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littlest-w01f · 3 months ago

Text

After party

Azriel x Reader

For @starfallweek [hosted by: @azsazz and @writingsbychlo]

Starfall Week 2025 Masterlist

Day 6 - Starfall this year was a costume party and now Characters A and B can't find one another.

Summary: On the night of Starfall, the party didn't end until the sun came up, and after a nasty break up your sisters dragged you out to party with the rest of the Inner Circle. You end up running into someone whose it.

Cw: Dark!Az, he mad mad, jealous Az, shadowplay, choking, I think by far the most Azriel smut I've written... Smut 18+ MDNI

a/n: Long fic WOOHOOO, strap in and strap on! (would fit better if there *was* pegging involved but still it has Azriel's dick in it so it had to be at least that big)

The pulsating beats of the music thrummed through your body as you stepped into Rita's, your sisters flanking you on either side. Twinkling lights cast a warm glow over the busy crowd, your faces illuminated by flashes of colour from the mirrored disco ball above. The air was thick with the mingled scents of expensive perfume, sweat, and something more primal.

"You needed this," Feyre said, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. She was dressed as an angel, her shapeshifting powers giving her a way to form pure white feathered wings, and Rhysand was somewhere getting drinks for her, dressed as a dark devil to compliment her. "To get out, have some fun. Forget about him."

Nesta nodded, humming in agreement, her lips curving into a small smile at her sister's words. You knew they were right, after everything that had happened, you desperately needed a night out. Nesta was already snatched away by Cassian, dressed as old warriors of legends, lost in the music.

Elain, dressed like a walking garden, was nursing her drink and sitting by, even though such parties weren't her scene she was with the shadow twins, talking and having a laugh.

You wore an outfit that looked like it was made of life itself, the shimmering fabric seemed to pulse with an inner light, leaves and vines twisting around your curves as you moved. The skirt you wore flared at your thighs, the corsetted top barely covering your curves. Your hair had white tinsels in it, styled up in a high pony, a mask over your face, fully covering you. You found it hilarious, dressing like life, given your powers. Nesta had convinced you to dress slutty to "catch a better male for the night" as she put it, there was plenty blushing involved on your part as she went into detail about the importance of a matching set of lace underneath.

While you stood there, amidst the pulsing throng of bodies, dancing your heart out for the past hour or so, having a little too much to drink, you couldn't recall, the music seeming to flow through your very veins, you felt a sudden presence behind you. Strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against a firm chest. You could feel the heat radiating off the body pressed so close to yours.

"I must say, that costume is... Captivating." A low, heavy voice murmured in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Life itself couldn't possibly be more beautiful than you look tonight."

You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of a someone covered in darkness, he wore a cloak over his head. Suriel? A scythe in hand. Death. How poetic.

You felt a thrill run through you at the dark stranger's bold touch and flattering words. There was something magnetic about his mysterious aura, something familiar too, the way his strong hands held you possessively. When you glimpsed his cloaked form and the ominous scythe, a frisson of excitement mixed with apprehension danced along your nerves.

The mysterious male in the death costume spun you around to face him fully, one large hand still resting possessively on your hip. Up close, you realised you could truly not see his face, as if the darkness that surrounded him made him appear headless. His other hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair from your cheek, leather glove-covered fingertips grazing your skin and leaving tingles in their wake.

"I've been watching you all evening," He murmured, his deep voice resonating through you. "Watching you move, watching you shine brighter than anyone else here. Tell me, little life, do you often have this effect on strangers?"

His thumb traced idle circles on your hipbone through the thin fabric of your costume as he waited for your response, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin.

The male's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on your hip as he awaited your response, the heat of his touch seeming to brand your skin even through the thin fabric of your costume. You swallowed hard, pulse quickening at his proximity and the dark promise in his tone.

"I… I don't know what you mean," you managed to say, voice coming out breathier than intended. "I'm just here to enjoy the party with my sisters." Even as the words left your mouth, you knew they rang hollow. There was a part of you that revelled in his intense focus, in being singled out amidst the writhing sea of bodies. You were glad you had let Nesta talk you into wearing a matching lace set to "be ready for a male" in her words, because you were going to fuck him tonight, you just felt like it, in your slightly tipsy state, you needed someone to forget him, someone currently without a face seemed like a wonderful option.

A low, dark chuckle rumbled from the cloaked male's chest at your feigned innocence. "Is that so? Well then, allow me to change your mind." In one fluid motion, he pulled you flush against him, one muscular thigh slipping between your legs to press intimately against your core. The heat of him seared you even through the layers of clothing separating your bodies.

"This isn't just enjoyment, little one. This is destiny." His gloved hand slid up your side to cup the swell of your breast, kneading the soft flesh possessively. "Can't you feel it? The pull between us, like moth to flame?" Leaning in, he nipped sharply at the sensitive skin below your ear before soothing the sting with his tongue. "I'm going to worship every inch of you tonight until you're begging."

You gasped as his thigh ground against your core, but instead of pulling away, you leaned closer, "And what of you, do you approach random females having fun out of nowhere and think everyone wants you?"

The cloaked male threw back his head and laughed, a rich, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Oh no, sweet thing. I don't make a habit of approaching just any female." His hand slid lower, gripping your ass and pulling you impossibly closer. "But when fate drops a goddess wrapped in silk directly into my path, I'd be a fool not to act."

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth moving over yours with skilful intent. One hand fisted in your hair, angling your head to just push the mask past your lips as he plundered your mouth thoroughly. When he finally released you, you were left panting, knees weak.

"My apologies, I couldn't resist sampling the nectar of the Mother herself," He purred wickedly, he wasn't sorry at all. And you weren't either, cause you felt like you knew those lips, and you kissed him back more confidently.

He broke the kiss, only to trail his lips along your jawline, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Mmmm, I can taste the wine on your lips. But there's another flavor beneath it, something sweeter. The essence of life itself." His hand slid under your skirt, calloused fingers caressing the smooth skin of your thigh. "I wonder, does all of you taste as divine as your mouth?"

The crowded dance floor seemed to fade away, the pulsing beat of the music dimming to a distant thrum. All you could focus on was the heat of his body pressed against yours, the wicked promises in his gravelly voice, the teasing caress of his fingers inching higher up your thigh. Your core clenched with need, arousal dampening your lace.

He groaned softly as his fingers brushed against the damp lace covering your most intimate area. "Already so wet for me, aren't you little goddess?" His hand traced teasing patterns over the soaked fabric, applying maddeningly light pressure. "I bet you're aching to be filled, to be stretched wide. Let's take this somewhere private, yeah?"

Then he pressed his scythe to the back of your head, then you realised that it wasn't simply a part of his outfit and the blade was very much sharp. As the reality of the situation dawned on you, a surge of fear mixed with exhilaration coursed through your veins. The cold metal of the scythe pressed firmly against your skull, a potent reminder of his power and dominance.

"Move, now," He commanded, his voice a low growl that vibrated through you. Without hesitation, you allowed yourself to be led through the crowd, his grip on your arm unyielding. The dance floor receded further into the background as you stumbled after him, your heart pounding in your ears.

He guided you through a door in the back, set for privacy in the club's nightly activities, the doors were dark red yet translucent, you could make out faint bodies of lovers pressed together, the male guided you to one of the empty rooms. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of incense and something muskier, more primal. A large wooden table dominated the centre of the space, its surface polished yet stained with age.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he spun you around to face him, pressing you back against the cool wood of the table. His hands roamed over your curves, squeezing and kneading as if to claim every inch of you as his own.

"You look exquisite in the dim light, like a Nightbloom blooming under moonlight," He murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "So delicate, yet perfect for the taking." His fingers deftly untied the bow at the front of your corsetted top, revealing the lacy cups barely containing your breasts. "Let's get rid of these restrictive garments, shall we?"

With practised ease, he peeled off your corset, leaving you in your mask, tiny skirt and the soaked lace covering your cunt.

His hungry gaze devoured the sight of your nearly bare body, drinking in the curves and valleys of your skin. The way your nipples pebbled in the cool air, the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed heavily, the glistening evidence of your arousal on the lace clinging to your cunt. Every detail was etched into his memory, fueling his desire.

Without warning, he swooped down, capturing one pert nipple between his teeth. He suckled gently, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. At the same time, his hand delved beneath your skirts, fingertips grazing the sensitive inner thighs as he worked his way upward.

"Mmm, you do taste divine," He purred against your breast, his free hand palming the other, rolling the nipple between his fingers. "I could feast on you all night long."

You cried through the pleasure, head rolled back, you still couldn't see the male's face, covered in darkness, but as the shadows flickered in the room, you were fully sure who he was, yet you still played the part of not knowing.

His gloved hand slipped past the lace barrier, fingers brushing against your slick folds before circling your clit in deliberate strokes. "Such responsive little life," Death murmured approvingly, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I can tell you're eager for more."

With a sudden, decisive move, he hooked his fingers inside you, thrusting them deep into your clenching heat. A guttural moan escaped you as he pumped his digits in and out, stroking that magic spot within you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"That's it, let me hear you," He coaxed, his thumb continuing its relentless assault on your clit. "Scream for me, little goddess. Show me how much you crave my touch."

"What should I moan for you?" You gasped, toes curling on the table, hands gripping the sides as his gloved fingers curled inside you, now that you knew, you could sense the scars on his hands. "Death?"

He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending tingles through your body. "Yes, Death," He confirmed, his fingers never ceasing their sensual torment. "And I'm here to collect your soul..." His shadows moved the Scythe to aim for your throat, forcing you to keep your head up.

His pace quickened, pumping into you harder and faster until your whole world narrowed to the sensation of his fingers stretching and filling you. The pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter in your core until you teetered on the brink of release.

"Now, scream for me, life," He demanded, his thumb rubbing merciless circles around your throbbing clit. "Let go and give me everything." With a final, brutal thrust, he pushed you over the edge into blissful oblivion.

With a final, ruthless thrust, he pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed, back arching off the table as a scream tore from your throat. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in ecstasy, light leaving your form as it slammed back in, you were a little ashamed to admit that your previous lover had never made you feel like that just by his fingers, or any part of him.

Death watched, mesmerized, as you came undone beneath his skilled touch. The way your cunt spasmed around his fingers, the flush of bliss on your cheeks, the sheer abandon in your expression, It was intoxicating.

As the aftershocks subsided, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your essence. "Delicious," He purred, savouring the flavour of your climax, tasting your essence.

He leaned in close, his shadowy form looming over you. "But don't think that was enough to sate me, little goddess," He whispered, his breath a chilly caress against your ear. "I want to consume every last drop of your sweetness, to drink deep from the well of your desire until you're utterly spent and begging for mercy."

He grabbed your hips, pulling them back against his straining cock. The thick head prodded insistently at your entrance, seeking entry into your welcoming heat.

With a swift, powerful thrust, Death buried himself to the hilt inside you, his rigid cock stretching you wide open around him. A harsh groan ripped from his throat at the exquisite sensation of your slick walls enveloping him, your tightness a delicious contrast to the chill of his skin.

He began to move, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back in, setting a punishing rhythm that shook the table beneath you on it's legs. Each stroke was a claiming, a possession, a declaration of his dominance over your quivering form.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by your cries of pleasure and his guttural grunts. His shadows danced across the walls, mirroring the wild, primal energy coursing through his veins as he lost himself in the carnal delight of taking you.

The shadows covered the translucent glass, so no one outside could see the two of you. His movements became even more frenzied, hips snapping forward with reckless abandon as he chased his own release. The table creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but he paid it no mind, too consumed by the need to fill you, to mark you as his own.

"Fuck, you're so tight," He gritted out between clenched teeth, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigour. "I'm going to fill you up, little life," He snarled, his voice raw with lust. "Every last drop of my seed, marking you as mine." With a final, brutal plunge, he buried himself to the root inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilt his cum deep within your womb.

The sensation of his hot release flooding your insides triggered another orgasm, your body trembling and clenching around him as you came once more. Body curling around his to grip on.

"He. Didn't. Deserve. You." Azriel grunted as he slammed through your climax, his hood falling down, the shadows that he'd used to cover his face falling, "I hated hearing you sob for him at night. When my mate should be moaning for me." He growled the term and for you it was like time stopped.

Azriel captured your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your gasps and moans as he rocked into you, his hips grinding against yours in a slow, deliberate dance. "You're mine now, y/n," He growled against your lips, nipping at them possessively. "Mine to claim, to cherish, to fuck."

