favor.

His plan was all set and ready to go once Bruce got involved, all that was left was to get you on board. Lady Luck must’ve been smiling at him when the perfect opportunity arose when he caught sight of some thugs hiding in the alley you were about to pass. That definitely got your attention when the thug that was close to grabbing you by the scruff went down with a thud. 

He never understood that awful and tragic feeling of seeing someone empty until he saw your eyes. Blank and filled with nothing, not even a spark of resentment or rage. He swallowed the lump in his throat, heart burning from the evidence of how the corruption of Gotham claimed another young victim. 

“So, what’s a kid like you roaming the streets at this time?” 

He didn’t mean to sound cocky. He was trying to sound normal, mustering the tiny drop of remaining strength in him to not waver when you looked so broken. Doesn’t mean he was impressed with your jab though. He had been told by Alfred that he was taller than Dick when he was the same age as him for your information. 

As he proceeded to help you get another chance with life, it wasn't part of his plan to become besties, even more so develop feelings for you. Sure, when he approached you as Jason Todd, things didn’t go well at first considering he knew you but you didn’t know him. His civilian self, to be exact. But as he got to know you as both Jason and Robin, he came to know the other side of you. The one with a heart that could encompass the whole world, a mind that had the potential to excel in anything you put your mind into. He constantly worried over the chances of you getting hurt, despite the rough exterior, from being so fragile.

Your letters reflected this as there were times your vulnerability appeared in writing on your thoughts of others. Yes there was hatred and annoyance but always in the last paragraph, you express your desire to understand rather than to exact revenge. You wanted to give them a chance and connect, not resent. 

The day he was captured was the day he wanted to confess to you. Reveal who he was and see if he could have a chance to be in your heart. So when he had come back to the living, he didn’t seek you out. He was scared to find out you had moved on without him. That he was simply left as a fragment of a memory like everyone else. 

You would’ve laughed at the expression he made if you had seen him when he saw you at his grave. He was camping, hoping that Bruce would appear and prove him wrong. To show that he was still loved and in his heart as his son. All he could do was hide his presence behind the giant oak tree, slightly tilting his head out to watch what you were doing. 

He watched your form from behind as you sat down in front of his grave before shuffling and pulling out folded pieces of paper. With his hiding spot not being that far off, he could hear you talking. And he wished he didn’t. A giant block of ice settled to the bottom of his stomach, listening to you read your letters you apparently continued to write to him. Your voice didn’t waver, casual and light as if you were truly talking to him like in the past. 

When you got to what seemed like the end, your voice cracked. Then a sniffle. For a moment, he forgot the anger and hatred he harbored, his knuckles going white from suppressing himself to reaching out and comforting you. It ripped him into pieces from the sorrow and wretch you were emitting, sobbing and whimpering why he couldn’t have told you sooner. Why he left without letting you say your final farewells. How you wanted him back.

You get interrupted and quickly forced to wipe your tears when your phone rung. 

“This is Officer-“ 

He stopped breathing. Out of all things, you became a police officer. The hope to meet and rekindle with you was completely crushed, his status not at all glamorous or society acceptable at the moment. When he heard ruffling, he came back to reality. He could feel his eyes well-up as he watched you place a familiar bouquet of flowers on his grave before getting up and leaving. 

Once you were gone, he walked over and picked the bouquet up delicately. For the first time since his revival, he was grieving for someone other than him, someone he still loves. Ironically, he wished that you were the one to have forgotten about him. Not being haunted and distraught as if you were watching him die over and over. 

Maybe it was then he developed the motivation to change, to leave and let go of emotions he had been holding up to then. Eventually, he had gone from working to dominate the underground businesses to getting rid of them. And whenever he had spare time, he’d have your back and make sure no one was going after you. It wasn’t just criminals he would take down who were planning to attack you and your group when on the field, he had also aimed at any corrupted officers that were going to use you as their scape-goat. 

Sure he had gone on adventures as he progressively turned over a new leaf, yet you were and still always his priority. Back when he was Robin and now, as Red Hood the outlaw. As time passed, he could see you healing. Your smiles more genuine. A glow in your skin. Your visits to him every week being more peaceful. 

He didn’t think nor entertain the idea of ever meeting you again. How could he when it’ll break you to find out he’s been alive, again, for so long?

So imagine his surprise when he arrives at the manor for the traditional Wayne Christmas party, finding you standing under the ridiculously large tree in the equally ridiculously large living room. 

The disgruntled expression gets replaced with shock for Jason as yours morphs into disbelief. 

“Ja..son…?”

Six feet, a body packed with muscles and scars, not to mention the infamous brown, leather jacket. Dick really wasn’t kidding during the time you helped hide him and the other vigilantes during the anti-hero hunt led by Amanda Waller when he had revealed that Jason Todd was actually alive after hearing from you how you knew the other, both as the former Robin and civilian. It makes you sick in the stomach of how much the person you loved once known as Mr. Sunshine went through for all the pure, unadulterated positivity and radiant optimism to be stripped away from him, leaving only hardship, fatigue, and harshness when hearing what he had gone through before and after his death. He didn’t deserve such cruelty, not when he was trying to pull the weight of the effort society refused to put in to make life better when he was a tiny teen. 

What you do next is risky. It may cause you to lose everything the two of you once had even. But how could you have him stand in front of the double-oak doors alone with eyes exposing his vulnerable and fragile heart. 

The questions he wants to ask, the actions he wants to take, they all are swallowed down when he’s pulled into a hug. It’s then he notices how much smaller you are compared to him. Your arms that once used to completely wrap around his shoulders can barely wrap around his torso. Your frame, frail as you tremble and leave tears on his thin, cotton shirt. 

He doesn’t need Dick’s motions or Tim’s mouthing to know what to do. Careful to crush you, he leans into you. 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I was back.”

It’s the greatest Christmas gift life has ever given the two of you when you awkwardly nod in response to his words, no intentions of letting him go from fear he’d disappear on you again. And the sentiment is shared when he squeezes you closer to himself, a smile that was lost for a while reappearing and making those around feel the joy of the holiday miracle.

[natalievoncatte]

Lena felt something crumble inside her. Kara was sitting in the Tower, head bowed and arms resting on her thighs, staring at her own hands. Her cape lay unclasped and thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch, and it was covered in scorch marks like the rest of her. Her new sleeveless suit revealed bruises running up and down her arms, already fading to a sicky yellow.

Alex let out a low sigh of relief as she removed the bomb collar from Lena’s neck and gently placed it in a sealed container, which J’onn immediately took and flew directly out of the tower. When he returned he said, gravely, “Kara. You can let go now.”

Lena looked away from the gruesome sight as Kara released the contents of her hands and let out a choking sob.

“He made me. He made me.”

Alex took the… the…

Well. They called it a dead man’s switch for a reason.

There was a heavy pause.

“Give me the room,” said Lena.

“Lena,” Alex admonished, “we need to get you cleaned up, make sure you’re okay, that the gas didn’t-“

“Please?”

Lena looked at her with pleading eyes and Alex relented at once, brushing at her own, swiping back angry tears. Lena knew what would happen: Alex would pummel the hell out of a heavy bag and then go home to Kelly.

Kara would have to bear this herself.

Alex put a hand on Nia’s shoulder and motion for J’onn to join her and left Lena with Kara.

Lena stood and crossed the room to the sink, finding the biggest bowl she could and a wash cloth. Taking it, she knelt in front of Kara and very gently took her right hand and began washing away the blood.

Kara said nothing. The water soon turned pink, flicked with bits of blood too dry to dilute. It took a lot of effort to get all of it off, especially clingy bits in the creases of her palms and knuckles.

Kara stared at her clean hands.

“It shouldn’t be that easy,” Kara rasped. “I took a man’s life tonight.”

Lena shifted to sit on the floor in front of her and brushed back her hair, running her hand gently over the fuzzy side that Kara had recently buzzed. She tucked the longer locks on the other side back and behind her ear.

“Look at me.”

Kara met her gaze, eyes wet with tears.

“You did what you had to do.”

“How could he be so stupid?” Kara whimpered. “I couldn’t do the things he was demanding. I couldn’t hurt people for him.”

“I know.”

Kara fell back against the sofa and pounded her thigh her with her fist, and Lena felt the impact in her chest. Kara winced and looked down at her.

Lena lifted herself up and sat down beside Kara.

“I know what this feels like.”

There was a brief flash of confusion on Kara’s face, then… “Lex.”

Lena nodded. “I killed my brother to protect you, and I’d do it again.”

“I should have found another way,” Kara whispered. “I’m always supposed to find another way. I just… I just snapped. When he said he’d let go and set off the bomb on your neck, I didn’t even think, I just…”

She looked down at her hands.

“I’m a killer.”

Lena took Kara’s hand in both of hers and lifted it, always amazed how the strongest being in the solar system just… let her. She brought Kara’s palm to her cheek and rested against it, letting Kara’s warm fingers curl tenderly against her skin.

“Maybe. I won’t tell you that you’re not, but that’s not all you are. You’ve given so much, sacrificed so much, endured so much pain, and you’ve always been so wise and kind with your power. Lots of people would have gone down a darker path with the gifts that you have. I would have.”

“You never went down the path. You came back. You came back to me.”

“I always will.”

Kara’s face fell and the crying began in earnest. Lena pulled her in and carded through her hair with her fingers and whisper-sang a half remembered Gaelic lullaby from her mother while Kara let it out.

“I can’t live without you,” Kara admitted. “I tried it once and it was hell.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“Lena, I lo-“

“Shhhh,” Lena whispered. “I know, darling. I know you do, and I do too… but don’t say it now. Not like this, not because of this, not now. Wait for a happy time. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after, when we wake up.”

“I’ve wanted to for so long, but I was so scared.”

“I know, I know, Kara. It’ll be alright. Everything will be alright and you can do it right, when we’re both ready.”

“Okay,” Kara choked out, “but I can’t wait so long. I waited too long already and I want to keep you forever.”

Lena smiled, pressing her cheek to the crown of Kara’s head.

“Well, when you get around to asking me I’m sure I’ll say yes.”

That worked, it seemed to calm her. It took a while before the hitching stopped and Kara could sit up and walk to drink a glass of water, before the layers and layers of armor she’d built up around her fragile soul were starting to raise themselves again.

She made good on her promise, though, pressing a ting Kryptonian phrase into Lena’s ear as they lay curled in a mound of comforters and blankets in the sun in Kara’s loft.

[moki-dokie]

While all of the above is generally best practice i would like to add some contradictory points from experience, as someone who a) is not a horse expert in any capacity but b) grew up around literal cowboys and horse people who very much were.

Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before. and Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight. Go with OP's advice, absolutely. that is ideal. however, i was never once trained to ride a horse. i was plopped on my grandma's old blue when i was all of 3 and told to hold on. definitely wouldn't recommend this lmao but luckily old blue was about the most 'i don't give a shit whats happening to me' horse on the planet. we didn't have saddles. all bareback baby. he died when i was about 5. the next horse i rode at 8. leo, the most sweet and gentle quarter horse i've ever known. and again it was one of those situations where i just got plopped onto his back - again no saddle - and told to have at it. and boy did i. pure bareback with no bridle is terrifying by the way, at least when you're a small 8 year old. but with a bridle it's actually quite fun. i'm sure it would have been better with actual proper lessons about how to sit a horse, but hey, i managed. i did eventually learn to ride in a saddle which was nice when i wanted him to go fast cause it gave me something to hold onto AND i could get my butt up and off of the seat to negate the hard bouncing, but i actually preferred riding him bareback most of the time. it was more comfortable for my legs and being able to feel him under me made me more in tune with him. but i wouldn't recommend it if you don't have an incredibly gentle and patient horse like he was. and frankly i don't know if i could still ride bareback when i'm closer to 40 now lol even a patient horse has its limits, too. leo bucked me once when i was being a shit and making him go through little puddles that he didn't want to. at the time i didn't understand why puddles would freak a horse out, i thought he was just being stubborn. after about the fifth one he had enough and bucked me right off (another benefit of saddles, yall. harder to go flying off lol) into the mud, but then immediately came over to nose my face and check on me. definitely his way of saying 'i'm sorry i had to do that, but you weren't listening to me.'

leo's 'brother', larry, was a wild-caught mustang who had been tamed/broken by the guy that owned all of our horses, one of the cowboys previously mentioned, my moms bf. larry was temperamental as could be expected, and he was absolutely off limits to ride for anyone other than moms bf. i think he knew i was a small and fragile creature so he was never very mean to me, plus leo protected me from him quite often when larry was in a mood.

the third of our little herd was missy. i think she was a quarter horse too idk. but she was an absolute cunt of a horse. i hated her. she hated me. she hated her owner. she hated the fucking grass. but she tolerated mom enough to let her ride. missy was such a mean horse that she was rarely allowed the full pasture like the boys had, because she'd just follow them around biting them and picking fights. while i could pet and brush and feed larry without worrying too much he was going to hurt me, missy i could not go near. idk what missy's story was, but i suspect she might've been a rescue horse. i've never known another horse as mean as she was. oh and she HATED hats lmao. larry could be ridden bareback by the bf, but missy was saddle only.

when leo started getting a little too old for riding (he was already old when i met him. part of why he was so placid.) moms bf thought, for some dumb fucking reason, to get me this spry young pinto as my own horse that he saw at auction. andy. except this horse was a carriage horse. Never had been ridden. and andy was NOT comfortable with it. I think i was like, 11? when we got him. Again, they plopped me onto him bareback. and in about 0.5 seconds i was flat on my back on the ground. moms bf was like "ah we just need to break him in a little!" so got him saddled up - which was a whole Thing because he hated it - and took him out to the lake to get some practice in where there's a lot of open space. well i got about 15 minutes of a very scary ride in bc this horse did not respond to bridle cues or kicking or... anything. so it was just sort of hold on for dear life while he does his thing. and then he bucked again. except that they hadn't fasted his saddle tight enough and it came off with me, and landed squarely on top of me. and in case yall don't know, saddles are fucking heavy. that was like 25 pounds that came crashing down on top of me and i was extremely fortunate that i didn't break a single thing, cause he bucked hard and to this day i've never been airborn that long lmao. smacked my head hard, had the wind knocked out of me twice, landed on my arm all weird, and was heavily bruised by the saddle. that seemed to convince them that andy was, in fact, not a suitable riding horse for a preteen lol

unfortunately i didn't ride again until my late teens. mom broke up with the dude. bye bye horses. but then i had a bf whose grandparents had some. but uhhh.... draft horses. not riding stock. still, assured me these massive clydesdales didn't mind. so up i went. bareback as usual, wondering if i would even survive being bucked off a beast so large. but hey as it turned out? they were right. the big beefy boy was sweet as could be and didn't mind trotting around with me at all, especially since it meant he got to go out into the pasture for a jog and some grazing. riding entirely bareback on a clydesdale at a gallop is one of those things where you're equal parts terrified and exhilarated. i could barely even sit on him because he was so fucking WIDE. surprisingly tho, very smooth gait with those guys, so i wasn't bouncing around a whole lot. it was incredibly fun. i could barely walk when i got off of him. i loved it. and then the fucker bit me as soon as i turned my back on him LMAO chomped the SHIT out of my bicep for like, not reason??? just to be a cheeky little shit? just to remind me that yeah maybe i got to ride but he's still boss? hell idk. that bruise lasted like a fucking month tho.

annnd the last horse i rode was about... 13? years ago when a friend who owns and professionally rides came to visit so we took her to a friend of a friend who does trail rides. for once i was not plopped onto a horse i didn't know bareback. in fact, i was stuck with a fucking pony bc the lady didn't trust i could handle an actual horse, while my friend got some beautiful appy to ride. i was on this squat... idk, haflinger i think it was. all decked out with fancy tack. apparently the calmest of all her horses. he was, for the most part, but you could sort of tell he resented being ridden. or maybe just didn't like strangers much. idk. there's an energy you get when riding horses and he and i just were NOT vibing much. still a pretty fun ride overall, but i would have liked it a lot better if i were higher up and on a horse that was actually having some fun instead of dragging its hooves begrudgingly LOL

so like, personally i stand by the fact anyone can ride a horse and anyone can ride bareback without much practice but it's going to GREATLY depend on the horse itself rather than the rider. definitely isn't any horse for either of those. if you personally are going to do it, or if you are going to write a scenario like that, it'd better be with a fairly lackadaisical horse.

Horses: Since There Seems To Be A Knowledge Gap

I'm going to go ahead and preface this with: I comment pretty regularly on clips and photos featuring horses and horseback riding, often answering questions or providing explanations for how or why certain things are done. I was a stable hand and barrel racer growing up, and during my 11 year tenure on tumblr, Professional Horse Commentary is a very niche, yet very necessary, subject that needs filling. Here are some of the literary and creative gaps I've noticed in well meaning (and very good!) creators trying to portray horses and riding realistically that... well, most of you don't seem to even be aware of, because you wouldn't know unless you worked with horses directly!

Some Of The Most Common Horse + Riding Mistakes I See:

-Anybody can ride any horse if you hold on tight enough/have ridden once before.

Nope. No, no, no, no, aaaaaaaand, no. Horseback riding has, historically, been treated as a life skill taught from surprisingly young ages. It wasn't unusual in the pre-vehicular eras to start teaching children as young as 4 to begin to ride, because horses don't come with airbags, and every horse is different. For most adults, it can take months or years of regular lessons to learn to ride well in the saddle, and that's just riding; not working or practicing a sport.

Furthermore, horses often reject riders they don't know. Unless a horse has been trained like a teaching horse, which is taught to tolerate riders of all skill and experience levels, it will take extreme issue with having some random person try to climb on their back. Royalty, nobility, and the knighted classes are commonly associated with the "having a favorite special horse" trope, because it's true! Just like you can have a particularly special bond with a pet or service animal that verges on parental, the same can apply with horses. Happy horses love their owners/riders, and will straight-up do their best to murder anyone that tries to ride them without permission.

-Horses are stupid/have no personality.

There isn't a more dangerous assumption to make than assuming a horse is stupid. Every horse has a unique personality, with traits that can be consistent between breeds (again, like cat and dog breeds often have distinct behavior traits associated with them), but those traits manifest differently from animal to animal.

My mother had an Arabian horse, Zipper, that hated being kicked as a signal to gallop. One day, her mom and stepdad had a particularly unpleasant visitor; an older gentleman that insisted on riding Zipper, but refused to listen to my mother's warnings never to kick him. "Kicking" constitutes hitting the horse's side(s) with your heels, whether you have spurs on or not. Most horses only need a gentle squeeze to know what you want them to do.

Anyway, Zipper made eye-contact with my mom, asking for permission. He understood what she meant when she nodded at him. He proceeded to give this asshole of a rider road rash on the side of the paddock fence and sent him to the emergency room. He wouldn't have done it if he didn't have the permission from the rider he respected, and was intelligent enough to ask, "mind if I teach this guy a lesson?" with his eyes, and understand, "Go for it, buddy," from my mom in return.

-Riding bareback is possible to do if you hold onto the horse's mane really tight.

Riding a horse bareback (with no saddle, stirrups, or traditional harness around the horse's head) is unbelievably difficult to learn, particularly have testicles and value keeping them. Even professional riders and equestrians find ourselves relying on tack (the stuff you put on a horse to ride it) to stay stable on our horses, even if we've been riding that particular horse for years and have a very positive, trusting relationship.

Horses sweat like people do. The more they run, the more their hair saturates with sweat and makes staying seated on them slippery. Hell, an overworked horse can sweat so heavily that the saddle slips off its back. It's also essential to brush and bathe a horse before it's ridden in order to keep it healthier, so their hair is often quite slick from either being very clean or very damp. In order to ride like that, you have to develop the ability to synchronize your entire body's rhythm's with the rhythm of the horse's body beneath you, and quite literally move as one. Without stirrups, most people can't do it, and some people can never master bareback riding no matter how many years they spend trying to learn.

-You can be distracted and make casual conversation while a horse is standing untethered in the middle of a barn or field.

At every barn I've ever worked at, it's been standard practice with every single horse, regardless of age or temperament, to secure their heads while they're being tacked up or tacked down. The secures for doing this are simple ropes with clips that are designed to attach to the horse's halter (the headwear for a horse that isn't being ridden; they have no bit that goes in the horse's mouth, and no reins for a rider to hold) on metal O rings on either side of the horse's head. This is not distressing to the horse, because we give them plenty of slack to turn their heads and look around comfortably.

The problem with trying to tack up an unrestrained horse while chatting with fellow stable hands or riders is that horses know when you're distracted! And they often try to get away with stuff when they know you're not looking! In a barn, a horse often knows where the food is stored, and will often try to tiptoe off to sneak into the feed room.

Horses that get into the feed room are often at a high risk of dying. While extremely intelligent, they don't have the ability to throw up, and they don't have the ability to tell that their stomach is full and should stop eating. Allowing a horse into a feed/grain room WILL allow it to eat itself to death.

Other common woes stable hands and riders deal with when trying to handle a horse with an unrestrained head is getting bitten! Horses express affection between members of their own herd, and those they consider friends and family, through nibbling and surprisingly rough biting. It's not called "horseplay" for nothing, because during my years working with horses out in the pasture, it wasn't uncommon at all for me to find individuals with bloody bite marks on their withers (that high part on the middle of the back of their shoulders most people instinctively reach for when they try to get up), and on their backsides. I've been love-bitten by horses before, and while flattering, they hurt like hell on fleshy human skin.

So, for the safety of the horse, and everybody else, always make a show of somehow controlling the animal's head when hands-on and on the ground with them.

-Big Horse = War Horse

Startlingly, the opposite is usually the case! Draft and carriage horses, like Percherons and Friesians, were never meant to be used in warfare. Draft horses are usually bred to be extremely even-tempered, hard to spook, and trustworthy around small children and animals. Historically, they're the tractors of the farm if you could afford to upgrade from oxen, and were never built to be fast or agile in a battlefield situation.

More importantly, just because a horse is imposing and huge doesn't make it a good candidate for carrying heavy weights. A real thing that I had to be part of enforcing when I worked at a teaching ranch was a weight limit. Yeah, it felt shitty to tell people they couldn't ride because we didn't have any horses strong enough to carry them due to their weight, but it's a matter of the animal's safety. A big/tall/chonky horse is more likely to be built to pull heavy loads, but not carry them flat on their spines. Horses' muscular power is predominantly in their ability to run and pull things, and too heavy a rider can literally break a horse's spine and force us to euthanize it.

Some of the best war horses out there are from the "hot blood" family. Hot blooded horses are often from dry, hot, arid climates, are very small and slight (such as Arabian horses), and are notoriously fickle and flighty. They're also a lot more likely to paw/bite/kick when spooked, and have even sometimes been historically trained to fight alongside their rider if their rider is dismounted in combat; kicking and rearing to keep other soldiers at a distance.

-Any horse can be ridden if it likes you enough.

Just like it can take a lifetime to learn to ride easily, it can take a lifetime of training for a horse to comfortably take to being ridden or taking part in a job, like pulling a carriage. Much like service animals, horses are typically trained from extremely young ages to be reared into the job that's given to them, and an adult horse with no experience carrying a rider is going to be just as scared as a rider who's never actually ridden a horse.

Just as well, the process of tacking up a horse isn't always the most comfortable experience for the horse. To keep the saddle centered on the horse's back when moving at rough or fast paces, it's essential to tighten the belly strap (cinch) of the saddle as tightly as possible around the horse's belly. For the horse, it's like wearing a tight corset, chafes, and even leaves indents in their skin afterward that they love having rinsed with water and scratched. Some horses will learn to inflate their bellies while you're tightening the cinch so you can't get it as tight as it needs to be, and then exhale when they think you're done tightening it.

When you're working with a horse wearing a bridle, especially one with a bit, it can be a shocking sensory experience to a horse that's never used a bit before. While they lack a set of teeth naturally, so the bit doesn't actually hurt them, imagine having a metal rod shoved in your mouth horizontally! Unless you understand why it's important for the person you care about not dying, you'd be pretty pissed about having to keep it in there!

-Horseback riding isn't exercise.

If you're not using every muscle in your body to ride with, you're not doing it right.

Riding requires every ounce of muscle control you have in your entire body - although this doesn't mean it wasn't realistic for people with fat bodies to stay their weight while also being avid riders; it doesn't mean the muscles aren't there. To stay on the horse, you need to learn how it feels when it moves at different gaits (walk, trot, canter, gallop), how to instruct it to switch leads (dominant legs; essential for precise turning and ease of communication between you and the horse), and not falling off. While good riders look like they're barely moving at all, that's only because they're good riders. They know how to move so seamlessly with the horse, feeling their movements like their own, that they can compensate with their legs and waists to not bounce out of the saddle altogether or slide off to one side. I guarantee if you ride a horse longer than 30 minutes for the first time, your legs alone will barely work and feel like rubber.

-Horses aren't affectionate.

Horses are extraordinarily affectionate toward the right people. As prey animals, they're usually wary of people they don't know, or have only recently met. They also - again, like service animals - have a "work mode" and a "casual mode" depending upon what they're doing at the time. Horses will give kisses like puppies, wiggle their upper lips on your hair/arms to groom you, lean into neck-hugs, and even cuddle in their pasture or stall if it's time to nap and you join them by leaning against their sides. If they see you coming up from afar and are excited to see you, they'll whinny and squeal while galloping to meet you at the gate. They'll deliberately swat you with their tails to tease you, and will often follow you around the pasture if they're allowed to regardless of what you're up to.

-Riding crops are cruel.

Only cruel people use riding crops to hurt their horses. Spurs? I personally object to, because any horse that knows you well doesn't need something sharp jabbing them in the side for emphasis when you're trying to tell them where you want them to go. Crops? Are genuinely harmless tools used for signalling a horse.

I mean, think about it. Why would crops be inherently cruel instruments if you need to trust a horse not to be afraid of you and throw you off when you're riding it?

Crops are best used just to lightly tap on the left or right flank of the horse, and aren't universally used with all forms of riding. You'll mainly see crops used with English riding, and they're just tools for communicating with the horse without needing to speak.

-There's only one way to ride a horse.

Not. At. All. At most teaching ranches, you'll get two options: Western, or English, because they tend to be the most popular for shows and also the most common to find equipment for. English riding uses a thinner, smaller saddle, narrower stirrups, and much thinner bridles. I, personally, didn't like English style riding because I never felt very stable in such a thin saddle with such small stirrups, and didn't start learning until my mid teens. English style riding tends to focus more on your posture and deportment in the saddle, and your ability to show off your stability and apparent immovability on the horse. It was generally just a bit too stiff and formal for me.

Western style riding utilizes heavier bridles, bigger saddles (with the iconic horn on the front), and broader stirrups. Like its name may suggest, Western riding is more about figuring out how to be steady in the saddle while going fast and being mobile with your upper body. Western style riding is generally the style preferred for working-type shows, such as horseback archery, gunning, barrel racing, and even rodeo riding.

-Wealthy horse owners have no relationship with their horses.

This is loosely untrue, but I've seen cases where it is. Basically, horses need to feel like they're working for someone that matters to them in order to behave well with a rider and not get impatient or bored. While it's common for people to board horses at off-property ranches (boarding ranches) for cost and space purposes, it's been historically the truth that having help is usually necessary with horses at some point. What matters is who spends the most time with the animal treating it like a living being, rather than a mode of transport or a tool. There's no harm in stable hands handling the daily upkeep; hay bales and water buckets are heavy, and we're there to profit off the labor you don't want or have the time to do. You get up early to go to work; we get up early to look after your horses. Good owners/boarders visit often and spend as much of their spare time as they can with spending quality work and playtime with their horses. Otherwise, the horses look to the stable hands for emotional support and care.

So, maybe you're writing a knight that doesn't really care much for looking after his horse, but his squire is really dedicated to keeping up with it? There's a better chance of the horse having a more affectionate relationship with the squire thanks to the time the squire spends on looking after it, while the horse is more likely to tolerate the knight that owns it as being a source of discipline if it misbehaves. That doesn't mean the knight is its favorite person. When it comes to horses, their love must be earned, and you can only earn it by spending time with them hands-on.

-Horses can graze anywhere without concern.

This is a mistake that results in a lot of premature deaths! A big part of the cost of owning a horse - even before you buy one - is having the property that will be its pasture assessed for poisonous plants, and having those plants removed from being within the animal's reach. This is an essential part of farm upkeep every year, because horses really can't tell what's toxic and what isn't. One of the reasons it's essential to secure a horse when you aren't riding it is to ensure it only has a very limited range to graze on, and it's your responsibility as the owner/rider to know how to identify dangerous plants and keep your horses away from them.

There's probably more. AMA in my askbox if you have any questions, but that's all for now. Happy writing.

[ventismacchiato]

14 stuck with you — gold rush !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

FLASHBACK — PREDEBUT

SCARA’S POINT OF VIEW

From the age of seven, Scara's life had been meticulously mapped out for him, each step carefully dictated by his mother. He never really understood what it meant to have a dream, because the only dream that mattered was hers. Whatever path she carved for him, he walked without question, even though it never felt like his own. His mother had been a star, an idol adored by millions, and from the moment he was old enough to stand, she began pushing him towards the same spotlight.

He’d seen clips of her on stage — laughing, singing, shining — but when he looked at her, that wasn’t the woman who raised him. The mother who showered him with cold praise, forced him through grueling training sessions, and demanded perfection from him was a stranger in comparison. It was as if she lived in two worlds: the adored idol everyone saw, and the distant, sometimes cruel figure he called mom.

As he grew older and the demands of training intensified, the resentment began to settle in his chest like a heavy weight. The idea of becoming an idol, once something that had been drilled into him since childhood, now felt like a prison. He watched his mother perform with a mixture of awe and bitterness. She had everything, and yet, no matter how hard he tried it didn’t bring her any closer to him.

He watched her performances, mesmerized not by the dazzling lights or the applause, but by the sea of faces, all of them adoring her. He didn’t long for the idol life itself — the rehearsals, the endless pressure, the fake smiles — but for the one thing it seemed to offer: the love. The kind of love that came without question, without effort. What would it be like, he wondered, to be loved by so many? Could that love ever fill the emptiness inside him? The aching space where the warmth of a mother should have been? 

Would anything(one) ever fill that void? //

It was another late night, just like the countless others that had blurred together in the past year. The fluorescent lights above flickered and hummed, set on an automatic timer. As Scara moved through the hallways, they snapped off behind him, leaving the space in silence, save for the echoes of his footsteps. It was late — far too late for anyone else to be here. Who else would be foolish enough to be training at this hour?

He rounded the corner and paused when he saw a dim light spilling from the practice room. It was you — slumped against the wall, looking like you might’ve passed out mid-session. He wasn’t surprised. You were the only other trainee who seemed to have the same tireless obsession with training as he did. The only one who shared his endless need to push further, even when your body begged you to stop. He’d be more shocked to not find you there.

He pushed the door open quietly, shutting off the speaker blaring the same practice song on repeat. The room was quiet now, but the exhaustion in the air felt thick.

He glanced at you again, lying there with your head tilted awkwardly against the wall, your eyes closed as if you were trying to escape the world. It was a sight he’d seen too many times in the mirror. 

Part of him considered just starting his practice — pretending you weren’t there and taking over the space like he always did. But then he hesitated, letting out a small sigh. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, he wasn’t heartless. Your face held less color than usual. He walked over, nudging your leg with his foot, watching you stir but not wake up.

He tapped your cheek lightly, his fingers cold against your skin. "Hey," he said, his voice almost too soft for someone like him. "Wake up."

You startled, eyes snapping open, and you sat up so quickly that the world around you seemed to tilt. You blinked, disoriented, like you were trying to make sense of the room spinning around you.

"Fuck," Scara muttered, stepping back a little as you swayed on your feet. He noticed the faintly pale color of your face and how your hands shook when you reached up to rub your eyes. “You look like shit.”

You tried to wave him off, but your dizziness made it clear you weren’t. Scara sighed, his gaze briefly flickering to the corner where his leftover sushi and energy drink sat. Without a word, he grabbed both and handed them to you, the sushi still cool and slightly squished from being in his bag too long. Better than nothing.

"Here," he said, his voice a little sharper than he intended. "Eat something. You’re stupid to train without eating." He paused before adding, his tone almost annoyed but with a hint of something else — something like concern, "I can’t use the room if you’re still here." Otherwise you’ll burn out. He wanted to add. But he kept his mouth shut.

You took the food from him, still dazed, but something in his words seemed to register. Scara stood there, his arms crossed as he watched you take a bite of the sushi, then sip the energy drink, both of you in the awkward silence that came from two people who’d never quite figured out how to talk to each other outside of training. Your groups were going to begin joint training next week, he assumed you’d both be less awkward like Kazuha had mentioned. 

"You’re not the only one who wants to make it, you know?" he muttered. "But you won’t make it if you’re dead on your feet."

You swallowed, still feeling the remnants of dizziness, and stared at the floor for a moment, the words gnawing at you. Then, before you could stop it, you let out a laugh — bitter and low.

"I don't know... Sometimes I'm sitting here like, do I even deserve any of this?" you muttered, almost to yourself as you poked at the sushi.