His words sent shivers down your spine, a thrill of excitement mixed with trepidation. But there was no denying the fierce passion burning in his eyes, the unyielding conviction in his tone. He wasn't asking, he was declaring, staking his claim on your very being.

As if to emphasize his point, Azriel pulled out of you abruptly, only to flip you onto your stomach and yank your hips up into the air, his shadows gripping your ponytail, grabbing your form still for him.

Without wait, Azriel lined his still hard cock up with your dripping entrance once more, still more to go, the blunt tip probing at your slick folds. Then, with a savage grunt, he drove into you again, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"Ah- AZ!"You felt every inch of him, his hard length splitting you open, reaching depths you didn't know existed. He set a punishing pace, his hips slapping against your ass as he took you with animalistic ferocity, each stroke driving home his claim on you.

Azriel's grip on your hair tightened, pulling your head back as he leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear. "This is what you needed, isn't it, Life? To be taken, claimed, owned?" His voice was a low, menacing purr, laced with dark promise. He pressed in fully, bruising your cervix with a rut of his hips. "Because I'm not done with you yet. All you needed was me. Your mate. But instead you went for that pathetic male. I could feel you when you were under him, how little he pleasured you. I wanted you to explore around and that was the male you chose to have your heart broken by? That male made you cry!"

Azriel's accusations cut deep, striking at the heart, you had chosen wrong. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but he continued unabated, his relentless pace never faltering as he pounded into you.

"You thought you loved him, didn't you?" He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Thought he understood you, could make you happy. But look where it got you - crying yourself to sleep, desperate for something more. Something real."

His hand left your hair to trail down your spine, nails digging into your skin as he gripped your hip, holding you in place for his brutal thrusts. "I am that something real, y/n. I've always been here, waiting for you to realize it."

"Az..." You whimpered under the weight of him, his cloak fell as his wings stretched to their full might. Though you weren't scared of him, instead you felt something snap between you, a thread of gold that connect you.

Azriel's wings unfurled, casting an ominous shadow over the room as they spread wide, the leather a stark black against the dim lighting. The sight alone would have been intimidating, but coupled with his dominant position over you, it was a potent display of his power and control.

As he continued to pound into you, his movements grew more erratic, his hips snapping forward with a frenzy that bordered on violence. The table creaked ominously beneath you, threatening to collapse under the force of his thrusts.

"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," He growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "No other male will ever satisfy you like I can. You belong to me, body and soul." His hand slid from your hip to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse race. "Say it, princess. Allow me to kill him and I will bathe in his blood, for ever shedding a tear on your pretty face not born of pleasure."

Azriel's grip on your throat tightened, cutting off your air supply as he held you in a vice-like embrace. His free hand slid down to grasp your jaw, forcing your gaze upwards to meet his intense stare in the obsidian of his shadows, being so dark they reflected back everything he was doing to you, like a mirror to the show.

"Look at me, y/n," He commanded, his voice a low, dangerous hiss, his eyes were fully shadow. "Meet my eyes and tell me you understand. Tell me you're ready to let go of that pathetic excuse for a lover and embrace the darkness that's been waiting for you all along."

His hips never ceased their relentless assault, each brutal thrust driving home his point, his possession, his ownership, his jealousy. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the weight of his unspoken threat hanging over you like a spectre of doom. "Say it," He repeated, his grip on your throat constricting further.

"Yours," You choked out, the word barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. "I'm yours, Azriel."

With those three simple syllables, the dam broke. Azriel released his hold on your throat, allowing you to gasp in a ragged breath. His fingers dug into your jaw once more, angling your head to the side as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Good girl," He purred, the approval in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Now, let's finish what we started."

And with that, he redoubled his efforts, fucking into you with a newfound intensity, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge of oblivion. A ring of white forming around the base of his cock, everything of his he'd already deposited deep within you.

In that moment, he didn't look like a male who'd put on a death persona for a little party, but he was death himself, come to take you. And you would gladly go with him.

Azriel's movements became more frantic, his strokes growing shorter and harder as he chased his release. His nails raked down your back, leaving red welts in their wake, a physical manifestation of the claim he was making on you.

"You're mine now, y/n," He growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "My mate, my love, my everything. No one else gets to touch you, to taste you, to make you scream."

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsating as he spilt his seed deep inside you again. The feeling of his hot cum filling you, you let out a strangled cry as he put his entire weight on your back, the table underneath giving out. Mixed with a shadow that rubbed insistently at your clit, it triggered your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you came undone in his arms.

Azriel collapsed atop you, his weight pressing you into the now very broken table as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. His chest heaved against your back, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he struggled to catch his breath.

After a long moment, he lifted his head, looking over his shoulder at you with a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "That's right, princess," He murmured, his voice husky with satisfaction. "You're mine now."

Slowly, he withdrew from you, his softening cock slipping free with a wet pop. A trickle of his essence leaked out, glistening on your inner thighs as he settled beside you, pulling you into his embrace.

"You're safe with me, y/n," He whispered, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. "You know that, right?"

Azriel's words were a soothing balm to your frayed nerves, his warm breath against your skin calming the lingering tremors of your climax. You nodded.

"I know," You replied softly, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to his cheekbone. "I trust you, Azriel. I... I feel what Feyre explained she felt."

He hummed in approval, his arms tightening around you as if to pull you deeper into his embrace. "Good," He murmured, his lips grazing your temple. "Because I intend to keep you safe... And satisfied... For eternity." He kissed your temple, "Still, tell me, should I kill him? As much as I didn't enjoy you wanting to go after someone else, he did break your heart."

Azriel's question hung in the air, heavy with implication. In truth, part of you wanted revenge, craved the sweet justice of watching Azriel's wrath unleash upon the one who had wronged you. But another part, the part that had surrendered itself to this dark, beautiful male, whispered that perhaps there was mercy to be found.

"No," You said finally, your voice firm despite the uncertainty swirling within you. "I don't want you to kill anyone for me..."

Azriel regarded you for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, slowly, a dark smile curved his lips. "I will end generations for you, my mate. Anything that hurts you is nothing but dirt to me."

Azriel's declaration sent a thrill through you, a mix of fear and exhilaration at the depths of his devotion. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw no cruelty there, only an unwavering commitment to your well-being. He would be your darkest protector, your mate.

"I believe you," You whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his in a tender kiss. "And I'm glad to have you by my side, but he's not worth any more moment of my time. Just let him go."

Azriel's response was immediate and passionate, his mouth claiming yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless. His hands roamed your curves, mapping every inch of your body as if reassuring himself of your presence.

{General Taglist- @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86}

{Azriel Taglist- @fxckmiup @annamariereads16 @saltedcoffeescotch @satorusemepls @fieldofdaisiies}

308 notes · View notes

arieswritez · 2 years ago

Note

yandere mark nsfw alphabet😳😳 loved the idea

cw; DARK CONTENT! MDNI!!! rape, breeding/baby trapping, dacryphilia, asphyxiation, abusive 'relationships', edging, predator/prey dynamics, nipple play, kidnapping, food tampering, mentions of suicidal ideation, threats of violence, implied death, manipulation, victim blaming, branding, mentions of incapacitation.

about; nsfw alphabet ft. cray cray mark x gn! reader xx a/n; a couple of u asked for this so here it is :D not edited & straight off the dome so excuse any grammatical errors. will edit if necessary xx

A= Aftercare

'aftercare' with yandere mark is patronizing and condescending. a lot of shushing, wiping your tears, and asking why you're so upset. you asked for this with all your fucking cock teasing. it couldn't have been that bad, i mean, he did make you cum! why can't you just let good things happen to you? ;(

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

mark loves your eyes <3 it's the first thing he's noticed from you. how they seemed to gleam and widen while you gave him your undivided attention. he can't count the amounts of times he had to excuse himself and jack off in the bathroom: imagining how your eyes would water with his cock stuck down your throat. or the way your eyebrows would furrow while he jack hammered into you.

C= Cum

yan mark definitely likes marking you with his cum. he likes to see it dripping off your face, along your belly, your thighs, but most importantly, he loves it when he watches it drip out of you. whether you can get pregnant or not - and good luck if you can - there's just something primal about cumming inside of you. marking you in and out.

D= Dirty secret

he's a masochist just as much as he's a sadist. his little obsession with you caused him to get a tattoo of your name <3 right at his adonis belt 🥺 so everytime he's in too deep,, your hands desperately try to hold his hips back,, and your blunt nails dig into the curved lines of your name. it never fails to make his eyes roll into the back of his head 🫶🏽🤭

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

canon typical mark is (was) a blushy lil virgin but yan!mark has a tad bit more experience. he's attractive, he's funny, he knows how to play into the slightly awkward charm that got you to lower your defenses. so it's safe to say it isn't hard to find random hookups every now and then.

it's not all about his experience. he just knows what you like.

you may not know it, but he's. . done his research. and by that i mean, he's logged into your computer or your phone and looked through your browser history. he knows what kind of porn you like. and some of those things are borderline freaky. here you are, acting all innocent, like you wouldn't hurt a fly. or high and mighty like no one would ever dare snuff out your flame.

who would've known you were such a desperate slut?

but that's okay! because he's willing to do anything to satisfy you. . or humiliate you by making you cum. he feels it takes you down a peg, when he pins you down and makes you cum even though you don't want to. even though your mind is racing a mile a minute, trying to hold your climax back while he plays with your clit/cock.

unbeknownst to you, he's watched you masturbate. knows the right amount of pressure & speed that gets your toes curling. he knows you so well & he can't wait to learn more about you 💕

F= Favorite position

mark loves watching you squirm beneath him. most importantly, he loves taking you down. he might even make you think you can get away. the chase, the constant cat and mouse you'd subject him to used to be torture. your teasing, the occasional sliver of skin as you stretched, the way you'd lay your head on his lap as the two of you watched television, the way you'd grin when he blushed. . and the wrestling. god, the play wrestling.

he used to let you win. but now. . now this is real. there's real consequences. so he makes you think you can kick him off while you flail. maybe even lets you get up and run. your elbows are all scuffed during the struggle and he's given you a busted lip, but he lets you think you've won.

god knows he'll catch up eventually.

the games he'd play made you cocky. you thought you were stronger than him instead of considering that it was just him playing nice. so he loves to watch the look of defeat, of deception, anger, and disappointment towards yourself when it's revealed he could've had his way with you all along.

he loves to be on top.

but sometimes,

sometimes,

he likes it when you're on top. some things never change. and lets just say he didn't always let you win play wrestling just because he was trying to be a gentleman. but because he liked the way your weight felt on top of him as you grinned triumphantly, pinning his wrists down.

now, of course, things have changed. he can't let you have all the control. pity. but he forces you to ride him: his hand wrapped around your throat. he could really hurt you if he so much as wanted to. . something he hisses into your ear whenever your pace so much as falters. he makes you work for it. and it takes longer to make him cum when you ride him. fear makes you clumsy, makes your legs shake more, and you're sore and achy and tired, which makes it all the more fun.

so i think his fave is when he forces you to be on top :)

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

yan!mark teases you a lot. comments on how many times he's made you cum, pinches your nipples just to hear you squeal. he's only ever quiet and serious when he's in a bad mood.

H= Hair

mark's trimmed but not necessarily shaved.

you, on the other hand, have to be shaved. not because he finds it unattractive (if anything, it makes him feral. makes him feel like you're something meant to be conquered, something to be domesticated. controlled.)

hence his decision to have you shaved at all times. it's about control.

he forces you into the bath tub and watches as you shave, making sure you're all pretty for him. no, you don't get a say in the matter. you're his little doll. he'll do whatever he wants to you.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

mark is rough. depending on the situation, he may start off slower, softer, easing into you while his words are pure venom. he's grinding into you, making you hiccup, because this type of 'love making' should be reserved for couples. not whatever the two of you have got going on. but of course, he speeds up. roughing you up the more into it he gets.

he's rough regardless of who the object of his affection is, but he's definitely rougher if you're on the masculine side. yan!mark doesn't like to be challenged. he doesn't like talk back. he doesn't like you running around thinking you're big and bad. so he has to knock you down a peg. force you to understand he's stronger than you.

he chokes you out, squeezing your throat until your vision spots. he likes to watch your face change colors. and when your mouth opens, desperately trying to suck in air, he spits onto your tongue 💗

likes it when you - confident, and tough, walking like nothing can ever hurt you - beg him to let you go. beg him not to kill you.

because, sometimes, you fear he just might.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

he does! but when he gets you, there's really no need for that <3

when he hadn't kidnapped you, he'd masturbate all the time. it was the only way to relieve himself. like i rambled about before, he'd steal your underwear and cum into them, use them as tissues to wipe his abdomen clean.

secretly takes pictures of you - upskirts if you wear 'em,, or just candids. cums to your most mundane selfies.

if the two of you were close before he kidnapped you, debbie would send you all types of homemade treats. sweet or savory, whatever it was; you loved debbie's cooking. what you didn't know was that mark would add a little bit of his own . . twist to them. when you'd steal bites of his food, you always wondered why his tasted differently to yours.

and the way he'd stare at you as you ate, jesus.

you thought he just liked the way you'd wolf down whatever his mom cooked. turns out he just liked watching you eat his cum.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

BREEDING!!! whether you can get pregnant or not, he loves the idea of claiming you for a lifetime. of changing your life and forcing you to carry his child. watching you grow round and hormonal. he knows he'd have to keep you on a tight leash; lest you do something you'll regret in order to escape your fate. but it'll be worth it. because after nine months, you'll have another life to look after. you'll be on edge all the time, protecting a fragile, little life, because you can't trust mark to do it.

after all, if you're really bad, he can always get rid of it. start all over again. and you wouldn't want that, would you~?

dacryphilia.

there's nothing like watching you cry. when you'd confide in him about your troubles, when you'd cry on his shoulder, seek solace in his company for whatever reason, and cry. . it'd be really hard to hide his erection. the first time you let yourself cry in front of him was a day he'd never forget. he couldn't stop thinking about it since. wonders if you tear up when someone fucks you. (you do. you will)

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

mark doesn't care where he takes you as long as he's got you. it can be in public or not, just as long as he takes you to the secondary location he'll keep you prisoner in. if it's in the au where nolan & him team up, there will be a compound with all the rebels. you'd be at the top floor in a comfy little penthouse. a gilded cage overlooking the remains of your burned city.

i think he'll first want to fuck you in a place where there'll be no interruptions. if it isn't in the au where him & nolan conquer earth, he knows how to play his role. doesn't want to risk being found raping you. he'll most likely fuck you in a place you hold dear to your heart. your bedroom, could be an example.

because wherever that safe space may be, you won't be able to stand being there without thinking about him.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

he likes it when you act so sure of yourself. when someone's a bit cocky and bossy. it's nice to break you.

it is a whole lot easier when someone's shyer, though. wallflowers always blend into the background.

no one misses them when they go missing.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

there's almost nothing mark won't do to you, sorry ;( even if he doesn't like it. . even if you both don't like it. . he'll always find a way to humiliate you if you've been bad. so it's advised you be on your best behavior if you really don't want him to do some fucked up shit to you. & believe him: it hurts him more than it hurts you!!

all he's ever wanted was to own you.

you were meant for him.

so why fight?

you both know you're not getting out of this alive

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

mark doesn't always give head unless it's to put you in your place. just to show you that he can make you cum and theres nothing you can do about it.

but he makes you choke on him all the time. he's impatient, forcing your head down and hiking his hips up to meet your face. if you've pissed him off, he'll pinch your nose and hold you down. loves to feel your nails dig into the bulk of his thigh. sometimes, you'll make him bleed. he doesn't care.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

mark doesn’t last very long BUT he’s got a very short refractory period and can go for countless rounds. by the time you cum once, he’s already cum like three times and he’s ready for more. by then, he’s already fucked dumb. so your next orgasms will be forced out of you, roughed up and overstimulated as his cum leaks out of you, his cum acting as lube and making the slide intoxicatingly easy.

Q= Quickie

basically non-existent. he loves giving you his undivided attention. and he never stops after one round ;(

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

he loves trying new things with you. he's spent so much time fantasizing about you that he doesn't even know where to start the first time he gets his hands on you. he'll most likely force fuck you more than once in a day the first time he gets the chance to.

S= Stamina

(see pace <3)

T= Toys

loves using toys on you. if you’ve used them before him, he’ll force you to use them in front of him. it doesn’t take long before he takes control: grabbing them and fucking you with them. edging you. if you cum, then it’s only fair he cums, too, right? and you don’t really like that much ;( so best hold it in <3

U= Unfair (how do they tease? edge?)

mark loves to tease and edge you.

you say you hate him. you can't stand him touching you.

you bite and you snarl, kick and punch, yet when he has you pinned, edging you for hours on end. . you end up breaking. begging him to make you cum. of course, he coaches you through it. tells you he'll leave you alone once you cum, he promises. yet he drags it out for so long. hearing you ask to cum instead of asking him to stop is music to his ears.

except, mark is a liar. you shouldn't trust him.

he just ends up overstimulating you after you cum😒

V= Volume

lots of whispering and hissing, talks very quietly and carefully. you'd think he'd be loud. . but he's not. and despite the fact that he may say vile, disgusting things to you, he whispers them to you so nicely. . if he were saying anything else it'd be sweet. he's so patronizing ;( whimpers in your ear when he's close.

W= Wild card

really into pain.

since he's got his powers, it's not very often that he feels pain. sure, there are some fights with villains - while he's out playing the perfect hero in the mean time - that give him a few flashes of pain. but that's once a blue moon.

nothing compares to you.

you fight him like you're afraid he might kill you. and he might. but it's never his intention ;( he knows what kills and what doesn't (trust him) &, believe it or not, he doesn't want to lose you. but you fight him with such intensity he has to manhandle you more than he'd like.

your hits are surprisingly hard. you claw at him and punch and kick, and he's thought about breaking your legs more times than he can count - he still might if you catch him on a bad day - but then that'd leave you completely immobilized and that's really no fun. because he likes it when you make him bleed. he likes it when your hands slap against his face and when your nails try to claw his eyes out. he wears the bruises and the cuts you give him like badges of honor and he loves to bite his busted lip when he's close to cumming.

he loves it when you hurt him. and he loves it when he ends up winning, anyway.

X= X-ray (size)

5-6in & THICK. really pretty w/ plump balls. he cums SO much.

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

he's got a HIGH sex drive.

you've teased him for so long he doesn't think he'll ever get enough of you. and there's nothing you can do to stop him. if the two of you weren't close - if the two of you weren't friends, etc. - there's nothing you can do to lay low. you'll catch his attention sooner or later and he'll weasel his way into your life before you even realize it. his intentions would appear pure at first. he'd be so caring, wondering if you're doing okay, and protective; who were you talking to? i don't think they're good for you~

and you listened. because it's mark you're talking about. but if you truly knew him, you'd realize his accusations were actually projections.

Z= Zzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

falls asleep fairly quickly after he's wrung himself dry. but that's only IF he's already taken you hostage. if he so happens to assault you while the two of you aren't where he'd like to keep you, he takes you there, first. coupled with his strange idea of aftercare, he is fairly affectionate. or as affectionate as you'd expect him to be, anyway. always with a hint of menace: he'd hold you tight against him, an arm around your waist and the other wrapped around your throat. making sure you don't so much as think about straying away from him 💗💗

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omiomi · 3 months ago

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Steady as a Tide (One shot)

Roronoa Zoro x Fem!Reader

cw: canon divergence

The first time Y/N met Zoro, she immediately pegged him as a nightmare patient.

She had dealt with her fair share of stubborn pirates—men who refused treatment because they thought scars were trophies, idiots who tore their stitches after an hour, captains who ignored medical advice because they thought they were invincible.

But he was a special kind of impossible.

“I don’t need stitches,” Zoro muttered, arms crossed, looking down at the bloody mess on his side.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You have a six-inch gash in your torso.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the argument you think it is.”

She didn’t wait for his permission, pressing a cloth to his wound. He barely flinched, which was even more annoying. She had seen men pass out from less, but he sat there like she was applying a light breeze instead of disinfecting torn flesh.

The Heart Pirates were camped out near the Sunny, treating the injured after a skirmish with a marine fleet. It had been a mess, but they had won, and now the real battle—getting pirates to actually listen to doctors—had begun.

Zoro was easily the worst of the lot.

“You’re lucky it didn’t cut deeper,” Y/N said as she started stitching him up. “A little more force, and you’d be dead.”

He snorted. “If I died from something like this, I wouldn’t deserve to be the world’s greatest swordsman.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yeah? Well, you won’t be anything if you get an infection and drop dead in two days.”

Zoro tilted his head slightly, watching her work. “You’re a lot bossier than your captain.”

She pulled the stitch a little tighter than necessary, making him grunt. “And you’re a worse patient than yours.”

He smirked, but didn’t argue.

And for some reason, that silence stayed with her.

⸻

At first, Zoro was just another patient—an annoying, reckless one, but still just a patient.

But then she started noticing him.

Not just in battle, where he fought like a monster, cutting down enemies like it was as easy as breathing. But in quieter moments—the way he always sat with his back to a wall, eyes sharp even when resting. The way he trained longer than anyone else, even when he was injured. The way he wasn’t just strong, but steady, like an anchor in a storm.

And she hated that she noticed.

Because once she started, she couldn’t stop.

It was after another brutal battle that things changed.

The alliance had been ambushed, and Zoro had taken the brunt of it—again. By the time Y/N reached him, he was slumped against a broken wall, swords still clutched in his hands, blood dripping onto the ground.

“Zoro,” she called, rushing toward him.

He didn’t answer right away. His breathing was rough, shoulders rising and falling with exhaustion. But when she pressed a hand to his wound, his eyes opened, hazy with blood loss.

“I told you—” she started.

“Did we win?” he muttered.

Y/N gritted her teeth. Of course that was his first concern. “Yeah. We won.”

Zoro exhaled slowly. “Good.”

“Not good. You’re bleeding everywhere,” she snapped, pressing gauze against his side. “You could’ve avoided this, you know.”

Zoro gave a weak chuckle. “Not my style.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she worked, which annoyed her even more. She had stitched up countless wounds, faced death more times than she could count. But something about seeing him like this made her uneasy in a way she didn’t want to examine.

“You worry too much,” he muttered, eyes flickering shut.

Y/N froze for half a second.

Then she pressed down on his wound harder.

Zoro hissed. “Oi—”

“And you don’t worry enough,” she shot back.

He didn’t answer right away. But then, barely audible—

“…I do.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

But before she could say anything, Law shouted for her to help another injured crewmate. She hesitated, eyes locked on Zoro’s.

He gave a small nod. Go.

She went. But the weight of his words stayed with her.

⸻

After that, something shifted.

It wasn’t obvious—at least, not to anyone else. But Y/N felt it.

Zoro started lingering around the Heart Pirates more, though he never gave a reason why. Their conversations were still full of sarcasm and exasperation, but sometimes, in between the bickering, there were moments of quiet understanding.

She noticed things she hadn’t before. The way he trained until his hands bled, pushing himself beyond reason. The way he always knew where his crew was, even when pretending not to care. The way his gaze would find her in the chaos of battle, like he was making sure she was still standing.

She didn’t know what to do with that.

And then, there was the jealousy incident.

It started with Sanji.

The cook had always been friendly, but lately, his flirting had become more pointed. Nothing serious, just his usual over-the-top charm. Y/N rolled her eyes every time, but it never bothered her.

Until Zoro started reacting to it.

She first noticed it when Sanji casually slung an arm around her shoulder, grinning.

“My dear Y/N, you should consider switching crews. I’d treat you far better than these barbarians.”

Before she could retort, she caught sight of Zoro—standing a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Later, as she bandaged his wrist from overtraining, she smirked. “Were you jealous?”

Zoro scoffed. “Tch. As if.”

But his ears were red.

⸻

One night, when everything was quiet, Y/N sat alone on the deck of the Polar Tang, staring at the stars.

She barely heard Zoro approach, but she felt his presence when he sat beside her.

“You should rest,” she murmured.

“So should you.”

She let out a tired laugh. “Touché.”

They sat in silence for a while. Then, before she could stop herself, she admitted, “I worry about you more than I should.”

Zoro didn’t look at her, but she saw the faint smirk on his lips. “Yeah… me too.”

A beat of silence. Then, ever so subtly, his hand brushed against hers.

She didn’t move away.

And that was enough.

For now.

—

I love Zoro!!!! I’ll always go back to him.

#roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro #one piece zoro #op zoro #pirate hunter zoro #mackenyu #fluff

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pricegouge · 4 months ago

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prompt fill based off this request.

part two of the honey series

rat race

Simon x gn!reader

cw: predator prey dynamic and i really mean it. implied deaths offscreen. MDNI

it's a new maze every time. peg board floor, the walls mounted to it shifting with each session to keep you confused and, lost amid the erratic angles and dead ends. sometimes they're mirrored, reflect your mounting dismay back at you with every turn. mostly, he likes other obstacles, small puzzles you have to solve before continuing on to the next part of the maze.

today's impediment is a little more dire.

you smell it before you see it, the familiar reek of soiled bedding and cloyingly strong aspen. you're not alone.

simon sees the minute you register your predicament, dark eyes becoming hyperfocused when you stiffen up, fear locking your joints. he looms overhead, bad omen hung double in the sky where the glass which prevents you and the rat both from climbing out catches his reflection just enough to mirror him again, superimposes his mask just there above you. inescapable.

you think maybe one of these days he'll make the maze the same and pray it's not this day. you'd rather starve to death within it's confines than let the rat live off your corpse for a few days longer. maybe that's where he'd gotten all those fairy specimen that lined his study, their little shadow boxes visible even now, his largest mount displayed proudly behind his desk, looking over his shoulder at you pityingly. maybe you'll get a spot of honor, too.

but not if the rat finds you, vicious teeth and ravenous appetite. it had come close a few times, clever little nose giving it a leg up on you. simon had never once moved to help as it had closed in, just leaning closer to watch as the rat closed in, eyes darting between the two of you with the sort of anticipation and excitement one usually reserved for a well-balanced match.

so you can't depend on his mercy - not that he's ever given you reason to, really, but you'd hoped -

the pegboard holes are just big enough to catch your toes. you trip as you scurry along, fingers trailing on the walls next to you lest you miss a turn in your haste. not that it really matters, not when each turn looks the same. simon used to leave you little hints, offerings of sweets which would guide you closer to the end. he'd long since stopped that, seemed content to watch you twist yourself into knots for hours before you found a way out if needed. you hoped that wouldn't be the case tonight. the rat rarely ever needed hours to find you.

you stop to catch your breath when you reach the next four-corners. it's a dangerous spot to be, what with all the straight shots where the rat might see you, but it also gives you the most options for an escape if it comes to it, something you've learned the hard way. your chest rises with effort, tiny cloud of condensation collecting on the glass above. beyond it, you see simon's eyes dart to your left with just a little too much excitement and you take off to the right before you can even collect yourself, wood paneling flying by as you run blindly, right, left, left again, one-eighty when you hit a dead end. you huff in frustration, a muted spark flying when your fists clench in frustration and fear. you have options, you know, but you don't like the odds and -

it's surprising how quiet your companion can be, when it suits him. you don't hear the quiet chuffing of his breathing, nor the gentle patter of his little paws as he creeps closer. it's not even the slithering of its tail that gives it away, but the subtle scrape of its whiskers against the paneling, the wall on your left seeming to swell closer as the beast stalks by on the other side of it.

simon had lied, that pointed look from before meant to send you scurrying in the wrong direction - right into the rat's clutches. you'd be more mad, if you had time to be.

the path to the right is short - doesn't let you wander too far away from the beast that dogs you before forcing you to turn left. you're running parallel with it now, or at least you would be if it had kept on its same path. but that's unlikely in this labyrinth, and one right hand turn could send it your way. another could have it barreling down the aisle at you. you dip right as soon as you're able, do it again at your next chance -

and stop dead in your tracks when you see the very end of its scaly tale disappear around a corner up ahead.

faltering where you stand, you take a minute to try and find your bearings, weigh your options as you see them. there's no exit behind, but death could be waiting before and it takes you a minute to remember that if it's not there, it will be around the next corner (or the next, or the next) until you find your way out of here.

so you creep forward, each step placed carefully lest you slip, bare skin squeaking off the cheap wood. you don't make a sound as you approach the blind, not even as you peek around the corner to find the rat still at the end of the path, strong nose raised as if to sniff out whatever might be on the other end of the wall before it. you keep your wits about you, pull your head back to collect a calming breath before darting past the gap while it's distracted, your footsteps coming a little more calmly, a little more confidently as you slink away. you can feel simon's heavy gaze on you, seemingly magnified by the glass overhead. he's rapt now, his unwavering gaze only adding to your stress, nerves a tangled ball of pollen you can't find the end of, can't get a grasp on.

maybe that's why you're too distracted to mind your breathing, the harsh pants of your panic alerting the rat to your presence. it chuffs in its excitement, long body struggling as it tries to turn around in the close press of walls that surround it. you hear the scrape of its little claws, a series of suppressed sneezes it would never emit if it was still in stalking mode. the gig is up.

you don't even bother to look behind you before you're off, feet slamming against the pegboard in your haste. simon's too excited to bother suppressing it, unwittingly leading you toward the exit by how he leans too far forward, a subconscious tell which you try to focus all your concentration on. anything to avoid looking back, avoid seeing the scurrying beast which tails you.

it's gaining is the worst part. you can take corners quicker than it, but it's faster on straightaways and it's only now, as you weave your way through row after row of them that you realize there are a lot of straightaways in this maze. simon's note taking wasn't just for show, it seemed.

right, left, straight, right and right again. teeth snatch at your clothes, sharp enough to tear instead of catch. a mixed blessing as it allows you to slip its grasp this time. you drive yourself harder, chest aching with your labored breath as you try to stay just outside of its range. it squeaks and squeals in its excitement, a terifying littany you can't quite drown out even with your blood pounding in your ears. you focus on trending right because that's the way simon's leaning, are just starting to worry you've misjudged him when you see it: sweet sanctuary, a perfect circle in an external wall, the sweet smell of candy sitting just beyond.

you leap through it as soon as you're able, shriek in fright when you swear you can feel teeth snapping at your toes. but simon shutters the door as soon as you're through it, dull thud of the rat slamming against it the last thing you hear of it for the night.

supine, catching your breath, you watch almost disinterestedly as simon stands and collects the massive box from off his desk, big meaty hands lifting it gently before carrying it off to the other side of the room where he takes a minute to extract the rat and return it to its cage. it nips him, retaliation for a pointless maze, but simon just chuckles darkly, calls it cheeky as he feeds it a grape from his pocket. when he turns back to you, he asks why you haven't had your treat yet and you just shake your head, stomach turning at the thought of sweets right then. or maybe it's because the thought of being treated like just another one of his lab rats leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

the chair groans under him when he sits back down, his fist heavy as it drags over the pad of paper before him, taking more notes. everything about him is heavy and he never lets you forget it - movements purposefully drawn out to emphasize it, as if he's any need for it. even for a human he's a large man, and there's nothing your paltry sparks could ever do against him. you're not stupid, despite what he thinks.

"almost got you that time," he grumbles as he finishes up. you're still laying on your back, processing your predicament. he just uses it as an excuse to slide the paper you're laying on closer, his palm planted frimly next to you, framing you between forefinger and thumb. you don't bother arguing with him, don't see the point.

over his shoulder, some long-dead kin seems to agree.

"you'll be a wet specimen, won't you?" his mask hides his expression when he says it, but his eyes are just as animated as they'd been when he'd lead you astray, gleaming darkly in the low light of his banker's lamp.

you can only pout up at him, confused until he picks you up, turns you so you face the cupboard, one of its door's hanging slightly ajar, the low glint of glass glowing from within. even static it seems to dance, and you imagine the jarred contents within rippling, the mangled little corpses preserved in formaldehyde bobbing along. you shake your head adamantly, fear bubbling back to life in your belly. you'd only seen inside the cupboard once but it had been enough, shelves full of gored little fairies haunting you ever since, constant threat.

simon tuts, as if you're being petulant and contrary. "you'd best shape up, then. can't mount a half-eaten fairy."

#please let me know if there's anything you think should be added as a tag!#fairy!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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the-kr8tor · 1 year ago

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Talking Iron

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.4k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood, TW death, CW guns, CW injury, CW food mentions, CW vomit mention, CW violence. Cowboy AU, old west AU.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 2 >>> CHAPTER 3

You haven't been this close to him in 5 years. Breath to breath, heart to heart, you watch yourself in his jade eyes like how one sees themselves for the first time.

“I've finally found you.” Eyes shining, smile brighter than the sun bearing down, you grasp his face tenderly—as if your own eyes deceive you, as if you're dreaming. “Hobie?” You call for him when he doesn't move an inch above you.

Hobie's green eyes just stare at you, or through you. Mouth agape, breath stuck in his throat. To get his attention, you place your thumb softly over the corner of his eye, rubbing gently like you always did when he needed to wake up from a daydream.

For a split second, he leans in your touch. But as fast as he leaned in, he flinched away just as quick. Hobie scrambles away on the dusty ground like you've burned him. You might as well have when he felt how cold the golden band around your middle finger is. Soil dirtying the thick leather he wears, he stands up shakily. With the sun behind him, you have a hard time seeing his face, seeing the face you've longed for. A shadow cast around him, a halo of light around his head, the shadow blanketing him, as if you're not allowed to bear witness to all his glory.

Instead of ‘I love yous’ or ‘I miss yous’ falling on his lips, harshness flows out of them. “What are you doin' ‘ere?”

Hands bound, you try to sit up but fail. “Looking for you of course!” You say cheerfully, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It is to you, for him, it's the most confusing statement.

“Why?” Hobie's hands clenched into fists. He's not going to hurt you, he'll never hurt you—but he really wants to punch something. Just when he thought the past won't haunt him, just when he pushed the past behind him, you came to him like some miracle.

You almost scoff. “W-why? To see you, just like you wanted me to.” Finally succeeding to sit up, you huff. “Five years of no communication,” you say forlornly, “of course I'd come and see you the moment you sent word.” You smile again, and he looks away. Anywhere, anything else than the curl of your lips.

“Sent word?” He shakes his head. “I've never sent you anythin'” His words would pierce your heart but your excitement and relief triumphs over the feeling.

“A-are you sure?” You blink slowly, reaching up with your bound hands. “Can you help me up, please? I'll show you the letter.”

“Letter?”

“Can you stop asking and just help me up, Hobie? Please, the ground is hot.” With a quick nod, eyes still glancing away from you, he grabs you by the rope around your hands, avoiding touching your own; lifting you up rather quickly. The moment you're back on your feet, he yanks his hand away from you, to which you're too happy to even notice. “It's in my skirt pocket, the right.” You instruct him since you can't reach it with your hands tied. Hobie reaches to your left, hand roaming around your empty pocket, careful not to graze your thigh. “My right, Hobs.” He freezes in place, he hasn't heard that nickname in years. Without another word, he takes his hand back, then he searches for the neatly folded paper. “I've never pegged you to be a law man. Are you gonna turn me over, sheriff?”

Hobie scowls at the title, “not even close.” He sees how much it's been folded, like you've read it a thousand times. Opening the letter, scanning the contents, the pause gives you time to admire him fully. The whole ‘american cowboy’ shtick suits him, you think. You ogle him unabashedly.

Each word has his jaw tightening. It's in his writing, he remembers the exact words that's full of longing and sadness. It's full of the words you expect him to say. Yet, he wasn't the one who sent it. He's sure he didn't, especially that it was written when he was drowning in his amber filled glass. “Where'd you get this?” His eyes flick over to you, your smile faltering for only a second.

“A mail carrier?” You chuckle, “it was delivered to me.”

“I didn't send this to you.”

“Oh.” Your smile crumbles but you fix it back up almost immediately, optimism winning. “Maybe you just forgot? Remember when you forgot to put on a sock that one time and—”

“This isn't some sock, Y/N.”

“You didn't ask for me? Was it forged?” You ask quietly, heart shattering with every question.

Hobie shakes his head, sucking in his teeth, he pockets the letter. Taking the rope that hangs on your bounded hands, he tugs you back to the shop. “C’mon.” Boots thudding on the ground, he's going to do what he's good at—his job.

“W-wait! I haven't seen you in five years and you're seriously taking me to face charges? Not even a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you doing?’” You yank back, heels digging in to stop him.

“Hello, you're not goin’ to jail, I need the ten bucks. You seem fine so ‘m bringin’ you home.” Dragging you inside, the shopkeeper grins and even claps at the sight.

“That is so much worse! Hobie—” You plead, you don't remember ever pleading with him before.

“Good job, Mr…?” The moustachioed man asks, ten dollar bill in hand.

“No one.” Hobie snatches the bill, then immediately dragging you towards the front of the shop. The bells chime as he opens the door, but you're too polite to not say sorry to the man.

“I'm sorry for pointing the gun at you, but you shouldn't have shot at someone who cannot shoot back. It's rude—!” You get yanked outside, the man looks confused at your words.

“Don't apologize to him.” Hobie says, hands placed on your hips, a feeling that isn't foreign to you, but something you missed dearly.