Scara looked at you like you’d just said something absurd, his expression unchanged. "That’s so fucking irrelevant.”

You blinked, thrown off by his bluntness. "Wow, you sure suck at comforting," you shot back, an edge to your tone despite the exhaustion. 

He didn’t flinch. "Do you want it?" he asked, almost nonchalant, but there was a strange weight behind the words.

You looked up at him, confused. "...What?"

"If you want it, that’s all that matters," he said, his gaze steady and unwavering, like he was daring you to argue.

You met his gaze, nodding stiffly. "Yeah... I guess I do want it."

He gives a single, sharp nod in return. "Then stop wasting time. Just keep going." 

He turned to make his way back to the speakers, but for some reason, his feet felt heavier than they should. What the hell was that?

It was a stupid thing to say. "If you want it, that’s all that matters." He didn’t even believe that. His passion had been dead for a long time, buried beneath the pressure and expectations. He didn’t want it anymore, not like this. But it didn’t matter, because that wasn’t his problem. Not anymore. 

Still, as he reached for the speaker, he glanced back at you, and something caught him off guard. The way your eyes had sharpened after his words, like you’d found something in them. A spark. A flicker of want, something raw, something real. Because of something he had said.

It made him pause, just for a second.

He didn’t get it. Why did that look bother him so much?

Hypocrite, he thought. I’m telling you to keep going, but I’m barely hanging on myself.

And yet, seeing that spark in your eyes — that tiny flicker of hope — was enough to make him feel... something. Maybe it was the smallest hint of his old drive, or maybe he was just sick of standing in the shadows of his own doubts. Either way, it made him want to keep going, too. To not give up, even if he couldn’t figure out why anymore.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he adjusted the speakers. "Whatever."

He could’ve been lying, telling you whatever he thought you needed to hear. But for the first time in a while, he wasn’t sure if it was just for you, or if it was for himself, too.

From the very beginning, you were a walking conundrum to Scaramouche. Determined, relentless, with a fire that matched his own. Every time he set his expectations high, you reached up and snatched them away, tearing them apart and forcing him to rebuild his entire worldview. He became used to it. Addicted to it. To the erratic look in your eye when you finally beat him. 

You made him feel like he was always running, always chasing something — someone. The routine he had perfected for himself was suddenly irrelevant, because with you, there was no rhythm. No predictability. His relationship with you was the only dance he did with two left feet. He didn’t know how to dance with you. How to be with you. At one point he gave up on learning the choreography. It was never the same thing twice with you.

But for some reason, he wants to keep dancing with you. 

Before you, Scara never really wanted anything. He had always been the best — that’s what happens when you’re trained to the bone, until you’re nothing but skin and worn muscles. And he liked being the best. It was the only thing that made him feel like he mattered, even if it was just for a moment. He liked the way other trainees turned their heads when he walked into a room. He liked being chosen first every week. It was the only validation that made him feel worthy — and worth something to his mother, who had never given him much of that.

But then there was you.

You worked just as hard as he did — harder, in some ways. You were better than him, but he’d never admit that out loud. Not to you. The first time you scored higher than him, it sparked something inside of him. Something like… challenge. Was this what his mother had felt when she wanted to be an idol? Was that why she pushed him so hard? Maybe. 

But when he looked at you, all he wanted to do was beat you. And so he did. He tried, and he tried, but you both kept outdoing each other. It was maddening, but in a strange way, it felt refreshing. Finally, something wasn’t handed to him. He had to work for it, just like everyone else.

Was it his hatred for you that drove him? His hatred for his mother, for everything she’d demanded of him? He didn’t quite know. He didn’t care to figure it out. All he knew was that it felt good. It felt real.

But it wasn’t supposed to get this bad. The glares you sent him when you crossed paths in the hallways, the bitter words exchanged that cut deeper than they should have. The tears you shed because he’d said something too harsh, and the way it gnawed at him afterward. But neither of you could back down. Not anymore. You both were too far gone. 

And then there were the moments where the competition wasn’t so loud. Where you both pushed your bodies past their breaking point, too tired to go on, and collapsed in the same practice room, side by side. Waking up just to drag yourselves through another grueling session, pushing harder, trying to outdo one another.

It wasn’t easy being with you. Scara never really knew how to be nice, how to soften his edges, but with you, it was harder. Every time he looked at you, he felt like he needed to try better. To be more than the ruthless competitor, more than the cold, distant rival. What a stupid fleeting thought he’d once had, the idea of you two being friends. 

But then, just as quickly, that competitive fire would flare up again, and he’d remember what he really wanted. He’d remember that look in your eyes when you beat him.

And suddenly, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hold onto the fire or let it consume him entirely. 

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

i hope this made sense 😭 not a lot of plot but i hope it gave some background and insight to scara and how the rivalry started

all the writing was in scaras pov! but as usual the smau portions will always go back and forth between the two

was gonna make this a flashback and present day chapter but i thot it wud be too confusing so im splitting it into two (short chapter sorry!)

i thought it would be weird to include an interview in the flashback chapter but they will be back in the next chapter!

pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🙂‍↕️

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — guys i’m on winter break i can’t wait to do NOTHING for a month 😭🙏

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse

[my-castles-crumbling]

sledding - 25 days of Jegumas - Day 15 - @noblehouseofgay - word count: 481

"This is s-stupid," Regulus huffed as he trekked up what felt like a mountain, his feet hitting the obnoxiously large sled he carried over his shoulder.

"It's worth it!" James called to him from a few steps from behind. "Trust me, Reg, you have to try it at least once!"

Regulus let out a frustrated breath, coughing a bit from over-exertion, and focused on making it to the top of the ridiculously high hill.

James had been obsessed with the idea of Regulus trying sledding ever since Regulus had let it slip he'd never done it as a kid. The Gryffindor had pretty much counted down the days until Regulus came home with him for the holidays, not just so they could spend time together, but so he could make sure Regulus got to experience all of those things he 'missed in his childhood.'

Which was all very nice and sweet when it came to things like hot cocoa and matching pajamas, but going on a hike up a hill in six inches of snow while lugging a sled behind him was not on Regulus's bucket list. Still, James was eager for him to try it, and seeing James happy filled Regulus with a mortifying sense of warmth that he refused to discuss with most people.

So as they arrived to the top and looked down, Regulus first reflected on the fact that it felt a lot higher as he was climbing than when he looked down. Then, he looked over to his boyfriend's huge grin. "Alright," he sighed, plopping his sled on the ground and aiming it down the hill. "Hold this so I can sit?"

Nodding happily, James gripped the wood of the sled so Regulus could clamber on top, adjusting the knitted hat and scarf Effie had made him and taking a deep breath. "Okay. Let's get this over with. Let me go," Regulus sighed, steeling himself for the worst as James gave him a small push.

He felt like he was flying. The swoop in his stomach, the way the sled moved under him- it was...it was fun! He let out an involuntary giggle as he felt himself go over a small bump in the ground, adrenaline pumping, cold wind whipping past him and stinging his cheeks. And when the hill smoothed, he still slid. Faster than he thought possible, more than fifty feet past the end of the slope!

When he finally stopped, he turned with a grin on his face to see James still standing at the top, whooping.

"Come down, then!" he yelled, waving him forward and watching in fascination as James zipped down the hill as well.

When the other boy finally stopped near him, Regulus stumbled forward and pressed a kiss to James's cold lips.

"Again?" James asked, smiling.

"I guess we could go once more," Regulus grinned in spite of himself.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Just the tip - Ex!Peter Parker

summary: just the tip with ex!peter parker cw: SMUT, kind of pushy/manipulative peter but everything is consensual. wc: 2k

When Peter fell through the open window of your bedroom, you had let out a loud gasp, spinning around in your desk chair, only clad in your exposing pyjamas. At the sight of your ex boyfriend, you put your hands on your hips, instantly abandoning the homework laid out on your desk. Standing up, you walked towards the hopeful boy, watching as he approached you, a pleading look in his eyes. “So we’re normalising breaking into our ex’s apartments now?” Peter opened his mouth, putting both hands on your hips desperately. “Peter just because you’re spider-man-” “Please.” Peter whispered, his eyes tearing up slightly. “I miss you.” He said, making you drop your hands flatly by your sides. One of your hands came up to cup Peter’s face, thumb caressing his cheek softly. Peter leaned into your touch, shutting his eyes as he savoured the moment.

You looked at Peter with concern; this wasn’t the first time he had come back to you, longing to be held. Things had always escalated to more despite telling yourself that you wouldn’t allow it to happen again. “Can you hold me, please?” Peter asked, ducking his head down to nuzzle in the crook of your neck. Obediently, you snaked the hand on Peter’s face around his neck and over his shoulder, the other one wrapping around his torso. Peter sighed, his own arms enveloping around the curve of your waist. You held him for a moment, inhaling his familiar scent as you gently stroked his back. From where Peter’s head is pressed up in the pocket of your neck, he slowly presses a soft kiss to your skin. You took in a sharp breath, jumping slightly at the sudden movement. Peter kissed your neck again, but you didn’t have the heart to pull away from him. “We can’t keep doing this Pete.” You mumbled instead, a hand finding its way in Peter’s soft locks. “Just this once. It’ll be the last time I promise.” You vividly recall him uttering similar words to you last time.

Sighing, you stepped away from Peter, unravelling your arms from around him. As though he knew what you were thinking, Peter added “Baby, please.” You let your head drop to the side, crossing your arms over your chest in an unconvinced manner. “Peter, we broke up. Exes don’t keep going back to each other like this.” At your words, Peter dropped to his knees in front of you, both hands landing on your thighs, softly grasping them. He looked up at you with his signature begging, puppy eyes, leaning his chin on your exposed abdomen. “You broke up with me. I’d never leave you. Just one night. Let me spend one night with you.” You uncrossed your arms from your chest, returning your hand to Peter’s hair, softly scratching at his skull. Peter never broke eye contact with you, leaning just slightly forward to press a kiss on your bare stomach. You tugged your short tank top down, hoping to stop the tickle from Peter’s kisses, until you finally gave in, telling the boy to stand up.

Peter followed you to your bed, chanting quietly “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You tossed the covers off the corner of your bed for you to climb in, patting the empty space next to you for Peter to join you. He immediately climbed in next to you, allowing you to cover him up with the soft blanket before cuddling into you. You turned on your side, facing Peter and watching as he pressed his face directly against your breasts, both hands coming to your hips to pull you closer to him before his arm settled over your waist. Sighing melancholically, you threw a leg over one of Peter’s, tangling your body with his as you leaned forward, pressing a kiss on his forehead. Peter laid still as you played with his hair and kissed along with hairline, treasuring the intimate moment. It had been so long since he had felt loved like this. In fact, the last time he felt cared for was the previous time he had been in your arms, despite your complaints about these reoccurring meetings.

Finally taking his opportunity, Peter shuffled upwards on the bed so that he was face to face with you, nose nudging against yours. With Peter’s intentions clear, you had enough time to pull away if you wanted to, but you felt bad, or at least that’s what you told yourself. You didn’t want consider that the way Peter’s eyes flickered down to your lips made you feel engrossed in him, or that his lips also looked soft. You didn’t want to consider the fact that maybe Peter wanting you so badly drew you closer to him. But he was your ex, and the furthest you would go is a kiss. So when Peter leaned ever so closer to you to press his lips against yours, you didn’t pull away, allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

Peter’s lips moulded against yours, his lips separating slightly so his tongue could shoot out to lips your bottom lip, a silent request for access into your mouth. When your mouth dipped open, allowing Peter’s tongue to press against yours, his hand came up, cupping your jaw to pull you closer to him. Peter pushed himself up on one of his forearms, using the height over you to press you deeper into the mattress as he deepened the kiss, his tongue licking deeper into your mouth. You gasped, pushing Peter away by his chest as you panted in attempt to catch your breath. Peter’s mouth latched onto your neck, immediately suckling at the sensitive skin as he moved his weight over you. Peter held the leg you had on top of his to pull it over his waist, testing your limits as he experimentally thrusted his hips between your spread legs. You immediately gasped, pushing Peter’s mouth off your neck and sitting up straight. Peter fell on the bed next to you, a guilty look on his features. “I thought-” “Peter, exes don’t have sex. If we have sex, we’re official again.” Peter furrowed his eyebrows at your words, the same sentence echoing in his mind over and over again. But I want us to be official again.

“Let me put the tip in. Just the tip.” You looked unconvinced, leaning over to take a sip of water from your bedside table. Peter scanned your legs, your cotton shorts riding up with each movement you did. When you sat up straight again, you readjusted the straps of your tank top and crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly aware of the way your nipples were constraining against the fabric of your top. “Just the tip isn’t sex.” Peter pushed, adding a pleading “Please.” “You’re really going to get off on just putting the tip in?” You questioned, eyeing Peter down. He felt himself harden when your gaze landed on his covered cock. “Just want to feel warm.” He weakly argued.

You rolled your eyes, reaching your hand out to grasp the cotton of Peter’s t-shirt, roughly pulling him towards you so you could slam your lips against his. Peter moaned, softly holding your face, but you broke the kiss as quickly as you started it. Peter froze, awaiting further instruction from you. “Just the tip.” You warned, laying back on your bed. Peter instantly jumped up, as though he had to act before you changed your mind. He tripped over his trousers twice before finally tossing them somewhere in our room, and his boxers went next, carefully watching the way your eyes widened slightly in reminiscence. Peter climbed over you, his knees on either side of your legs as he hooked his fingers through both your shorts and panties. He slowly tugged them down your smooth legs, leaning down to press a single kiss on your mound. Peter climbed off you, manhandling your body to lay on your side and settling himself flush against your back. You gasped, feeling Peter’s hard cock poking against your hip. Peter wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you back to stay put against him while his second hand guided his cock towards your entrance.

Peter’s dick nudged your tight hole and you shut your eyes tightly, listening to the immediate moan that ripped from Peter’s chest. You cursed, seriously considering to tell Peter to push all the way in as you felt his swollen tip dip into your entrance. Peter whined, pulling his dick out of you and you sighed disappointedly. Peter bit his lip so hard it almost bled, his thighs shaking in attempt not to push himself all the way in. He needed to abide by your rules if you were going to let this happen again. “Just the tip.” You mumbled absentmindedly, drool gathering in your mouth as you pushed your ass out for Peter to put it back in. Peter panted, trying to control himself as he put the tip back in your entrance, rocking slowly back and forth. “Just the tip.” Peter repeated, but quickly found himself losing control over his actions, and suddenly, he had half his dick inside you.

The both of you moaned in unison, and Peter brought a hand to the arch of your back, caressing your skin. He needed to take a moment or else he'd instantly be coming inside you. You reached a hand behind you, landing halfway on Peter’s cheek. Peter kissed your hand, pushing himself up to press kisses on your cheek and jaw. You whined in pleasure, rolling your hips back to take as much of Peter’s dick as possible. “Fuck, just put it in baby!” You cried, finally letting your put-together front crumble down. Peter chanted a string of ‘thank you’s, finally snapping his hips all the way in so his cock fully sheathed himself in your folds. Wrapping an arm over your hips, Peter shifted his weight to switch your positions, landing you laying on your stomach with him on top of you.

Whining, you pushed yourself on your knees, chest touching the mattress as Peter kneeled, gripping both your hips tightly before setting an unforgiving pace on your cunt. Your moans immediately increased, small sounds escaping you with each push of Peter’s cock closer to your cervix. Peter relentlessly whimpered, feeling his orgasm building up quickly, but he needed to make you cum. He needed to make you cum or you’d never let him fuck you ever again. Desperately, Peter snaked his fingers around your body, concentrating hard on finding your clit while keeping up the pace and brutality of his thrusts. You whined impatiently, your own hand finding Peter’s to guide him to your clit. When his fingers finally made contact with your clit, your toes were immediately curling, a high pitched moan escaping you. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, feeling your pussy clench around his dick. “Come on baby, cum for me.” He begged, rubbing harsh circles on your clit as his thrusts became sloppy. You couldn’t help your bodily reaction to how pathetic Peter sounded, your cunt clamping on his dick as you came, causing a string of curse words to leave Peter’s mouth as his own orgasm was triggered. “Shit, shit, shit.” He mumbled, whimpering softly as he emptied his loud into you, your sounds of ecstasy ringing in his ears.

Peter softly rocked his hips into yours, hoping to ride out your orgasm, but you whined at the overstimulation, and Peter knew it was time to pull out. You immediately slumped against the bed when Peter pulled out with a groan, sitting next to you to rub a hand over your back. You turned onto your back, looking up at Peter tiredly, and gesturing for him to get closer to you. With a hand on his jaw, you pulled him into another kiss, engrossed in the fact that this would be the last time you two had sex. “Last time Peter. Yeah?” Peter nodded, mumbling “I’m happy with that, yeah.”