You grin at him, expecting him to say the words you long for. Instead, you get lifted up. Yelping, connected hands flying to his wrists, he places you on his horse. Hitching your hands around the horn of his saddle.

“I think we're good, Hobie, you got his money. Can you untie me now?” You start to get nervous. The brilliant black horse looks over his shoulder, black marbles staring at you, paying you no mind. “Hi, I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure.”

“The horse doesn't talk, lov—” He stops himself before he could complete his sentence. Hobie lifts himself up, sitting behind you, legs next to yours, arms cageing you in while he holds the reins. “Thought you'd know that. Or is it because the horses back in England learned to talk after I left.” You still have no idea why he left, you're waiting for the right time to ask, for now your main concern is why your hands are tied.

“I know horses can't talk.” You roll your eyes, “I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm sure you're close to your horse, correct? You were always fond of animals.”

“His name is Buckeye.” Hobie says, with a slight kick and a click of his tongue, he holds the reins precisely, steering Buckeye towards the train station further out of town.

“Cute!” You exclaim despite the hunger, you're still happy that you found him. Or he was the one who found you. Hobie always has a knack for that it seems, whether you're hiding away or can't be bothered to be perceived by anyone but him, he always finds you. Always. “It's a cute name. Buckeye, fitting name for a horse that's as gorgeous as you, huh?” You lean down just in time for Buckeye to look back at you. He neighs like he understood you. “Yeah, you agree.” You giggle, the dark horse looks like he enjoys the attention.

Hobie is baffled by the whole interaction. “Stop cooing at my horse.”

“Why not? He seems to like it.” You touch his mane as best as you can with your hands still tied. “Right, Bucky?” The horse has an extra pep in his step with you figuring out his nickname. You continue to giggle, Hobie has no idea how Bucky warmed up to you so fast. “Where to, Hobs? Home?” You ask excitedly.

“Yes, your home.”

“Wait— What?!” You almost fell off with how fast you looked back at him.

—

All your questions were left unanswered, but you still think he's playing some sort of joke on you, a joke that is getting older with every tick of the giant clock that hangs above the railway station. A tumbleweed passes by on the train tracks, a warm breeze passes by the near empty train station. Hobie stands next to you, leaning on a pillar, eyes roaming around the barren place. He's far enough that you can't reach him and tell him all the words you wanted to say to him since he left. Yet, he's close enough that you can admire all the physical changes.

From the scruff of his growing beard, to the peeking scar around his neck—he looks like he grew up. The smoke from his cigarette curls upwards to the brim of his hat, parting ways down the middle like theater curtains that show his chiseled face. His jade eyes are as green as the grass at home, as green as the fields you used to run around with him. It reminds you of home, and at the same time, it reminds you of the years that went by without those green eyes by your side.

“You look really good.” You finally say something that isn't a question. Fingers playing with the gold band around your middle finger. “Seriously, what's your secret?” Your behind hurts from the hard wood of the bench. Travelers are sparse and far in between, you notice them staying away from you.

As predicted, he doesn't answer.

You copy his voice and demeanor just how you remembered it last. “Well, love, the secret is to bathe in cow's milk at least once a week. And to stay away from the sun.” You keep your smile despite the silence from your companion. “That's probably what you'd say.” He barely even looks at you. “Well, five years isn't that long,” you lie, it was an eternity without him. “I always thought you'd age well—”

“Five years is a long fuckin' time, Y/N.”

“Finally, a word from your mouth.” You reach towards him, impatiently showing him your tied hands. “Can you untie me now? I can't run from you, with my ankle still hurting and the fact that I'm starving and dehydrated, I won't be doing any running for a while.”

“You're starving?” There's a glimmer of worry in his eyes.

“Yes,” you almost exclaim. Hobie takes one step towards you, instead of untying your binds, he takes your bandana that hangs around your neck. You flinch in response, an act that has him questioning what happened to you in those five years he left.

Hobie kneels in front of you, more careful of any sudden movement, a vision of a younger him passes over your mind's eye. He lifts your skirt up, enough to show the wound on your ankle. Gloved hands wrap gingerly around your foot as he places it on top of his thigh.

“The bleedin' stopped,” not once has he looked in your eyes. While you stare at him affectionately, a soft smile on your tired lips. Hobie wraps your bandana around the wound, tying it with a knot that you're familiar with. You grin at the memory of him using it all the time. “There,” just as you thought, he taps your foot three times, a habit of his that you're fond of. Hobie realizes what he has done subconsciously, straightening up, he takes a wrapped biscuit from his pocket. Grabbing your hand, he places it unceremoniously on your palm like your skin burns him like a sinner to holy water. “Your people will be here any minute.”

“We've been waiting here for two hours. And who—? What people?”

“The people who want you back home.”

You almost drop the biscuit. “But I don't want to come home! I want to stay with you—!”

“Why are you really ‘ere, Y/N? Hmm? Great aunt not givin’ you enough allowance?” He flicks the cigarette butt away.

Your heart cracks, voice as small as a dormouse. “Why are you being like this?” Hobie inhales sharply. “I told you, I came to see you because of your letter where you wrote that you missed me and wanted to see me. I–I have so many of mine right here—” A train whistle rings out before Hobie could reply.

The smell of burning coal itches your nose, blackened smoke billowing out of the metal beast that creaks and shrieks on the steel tracks.

A small crowd exits the train once it fully stops. You notice Hobie standing closer to you, hand placed on the back of the bench. His eyes search for someone amidst the travelers while you take big bites of the dry biscuit, desperate to satiate the rumbling of your stomach. Damn all the etiquette lessons drilled into your brain, you're starving.

“Can I have some water?” You cough out, palm covering your mouth for some decency. “Hobie?” His head is on a swivel, eyes scanning the stranger's faces. You tug at his coat, he curses under his breath so you retract your hand quickly. “I'm sorry.” Your small voice startles him.

“What?” He looks down at you, your eyes are glued on your lap, palms up like you're waiting for punishment. His jaw tightens, knuckles shaking. What happened to you after he ran? “‘ere,” passing a canteen of water over to you, he places it on your open palms gingerly.

The cool metal of the canteen hits your skin, instead of stinging pain. “Thank you,” you take a drink, Hobie doesn't miss how your hands shake, almost spilling water all over yourself.

“Stop sayin' that.” He says it through a softer tone, “don't be so polite.” He's not trying to chastise you, but you don't know the difference.

“Sorry—I'll stop.” You close the lid to the canteen, giving it back to him without lifting your head up.

As the crowd thins, Hobie controls his breathing. It was better when you were looking at him, at least then he could see how happy you were.

“No one's here.” He finally says, the hands on his sides stretching, joints aching from the previous tightness of his knuckles.

“Because no one's looking.” You hope that was the case. Or at least it was just her looking for you, not him too.

“The reward on your head says otherwise.” Hobie wishes he didn't say everything that passes by his mind when you look at him like a heartbroken fawn. “C’mon.” He takes your arm, helping you stand up. He's ill equipped to handle emotions right now, especially if he can barely control his own.

“Where are we going?” You ask, shoes thumping across the floorboards.

“The post office, it's right around the corner.” Sure enough, the post office is connected to the railroad station. Convenient, you thought. Stopping next to Bucky on his post, he neighs at the sight of you. You smile at him, even though he can't possibly understand your expression. Hobie taps his saddle, subtly asking your permission to lift you up. You nod once, as if you could say no. With one strong lift, you're back on Bucky's saddle. “Right, stay ‘ere, scream if you're in trouble.”

“You're leaving me here?”

“No, I need to check my telegram. I can see you through the window, yeah?” He points at the foggy windows of the post office. “I'll be back in five.”

“What if someone comes?”

He's already halfway to the office. “Scream.”

An old woman with a cane and a trendy dress passes by, seeing your bound hands, she tosses Hobie a look of disapproval.

“It's fine, she's my wife and she likes to roleplay.” Once upon a time, he thought that he'd call you that for real. That was a different time. “Ain't that right, sweetheart?” He opens the door for the woman who looks at you for reassurance.

You give the stranger your best smile. “Yes, my love.” His finger twitches, breath hitching. “Don’t worry about me, ma’am, it's all good.”

The older woman scoffs, muttering a ‘the youth and their weird sex fantasies.’ She enters the office first while Hobie gives you an approving nod.

“The excuse wasn't even good.”

“It worked right?” With a smug smile on his lips, he enters the office while you settle on Bucky.

“Your rider's weird.” You whisper to his horse who huffs in response.

Hobie grabs a form on a table placed near the windows. He has the perfect view of you chatting with Bucky. A smile creeps up on him, to which he tamps down immediately. Writing all the necessary information, with a fake name and address of course, he gives it to the man at the counter who wordlessly reads it and searches in the back for any letters for him.

He watches you smile at his horse, desperately trying to remember how your laughter sounded. A real one where you would almost choke at your own spit because of a joke he told you. The smile curls around his lips once again.

An envelope slides out of the slot, his fake name, Larry Smith, is written in neat writing. He rips it open immediately, eyes skimming the contents. The words ‘change of plans’, ‘moved south’ that are followed by an address that he's familiar with in the southern area has him taking his hat off, hands rubbing along his hairline from how crappy the situation is. Judging by all the detail on the letter, it would take him weeks to get you there, months if something unsavory happens on the road. He has a feeling that something would happen based on the reward increase that's listed next to the address. From five thousand to six.

Your piercing scream rings all the alarm bells in his body, bolting straight away, he sees you try to fight off a couple of men that are quickly riding off with you. They're moving three ways from Sunday, their laughter fading out. Hobie's blood boils.

Buckeye neighs loudly, waking his rider up from his blind anger. Hobie unhitches the dark horse, long leg swinging over the saddle, boots immediately placed inside the stirrups, hands tightly curled around the reins. And off he goes, leaving the railroad station in the dust, galloping incredibly fast.

He hears you yell his name just before you were abruptly cut off by a cloth shoved in your mouth. “Y/N!” Desperately calling for you, anger rolls off him like an avalanche in the winter. Taking his pistol out, with one hand he aims. But with the speed and the jostling around, he can't aim straight—especially if there's a chance of him shooting you instead.

The phantom pain around his neck aches.

Adrenaline rushes through him, he sees reason, aiming at the other man that isn't holding you. With a click, and a squeeze of the trigger—he shoots. The bullet whizzes by with a piercing sound, hitting the man's shoulder, turning his insides out, spraying warm crimson everywhere. The pained yell he let out would haunt your dreams. Moreso of the sorrow filled scream his companion let out.

With a thud, the limp body falls, his own horse running him over. You shut your eyes, mind crawling back to the one place you were happy staying forever in, Hobie's tiny flat back home. Back when afternoon tea consists of him rambling about some new invention he thought of, back when his hands would roam over your skin softly. Back when you held him close to you as he whispered promises in your ears.

Now it's all rough leather against your hand, jade eyes avoiding your own, mouth permanently etched into a frown. You know him, deep down the Hobie who would press feather light kisses on your lips is still in him. That deep down he has built a façade to survive this lawless land, and it's hard for him to break that carefully made façade in one day. You'd find his softness again, but you have to survive this first.

The horse you've been thrown on has finally stopped running. Your chest hurts from all the jostling, you were placed stomach first on the saddle—where the jagged leather uncomfortably rubbed against you and the spine of the horse hit you over and over again. The strange man yanks you away, now you're completely standing up with a gun pressing on your temple. A cry inches up to your throat, the cloth in your mouth chokes you. The man smells of cow shit and iron.

You watch as Bucky halts to a stop, dust flying around like the fireflies back home. The hat on Hobie's head hides the anger in his eyes, trigger finger itching to shoot again.

You cry, his name muffled by the cloth. You didn't mean to cry, but everything hurts. The warm barrel of the gun digs into your skull, whilst your hands grip the stranger's arm, your nails hopelessly trying to claw him away from you. The stranger smells like death.

“You killed my brother!” The man screams in your ears, breath rancid, warm air tickling your cheek. Amidst the loud rushing of your blood in your ears, you hear hurried footsteps behind you. They sound like there could be dozens of them, all pointing their guns at the man you loved. Still love, even now.

Hobie doesn't get off his horse. He sits still, frozen like a bronze statue. The only indication of him being alive was his labored breathing.

“What's happenin’?” A gruff voice asks from behind, thick southern drawl making him stand out from the rest of the gang. “Who's this, Jacky?”

“The broad, the broad from the telegram. Henry and I recognized her, thought we'd be rich. We saw her first!” Jacky acts like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Where's Henry then?” The older sounding man asks.