But his words sounded so familiar you refused to believe them.

[florencebirdsong]

More Than Duty

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Agatha All Along Week 2024 - Day 6

summary: you were given leave to choose your own bride until Agatha Harkness came along. Charmed and lured in by her promises of power, your King Father declared you were to be wed. Now, it's your wedding night and certain duties must be upheld.

Set in a world where one can get pregnant from a cum strap

tags: arranged marriage au, virgin reader, strap-on, breeding kink, fingering (r receiving), marking, pet names - princess & good girl, strap referred to as cock once, doggy style 

authors note: you're getting the largely unedited version for a little because if I have to read this one more time I'm going to despise it forever

Also don’t question the time I’m posting this I once again thought I only needed to write 100-200 more but it was actually OVER A THOUSAND. WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS. Ahem. Anyway, here’s day six which is almost three times as long as the others.

Reader is referred to as princess multiple times, mentioned royal wedding dress, specified looking for a bride, described as wearing a plain night shift.

ao3 | masterlist

“I know this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, dear. But there’s no reason not to enjoy ourselves tonight.”

Your hands twist nervously in your simple shift. Your wedding dress had been elaborate. It needed more than one person to get you out of it. Which is not ideal for a wedding night.

You hadn’t had this in mind, exactly. You’d thought you had convinced your father to let you choose your own bride, as long as she met a few of his somewhat reasonable specifications. But then Lady Agatha Harkness had walked into his court. You don’t know whether it was her disarming charm, the power she holds, the boon to the kingdom the exchange would have or his own personal gain but he decided Lady Harkness would be the perfect match for you. He also decided you needed to get married the moment the decision was made. 

Thankfully, a royal wedding took months to prepare and you would have some time to get to know your future bride. Not that you had spent much time with her in the end. Only a few dinners here and there. She’s a busy woman, running her own region which she needed to organise another taking over. She can’t look after it and a whole kingdom, after all. Something she insisted despite your father’s good health. She also spent a lot of time with the court. Learning what her new duties will be and charming her way into their good graces.

It would be unnerving if you weren’t so relieved. One of the suitors your father had originally brought forward had no interest in what her royal duties would have been as Queen. Running a kingdom on your own would have been nothing short of hell.

So, small mercies. 

“Darling,” she says and you try not to startle.

She’s so much closer than before. She cautiously raises a hand to cup your cheek, like you’re a scared animal. You lean into it, eager to soak up any affection she gives you, and her thumb gently brushes over your skin.

“I know you’re nervous but we both have royal duties to attend to.”

You swallow harshly and look down. This is more than duty for you. You’re ashamed to admit you’ve been looking forward to this night. To having Agatha’s sole attention on you. You’ve dreamed about what could happen, what she’ll be like. 

You’ve only been told the very basics. That your wife will enter you with a specially designed device. That it may hurt for a moment but you will feel ‘a pleasure-like feeling’ afterwards. No one would explain exactly what that means. It makes you both more nervous and more excited. The only thing you know about the device is its shape and its intended use. Continuing the royal line.

“I know. It’s just,” you hesitate although Agatha has likely guessed already, “I’ve never done this before.”

“I’m aware,” she says and you flick your eyes up in time to see something flash in her eyes. “I promise to be gentle,” she says softly, a voice you haven’t heard from her before. You gently grasp the wrist of the hand cupping your cheek and nuzzle the hand. “The royal line must continue and it must be of your blood.”

You nod and leave the safety of her caress to cautiously lean closer. She waits for you to come to her and she waits for the first brush of your lips to move. She presses closer and her hands grab your waist and pull you against her. You make a surprised sound and cling to her shoulders for balance. Which you immediately lose as she begins to walk you backwards. The back of your knees hit the bed and she guides you to lay down in the middle of it. It’s hard to notice any of it with the feel of her lips against yours. The way her hands slide along your exposed skin as she leads you doesn’t help. She can’t keep her lips on you the entire time but you don’t mind so much until she pulls away properly. You chase her lips but she stops you with a hand dangerously low on your chest. 

Whatever look you’re giving her makes her eyes darken. One hand travels to the hem of your shift. You grab her wrist without thinking, anxiety rearing its head again. No one has seen you naked like this before. With the intention to- to touch. To feel.

“Let me see you,” she says, her voice firm.

You slowly relax your grip. This is your wife and someone who has shown how eager she is to see you undressed. She isn’t going to laugh or mock you. Your fingers slip from her wrist and she pulls your shift the rest of the way off.

It feels exposing in a way you haven’t felt before. You try to cover yourself instinctively but her hands grab your wrists and holds them down as she has her fill. You squirm but she doesn’t release you. Instead, she leans down and begins to suck deep, purple marks along the curve of your breast. It feels better than you were expecting it to (how can something feel so good when it isn’t down there?) but it doesn’t come close to the feeling of her lips wrapping around the stiff peak of your nipple. You gasp and arch into her. She flicks her tongue and your hand tangles in the thick curls of her hair. She does it again and a small whimper escapes you. You can feel her smile. She begins to trail kisses again and you think she’s going to repeat the same delicious thing until you realise she’s heading down instead of across.

“Wait,” you say, moving your hand to land on her shoulder. She lazily raises her head to look at you.

“Yes, princess?” she says in a tone you don’t have a name for.

It makes something spark between your legs and you determinedly ignore it to be able to speak.

“I want to see you too,” you try to speak as confidently as she did but there’s the tiniest waver to your voice.

She quirks an eyebrow before sitting up, taking her warmth with her. She pulls her own shift off and you think you understand her reaction. She’s beautiful. Your eyes devour every detail from her dark eyes to her pebbled nipples to-

Oh. You stare at it with wide eyes. It had looked so much smaller on the page. 

“Don’t worry, dear. Your body knows what to do.”

She leans back over you and the thing hanging between her thighs nudges your most sensitive spot. She muffles your whimper with a kiss. You cling to her. Excitement and anxiety swirling into a heady mix as she slowly, slowly begins to push inside of you.

“A-Agatha,” you say, your voice high and needy.

Agatha shushes you quietly and continues to slowly push inside of you. Your legs open wider instinctively. It doesn’t help with the stretching feeling. Nor the building tingling sensation. She continues to steadily push inside of you and the slight pain is overshadowed by the feel of her. Her hands tight on your hips, breath hot against your neck, her hips slowly getting closer and closer to yours.

“That’s it. Take it.”

You spread your legs wider, trying to do what she says. You don’t know why she felt the need to say it. You feel so full you can’t do anything but take it.

“Agatha,” you gasp as she bottoms out, nails digging in as you try to ground yourself.

She groans again and her next thrust is harsher than her last one. It forces a whining moan from you as it hits something inside of you that feels so good.

“Knew I had to have this sweet cunt the moment I saw you,” she grunts and settles into a slower, rougher pace. You can’t help the little noise you make every time she bottoms out. “When I found out about this little ritual of yours, I knew I had to fill this sweet cunt.”

Every word builds an unfamiliar fire inside of you. You don’t know what’s happening to you, what she’s doing to you,  but you can feel how big it’s going to be big. The feeling of your pleasure growing as it builds drowns out any worry you may have had. 

You wrap your legs around her waist and pull her tight against you, moaning at how full you feel. It forces Agatha to still.

“Princess,” she says warningly but you don’t care because that thread snaps inside of you.

Pure, unadulterated pleasure flows through you and you’re aware of nothing else.

You come back down to Agatha’s face hovering over yours, eyes devouring your every twitch.

“I- what?” you say, completely at a loss for words.

“You just came dear. And I just came in you,” the look on her face mirrors one of a cat that got the cream.

“You…” you stare up at her with wide eyes as you pulse at those words. “But you didn’t…?” you ask after a moment.

“No,” she confirms and your face drops. Her hand cups your cheek and you lean into the touch. “It’s the best time to do it to get the results we want.”

“R-Right,” you stutter and look away, somehow embarrassed by that while she’s still inside of you.

“But you can make it up to me,” she says and you nod eagerly, missing the darker edge to her pleased smile. She pulls out and you whimper at the sudden empty feeling. Her hands grip your hips again and you squeak as she manhandles you onto your stomach and then onto your knees. You automatically put your hands under you but a hand on the back of your head pushes your front back down. A pillow finds it way under your hips. This is a position you weren’t taught about.

Agatha’s hands run down your sides, over your hips, down your ass and stop at your thighs. Her thumbs gently hook around your inner lips and you whimper quietly at the feeling, especially since it feels like you’re dripping.

“You look so good full of my cum,” she says in a rough voice.

You feel that clenching feeling again and she chuckles lowly. Fingers brush your sensitive entrance and your hips jerk in surprise before needily pressing back against them. They start low and move up before gently pushing into you. Embarrassment flares through you when you realise that dripping feeling wasn’t just a feeling. She doesn’t comment though. Instead, she languidly pumps her fingers in and out of you, seeming content to enjoy the way you squeeze around her.

“Too bad I can’t feel this when filling you,” she sighs. You want to protest, you feel plenty full right now, but you know what she means. The idea of her pushing her strap back into you has you pressing back on her fingers again. “Probably a good thing. I’d never let you leave this bed.”

You whimper and try to open you legs wider, begging her to understand what you need. She must because she removes her fingers and a moment later the tip of her strap is dragging teasingly through your folds. You arch more, trying to get her inside of you again and unconsciously presenting for her. She groans and fills you with one thrust. She starts slow but hard, making you feel every inch of her. It doesn’t take you long to become a moaning mess again. Sinking into a hazy place you have’t been before. Filled with Agatha grunting above you, her cock filling you, her nails digging into your delicate skin. It’s all you could want.

Agatha gets louder, and slightly higher, and you realise the same thing that happened to you is happening to her. She’s coming. And you don’t get to watch her. 

A strange warmth fills you, one you didn’t notice last time. Agatha leans her forehead against the back of your neck, breathing heavy. 

“Good girl,” she says in such a deep voice that your toes curl.

You stay there for a long moment. Agatha buried deep inside of you, catching her breath as you try to even your own, fire still licking up your insides. It’s an awful sort of tease when she pulls out.

She removes the pillow and pushes you onto your side. Instead of getting up like you’re expecting, she curls around your back. Her fingers trail a light path down from your hip and your muscles jump at the feeling. They stop just above the sensitive button she’s so far neglected.

“Agatha? What’re you- “ you cut yourself off with a gasp as her finger begins to gently circle your clit.

“We have to make sure it sticks, don’t we?” she says.

You were so close to the edge before that it only takes a few firm circles and a swipe to fall over it again. It’s a lot gentler this time but it still has your body locking up in pleasure. Agatha leisurely strokes you through your high, her nose lightly nuzzling the back of your neck.

Her hand moves back to your hip and you bask in the warm afterglow.

Some time later, when both of your breathing has calmed and you’ve slipped into that soft space between awake and sleep, you decide that your mouth is dry enough to drag yourself out of bed for a drink. You don’t get far.

Agatha grabs you arm and rolls you onto your back. You give her a confused look as she climbs back on top of you.

“You are not leaving this bed until there’s no possible way I haven’t put a baby in you.”

[uvobreakmylegs]

Trap

inspired from that one scene from the film The House That Jack Built (tho reader gets a better outcome, all things considered)

Kishibe x female!reader

Warnings: noncon, smut, fingering, groping, kidnapping, captivity, sexual harassment, mentions of gore, mentions of death

Word Count: 13.9k

The bar that you worked at just so happened to be situated close to the main office of the devil hunters, and as a result, a fair amount of your clientele were those same people who worked in Public Safety, usually the ones that were just getting off work and were in desperate need of a drink after spending a work shift witnessing countless horrors.

Despite your job as a bartender not coming close in terms of what they went through, you saw a lot just from witnessing the state they were in when you served them: the exhaustion that had seeped into their bones after they would sat down and the far-off gazes as they relived whatever fresh hell they'd been through before downing the rest of their drinks before calling you for another. Sometimes there were even entrails that covered them which you needed to clean up; it was only possible to do so once you held a spare rag up to your mouth and nose while keeping the dustpan as far away from you as possible before you deposited the remains in the dumpster at the back, after which you would quickly scurry away, eager to escape the awful smell.

It'd be easy to be annoyed with them for things like that, but you kept yourself in line by reminding yourself that they were the ones killing the devils so people like you could live in relative safety. If the price for that was sometimes needing to clean up something gross, you could live with that.

And certainly the last thing the exhausted hunters needed was someone nagging at them about a mess.

You got used to the changing faces, of those who either left or those who had died in the line of duty. More often than not, they simply stopped coming in with no explanation, which was a good indication that they were dead, as the ones who would quit usually ended up telling you their life story: why they got into devil hunting, what had happened since that point and why they now wanted to leave. You would listen – they didn't really want much engagement from you, just for someone to hear them out. At the end of it, the hunter would usually slam down their glass and declare that they were going to quit before heading out the door and you never saw them again.

Though there were often times when they would softly put down their empty glass and decide that they needed to keep with it despite the hardship. The irony that followed was that sometimes those hunters who decided to keep going didn't come in after that.

Even though you could make a good guess as to what had likely happened, you preferred to tell yourself that they had changed their mind immediately after and decided to quit after all. Even if it was a lie you were telling yourself, it was nicer to imagine a happy outcome for them, a future that they could – and should – have had.

And the faces at the bar continued to change.

Except for one.

Kishibe.

During the entirety of your year and a half of working at the bar, the biggest constant was the man who called himself the strongest devil hunter and who always, always came in for a drink once his shift had finally ended.

He was an odd one, to say the least. In terms of looks, he stood out almost immediately from the other devils hunters in large part due to his blonde hair and the recognizable scar that ran from the corner of his mouth and across his left cheek. And in terms of what he was like as a person, from what you could see, his monotone way of speaking and his quiet demeanor was deemed to be unsettling to most who interacted with him. He was also constantly drinking, as on more than one occasion you saw him take a swig of that flask he always carried around right as he entered the bar and then again when he left. That, combined with how much he drank at what became his designated seat at the bar, left you thinking that the fact that his liver was still functioning at his age was nothing short of a miracle.

Speaking to him had been weird at first. You had assumed that he would be like the other hunters who came in on their own, the ones who were in a bad place and were trying to drown out the turbulent feelings inside of them by way of harsh liquor. Those ones didn't want to talk; they just wanted a drink and for you to leave them alone until they needed a refill. With your experience with other hunters and the general vibe that surrounded Kishibe, it seemed like the safest choice to keep your distance from him.

But despite your attempts at creating that space, Kishibe turned out to be eager for a chat whenever you were around.

Though the topics the two of you could discuss were limited, you slowly found yourself warming up to the veteran hunter the more you spoke with him. While it was hard to tell what Kishibe was feeling in general, the fact that he continued to seek out your company told you that, at the very least, he found you to be tolerable. Tolerable enough to ask you questions that were guaranteed to get him boring answers. You doubted that he cared much about what your day had been like before you arrived for your shift or what the results of your off-day shopping trips were; he must have just wanted to hear something about how the average person's normal day went, one that was free of hunting and killing.

Until he told you to stop or he didn't bother to ask anymore, you were happy to oblige.

At that moment, Kishibe was on his third drink, staring down at the dark liquid within the glass with the same blank expression that was always on his face. Just like the other devil hunters that were currently in the bar, he was finished for the day and was getting a few drinks before he'd head home. Though with Kishibe it definitely wouldn't be just a few, and it wouldn't end with whatever he got at the bar.

It was relatively quiet at the moment with the small bits of chatter throughout the room being contained to the tables where the other patrons sat, so there was no need to raise your voice when you spoke to him.

“Kill a lot of devils today?” you asked.

Kishibe glanced up at you before returning his gaze to the glass.

“No, nothing like that today,” he said.

“Oh? Then were you training new recruits again?”

“Some of that,” he answered plainly, “but today I was mostly dealing with paperwork.”

“Ah.”

While you weren't inclined to say paperwork was the worst thing to deal with considering that the man killed monsters for a living, you could easily see how trudging through documents and filling out papers could be an exceptionally mind numbing experience.

“I guess it's too bad that being the best devil hunter doesn't exempt you from the boring parts of the job,” you said.

He shrugged.

“It's something that inevitably comes with any sort of job,” Kishibe told you, raising the glass to his lips after.

You leaned your elbow on the surface of the bar as you asked “did the training with your students go well at least?”

“No,” he answered bluntly.

“Oh. Why not?”

Kishibe waited to reply as he took another swig of his drink before saying “they're motivated by money, which is the worst reason to join Public Safety. Not only that, but they're hopelessly weak as well, which makes training them even more of a waste of time.”

“But the point of training them is to make them stronger, right?” you asked.