“With a bullet in him,” Hobie's voice is calm, cold and calculating, none of the warmth you were used to. “He's laying in a pool of his own blood a few ways from ‘ere. I bet the coyotes have him now.”

“You fucker!” Jacky presses the gun closer, you cry out in pain. Hobie's hand twitches. “I'll fucking shoot her! I swear I'd shoot!”

“Do you think that's worth it? Getting her blood all over your nice camp?” Hobie's unfeeling tone makes you weep harder. “Killin’ your mark? My mark?” He speaks commandingly, teeth gritted.

You look up to the heavens, blue sky engulfing your vision. A part of you wants to go home, a part that regrets running away in the first place. But there's a bigger part of you that's glad that you saw him again, even though you face your imminent death. It was worth it, you suppose. At least now your heart can rest after seeing him alive. You close your eyes when the pistol next to your head clicks.

“You talk big, a life for a life then.” A tear slides down your cheek. Hobie aims for your captor's head.

“Wait a damn minute!” You hear footsteps come from behind, the older man steps between them. “I know I remember ya from somewhere.” He tips his hat at Hobie, just in time for you to see him stare at you back intensely. “Yeah, I know ya. You're the one who took out Culver's men in one night, ain't ya? Thirty fuckin’ men all dead in one night.” Gasps are heard from the dozen or so people from behind. You hear whispers of the name ‘spider of the west’ behind you. “Christ, you're him.” With his hands right next to his head in surrender, he looks over his shoulder over to you, you see fear in the old man's eyes. “Let the little miss go, Jacky.”

“An eye for an eye, Arthur—!” Jacky pleads.

“Let her go or I'll be the one putting a bullet to your head, boy!” His scream has you flinching.

Jacky reluctantly lets you go, you almost crumple to your feet but you still stand, not wanting to give them the satisfaction. Your hands tremble as you take out the musty cloth inside your mouth.

Arthur walks over to you, hand ghosting over your back. “‘m sorry about that, sweetheart.”

You walk with your head held high. “Don't say sorry.” Your tear filled eyes flick over to the bearded man. “You’re not the one who hurt me.”

“Still, I'd like to say sorry on behalf of my belligerent men.” He looks up at Hobie who's still sitting on his horse passively. But the older man seems to know the deadly storm brewing behind those emerald eyes. “I apologize for the…miscommunication. If my men knew who you were, they wouldn't have tried anythin'. Jacky and his brother are too big for their breeches. ”

“The next time I see any of you on the road, I won't hesitate.” Hobie says, eyes bright, burning like greek fire.

“As is your right. You take care now.”

You silently lift yourself up on Bucky, with the help from Hobie, hand sliding away the moment you successfully tug yourself up behind him. Hobie doesn't see how vacant your stare is. You refuse to hold on to him, you're afraid of what he did, not of him. He thinks it's the other way around, it's his worst nightmare.

As you both gallop away, the last thing you heard above the hoofbeats is the unmistakable sound of a gun going off.

—

You're getting further and further away from the town you were in. The sun sets next to you as you look at the blood caked under your nails. You no longer shake or cry, just numb.

Buckeye passes by a lone graveyard, metal fences jagged and angled awkwardly. The dilapidated chapel cracks and falls under its own weight. Crows have made a home on the old tombstones, their cawing and beady black eyes raise the skin on your arms. The names of the dead are barely readable on the tombstones—rotten pots of flowers lay on the bed of graveyard soil, black petals going back to where they came from. You look away, afraid that if you don't, you'd see yourself among them.

The large rock formations loom overhead, jagged lines curved and sculpted by time. The holes dotted along its large walls act like a thousand eyes watching over you. Beady limestone eyes twitching, bleading, and crying. The sun fades away behind the horizon, cold replacing warmth, shadows replacing light.

Everything aches, your legs are still shaking from the encounter, the rustling tumbleweeds makes you jump. Eyes frantic, breath quickening, hands going numb—mind reeling back to the bloodied dead man.

“Stop.” You say too quietly. “Stop the fucking horse!”

Hobie reigns in Bucky, halting to a stop. You slid off ungracefully, knee hitting the ground as you scramble away. Bile rises in your throat, acid expelled out of your mouth because of your near empty stomach.

Familiar footsteps walk behind you, you wait for him to close the distance, to hold you close like he has always done five years ago. Yet, he stays far, stopping just a few feet away from your trembling body.

With shaky legs, you stand up, back still facing him. You wipe your mouth clean with your sleeve, Hobie's hand twitches for the handkerchief inside his pocket. He doesn't give it to you. He doesn't know why he didn't. Sniffing, you cough, eyes still stinging.

“Did they hit your head?” He finally says something, his words echoing in the vast empty space.

“No, I'm fine.” You pass by him, hands braced on Bucky's side.

“Y/N—”

You whirl around, “I said I'm fucking fine!” Heaving, chest aching, you rub your tired eyes. “I'm fine, don't worry about me, okay? Can we go?”

“We'll camp ‘ere.” With Hobie's statement, you look back at where you came from. Your captor's camp is miles away from you now, but you swear you can still feel the barrel of his gun digging into your skull, and the rotten smell of his mouth. “They won't follow us.”

“He knew you,” your eyes don't shine with the same optimism he was greeted with. “He looked scared when he remembered you. Hobie, W–what did you do to get him to fear you like that?”

“A lot of things you shouldn't worry about.” He walks past you, grabbing his pack from the saddle. “The less you know, the better.”

You nod, tears brimming in your eyes. He's not the old Hobie you remembered. He would've told you, he used to tell you everything. The gold ring in your finger feels heavy. And all the unsent letters you've hidden inside your skirt feels empty, the flowery words you've written inside are unrequited.

As day fades away to night, the moon shines bright as the stars twinkle above you. The warmth of the open fire settles into your fatigued bones, the pads of your fingers slowly regains feeling. The air is crisp, breeze blowing your lashes, cooling down the hot can of beans in front of you. The scene in front of you reminded you of the time you used to sneak out into the woods to meet with Hobie. He'd light a small fire and huddle close to you while you point out constellations. The beans are new, you wish they were bread instead, like the ones you used to nick from the kitchen.

This time, he sits across from you, far away from you as the fire cackles in between you both. The flames dance in his green eyes, a beautiful sight that you love—yet, you can't help but stay away from it.

“Cold?” He asks, hands properly warmed up from the hot can.

“No,” you answer flatly, legs tucked into you, chin placed atop your knees while you watch the embers flicker away into the dark. The cold helps, it helps numb you down.

“Alright.”

In another time he would've offered his coat, not just the shabby itchy blanket thrown over your shoulders. It all seems like a lifetime ago now.

You have no idea what caused him to leave without a goodbye, whether it was you or your unfeeling family, or for a pursuit of something better—but you know in those five years he has changed, you know he's still the Hobie you love, but you can barely recognize his heart anymore. You came to the new world for a new life with him, away from your predetermined life, because through and through you still love him. The promises he once whispered into your skin repeats in your head like a broken record. It's what's keeping you warm, sane, and in the present.

He eats silently, while you wallow into yourself. You've braved the ocean to see him, rode a dozen trains to get close to him, lost so much and gained so little just to see him alive. Was it all worth it? Worth all the calluses on your feet from all the walking? Worth all the tears you shed just to realize that maybe he doesn't love you anymore? That he fell out of love in those five grueling years?

Does he know that you still love him?

The man sitting across from you is a stranger. Not the one you promised your heart to.

“Hobie?” You call for him, heavy eyes staying on the ashes in front of you.

“Hmm?” He hums, barely audible for you. You silently wish that you don't get used to all his halfhearted replies. You need to hold on to a part of him from five years ago or you'll go crazy and run off into the barren lands of the west.

Against better judgment, against the screaming voice in your head, you finally look at him right in his eyes. “Why'd you leave?”

He quietly sighs, “I had to.” Those green eyes you love so much swirl with unsung emotion that you're not privy to. “Why'd you run away from home?”

“I had to.”

Hobie nods once.

You take your dinner in your cold hands, biting down the bitterness and the feeling. With an inhale, you smile through the pain of your realization. It's better not to dwell on it, or you might lose yourself. Instead, you take the opportunity to live in the moment with him—Relish your time with Hobie or whatever time you have left with him on the journey home.

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kuni-is-daddy · 2 years ago

Note

Want wanderer to ride me until his biting down on his lip to cum <33 Lessor lord reader preferred :) I love how you write him subby with L.L reader.

SUB CATBOYWANDERER/KUNI! X MALE READER

-art credits -> Link

You can imply it as a strap or pegging. //Riding and a bit of teasing.

|Scaraficlist!|Sub catboy scara

With some sub scara drabbles in the start.

CW: Minors do NOT interact past the cut! This is a NSFW POST!

Sub catboyscara! who's furry ears can't stop furrowing back and forth while you fuck him. With every deep thrust it's as if the knot inside him is ready to snap. "H-harder! Fuck~! Please ~!" He's soooo needy when your fucking him, so when you comply and tightly grab on his hips; stuffing him so full of your seed he's immediately moaning as loud he can and sticking his tongue like he's panting for air.

Sub catboy!scara who loves getting slapped on his ass. He's trying so hard to act as if he 'doesnt like it because it's a punishment' but his tail curls and wraps along your body or hand whenever you pull away from the nth slap. Scaras eyes are a bit puffy and his face is rosey red with blush. Not to mention his fangs...

When you please sub wanderer in public he's biting onto his lip or hand so hard to hide his moans. The darshan championship nearly bored him to death so he wandered through the outskirts of the city for a bit looking for you. And to his 'surprise' you were Writing away at a bench on said championship. It was the first time after your imprisonment you've gotten to hold a event for your people. Yet there goes the familiar tune of jingling bells cutting through the sounds of the wind.

"Hah..and here I was hoping you'd interact with people and make friends..mnh..your so needy aren't you scara?" You took a heavy sigh at his warmth, while he sunk further onto your shaft. His hat was measly tossed aside onto the bench with your paperwork while his open chested kimono draped off his arms, revealing fresh bite marks, hickeys and even some unpleasant scars. 'Scara' moaned softly and began bouncing up and down on your cock. "I-mnh~! I can't.-" lazily, you bucked your hips up into his clenching hole. "Can't what? Be patient?" Slap! "AH~! hmnn~" scara immediately nodded his head, If only you didn't put him in those stupid interest groups as a 'hobby' he wouldn't be so pathetic and needy. "my poor little pet~ you missed me, yeah? Did you miss your god?"

You tilted your head in amusement as the puppet turned his away. 'his god...scara.' he felt odd with the words, yet his cock began leaking precum onto his roughed up lower clothing. "Y/n~ Oh~hnm...say my name~!" He pleaded and with a soft pop his drool painted lips parted from his hand. "Hm? Your name...I'm not sure... baby?" With a thin grin you trailed your free hand onto his painfully hard cock. Your thumb rubbed along his tip and squeezed bit on his shaft. Scara whined out at your teasing, the sound of his wet skin slapping against yours grew louder admist the white noise of the park. "You-Ah! Say it please~! Please y/n! Im so close!" You hummed at his response and scara gripped tighter onto your shoulder before digging his head into your neck. He purred softly And Your body shivered at the feeling of his prostate rubbing along the tip of your shaft. "Kuni~" you whispered and Kuni gasped out into your shoulder, slowly digging his nails into your clothed back. "Ag-ah! Again~! F-fuck! I'm gonna- ah!" "Cum for me kuni~ be a good boy and cum on my fingers"

Kuni cried out your name once more before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, you hissed out in the mix of pain and pleasure as both your orgasms washed over you. He blinked through his hazy vision and purred at you stuffing him full again.

---

Nilou was sitting by the booth waiting for 'acting grand sage' alhaitham to return, for the 1st round intermission of the interDarshan championship. She hummed a tune and twiddled with her pencil a bit until she heard the sound of panting. "M-MS NILOU! MS NILOU!" A short woman chanted, she was dressed in traditional darshan attire. With an awfully messy pair of shoes at that. It was as if the woman was tracking through the forest. "Oh my, kasha what happened to you?! Is everything okay - is someone hurt!?" Nilou nearly sprinted out of her seat to great the exhausted woman. "its- ah..it's ah important letter from- Lessor lord y/n" Kasha sighed and handed nilou the letter.

'Vahumana representative 'Hat guy' will be withdrawn from the first and second match of the interDarshan championship on my account, please If you have any concerns or further comments report them to sanctuary newsletter! Thank you.