“There's no point because they're not cut out for it.”

“Is that you saying that they're not crazy enough?”

“It is.”

“Ah.”

You'd heard him say that before. About how the only people who can make it as devil hunters are the crazy ones and anyone who was too sane was little more than cannon fodder. His words.

Whether or not what he was saying was correct wasn't something you could really judge, but considering how long he'd been at that job, it was possible that there just might be some truth to what he was saying, though you doubted anyone else at Public Safety would be willing to agree with his statement out loud.

“Well,” you began, “maybe they'll surprise you. Maybe they just need a bit more time.”

“Doubtful. You either are cut out for devil hunting or you aren't. And these ones aren't,” said Kishibe.

He took a cursory glance across the room before he added “they'd be more suitable for a job like this one.”

Then he looked back to you as he asked “you need any new workers?”

You shook your head.

“Unfortunately we're all good on staff, so I don't think we can take any of them,” you answered jokingly.

“I see.”

He brought the glass back up to his lips as he said “then I guess they'll be dead soon enough.”

Kishibe spoke those words in that same monotone voice, while part of you wanted to believe that he was just a fan of dark humor, you knew him well enough by now to know that he meant what he said. Whoever these students were, they must have been massively under-performing for his opinion of them to be so low.

“Have you tried talking to them about that?” you then asked.

“I have. They just see it as motivation to prove me wrong,” he said, “I'm not going to bother if all it does it encourage stupid behavior.”

“And you can't speak to anyone higher up about your concerns?”

“Very few apply to work at Public Safety in general, so they'll accept anyone without question.”

“They're that desperate for hunters?”

Kishibe nodded.

You smiled, taking the opportunity to joke as you said “maybe I should apply then, especially if they don't care much about someone's background. It'd probably pay better than what I get from this place.”

In response to that, Kishibe gave you a long, hard look, his glass held in midair as he stared at you. Though his expression remained neutral, you got the sense that he wasn't amused.

“…. I was joking,” you said, “I know that I'm not up for killing devils.”

Just like that, the slight bit of tension that had fallen on the two of you dissipated. and the air felt light once again.

“That's good,” he told you, bringing the glass to his lips before saying “you're smart in knowing your limits.”

“Unlike your students?”

“Yeah.”

With one last swig, he drained what was in the glass. The veteran devil hunter then set it down closer to you, silently asking you for a refill. You obliged, grabbing the nearby bottle you had opened for him earlier and filling up the glass until it reached the brim.

As you put the bottle back on the shelf and while he lifted the glass to his lips once again, you commented “it is nice that you're trying to look out for them.”

He stopped what he was doing, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Even though what you're saying doesn't seem all that kind, you must really be worried about them if you're that insistent that they need to quit,” you clarified, “I can only imagine how tired you are of seeing those white grave markers multiplying every time you go to that graveyard.”

The expression on his face remained blank after you said that, which, of course, made it hard to read just how he felt about your statement. But when he averted his gaze and took that sip of his newly poured drink, you took it to mean that you were correct.

Kishibe was pretty open, after all. If you were wrong, he would have said so. You felt certain of that.

“But maybe don't give up on them just yet,” you added, “like I said, they might surprise you.”

“….. I'll consider it.”

You smiled at that. That was as big of a win that you could get when it came to Kishibe, who no doubt had an issue of being stubborn due to age.

You really hoped those students would be able to prove him wrong.

There wasn't any more time to dwell on the matter, however, as a few more men walked in at that moment and took their seats at the bar, waiting to be served. The small moment that you had to chat with your most regular customer had come to a close, at least for now. Even if Kishibe spent a lot when he visited the bar, you would get in trouble if you ignored other customers in favor of speaking with him.

Even if this wasn't the greatest job in the world, you didn't want to face the terror of unemployment.

…. Was there such a thing as an unemployment devil? You'd need to ask Kishibe later, if you remembered.

It picked up quite a bit after that, with a more steady stream of patrons filling the seats and orders for drinks flowing in. As such, you were too busy to continue any form of conversation with Kishibe; the most words that were shared between the two of you were your affirmations when he called you over to refill his glass. And the hours would manage to pass in that way.

It was the same way it usually went. Another busy night where your feet would definitely be aching by the time you got back home.

It was near the end of your shift when Kishibe called you over to ask for his bill, settling up before he headed out for the night, presumably to wherever it was he called 'home'. The time he did so was as usual, as was the rather high bill he had racked up during the hours he'd spent chugging down drinks. He barely reacted to the high amount you had printed out for him, his face staying as blank as always as he fished out the amount needed from his wallet.

“Heading home?” you asked him.

“In a bit,” he said, “need to take care of something first.”

“I hope it's not work related; I doubt you'd be in any condition for late night devil murdering.”

“Even if it was, I'd be fine.”

You raised your eyebrows at that, but otherwise said nothing to disagree with him. If he noticed that reaction of yours, he chose not to comment on it as he handed you what he owed.

“You get off soon, don't you?” he then asked.

“Yeah, why?” you asked back absentmindedly as you placed the money in the register.

“Did you walk or drive here?”

“Oh, I usually walk,” you answered, “my place isn't too far away.”

“Will you be alright heading home by yourself at this hour?”

You smiled as you nodded at him, answering “I'll be fine. I've walked that route dozens of times and I've never had any issues. Plus, there's hardly anyone around this time of night.”

Kishibe nodded slowly once you answered, and while he spoke again just to say “that's good, then”, he said it more to himself than to you.

Shutting the register, you looked back to him as you asked “but what about you? Are you walking? I feel like it'd be dangerous if you got behind the wheel of a car right now.”

“I usually walk, too,” he told you, “both the business I need to take care of and my place are close enough.”

“I see. Well, I hope you have a good rest of your night.”

“Same to you.”

With nothing else to be said, Kishibe began to make his way out of the bar, remaining surprisingly steady as he walked to the door. You weren't sure if his tolerance for alcohol was something else, or if he was just really really good at pretending to be sober.

As he walked out, you noted the reactions of the other devil hunters as he passed them by. A majority of the ones who were still present stiffened when he did so, conversations turning quiet until he was out of earshot. Some were clearly nervous with him being so close. And then there were others who looked at him, trying to make eye contact so they could have some small bit of a good interaction in wishing him well for the night by way of a brief farewell.

Kishibe didn't pay attention to any of them, and when the door shut behind him, the visible tension in the nervous hunters lessened instantly, a collective sigh of relief hitting them.

Seeing that sort of reaction was another thing that had felt weird at first.

Despite the fact that he was constantly drinking, none of the other devil hunters regarded Kishibe as being an old drunken fool as you might have expected. Conversations would quiet down once he walked through the doors, anyone who had begun to get a little too rowdy cutting it out the moment they realized he was there. Kishibe wasn't interested in interacting with any of them, however. Once he had sat down, his only focus was on downing the many drinks he would order while he made conversation with you.

Those sorts of reactions were probably due to the respect that the other devil hunters felt for him. But it was respect mixed with something else:

Fear.

As you only ever saw Kishibe within the small space of the bar, you had no idea what he was truly like when he was out hunting devils. While you could make a guess of how strong he was based on his general aura and the way the others regarded him, you were limited to him when he was in that seat chugging down drinks like no tomorrow.

There was only time where you had gotten an inkling as to what he was capable of, and you hadn't even been around to witness it.

A while back and on a rare night where Kishibe was absent, a devil hunter who was relatively new to the job and had only recently started going to the bar with his colleagues made an impulsive decision when he was tipsy and had smacked you on the ass as you were walking by his table. The hit had been so hard and unexpected that you ended up dropping a tray full of drinks, and the glasses you'd been carrying shattered on the floor alongside the spilled liquor.

When you told the guy to get out he scoffed at you, and at that moment there wasn't much you could do other than clean up the mess while one of your coworkers got a refill for the orders that had spilled. By the time all of that was done, the group the guy had been with had left, one of the others paying for their bill while the guy snickered at you. That, along with the way your boss had berated you after for spilling the drinks despite your explanation, had caused that night to be a bad one for you. It was bad enough that it was still affecting you the next day, leaving you somber through your shift.

Kishibe noticed your mood almost immediately, and after some prying on his part, you told him what had happened. After getting the full story, his expression stayed level as it always did, and it made you sad as you thought that didn't care about what had happened to you.

But then he asked you for a description of the man who had hit you as well as the ones who had accompanied him. That had surprised you, but you still gave him the information he wanted. Kishibe left soon after and much earlier in the night than he usually did.

Truthfully, you hadn't expected much to come from any of it. Maybe at most the bar owner would receive a letter of apology and some small bit of compensation for the spilled drinks as well as the group promising to be on better behavior. And even then, you weren't really interested in any of that. All you had really wanted was for someone to agree that the entire situation was unfair for you. Kishibe hadn't even done that, so your somber mood remained even after your shift ended.

You weren't expecting to see the guy who'd hit you so soon after that.

A few days later, shortly after you had come in, the devil hunter who had so brazenly smacked you entered the bar and gave you a formal apology, promising that he would never bother you again. The entire thing was very short, as he didn't bother making any excuses or tried to blame his actions on the alcohol. He simply apologized, left an envelope full of money as compensation for what you had dropped and then exited the bar.

Despite his apology to you, he couldn't look you in the face, and there was a distinct haunted look in his gaze as he stared at anything other than you, as though he was terrified of making direct eye contact you.

Neither that man or the group he had been with ever entered the bar again, and when Kishibe came in that same evening, he didn't mention anything. You didn't ask about it, either. Whatever it was that he had done to get that result, you decided that you didn't want to know just in case the answer was something that would keep you up at night. Even if it wasn't something gruesome or morally questionable, it was simply easier to pretend that the incident hadn't happened.

At least those previously rowdy devil hunters were a bit more well-behaved from that point onward.

Late on the next Tuesday night, you found yourself alone as you were the last one clocking out, and therefore the one who needed to do the final clean up and shutting down of the bar. Luckily for you, Tuesdays were always slow and there was never much of a mess to take care of, so despite the late hour you were in good spirits as you exited the building, locking the door at the back while you thought of what you were going to do from here.

Your thoughts went to a new video game you had bought, having only had enough time to play a little bit before you had started your shift that day. While normally you may have felt the current time was too late for something like that, you had tomorrow off, so it didn't feel like a horrible idea to stay up late on your computer. It was very likely that all of your day off would be dedicated to playing the game.

But you were jumping too far ahead. You hadn't even gotten to tomorrow yet, you told yourself. Focus on getting home right now.

You walked along quiet streets as you did just that, at one point zipping your hoodie fully up as the chill of the night air was more uncomfortable than you were expecting. At least you wouldn't need to be out here long, though you still bemoaned the fact that you had forgotten to bring your gloves with you. The only solution you had was stuffing your hands into your pockets in an effort to keep them warm.

As was expected for how late it was, the street you were walking on was virtually abandoned. Any people that you did catch sight of could only be seen on adjacent streets that you passed, all of whom were minding their own business as they hastily made their way to wherever they needed to be. You were in the same camp as they were, and your pace increased as all you wanted in that moment was to get home where you'd be able to relax and unwind.

One walkway you passed by was particularly loud, and you caught sight of a group of businessmen who were chatting with one another. From what you could see, they had been out drinking. Socializing for work, more than likely.

So it wasn't a surprise when you rounded the corner of a turn you needed to make and you saw what at first appeared to be another businessman in the distance, moving about oddly as he towards you. With the distance between the two of you and the fact that you had only spared him a brief glance at first, you assumed that he was one with that group, making his way back for one reason or another.

But as the person was walking in your direction, you were compelled to look up at him as he came closer.

It wasn't a businessman at all.

And as the picture before you became clearer as the person continued walking towards you, your pace slowed before you came to a stop as recognition turned to confusion upon realizing just who it was on the path before you.

Your most loyal regular at the bar, Kishibe, was out on the sidewalk by himself. His height, hair and the scar on his face made it easy to identify him. That he was out at night wasn't much of a surprise, but what made you confused was the fact that he was stumbling, barely able to keep himself upright as he went forward. The only explanation for him to move in such a way was that he was drunk.

You were in disbelief. How was that even possible? You'd seen that man consume enough alcohol that it should've been fatal and it had never affected him, yet now he wasn't even able to walk in a straight line – just how fucking much did he have to drink to get that way?

When he nearly fell to the pavement was when you snapped out of your stupor.

Holy fuck

“Kishibe!”

You ran over to where he was leaning against an adjacent wall, lightly placing your hand on his back as a way to help steady him while you asked “are you alright?”

He turned his head to look at you, and after a moment, he shook his head.

“Let me lean on you,” he mumbled.

Taking hold of one of his arms, you did your best to keep him standing as he got his feet firmly beneath him.

“Do you need to go to the hospital? I can call an ambulance,” you said.

“Hospital? No,” he answered, “just get me back to my apartment.”

“I don't know where that is.”

By that point he had his arm over your shoulder, though he was swaying far more than you were comfortable with. Still shaken by how he had nearly fallen moments ago and worried that he could still end up tumbling onto the pavement, you ended up grabbing ahold of his waist in an attempt to keep him steady. Although if he was really going to fall, you had a bad feeling that he would just end up taking you down with him.

You really hoped that wouldn't happen; ending your night by having one or both of you getting a concussion was something you wanted to avoid.

Kishibe had reached a hand into his pocket and had pulled out his cellphone, his fingers seemingly not cooperating when he attempted to put in his passcode. After a few failed attempts at unlocking it, the screen turned brighter as he got in and within a few moments, he had typed in an address and held it in front you.

Your mind blanked before you took the phone from him with an “okay.”

Looking at the screen, you found that the location put in was only fifteen minutes away from where you currently stood. That wasn't too bad, but as you glanced over again to Kishibe and the state he was in, you worried that the short walk would be too much for him right now. If he lost his balance again you didn't think you had the strength to keep him up on your own, and if he passed out there was no way you'd be able to drag him to his apartment. Plus if he hurt himself you'd probably need to call an ambulance, which would be a whole other mess that would likely see you waiting in the hospital for hours.

“Are you sure you want to walk there? With how you're doing right now, I think it might be better if we call a ride for you,” you told him.

“No.”

“But the idea of you walking seems dangerous.”

“You really think anyone will let me into their car with how I am now?” he countered.

Ah. That was true. Kishibe was only still standing up right now because you were supporting him. And not only was he unsteady, but he also reeked of alcohol. Any driver would see him and refuse to let him in out of fear that they'd need to clean his vomit out of their car afterwards.

So the only option was to walk him back?

….. This sucks.

It was late, you'd been on your feet for hours, your fingers were still numb from the cold and you were tired. You'd been looking forward to your plans for when you got back and yet you needed to be the one to deal with this?

Despite saying none of that out loud, Kishibe seemed perceptive to what you were thinking as he said “I know it's inconvenient, but I'd appreciate it if you would help me out.”

“…..”

…. Well now you felt like an asshole.

Kishibe needed help and you were trying to get out of it, and now he was aware that you were trying to get out of it. The fact that he needed to push to get you to help him wasn't good at all. And all of it was just so you could go home and play a video game?

Why were you like this?

With that, you forced a smile onto your face as you said “of course. It's only a short walk, right?”

He nodded.

Readjusting the hold you had on him, you kept the smile on your face as you continued with “plus, maybe the walking will help you feel better.”

“Maybe.”

As the you began to walk him back, heading in the direction that was directly opposite of your apartment, you told yourself that this could always be worse. Kishibe wasn't being loud or aggressive, which you appreciated. While you were stuck with his arm around you and the pace at which you traveled was painfully slow, it would have been a lot worse if he'd insisted that you help him while also being belligerent about it.

At least he was a pretty chill drunk, even if the way he wobbled in your grip still made your stress levels rise every time it felt like he was about to lose his balance.

“If you need to stop to rest a little, we can do that. Just let me know, okay?”

He nodded after you told him that, but with the vacant stare in his eye, you wondered how much he had really heard.

Oh well.

As the two of you went by the path you had passed previously which was full of the businessmen, you found that it was empty now. Either they were getting more drinks somewhere else or they were going home. Though as you took one last glance in that general area, you caught sight of a tiny bit of movement at the base of the building, your eyebrows furrowing until you realized what you were looking at.

“Gross,” you commented.

“Hm?”

“Cockroach.”

Kishibe hummed in response.

“I'm surprised it's still alive in this weather,” you said, “I would've thought the cold would have gotten to it.”

“They're good at finding ways to survive.”

It was good that he was speaking to you. As you were still worried at the thought of him passing out while in the middle of the way home, you figured that continuing to speak would probably be best; whatever you could think of as long as he stayed lucid enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

With the sight of the bug from moments ago, at least there was an easy topic of conversation to have.