#genshin smut #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x male reader #catboy #genshin impact #wanderer x male reader

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tropes-and-tales · 2 months ago

Text

Ghosts

(Benny "Borracho" Magalon x F!Reader)

CW: Angst that has a hopeful ending.

Word Count: 3312

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person for the April Showers event!

Even though it’s still his house—technically, at least for now—Benny Magalon has to fight the urge to knock. He finds himself lifting his hand to rap against the door. He stops himself just in time, fishes his keys out of his jacket, then lets himself in.

Even though it’s still your house—technically, at least for now—you don’t fill it with noise anymore. No TV murmuring in the background, no music playing from the impressive stereo setup that takes up half the living room. You live in silence now, and it hits Benny the moment he walks in.

The only sounds: running water, the clink of silverware in the sink. He makes his way to the kitchen and sees you washing up. You must hear his tread because you pause for a second, and your shoulders tense up.

“Hey.” He jingles the keys in his hand.

“Hey.” You don’t turn around.

Benny glances around the kitchen, and his gaze falls on the manila envelope where it sits on the table like a bomb that needs detonated. It’s sat there for over a month now, untouched.

You haven’t touched it since you sat it in front of him. Benny hasn’t touched it at all.

He pulls his gaze away, sighs. “I’m gonna go clean up,” he says, and you only nod, your face still turned away from him.

-----

His shower takes longer than usual. Benny finds that everything he does in the house takes longer now, like he knows how little time he has left and is trying to draw it out.

He doesn’t want it to end. When he made those vows, he meant them: sickness and health, richer and poorer, ‘til death. He assumed you meant them too, until you slid that fucking manila envelope across the table at him and said, unable to really look at him, that you couldn’t do it anymore.

Benny didn’t react well to it. He felt ambushed, and he responded by throwing some clothes in a bag, then heading to Connors place to crash on his couch. The guys had rallied around him: Nick threw a party, ordered extra girls and drugs. Henderson and Z offered the names of their own divorce lawyers. Benny had spent the night in a place of curious numbness, unable to indulge in the women, knowing that he’d feel even sicker come morning once the reality of his situation hit.

He eventually moved back home after a few days with Connors, but the past weeks have been like living in a haunted house.

Benny can guess that you won’t make it harder than it needs to be. You won’t go after his pension; you won’t try to get alimony or a bigger share of the house once it sells. And somehow that hurts even more, knowing that you want out no matter the financial hit you might take—that knocking yourself down a peg or two, income bracket-wise, is still better than being married to him.

He turns off the shower, steps out, towels off. He pulls on a faded Lakers t-shirt and a pair of boxers. He swipes the fogged-over mirror and takes in his reflection: he looks drawn, worn out. He’s sleeping like shit, barely eating, and he has a persistent headache that can’t be touched by anything over the counter. He sighs and opens the medicine cabinet. Shakes out three ibuprofen anyway to try and take the edge off. Then he brushes his teeth and leaves the bathroom.

You must have already turned in for the night. The house is quiet and dark except for the thin line of light coming from under the closed bedroom door.

Benny sighs again, then knocks lightly on it. Not for admittance—he just raps to get your attention when he softly calls out “good night.”

He waits for your response—an equally soft “good night”—and then he goes into the guest room.

He lies awake for a long time, like he usually does. After a month of living in a ghost house with you, Benny has started to put together some of the pieces that were right in front of him the whole time.

Like how he started sleeping in the guest room months and months ago, long before you slid that manila envelope across the table at him. It had started as a courtesy, Benny thought, how he didn’t want to wake you with his erratic hours. You had begged him to keep sleeping in bed with you, told him over and over that you liked being woken up at all hours. That you liked him either way—damp and fresh from the shower or reeking of stale cigarette smoke and frustration. That you just wanted him beside you.

He hadn’t listened then. Thought he was being thoughtful. It was just the first step, really, in a slippery slope that has led him here.

-----

It’s a cliché that the personal lives of detectives often fall apart even when the solution is staring them right in the face. It’s like the shoemaker’s children going shoeless.

Benny can see it as clear as day with his coworkers. It’s obvious how Nick’s, Henderson’s personal lives have fallen apart. From having a lively home with wives and children to living in a shitty bachelor pad alone. To carving out scant hours with children who rapidly become strangers to them. To watching their ex-wives move on with better men. With his fellow teammates, it wasn’t a single moment that broke their home lives: it was a series of small steps, tiny decisions, that piled up like individual snowflakes until it started an avalanche.

It takes Benny longer to see that those same small stressors that broke his teammates’ lives are the same ones that broke his.

It's a late night to work on a case.

It’s forced overtime.

It’s a night out with the guys to unwind.

It’s nine days of straight work without a day off.

It’s another night out with the guys, a rare Saturday night off that he spends with them instead of you.

It’s a missed birthday, anniversary, holiday.

It’s you at his family’s annual cookout, apologizing on his behalf for his absence.

It’s another late night, and another.

It’s a brutal case that leaves him angry at the world, and the only way he can cope at home is to shut you out, go silent, clench his jaw so he doesn’t bring the darkness home to you.

It’s you telling him you’re lonely.

It’s a long overdue date night, completely forgotten during a break in a case, that leaves you embarrassed at the nice Italian restaurant, dolled up and alone.

It’s him sleeping in the guest room so he doesn’t disturb your sleep.

It’s him shrugging out of your embrace as you try to coax him into a moment of long overdue intimacy.

It’s you broaching the idea of marriage counseling, and him shaking his head, brushing a dismissive kiss across your cheek, and saying everything is fine.

It’s you broaching the idea of a vacation—your first since your honeymoon. It’s the vacation never being planned or booked.

It’s you accusing him of being unfaithful. It’s Benny scoffing at the idea, his hackles up at the insinuation that he fucked another woman, and it’s you staring at him sadly as you say, “or maybe work is your real love and I’m the other woman.”

It’s him rolling his eyes at that, and you dropping your gaze down at your hands.

It’s him crossing your path one morning and seeing how terrible you look: red eyes, puffy face. It’s Benny thinking the wrong thing—he assumes you’re drinking too much—and he only realizes too late that it’s not alcohol but tears that make you look so wrung out in the morning.

It’s you crying yourself to sleep, and him not even noticing because even when he’s there, he isn’t.

Benny Magalon has lived in a ghost house with you for a month, but he realizes too late that you’ve been living in a ghost house with him for far longer.

*****

You know you can’t let it go on any longer. The papers have been drawn up, and all they require is his signature. They’ve sat, unsigned, for one month and then another, and neither of you talk about. You just tiptoe around each other, caught in a purgatory of your own making.

You can’t go on like this. You’ve never felt so unhealthy in your life: exhausted, not eating right, not sleeping well. When you look in the mirror on the days you can manage it, you don’t even recognize the woman staring back at you. You look like a wraith, and you want to start clawing your way back to the land of the living.

But first you must get the papers signed. You aren’t sure why he hasn’t signed them yet; aside from those first days after you gave them to him, he hasn’t seemed to care that much. He hasn’t talked to you or fought with you or pleaded for a second chance.

He’s just been drifting too.

It’s a rainy week in Los Angeles. The sunniest place you’ve ever lived, but the weather matches your mood. Rain spatters against the windows, and you sit at the kitchen table waiting for him. He’ll be home soon, you think, and this is where you put your foot down. Make him sign the papers. You can file them in the morning, then start the clock to ending your marriage.

You hear his key in the door twenty minutes later. You take a deep breath, and you watch him as he makes his way to you. His face is wary, but he nods in greeting. Says nothing though. He holds a folder in one hand, and he jingles his keys nervously in the other.

It’s a long moment of you just watching each other. Guarded. You gesture at the other chair, and he sits, but neither of you say anything.

Finally, you breathe out a sigh. “If you don’t say something, I will,” you tell him.

Benny shakes his head. “Go on then.”

You take another steadying breath. You clench one fist in your lap, your chewed-down nails biting into your palm. The faint sting of pain grounds you.

“Once you sign, I will file with the court. There’s a waiting period, but since we don’t…” You trail off, clench your fist harder. “A judge will issue a ruling. No kids and a clean split on assets, it should be easy.”

Finally, he says something. “Nothing easy about this.” His voice is softer than usual, and when you look up at him, you see him gazing right at you.

It feels like he hasn’t looked at you like that for a long time. Maybe he hasn’t. You think back, try to remember the last time you really looked at each other. Or the last time you laughed. The last time you cuddled on the couch or made love or did anything other than live in your own separate spheres of silence.

You shake your head. “I know.”

Benny breaks his gaze and looks down at the table. He taps the folder he carried in and says, “we made vows to each other. Remember?”

Here it comes, you think. The lecture. He probably got hyped up by his boys, Big Nick leading the charge, to read you the riot act. Give you the whole these bitches ain’t loyal speech. You pull your other hand into your lap and clench it too.

“Ben,” you say, a warning, but he shakes his head and keeps going.

“Remember? For better or worse—”

“Please don’t—”

“I said those words to you,” he says, ignoring your attempts to silence him. “I thought I meant them, that day.” He looks up then, and you don’t see any of the emotions you thought you might: no anger, no blame, no fury. You just see him, tired and sad.

“But I’m the one who made things worse, aren’t I?” he continues. “I always thought the worse part would be…shit, I don’t know. Life stuff. Parents dying or losing jobs or whatever. I never thought I’d be the one to be the worse.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You expected him to yell, and he’s not yelling at all. He’s not blaming you. It’s just his soft, quiet voice and rain steadily drumming on the roof.

“I made a promise,” he continues. “And I meant it.”

“I tried,” you reply. “I tried to talk to you. I tried to get us into therapy—”

He holds up a palm. “I know. You tried. Now I want to try.”

“I don’t know what that means.” You glance down at the envelope that holds the half-signed divorce papers. Even if you could walk back the entire divorce process, how would anything change? It would be too easy for him to backslide into the old patterns. Major Crimes would always come first; the violence of the county would always need Benny more than you, just one woman, did.

He catches your look and reaches out, taps the envelope. “I’m not signing these.”

You sigh. You drop your head and look down in your lap at your clenched fists. You don’t want to fight over this. Divorce can be easy, as painless as possible if both parties agree. But if he refuses to sign, you’ll have to involve lawyers, it’ll get expensive…

“Here.” He slides his folder over to you. “This is me trying.” He waits until you look up at him, and he nods. “Go on.”

You open the folder. There are a few pages inside, and the top one looks like a letter. You start to read it—it’s addressed to Benny (Detective Benjamin Magalon), and the letterhead is the City of San Diego.

It’s a job offer.

Benny fills you in as you read the letter. “There’s an opening in San Diego. Cold Case division.”

You shake your head, and the words blur as tears spring to your eyes. “Benny, you love Major Crimes. You love your team. I could never—”

“I love you more,” he cuts in.

“But you—”

“You were right, when you said you were the other woman. To my job.” He pushes out a laugh that sounds bitter. “There’s a reason none of us can seem to hold down a good woman.”

“How,” you start, and you swallow against the lump in your throat. “How do you know a new job in San Diego wouldn’t end up the same?”

“I don’t. I can only guess. It’d be less pressure, for sure. Set hours, limited overtime. Plus, it’s a promotion. I’d be the captain of the division. More desk work. Admin. Less driving around looking for active trouble.”

“But the guys—”

“They aren’t family.” The force of his words startles you, and you lift your eyes to watch him. “Big Nick can give that bullshit brotherhood speech of his until the end of time, but I never made a vow to them.”

At that, he reaches down and unbuttons the cuff of his shirt. He rolls up the sleeve to reveal his forearm…which is the inflamed red of healing, and surprisingly devoid of his Regulators tattoo.

“Oh, Ben. Really?”

He smiles, and it almost hurts how good he looks that way. When was the last time he smiled at you?

“Hurt like a bitch.” He pushes his sleeve back down and rebuttons it. “Lasering it off hurt more than getting it.”

His smile fades and is replaced by his usual stoic expression. “Before you can talk me out of it, I’ve already resigned from Major Crimes. It’s a done deal.” He nods at the folder. “It’s all there. I start in San Diego in a month. My vacation bank paid out with the sheriff’s department, so I’m gonna start looking for a place down there.”

His expression turns wary, then hopeful. “Thought you might join me. Look for a place for us.”

“What about my job?”

“Thought of that too. Figured you could find something in San Diego, but if not, if we’re careful, you could take some time off. Rest, relax.” He hesitates, then adds, “you’ve been carrying us for so long. I want you to let me carry the load for a while.”