“Is there a cockroach devil?” you asked.

He closed his eyes as he nodded slowly.

“We don't have control of it, though,” he then told you.

“Good thing I'm not afraid of cockroaches, then. Wouldn't want to make your enemies stronger,” you said.

You paused as you readjusted the grip you had around his waist before you added “I am pretty scared of spiders, though. Is that an issue?”

“Public Safety has control of the spider devil. If anything, I would encourage you to be more afraid of spiders. That way she'll be stronger,” answered Kishibe.

“Okay,” you answered, laughing a little as you said “though maybe I don't want to be too afraid of them. It'd be a different kind of issue if she became too tough and decided to run off to do her own thing, right?”

He shook his head.

“That's impossible.”

“Why's that?”

“Because if she tried that, I'd hunt her down and take her out,” he said simply.

“You're sure you'd be successful with that?” you asked.

“Of course. I'm the strongest devil hunter there is,” Kishibe told you.

“That might be true,” you said, “but if a devil were to come for you as you are right now, I'm worried you wouldn't be able to do much.”

“I'd handle it.”

“…. You can't even walk on your own.”

“I'd handle it,” he insisted.

Despite his tone, you were skeptical. After all, you were the only one keeping him upright at that moment. Still, it was better to let it go. Just treat it like you're at work, you told yourself. Work that you wouldn't be getting paid for, but work nonetheless. Even though this wasn't the way you wanted your night to end, reminding yourself that you had the day off tomorrow helped in making you feel better about it.

Walking to Kishibe's apartment took about an extra eight minutes due to his slow pace, and there was only so much you could do to get him to move faster while still being polite about it. If only you had the strength to pick him up and carry him, it could've gone so much faster.

At the very least it would have made for a funny scene, at least from an outsider's perspective.

You did your best to stay positive, and you continued to ask him questions as a way to make sure he was still conscious as you escorted him back home. Though after your conversation about the spider devil, Kishibe only answered in grunts or hums, but at least he was still able to answer you. That was a good thing, at least. As long as he was conscious and able to continue walking, that was good.

When you caught sight of Kishibe's apartment building and noted the tall flights of stairs that decorated the sides, you frowned. And when you asked him which floor you needed to get him too, you groaned internally when he answered that his unit was on the fourth floor.

Of course you needed to get him up several flights of stairs.

You didn't want to think about just how long it took the two of you to get up the stairs, nor did you want to think about the times you needed to help him lift up his own feet so he could ascend those stairs with you. By the time you reached the door of his unit, you felt well and truly exhausted from the ordeal, and you wanted nothing more than for him to unlock the door and go inside so you could go back home.

Except Kishibe handed you the key to his door.

Of course it couldn't be that simple.

You couldn't even get him to go in on his own, as when you turned the handle and opened the door to his unit, his weight suddenly bore down on you, pushing you into the darkened apartment with him following after and only managing to regain his footing once he was inside. Even then he stumbled backwards after, his arm hitting the open door and forcing it back shut when he fell against it.

“Are you okay?!”All you heard in response to your worried question was a grunt that seemed like he was trying to indicate 'yes', which lessened your panic a little, though it'd be nicer to be able to see him. In the pitch dark of the apartment, you reached for a nearby wall as you searched for a light switch. After several moments of blindly pressing your hand all over the surface of the wall, you found it, and you needed to shut your eyes once the overhead light turned on as you needed to adjust to the sudden brightness.

Once you were able to see, what greeted you was what appeared to be a sparsely decorated apartment that only seemed rather ominous as the rest of the lights within the space had also been left off. From what you were able to see in your current position, you caught sight of a darkened living room area, and beyond that, a sliding door that opened up to small balcony. There was a couch in the living room, right? You could just leave him there, couldn't you?

Please let me leave now, you silently begged.

“Could you get me to the bedroom?”

Despite how he mumbled his words, you heard him clearly. Looking back to where you'd left him, you were dismayed to find that he was still drunk out of his mind. He still had his back leaning against the surface of the door, and it seemed that was all that was keeping him upright. With the way he was blocking the way out, it meant you'd need to move him, and more than likely you'd need to escort him further, this time to his bedroom.

Once you saw him at your next shift at the bar, you'd need to ask what exactly he'd done to get himself that fucked up. That, or maybe he could just give you a really nice tip for all of the effort spent getting him home safe.

But you made yourself smile at him as you said “sure. Just hang on for a second, okay? I'm gonna turn on some lights so the two of us aren't stumbling around in the dark. I'll be right back.”

A pair of hazy looking dark eyes glanced in your direction after you spoke, and he nodded in understanding. With that, you placed both his phone and the keys to the apartment on a small table that sat in the small hallway before slipping off your shoes and making your way further into his unit. It took a few tries, more than a few moments of turning on light switches before you hastily turned them off once you saw that you had entered a room that you didn't need, but not long after you found what you were looking for: the bed Kishibe needed to pass out on top of.

The bedroom matched the apartment in that it looked rather plain, almost like Kishibe didn't spend a lot of time here. It made sense; with how much he must have on his plate as a devil hunter he probably didn't have the time to decorate his living space. He just needed some place where he could eat, clean himself and then sleep soundly at the end of each day before he returned to his work.

The queen sized bed did look – and feel – rather nice, you felt compelled to note. He must have spent a lot on that to have a good night's sleep.

With your goal of finding where you needed to take him achieved, you returned to the main hallway to retrieve Kishibe. He was where you left him, once more looking dazed as he stared down at the floor beneath his feet. Your gaze traveled down as well, and when you saw the tied up laces of his shoes, you came to a realization.

“Are you going to be able to untie those?” you asked, pointing down at them.

“Probably not.”

At this point you weren't able to be annoyed; it wasn't entirely unexpected given his current state. Just another thing you needed to take care of for him, but at least it wouldn't be as difficult as helping him stumble his way up the stairs.

Do a few things more to help him and then you can go home.

Kneeling down on the surface of the entryway, you reached for the laces of one of his shoes. He didn't say anything as you undid the knots. When you asked him to lift his foot up once they were loosened, he did as you told him and you pulled the shoe off of him, placing it down and out of the way before repeating the process with the other. Again, he said nothing, but you felt those blank brown eyes staring down at you the entire time.

After getting his shoes off, you gently grabbed him by his shoulder and moved him away from the door. Immediately he was back to leaning on you, this time with his nose in your hair. You could feel his breath on your head, followed by the sound of his voice as he let out a content hum.

This was so fucking awkward. He definitely owed you after this.

“Kishibe,” you began, “just a little more walking and then you can rest, okay?”

He grunted again as you once again led him while his weight bore down on you.

With his face still in your hair, you heard the moment when, in the middle of making your way to the bedroom, he inhaled deeply. The sound of that and the feeling forced you to come to a stop.

And after letting out a short breath, you continued to walk with him.

He's drunk, you told yourself. Extremely shit-faced, over the top blackout drunk. He probably wouldn't remember any of this come tomorrow, and while you weren't enjoying this, it'd be better to keep your relationship with him positive. You didn't need to mention any of the creepy parts; just how much you had done to help him.

He'd better be appreciative.

A feeling relief washed over you when you finally got him into the bedroom, the bed only a few feet away.

Pulling forward, you saw this as the final hurdle. Just get him onto the bed. That was all you needed to do, and then you could go home and collapse onto your own not-as-comfortable mattress that had been all you could afford.

You tried to move him so he would lay down on his back, and then you could gently let him go. You didn't really want to bother trying to get him actually into the bed; that seemed like it would take even more time and would be even more of a hassle. No, just getting him on there was enough.

“Alright, here we go.”

Kishibe was supposed to let go as you maneuvered him in front of you. Once he felt the edge of the mattress against the back of his legs, he should've understood that he was safe to fall backwards and that he needed to let you go.

But the arm he had wrapped around your back stayed in place, and when gravity finally won the battle and began to pull him down, you were brought down with him.

A short cry escaped your lips as you ended up on the bed with him, pressed tightly to his chest with your lower half hanging off the mattress.

Goddammit

“I'm sorry,” you began, “I didn't mean for that to happen.”

“Hm.”

You weren't sure of what to make of the way he hummed when you said that, largely because all you wanted in that moment was to get off of him. Bracing your arm on the mattress, you pushed your weight onto it as you tried to get off of him and escape the awkward situation.

Only the arm he had around you wasn't budging.

When a few moments passed with you desperately trying to leave the bed only to have your efforts thwarted by the surprisingly strong grip he had on you, you looked back to him as you asked “Kishibe, could you let me go? I can't get up.”

“Why do you want to get up?” he asked.

“Um, because I need to go home?” you said, surprised that you even needed to clarify that.

“It's late; you should spend the night here.”

“That's okay. I'm sure your couch is comfortable, but I'd really rather sleep in my own bed,” you told him.

“Who said anything about you sleeping on the couch?”

His question made you blink.

“I…. Where else would I…..”

Your question trailed off as you glanced at the mattress you were currently on top of, and a sick feeling began to form in your stomach. A feeling that grew stronger with every moment that passed with his arm still wrapped around you.

“Kishibe, please let go of me,” you said.

“Why?”

“Because I don't like this and I want to go home.”

Again you tried to pull yourself up, and again, Kishibe kept you pressed to his chest.

“Please,” you said again, “I don't want to spend the night-”

You were cut off when you felt his other hand move. Instead of joining the one wrapped around your back, his free hand went down to cup your ass as he blatantly groped you.

Shock and revulsion shot through you and when you struggled again against the grip he had on you, it was with far more force and desperation.

“Let go of me,” you said, “now!”

Again, he only hummed in response.

But that time he actually did let you go, removing his arms and letting them fall to the mattress.

You pulled off immediately, getting to your feet and taking a few steps back in record time, breathing heavily as the brief burst of adrenaline was still running through you. Kishibe remained splayed out on the bed with his legs still hanging off the side. He was still staring at you, however.

After taking in another deep breath, you spoke.

“Rest up and get sober,” you began, “and then when we see each other next, I'd appreciate it if you could come to the bar with an apology.”

You then turned and walked out the door, deciding to leave it at that. Though you noted to yourself that he may very well not remember what you had said or what had happened. As you had told yourself earlier, he was drunk. But even then you didn't intend to back down on this. Even if he didn't remember, at the very least you deserved some form of the word 'sorry' for how he had held you down and tried to coerce you into sleeping with him. Regardless of if his actions were caused by the alcohol, you needed that after he had ignored you the first few times you had told him to let you go.

As long as you could get that, you'd be happy to go back to how your relationship was before, with him as a customer and with the solid surface of the bar separating the two of you.

Returning to the entryway, you quickly collected your shoes and slipped them back on before you prepared yourself for the walk back home. It was late, but you'd probably be okay as long as you hurried back. You probably didn't have the energy for your game, as you'd thought before, so it'd be straight to bed for you once you returned.

As long as you could get a good night's sleep, that was enough.

With that thought in mind, you stood before the front door as you reached for the handle, turned and then pulled it.

The door didn't budge.

“Huh?”

You tried again, turning it again and pulling, just to have the same thing happen.

Maybe I'm turning the handle wrong, you briefly thought, only for your brows to furrow when your attempts to turn the handle upwards resulted in nothing. That wasn't right. Clearly the way you had been trying was correct.

So why wasn't the door opening?

Taking your gaze away from the handle, you noticed something that you had missed earlier: in place of a bolt or a chain on the upper part of the door, there was instead a lock which required a key to open it. Was that really what was keeping you in here?

… It's okay, you told yourself. You left the keys on the table right behind you. One of those would open it.

Your attempts to quell the bad feeling brewing within you were unsuccessful, as when you turned to reach for the keys that you had placed only minutes earlier, you found that they were gone.

….. Were they still there when you had gone back to get Kishibe after turning on the lights? You couldn't remember.

Speaking of Kishibe, he would be the reason why they were gone, right? Thinking back to when you had been searching for the bedroom, that would have given him more than enough time to take the keys and then lock the door. When else would he have been able to do that?

But why would he do that?

“What exactly am I supposed to apologize for?”

Hearing his voice made you jump, and you turned your gaze towards where Kishibe had emerged from as he strolled out into the hallway at a leisurely pace, ending with him leaning against the wall. His large black coat was gone, leaving him clad in his white shirt, black pants and his tie that he had loosened during the time that you had left him alone. In one hand he held his flask, and he unscrewed it to take a long gulp of whatever was in there before he looked back to you, those same blank eyes staring straight at you as he waited for an answer to his question.

He didn't seem quite so inebriated now. He was walking just fine and his gaze was zeroed in on you.

“…. Kishibe, why is the door locked?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing as you stood still within the entryway.

“Because I locked it,” he answered plainly.

“Wh-why?”

“Because I don't want you going out.”

The veteran hunter took another swig from his flask before adding “it's dangerous out there, especially at night. You're much safer inside with me.”

“That's….. That's nice, but I'd really rather go home,” you said.

“Why? Is your cheap apartment really that great?”

His comment made you blink in surprise – you'd never mentioned it, so how in the world did he know anything about your apartment?

“I'd feel a lot more comfortable if I could go back there, yeah,” you told him, “so could you please unlock the door? I don't want to be here any longer.”

Kishibe hummed.

“That's too bad. Because I've decided that you'll be staying here from now on,” he declared.

“….. You can't do that.”

“I just did.”

Kishibe stood to his full height, and that was enough to make you back away until you found yourself pressed against the door, holding your hands to your chest as your heart rate increased. What was happening? Why was this happening? He seemed fine now, despite the state he'd been in – had all of that been a ruse just to get you into his apartment?

Why?

“I don't understand.”

Your words came out hushed, barely able to come out around the blockage in your throat.

“You don't? I would've thought understanding it would be pretty simple,” he said.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you swiftly and with ease as he told you “you're not leaving. I'm keeping you here so you'll be safe.”

“Safe? From what?”

“Everything.”

Kishibe was standing directly before you now, looming over you as he continued with “humans, devils and whatever else; you won't need to fear them anymore. Nothing will come for you as long as you have me.”

He reached a hand up in a move that looked as though he intended to cup your cheek as he said “all I ask in return is that you do as I say.”

The rough skin of his hands made contact with your cheek as you said nothing in response.

You needed this to be a joke.

You needed to him to take a few more moments for comedic effect before he revealed that he wasn't being serious, be that in the form of the words “just kidding” or “gotcha” or something that told you that the reality of the situation wasn't what you thought it was. Even though this entire scenario was completely abnormal for Kishibe, a man who always seemed serious, you needed him to tell you that it was just a fucked up prank, that he just wanted to mess with you.

It didn't feel in line with the man you had grown to know, but you needed that to be the case.

Except Kishibe never said such a thing to you, instead keeping his hand on your cheek and softly rubbing against your skin, his calloused touch feeling surprisingly gentle.

His thumb then moved across your bottom lip and that sent a jolt down your spine.

You pushed his hand away as you said “this isn't funny.”

“It's not supposed to be,” he told you.

You shook your head.

“You're being weird and you're playing a prank or something stupid like that, but I don't like this and I want to leave.”

Kishibe only hummed at that, which only left you feeling worse.

“Stop this, please,” you said, desperation tinting your voice as you said “the joke has gone on long enough and I want you to let me out.”

But he still didn't say anything further. All he did was stare down at you with a look on his face that you couldn't read while his presence was quickly becoming overwhelming.

Seconds were ticking by and nothing was happening. Kishibe was still standing over you. He wasn't backing away like you wanted. He wasn't agreeing with your assessment that this entire thing was a joke, like you wanted. And he wasn't producing the key and letting you out of what had become a deeply uncomfortable and unsettling scene with him.

The longer it went on, the harder it became for you to breathe, all the while the sick feeling that surrounded you only grew more intense as you were slowly forced to accept the reality of the situation:

He wasn't joking.

And you were helpless.

How long of a period had passed before he spoke again, you had no idea. Too wrapped up in your thoughts and growing fear, it easily could have been minutes or seconds. But you were snapped out of your thoughts instantly when you heard his low voice once more.

“You didn't answer my question earlier: what am I supposed to apologize for?” he asked again.

“For…… For touching me. Grabbing me like you did in the bedroom,” you hesitantly answered.

“I don't see why I should apologize for that.”

Kishibe tilted his head slightly as he continued with “you belong to me now. Why shouldn't I be able to do whatever I want with you?”

His words settled in your mind, your pulse beating rapidly as your mind raced.

Then you screamed.

As loud and as hard as your vocal chords were capable of, you screamed for help as he continued to loom over you. It wasn't brave or noble, but there was nothing else you could do to fight him off. You were too weak for anything like that.

Screaming was all you could do.

The screams for help that tore out of your throat come out with such ferocity that you managed to be surprised initially. Never in your life could you remember the volume of your own voice reaching such levels, but you'd also never been in a situation like this one. You turned away from him in order to pound at the door as you continue to call for help, hoping that the extra noise will help to get someone's attention – be it of one of his neighbors or a passerby on the street – just as long as it's someone who'll call the police. If you can just get one person to inform the authorities that something's wrong, then you'll get out of this.

Just one person with a phone and an idea of where you were. And maybe, just maybe, a group of well-intentioned people who might be brave enough to burst down the door to get to you. Even if Kishibe was strong, he could only take so many opponents at once, right?

Your throat was aching and the way you slammed your hand against the door was became weaker as the pain that shot through your hand was beginning to become too much, but you kept up with it. You needed help. You needed someone to know what was happening before Kishibe shut you up.

…. Before he shut you up?

It hit you then: through all that time of you desperately making a racket and being as loud as possible, Kishibe hadn't once made any effort to keep you quiet.

He still wasn't.

With tears still rolling down your cheeks and your hand still balled up in a fist on the door, the cries that had so forcefully come from your mouth came to an end as you glanced back at him.

He was taking another swig from that flask. Completely at ease and unbothered at your desperate attempt to seek help. You watched in disbelief as his Adam's apple bobbed as the harsh liquor ran down his throat before he pulled the flask away from his lips, just as leisurely screwing the cap back on before the metal container once again disappeared into his pocket.

Kishibe looked at you.

Then he glanced up at the ceiling.

You followed his gaze, and while you didn't see anything odd with the plain white surface above you two, you noticed that something was amiss:

Someone above you was blasting music loud enough that you could almost make out the lyrics of the song that was playing.

…. It hadn't been that way when you first entered the apartment. Nor had it been the case when you had first tried to leave. You would have heard that, would have noted something like that immediately. Which only meant…..

The realization sank in as you looked up to the ceiling in horror, coming to the conclusion that in the middle of your screaming and banging, the person directly above you had heard, and made the decision to play the loud music in an attempt to drown you out so they didn't need to listen anymore.

They didn't want to help you.

“It doesn't sound like they're going to do anything,” Kishibe said to you, drawing your attention back to him.

“Doesn't seem like anyone else is going to bother, either,” he added, reaching back up with his hand so he could place it on the door by your head as he leaned in closer.

“You're alone in this.”

The cold words he spoke sent a shudder through you, and you shook your head as if denying what he had just told you would somehow change the way things were going.

“Why?” you asked, your voice wavering as you continued “why won't anyone help me?”

“Because nothing bad is happening to them, so they don't care,” he answered plainly, “maybe if they knew you, it might bother them. But bad things happen to complete strangers everyday; just because this time it's a bit closer in proximity doesn't make them care any more or any less.”

His other hand reached up to play with your hair, almost absentmindedly running his fingers through the strands as he continued to speak.

“As long as they're in the clear at the end of the day, that's all that matters to them,” he said.

“That's…. That's not true,” you sniffled, “someone out there wants to help me. They need to.”

Kishibe shrugged.

“Maybe some would,” he said, “but clearly those people aren't in earshot right now.”

The callousness of his words sent your emotions into a frenzy once again. Tears began running down your cheeks again while you sobbed. Only you weren't screaming this time, nor were you banging against the door. What was the point? If no one would help you even after hearing that, then why bother?

All you could do was cry about it like the pathetic weakling you were.

With your forehead pressed against the door, you weren't able to see any of what Kishibe was doing. You knew he was still behind you – it was hard to ignore how closely he was looming over you – but he had yet to do anything to you.

Would he even do anything?

As soon as you thought that, you remembered how he had groped you in the bedroom, how he had held you down against him even when you told him to let you go. In that same moment, you felt one of his hands around your waist and his fingers slipping beneath the layers of your hoodie and shirt so he could caress your skin directly. His other hand found its way to your jaw so he could direct your attention towards him once again.

Of course he'd do something further. Why had you even considered that he might not?

The blank brown eyes you had grown to know met yours, and despite the futility of the situation, you still made yourself put out one last plea. Even if he was odd, he was still human at the end of the day, and therefore, he needed to have some sort of empathy, right?

“I won't go to the police – I won't say anything about this to anyone,” you told him, “so please, reconsider.”

“No.”

His answer to your request was swift; he didn't think twice about it nor was he moved in any way.

Kishibe had made up his mind and there was no changing it.

Just as swiftly as his answer, he then angled your jaw upward so he could claim your lips in a kiss.

The taste on his tongue was harsh, a cocktail of the liquor he'd consumed over the course of the evening. The strongest remnant of alcohol that flooded your senses was most likely whatever he had just gulped down from his flask. The stubble around his lips brushed against your skin and the sensation made you jump, though with the hand he still had on your jaw, you again were unable to escape his grasp. There was nowhere for you to go; he had you pressed firmly between the front door and himself. The only bit of freedom he allowed you were the ways in which you trembled beneath his grasp, how you shook and shivered while his free hand continued to caress the skin beneath your shirt.

The whimpers you made in response to his touch were swallowed up by his mouth as he prolonged what was certainly a show of mockery for an action that was meant to be tender.

Did he really need to torment you in this way?

When he pulled away from the kiss he did so with a clear plan in mind, as his hands immediately went to the zipper of your hoodie and forced it down before pulling the entire piece of clothing off of you, taking your bag with it. Both items were tossed behind him and he quickly placed his hands on you once again, moving them all over as he explored your body through your clothes. Even through your clothing at acted as a sort of barrier, the feeling of his calloused palms stroking up your sides and down your spine were enough to make you jolt in place and force whimpers out of your mouth.

He moved in closer, pressing up directly behind you which allowed you to feel the growing bulge in his pants.

When he shifted his focus in order to grope your breasts through the material of your shirt, you placed your head so it was pressed against the door again, still sobbing. All you wanted in that moment was to become one with the door; merge into it so he couldn't do this to you anymore. You didn't care what happened to you, just as long as this would stop.

Instead of that mercy, Kishibe continued to toy with your chest. Then he began to speak.

“I'm a bit surprised you let it get as far as what happened in the bedroom,” he told you, “you really had no issue going into a man's apartment that you'd never been to before? There was nothing that raised any alarm for you until I had you on top of me?”

You whimpered.

“You're too naive; that's why you won't be leaving. If I don't step in you'll get yourself killed.”

His thumb and pointer finger found your nipple through your clothes, and when he began to focus on that by pinching it between his fingers, a strangled noise emerged from your throat.

Kishibe felt the need to comment on that.

“Do you like being played with from behind? You're more responsive to this than I was expecting,” he said.

“N-no….”

Your shirt remained as it was only for a few more moments before he decided that he wanted to feel your bare skin, resulting in him ripping your shirt down the neckline and pulling your bra down with it. With skin now on skin, it was instantly noticeable when the shrieks that left your mouth as his fingers tweaked your nipples sounded less horrified and more wanton.

“You really do like this,” Kishibe said, a hint of pleasure in his voice.

“No,” you said again.

Instead of acknowledging your denial, his hot breath hit your ear as he said “I was thinking it'd probably take a little bit to get you wet enough so fucking you would be a bit more comfortable, but I probably don't need to wait all that long, do I? If those noises of yours are any indication, I bet I could slide into you right now.”

“No!”Even with you raising your voice, he still wasn't listening.

His hands crept around your waist again before they found the zipper of your pants. The sound of it zipping open seemed loud within the space of your head, but it didn't compare to the feeling of his thumbs slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear before he shoved your panties down past your thighs, taking your pants with them.

With your most intimate area now exposed, you shuddered as the chill air attacked your flesh. When Kishibe began to palm and knead your ass, you whimpered. Your lower half was then pulled away from the door and he moved his knee between your thighs so he could spread your legs wider. You could feel how heavy his gaze was on your cunt. Heat filled your cheeks while you bit down on your lip, the tears that were still flowing now a bit more angry.

It was humiliating. He had you pressed against the surface of the door, your palms laying flat against it while your ass was sticking out. You didn't want to merge with the door anymore; you wanted to curl up and die.

But even that wasn't an option for you.

A pair of thick fingers found their way to your cunt, caressing your folds in a way that felt experimental before his middle finger slipped between them, the tip shallowly ghosting along your heated entrance which caused you to shudder. The wetness that was beginning to drip out of you easily coated his fingertip, much to his amusement.

“Thought so,” he said.

“No.”

It wasn't true. You weren't enjoying this; just because he forced such a reaction out of you didn't mean that you wanted it. He knew that but he was just insisting on being as horrible as possible. How could you have not realized what he was really like until now?

“Hard to argue when I have the evidence smeared on my fingers, don't you think?” Kishibe asked you. He pushed his digits into your folds for emphasis, and the squelching sounds of him dipping into your wet heat only made you more ashamed. His free hand then returned to your chest while he fingered your cunt.

His fingers were sliding along your walls easier than you would have liked, and the feeling of his blunt nails inside of you as he stretched you out caused several shudders to run through your body, becoming intense enough that you needed to bite down hard on your lip to try and keep down the shameful whining noises that wanted to emerge because of it.

He must have noticed the way you were trying to keep it in as he way he was fingering you suddenly became rougher, with him curling his fingers while searching for the sensitive spots inside of you. He moved in closer as well, breathing huskily into your ear as he spoke to you.

“I wish I'd done this sooner,” Kishibe whispered, “if I had known how eager you would be for me, I wouldn't have wasted so much time before.”

No insults or retorts left your mouth that time; you were too busy trying to be as quiet as possible as all you could focus on was the awful affect he was having on you while his fingers continued to slide in and out. He was being rougher now because he wanted to humiliate you even more – that was the only explanation. To have you moan like you were enjoying this as a way to torment you further. As if the way your wetness was dripping down the inside of your thighs wasn't enough, turning cold once it hit the open air and sending more shudders running through you.

When his other hand came down to toy with your clit, you ended up biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You hated how it felt good. How the feeling of his fingers rubbing hard circles against that nub had your legs shaking and your insides burning. Kishibe intended for you to cum on his fingers, and you hated that he would more than likely be successful in that goal.

Why aren't you stopping him?

…..It hit you that you hadn't really tried much to get away from him. Aside from the way you ordered him to let go and how you pushed his hand away, there was very little in terms of actual resistance on your part.

But what could you even do? How would a civilian fight off an expert devil hunter?

Even though you couldn't imagine any scenario where you on your own managed to get away from him, maybe the way you had done nothing other than cry through your assault had been enough to reaffirm in his mind that you needed to be kept away from the world. For your safety, he said.

You wondered if he was actually delusional enough to believe that excuse.

That train of thought was derailed completely when you felt Kishibe's fingers brush against a spot within you in tandem with the fingers on your clit, and your vision whited out as he forced out the reaction he'd been looking for.

You came on his fingers.

Your face and ears were burning and you could taste iron from your bleeding lip as you tried your hardest to keep in those awful moans.

Mercifully, he didn't continue fingering you when you came. Instead he seemed to savor the way you were clenching down around him as you heard him let out a breathy sigh into your ear. When you had finished, he stayed like that, his chest pressed against your back and the fingers on your clit giving you one last stroke before he pulled away.

After another moment, he pulled his fingers out of you, his hands finally leaving those sensitive, intimate areas. A new wave of anxiety washed over you as you had a horrible idea of what was going to follow.

You heard his belt being undone. And then his zipper, which was hastily followed by the sound of his pants being shoved down.

And then his hands were back around your waist, pulling you back into the position he had forced you into earlier that you had unconsciously moved from as your body unintentionally moved back to press against the door, still trying to escape him even though you knew there was no point.

He spread open the lips of your pussy, guiding his cock to your entrance after. Your breath hitched when you felt him rub the tip against your folds, gathering up your wetness on the end of his length just as he'd done with his fingers earlier.

He shoved himself in.

And once he was inside of you, he only took a brief moment to savor it, letting out a small sigh of contentment as he finally got to experience the feeling of the walls of your cunt clamping down on his dick.

“Good girl,” Kishibe mumbled.

Your heart was in your throat, however, as despite knowing where things would be heading once he had begun kissing and groping you earlier, the feeling of his dick being sheathed halfway into you just cemented that this was real: he'd locked you in his apartment and claimed you as his own. And if he continued to get his way from this point, then this would be the rest of your life, one spent as a plaything to Kishibe's whims.

Only for a moment was that thought able to run through your head, however, because soon after he began to fuck you in earnest. Despite your successful resistance before, you weren't able to keep quiet once you felt him moving against you, his cock plugging up your hole again and again as his hips thrust hard against your ass. The sobs that were mixed with your moans bounced against the surface of the door, filling up the small, empty space of the entryway.

If only you were loud enough to drown out the noises Kishibe was making.

For a man who was normally so quiet, there was no attempt on his part to keep in his own groans and grunts. Still positioned with his mouth by your ear as he kept you close to him, you heard everything. His own harsh breathing mixed with small curses that left his lips in time with the cock that was slamming into you. Swears that were changed out for praise of you when his fingers returned to your clit to stimulate you further, causing your sensitive walls to quiver around him.

The words “good girl” were said to you many times during that period.

Your back quickly became sticky with sweat, your own body heat combined with that of Kishibe making it get to the point that it was becoming too much. The feeling of cold from when you had been outside was forgotten as it felt like every part of you was burning up while his body was engulfing your won as he used you to chase his pleasure. You wanted him away from you, just a little bit.

With a shaking hand, you pressed it against his chest as best you could with the awkward position, silently trying to communicate that want of yours.

Kishibe grabbed your wrist and forced it back against the doorway, keeping his hand gripped firmly around your arm and refusing to let go even when you tried to wiggle out of it. Eventually you were forced to give up on getting what you wanted.

Just like everything else tonight.

With the brute strength he was displaying as he pounded into your pussy and how sensitive you still were from your previous orgasm, you found yourself cumming much faster the second time. Your pussy walls clenched hard around him once again, but this time Kishibe made the choice to fuck you through it.

That only prolonged your orgasm, and the longer it went on, the more strained your moans became as your throat was thoroughly raw by that point.

Once your pleasure faded, you were left waiting for Kishibe to finish. Something you didn't need to wait long for as soon enough you felt him stiffen within you, and then his swollen cock erupted, long white streams of cum painting your insides as he kept himself pressed close, wanting to be as deep within you as possible. He groaned loudly as he did so, and his hand returned to your breast to knead the soft flesh once more as his own orgasm began to ebb away, his cock still twitching in the aftermath.

The entryway was now filled with the breathless gasps of the both of you and the scent of sweat and sex.

Once his cock had softened, Kishibe released the grip he had on you and pulled his dick out of your pussy, and finally, he stepped away from you.

Immediately you slumped down, exhausted, your front half still pressed against the door while you sat in the entryway, your pants still around your ankles and Kishibe's cum and your own release dripping down your thighs and onto the floor beneath you. You still had tears to shed, apparently, as the sight had you going back to sobbing. Your throat hurt and your nose was stuffy, but all you could think about was how you wished you hadn't made the choice to help Kishibe earlier.

If only you had decided to go with your own selfish instincts, you wouldn't be here right now. By now you probably would've been asleep, safe and sound in your own bed in your own apartment, and the only danger you would be facing would be the possibility of your next door neighbor's children running wild again and slamming doors so hard that the walls would shake.

Being reminded of your day off that you had planned out had you crying harder as you realized you couldn't ever go back to days like that.

God how you wished you could redo your actions from tonight.

You were reminded of Kishibe's presence when you felt his hand run down your back, his knuckles grazing you lightly and with a touch so soft that it felt out of place when you thought of what you had just experienced at his hands.

He wasn't trying to comfort you, was he?

With robotic movements, you turned your head once again so you could see him, see the face of the man who had hurt you so horribly. Unsurprisingly, there was no real emotion to be gleaned from his expression as it was as blank as it always was. Though when you looked at his eyes, you found that there was a hint of something there. Something more intense and obsessive than you had ever witnessed from anyone, much less Kishibe.

“You did good,” he told you.

“Fuck you,” you weakly hissed in response.

“Mm, not right now. Maybe in the morning.”

He moved his hand to your upper arm, squeezing you in what seemed to be an encouraging manner as he said “it's late now. We should get some rest.”

“Can you walk, or should I carry you?” Kishibe then asked.

You didn't respond. Instead you shrugged off his hand and turned your head to face the door, not wanting to look at him any longer.

“Alright then.”

Within a moment, you were scooped up off of the floor and into his arms with surprising ease, and while you were feeling disoriented from the way you were moved about like that, Kishibe had turned and walked away from the door with you held firmly against his chest.

It shouldn't have been too much of a shock that it was this easy for him to pick you up, and yet…..

“You could have just forcibly taken me if you wanted,” you mumbled.

“I could have,” he said.

The way he so readily agreed with you turned your emotions to anger once again.

“So why bother with all that bullshit?” you snapped.

“Because I thought the way you doted on me was nice,” Kishibe said.

“You're a scumbag.”

“Hm.”

Kishibe neither agreed nor disagreed with you, as he stepped into the bedroom with you, taking care to make sure your feet didn't hit the door frame as he carried you in. Once the two of you were fully inside, he stopped and then looked at you.

Having his gaze fully on you once again had that bit of anger die out, as suddenly you felt more vulnerable than you'd ever felt in your life before this point. Your shirt was torn and the majority your legs were still bare as he hadn't bothered to readjust your pants before he'd grabbed you, so you were in his arms with your pants around your ankles.

Not just humiliating, but awkward as well, especially when you moved to cover yourself back up as the way he stared at you had those intense feelings of shame and helplessness running through you once again. Though you knew it wouldn't accomplish much of anything, and especially not when you were at the mercy of Kishibe's whims.

“Did I say you could cover up?”

The sound of his voice made you freeze, and then when you processed his words, you began to shake in his grip. While it seemed that you were out of tears to shed, you were still able to sniffle softly in despair.

That got him to react, and Kishibe leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead before he buried his face into your hair again.

“It'll be hard for now, but it will get better,” he told you.

You only shook harder in his grip.

With a hum against your hair, he spoke again.

“You should be happy. In this world where people's priorities are on themselves and themselves alone, you have someone who's willing to do anything to look out for you.”

And with that, Kishibe used his foot to close the bedroom door firmly behind the both of you.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Stirred and Spiced

15/12: Mulled Wine and Mutual Masturbation - Michael Gavey Word Count: 3.3k~ | Warnings: thigh riding, being slightly drunk, handjob

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

A/N: fully intended for mutual masturbating but this came instead 😘

Three words.

Oxford. Christmas. Market.

A staple, she thought with glee. Yes, there was nothing quite like the christmas market in your hometown, but being away at university with absolutely no reason to go back home for break, Broad Street would be just as good, if not better.

As expected though, it was rammed. And her puffed up coat, adding a good three inches to her width, did not help in bumping shoulders with all the festive market-goers. Every whispered ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ and she felt herself in desperate need of something to take the edge off, something to make her feel like coming here at the height of the season was worth it. 

“Mulled wine please,” she requested breathily from the employee working the front, fake smile and flushed cheeks and all.

They nodded unenthused, punching in the numbers, “it's £3.50 on its own but a fiver if you get two.”

Ooh.

Two is pushing it.

She thought for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek. Two would get her absolutely rat-arsed since she hadn't had anything to eat. Hell even one would. And everyone back at the dorm had gone home.

Except…

She smiles a bit with a nod, “yeah, please!”

She was almost grateful just to have two because it meant they kept both her hands warm on the walk home. She sipped hers periodically, the waft of fruity, musky wine seemed to wrap around her like a warm hug. The only thing that filled her with nerves was the proposal she'd made herself to give one of them as a sort of peace offering, to him.

They were never her mates, not really anyway. It was convenient that she’d fallen into their group, but she always found them a bit shallow, narrow-minded. Perhaps all understatements. She had, however, revelled in their acceptance. Wanting to be a part of the group somewhat outweighed her common-sense. And even though she spent the better part of first semester laughing, drinking, fannying about with the crew of Felix Catton and his little plaything, Oliver, they ran their course with her quite quickly. Got bored, or tired of her. And once again she found herself in the same position she’d been in the first week of Freshers.

Alone. A bit desperate. And hopelessly bored.

It was not that long ago, she remembers, watching from her table in a state of shock and half-disgust when Oliver abandoned Michael Gavey at the pub for Felix-fucking-Catton. She grimaces even at the memory of not only Oliver’s blatant brown-nosing. But at her behaviour.

She watched as Michael gave a sad, resigned wave, pushed his cute little glasses up his nose and left. She just watched. Didn’t say or do anything. Didn’t chastise. Simply gave Oliver a dirty look he didn’t even see and carried on, business as usual. 

Until they’d abandoned her too, that is. Now she felt shitty.

Yeah, mulled wine wasn’t exactly the best peace offering, but it was all she had right now. Whether it would be enough she wasn’t sure.

She’d known of Michael since week one, though they never shared the same classes, they did attend the same College. And even though Balliol College was literally right around the corner from where she’d bought the aforementioned wines, she was so fucking freezing she felt she could keel over and die. But yet the thought of approaching Michael and apologising, felt somehow worse, from the sheer embarrassment she’d feel alone.

With a soft groan she pushed the doors open into the dorm, the warmth a welcome one, masterfully not spilling a drop of what would be Michael’s wine (if he chose to accept her truce). She’d not asked him why he didn’t go home yet, just assumed that he was so academically inclined that he’d chosen to stay behind and make use of the quiet.

Blowing a wayward hair out of her face, she stood before his door, taking a deep breath. Only now realising she was making use of both hands and couldn’t knock.

“Fuck it,” she whispered to herself. Downed the rest of hers, her brain spinning a little from the fruity kick, and raised her fist to knock.

She waited a bit, kicking some snow off her boot, before the rush of central heating rushed towards her feet as the door opened. 

Michael stood there, slouched against the doorframe, wearing a red and green Christmas jumper so ugly it nearly made her laugh. A reindeer stared back at her, its googly eyes slightly askew. But the tight press of his mouth and the tired, sharp look in his eyes quickly stole any lightheartedness in the air.

"Hi," she said, trying to soften her voice. Her smile faltered as his gaze dipped to the cup in her hand. "I, um—mulled wine. Peace offering. Or bribe. Dealer’s choice." She tried for a grin.

He didn’t take the cup.

She swallowed, the cheap smell of spiced wine suddenly turning sour in her stomach. “I just—thought I’d come by,” she tried, failing to sound casual. “Say hi. Merry Christmas and all that.”

He took the cup without comment, holding it like it was some foreign object, stood defensively in the frame of his door.

“Catton and his merry band finally kick you out, so now you’re slumming it with me?”

Her stomach twisted, the heat doing nothing to chase away the cold suddenly clawing at her insides. She casted a quick glance down the hall, knowing nobody was about, but also wanting an opportunity to at least explain herself.

“Can we chat?”

Michael hesitated, his eyes narrowing. When he finally stepped aside, it was with a sigh heavy enough to make her feel like she’d just asked for the world.

His room was predictably orderly but with a certain student flair all the rooms had. Textbooks were stacked on his desk, papers strewn about like he was in the middle of something, and a few empty mugs were stacked precariously on the windowsill. It made her think of her dorm, where mugs were instead empty beer bottles.

Michael didn’t say anything as he closed the door behind her with a sharp click, like he was already regretting letting her in.

“Nice jumper,” she said, a weak attempt at humour, “it’s got...character.”

He looked down at himself like he forgot he was even wearing it. And she was sure embarrassment briefly rose to his face before he schooled it once again to cold indifference.

She cleared her throat, “Look, I…I came here to apologise really. For not saying anything that night at the pub, it was really shitty, what Oliver did–”

“Spare me,” he scoffed bitterly. “I know how it works. Catton finds a new toy, someone gets left behind. Happens eventually.” He shrugged, the motion stiff. “Not my problem if you’re suddenly the one on the outside. Besides, you didn’t exactly leap to my defence.”

Her cheeks burned. “Yeah I know I should have said something. I should have done something. I just...I didn’t know what to do. And I hate that I didn’t.”

“Yeah, looks like it’s tearing you up inside.”

“It’s hard enough I’m here, Michael, can you not.”

Michael stared at her, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’m not here because I want something from you,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “I just...I feel awful about it. And I wanted you to know that.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “Right. So this is your redemption arc? You apologise, and suddenly I forget that I was the butt of the joke for the night?”

“No,” she said firmly, surprising herself with the strength in her voice. “You don’t have to forgive me. I just wanted to be honest. For once.”

Michael tilted his head, studying her like he was trying to decide if she was worth the effort of a response. Finally, he sighed and took a sip of the mulled wine, wincing slightly as if the warmth caught him off guard, his glasses fogged up at the bottom slightly.

“Well,” he said, his tone still clipped but less venomous. “At least you brought wine.”

She let out a small, shaky laugh, though the knot in her stomach didn’t loosen. It wasn’t forgiveness, not even close, but it wasn’t the outright dismissal she’d feared, either. She glanced at him, at the faint lines of tension in his jaw, and decided it was enough for now.

Michael took another sip of the mulled wine, the warmth seemingly taking the edge off his sharp demeanour. She watched as his posture relaxed, just barely, his shoulders dropping a fraction. He gestured vaguely toward the only chair in the room, and she took the invitation, perching on its edge, pulling her coat off now that the heat was beginning to feel a bit stifling.

“So...” she began, fumbling for something neutral to say. “You’re a Maths guy, right?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question or an accusation?”

Her lips twitched at that, the tiniest hint of a smile breaking through her nerves, she shrugged. “Someone mentioned it once.”

“Well, guilty as charged,” he replied, setting the cup down on his desk and lowering to sit on his bed, arms crossed again. “And you?”

“History and Economics,” she said, brushing a hand through her hair. 

“Ah, so you prefer your equations with drama.”

Her mouth dropped open in mock offence. “Excuse me! At least my equations are about real people.”

He snorted. “And here I thought this would be polite conversation.”

“Well, you opened the door,” she shot back, though her voice lacked any real bite. The warmth from the wine she’d downed earlier was still buzzing faintly in her veins, making her words looser, her inhibitions a little less secure. Evident by the way she rocked back and forth at his desk chair, the wheels dragging on the carpet. 

They fell into a rhythm of idle chatter, nothing deep, nothing important, but just enough to make the awkwardness start to dissipate. She asked about his classes, and he told her about a particularly painful group project and she tried to explain her last essay topic but trailed off when she realised it was too boring to even finish describing.

But beneath it all, there was something else, an undercurrent she couldn’t ignore. It was in the way his eyes flicked to her mouth when she spoke, how his gaze lingered just a beat too long when she shifted in her seat. She caught herself doing the same, noticing the way his ridiculous jumper stretched across his chest, the rough edge of his jaw, the slight smirk tugging at his lips when she stumbled over her words.

It made her feel reckless, like maybe she wasn’t here just to apologise anymore.

“So,” she said, leaning back slightly in the chair, her voice a little more casual than she felt. “Do you...have your eye on anyone? At college, I mean.”

Michael blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You know.” She gestured vaguely, trying to sound nonchalant. “Anyone you fancy? Or are you just here for the academics?”

He stared at her for a moment, then huffed a short laugh. “That’s bold, coming from someone who downed her wine before knocking on my door.”

Her cheeks flushed. Was it that easy to tell she’d had a bit? Fuck. “I was nervous, okay?”

“Clearly. But since you asked...no. Not really.”

She nudges forward, the wheels of his desk chair dragging on the carpet as she nears him, her eyes flickering down to his silly Christmas jumper. She saw him flinch slightly when she reached out and pressed the nose of the reindeer, pressing her lips together as the garment lit up in a dancing array of colours.

“Cute.”

“Is this part of the apology?”

“Is it working?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze returned to hers, hesitant but sharper now, like he was trying to figure out if she was serious or just teasing.

“Michael, can I ask you something?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, but he nodded.

“Have you...you know.” Her eyes searched his face, her voice dipping. “Been with anyone? Like, properly.”

His eyes widened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. For a second, she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he nodded again, just once. “Once,” he said, so softly she almost missed it. “Back home. Before I left.”

“That’s it? Just once?”

He nodded again. “Yeah. I mean...it’s not exactly something I’ve been focused on.”

“Right,” she said, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “All academics, huh?”

Her hand moved before she could second-guess herself, reaching out to rest lightly on his knee, and she manoeuvred herself so she was sat beside him on the bed, sides touching. His whole body went rigid, his eyes darting down to her hand and then back up to her face, as if unable to believe she could exist sat atop his bed.

His eyes were wide, alert with nerves and something else. And she couldn't help but smile.

“Don't look so terrified,” she grinned. Teasing.

He didn't like that.

“I'm not.” He said quickly, but the crack betrayed how the simple touch of her hand on his knee, trailing upwards, was affecting him.

She leaned in slowly, deliberately, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to. But he didn’t. His eyes stayed locked on hers, even as his breathing grew uneven, even as her hand slid a fraction higher on his thigh.

Her lips brushed against his, soft and unhurried, tasting of spice and wine. He froze for half a second, his breath catching against her mouth, before he kissed her back. It was tentative, almost shy, but there was something sweet about it, something entirely Michael. His lips moved against hers in a way that was a little clumsy, a little uncertain, like he was figuring it out as he went.

His hand hovered in the air for a moment before finally settling awkwardly at her waist. The other made its way to her hair, letting the strands fall between her fingers as he stroked the lengths. Something about the little act made her stomach flutter. Not at all sexual in its nature, but churning her desire for more all the same.

They shifted, her pulling him down gently as she leaned back, until they were lying on their sides, facing each other. His knee knocked against hers as they adjusted, and she smiled against his lips, feeling the faint heat of his embarrassed laugh.

The moment her cold fingers brushed his stomach, Michael flinched sharply, breaking the kiss with a startled gasp.

“Jesus, your hands are freezing,” he exclaimed, his voice high with genuine shock. He grabbed her wrist, holding her hand away from his skin as if she’d just doused him with ice water.

She laughed a little and then replaced the offending hand with her other one, warmer now. His body jerked slightly, but this time he didn’t stop her, his lips parting in a soft, shaky exhale.

“Better?” she murmured, her lips hovering just above his.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

Their lips found each other again, more insistent now, the earlier hesitance melting away as their movements grew bolder. Her hand slid higher beneath his jumper, exploring the lean lines of his torso.

Sliding her tongue against his lips, her hand slid to the button of his jeans, undoing it with ease before moving the zipper down. His hips rolled up into her touch, if not to let her know that he wanted it but yearned for more.

He broke the kiss just long enough to shift, his leg sliding between hers, his thigh nudging up against her core. The movement was hesitant, almost shy, but the pressure was enough to make her gasp softly, her breath catching in her throat.

Her lips curled up into a smile, cheeks flushed as she rolled experimentally against the muscle of his thigh. He could feel the warmth of her through her jeans, and his hand slid up her side, guiding the pace of the movement.

Emboldened, with warmth starting to lick up her spine, she slid her hand into his boxers, taking him into her palm to match the pace he was giving her to her hand around him.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his voice breaking as his head fell back against the pillow, his eyes squeezing shut.

She watched his face as she continued, squeezing the girth of him until he was roused fully, all the way to the tip, where he borderline whimpered at the contact. 

If she were in a clearer state of mind, without the constant drag of his thigh pressing between her legs and catching against the damp fabric of her underwear, she might have paused to be...impressed. But the way his thigh nudged perfectly against her clit, combined with the ragged, needy sounds he was making, left her thoughts hazy, consumed only by the need for more.

The whimper he let out was almost enough to undo her completely. She pressed her forehead to his, their breaths mingling, hot and uneven, as her movements quickened. Her hips rolled against his thigh with increasing desperation, the friction hitting her perfectly, again and again, until she could feel herself beginning to spiral.

Her body tensed, her breath hitching as a wave of pleasure crashed over her, making her shudder against him. She gasped, her hips stuttered, her grip on him loosening momentarily as she rode out the sensations, the release leaving her trembling in his hold.

Michael cracked open his eyes as if he thought it was over, but once she had cleared the haze over her brain, she continued, stroking him more firmly. And she could tell by the way his hips jerked and lips parted that he was surprised, but not complaining.

“Your turn,” she murmured with a smile, her voice coaxing, her thumb grazing the sensitive head of him.

He bucked into her hands, his body trembling as she worked him expertly. His breaths were short and erratic, until finally—

"Oh God," he gasped, his voice breaking as his head fell back against the pillow, his entire body shuddering. He gripped her hips harder as his release hit, his hips jerking involuntarily, completely undone beneath her touch.

She watched him, her own body still buzzing as she slowed her movements, her hand gentle now as he came down, the warmth of his release coating her fingers. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes squeezed shut, and his lips parted as he tried to catch his breath.

When he finally opened his eyes, his gaze found hers, soft and dazed. A moment of silence passed between them, their shared heat lingering in the air, before the corner of his mouth twitched into a small, lopsided smile.

“That,” he said, his voice hoarse and unsteady, “was quite the apology.”

She laughed, cheeks flushed, “so…am I forgiven?”

His smile grew, eyes crinkling beneath his glasses, “Hmm—”

She rolled her eyes, but her grin betrayed her amusement as she leaned in closer, watching as his lips parted on instinct.

“Don't push your luck, Gavey.”

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