You don’t know what to say to any of this. He’s set off a bomb of a different sort, and your head swims with a million thoughts. It feels too easy, like if you both just move to a new city and ignore the divorce papers, things will snap back to perfect. You know that can’t be true. You know you’ll both slip back into old habits—him grim and silent, you lonely and silent. You wonder if some part of him will miss Major Crimes, miss his old team, and will he blame you then? Will he find Cold Case and desk work a chore? Will you always be beholden to him for making this sacrifice? Yet a tendril of hope snakes around your heart, and you wonder if you’re just creating problems in the future that may never materialize.

Benny reads your silence correctly, which makes that tendril of hope burn brighter: he still knows you.

“This isn’t a magic bullet,” he admits. “I know…shit, baby. I know we have so much to do. I have so much to do to fix it. Maybe I can’t fix it after all.” He sighs, but he reaches out a hand across the table to you, and he waits until you reach out and take it. His hand is warm—you can’t remember the last time he really touched you—and it makes you blink against the threatening tears again.

“Let me try,” he pleads. “We made promises. Let me try and make good on ‘em.”

*****

Benny knows it’s no magic bullet. It’s a lifeline at best, and every day after will be a hard climb out of this black hole the two of you find yourselves in.

It was a gamble, though a calculated one. Of all the clues he pieced together over the past month, there’s one that has stood out against everything else, a clue to how you feel now.

You drew up divorce papers…but you kept wearing your ring. You never took it off, and Benny believes that means something.

So, he took the gamble. Got his network in line, got word about a lead in San Diego. Went down for a day of grueling interviews. His time with Major Crimes carries a lot of cache, and no one is ever exactly clamoring for cold cases—they often lack the excitement that adrenaline junkies crave. He landed the job easily and handed in his resignation with Big Nick the moment he had a signed offer.

And now he’s here, teetering right at the edge. But you’re with him. You grip his hand, and he see how you fight back the tears—the way you blink against them, the shallow breaths you take until you get yourself under control. You finally nod at him, offer him a tremulous smile.

“You with me, baby?” he asks.

Another nod. You squeeze his hand and answer, “I am.”

It’s a toehold. It’s a fragile, brittle chance, but it’s a chance. Maybe the last chance you and Benny will ever get, but when he joins you in bed that night—the first time in months—it’s a chance that seems to firm up just a little. With the rain a steady white noise outside, and with you warm and solid in his arms, that friable chance takes on some weight and heft, and Benny falls asleep hopeful.

#tropes and tales #JolapenoAprilShowers #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon #benny magalon imagine #benny magalon x reader #benny magalon x reader #benny borracho magalon x reader #borracho magalon imagine #borracho magalon x reader #borracho magalon #den of thieves

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moody-alcoholic · 2 days ago

Text

These Violent Delights

Chapter 34 - Don’t Mess With Me

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 10.8k words. Everone is together and everyone deserves to be happy. 141 are doing their best to make things better.

CW: +18 content MDNI. a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (knotting, scuffing), sex, PiV sex, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation, semi-public sex (kinda), canon-typical violence, death, blood, use of weapons, fighting, military inaccuracies, kidnapping, assault, description of weapons, language, description of injuries, nightmare, night terror, hurt/comfort, angst, written by a european who has never shot a gun before.

AN: This chapter is all I’ve been able to think about for days.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

“Now remember, we’re going after Professor Hale’s daughter. Our orders are to take her alive and unharmed.” Graves says as he looks around the people he hand picked for this job. There are seven of them in total, it should be more than enough.

“We should expect heavy resistance. 141, assuming you’ve already the brief you know we’re going up against not only trained special forces but her pack. They will be willing to protect her with their life. Now we’re going to draw them out with a distraction, they’re going to raid the surveillance post.” Graves moves the sides long on the projector.

“As soon as we get the signal we’ll move into their safehouse. We won’t have long, as soon as we make entry 141 will be told we have at least 40 minutes to secure the omega and leave.” Graves watches as his team takes in the information.

“We can’t harm 141, they will be someone with her at all times, we have to assume we will meet resistance but harming them could cause her to distress, which could render the whole operation pointless.” He holds a peg up.

“Scuffing, this is how we’re going to subdue them. Squeeze the sensitive skin on the back of the neck and it will cause them to pass out. Put the peg on to keep them that way. Remember this is a capture mission, we’re not killing anyone.” Graves puts the peg down, he looks over at the back of the room. He sees Hale standing at the door, he swallows the lump in his throat moving the slide show on.

“Is there anything you would like to add Professor?” Graves asks, he watches as Hale thinks for a second before stepping into the room, everyone turns to watch him walk up to the front of the conference room.

“It’s been almost six months since my daughter was kidnapped. She’s everything to me, 141 will get what they deserve but first we need to make sure the omega is safe. She needs to be back where she belongs.” Hale walks over to Graves and rests his hand on Graves' shoulder.

“I have every faith you will be able to bring her back to me.”

When you wake in the morning you’re alone with John. You can hear his steady breathing, you’re pretty sure he’s still asleep. You reach over to touch him, the moment you do he wakes, turning around in the bed to face you.

“Morning.” You say smiling at him. It’s been almost a month since you’ve been in bed with him. He reaches out and pulls you against him, kissing the top of your head as you breathe him in.

“How did you sleep?” He asks.

“Good, no nightmares.” You smile, it’s the first time in a long time you’ve slept through the night without any dreams let alone nightmares.

“That's good.” He breathes, he relaxes into the bed and you both just lay there in each other's arms.

“What's going to happen today?” You ask before you start to doze off again.

“We’re going to make a plan to raid the base we’ve been watching. Hopefully we will be able to find out where Hale is.”

“Is it going to be dangerous?” You ask, trying not to let your nerves taint your scent.

“No, it’s just a listening post. Like Simon said yesterday it’s a skeleton crew, low risk.” He says shuffling back so he can see your face. “It’s going to be okay.”

You nod and reach up to kiss him. You keep kissing him even when it turns into a sloppy breathless mess and you’re grinding against his thigh. He moans in your mouth one of his hands slips up your top and before you know it his thumb is brushing your nipple.

“Fuck, love.” He breathes, breaking from the kiss, you can smell the vanilla in the room. You can feel his cock pressing between your thighs. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Later.” You say nuzzling your face into his neck. You just want to spend as much time with him as you can, it doesn’t even need to be sex, but you’re not going to ignore the throb traveling through your body.

He sighs but you feel his hand travel down from your chest to the front of your pants. You must have put them on at some point in the night after his knot had deflated. You’re still surprised that it happened but it turned out to be a good thing in the end- you got a really good night's rest.

“Please, alpha.” You ask, pressing a kiss into his neck. He tips his head back a little, his fingers teasing the front of your pyjama shorts. He hums and you pull your face out his neck to look at him, he smiles, his eyes are glossed over.

You can tell from his scent he wants this too, you spread your legs for him and he moves in the bed propping himself on one arm, his other hand slips under your shorts straight to your clit. You close your eyes moaning out for him and turn so you’re laid flat. His fingers travel further down to your entrance.

“Fuck, love. Still so wet even after last night.” He says, his voice is low as his fingers tease your entrance and you open your eyes again. You miss having hands on your breasts and before you can stop yourself your hands are playing with them over your top.

“C’mon love, show me how you like it.” He says, you blush but pull your top up anyway so he can see.

“Fuck..” He breathes and leans down to lick the closest one, his tongue drags over your nipple already aching for attention. When he pulls off it he pushes two fingers into you. You moan out arching your back.

“John.” You say as you move one of your hands down to pinch the nipple he just played with. Each pull sends vibrations down to your pussy. John curls his fingers inside you, hitting that rough spot inside you that makes you melt on his hand.

The smell of vanilla is making your head spin you’re losing focus on playing with your nipples, especially when John’s palm starts rubbing against your clit with each thrust of his fingers.

“John. Alpha. Please-” You choke on the words.

“Please what?” He asks, his fingers are relentless now. You don’t want to come like this though, you need him inside you again. You need to feel him throbbing inside you. You clench around his fingers which just makes him move them faster.

“Let me ride you again, like last night. I just need you.” You say. He smiles at you and leans down to kiss you. He pulls his fingers out of you, even though you asked for this you still whine. When you break from the kiss he lays on his back, you pull the duvet off him and pull your bottoms and underwear off. He does the same, your mouth waters when you see his cock spring free.

You immediately reach out to touch it, it’s warm and familiar in your hand, you pull the foreskin back and watch as a sliver of precome falls down the underside. You can’t help yourself, before you get on top of him you want to taste him again. You wrap your mouth around his cock and take him as far as you can.

“Christ, love.” You hear John say, he twitches in your mouth and it makes you hum around him as more saliva forms in your mouth. You keep going, taking him deeper each time, his breathing picks up, he moans his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. Suddenly, he grips your hair and his cock throbs in your mouth. A groan leaves deep from his throat.

You pull your mouth off him, you don’t want him to come in your mouth, you want him to come inside you. You look up at him whipping the saliva off your chin.

“What's all this for?” He asks, smiling. You swing your legs over his thighs again letting his cock rest against your stomach.

“I’ve just missed you.” You say, running your hand down his cock. He smiles at you as you lift yourself up and down on top of him. As soon as you feel him ease inside you, you let out a long breath, his hands come up to your thighs and you plant your hands on his chest.

You look down at him, he smiles at you, you see his dog-tags hanging out his shirt. You can see the sliver ‘a’ on his chest, you reach over to run your fingers over it. It makes you smile, suddenly yours feels hot around your neck. You're their omega, and he's your alpha, you're a pack and you're safe.

“You okay?” John asks. Your eyes flick up to him, you nod smiling and bend down to kiss him. You start to rock your hips on him while you chase his tongue, his hands move around to grip your waist. You lift yourself up as you break from the kiss and sit back down, John’s hands help you move his strong grip helps you keep a steady rhythm.

It was definitely easier when you had Kyle behind you yesterday, but you don’t care you’re feeling too blissed out, you’re with your whole pack again, it's how it should always be. John gets louder, his cock twitches in you as you use his chest to help you push your hips up and down on him increasing the speed.

“John.” You call out when you’re close, you’re trying not to dig your nails into his chest. He starts to buck his hips too, his head tips back and you clench around him.

“C’mon, love. Come with me.” He says, you moan out as he drives his cock into you faster. You lean forward as you come scrunching his shirt in your hands and moaning his name. You feel him come too, he stills his hips but his cock pulses inside you, you lay down on his chest panting. His arms wrap around you, you can feel his heart pounding in his chest.

You lay there on top of him letting him stroke your back until his cock slips out of you. When that happens you roll off him to lay by his side. He turns to smile down at you.

“I love you.” He says.

“I love you too.” You say, he leans over to kiss you. You wrap your arms around him, when he breaks from the kiss you press your foreheads together.

“I needed this. I need all of you, now and forever.” You say, you feel yourself getting emotional, you're not sure why.

“You have us, we’re right here.” He says, his hand runs up your side to your face, he strokes your cheek and you look up into his eyes. He has blue eyes like Johnny but they’re not the same, they’re not as light and there’s a hint of another colour in them. Maybe green, maybe brown. They remind you of the ocean, deep and blue you almost want to dive into them. Johnny’s eyes are like the sky, when the light hits them right they’re almost translucent.

“What happens when this is over? What happens when the professor is dead?” You ask, he sighs, pressing his lips together.

“I don’t know. You’ll be safe, we all will be. We’ll go back to the UK and figure it out from there.” He says.

“Back to Scotland?”

“If you want.” He smiles. You nod and throw your arms around him. He holds you tight, pressing a kiss into your neck. You listen to his breathing, his heart beat, you just wish it would all be over.

“We really should get going, I have a lot to do today.” He says after a few minutes. You sigh and sit up reluctantly shuffling out of the bed. You look around for the clothes you had on yesterday and see there’s a fresh pile on a chair. It makes you smile as you pick them up.

“The bathroom is the door at the end of the hall. I’ll let you use it first.” He says, you turn to see him also looking around for his clothes. You nod pulling your bottoms back on. When you leave the confines of the room it’s cold, you can feel a breeze as you walk down to the bathroom.

When you try to open what you thought was the bathroom it’s locked.

“Just a second.” Johnny calls from the other side, you smile and step to the side waiting. When he opens the door he’s wearing nothing but boxers and a towel thrown around his neck.

“Hey, love.” His nostrils flare and he looks down the hall behind you. “You smell good.” He teases winking at you, you feel your face heat up and you flare your own nostrils breathing him in. You can smell leather and vanilia on him too. You can see the marks Simon has left on his neck and shoulders.

“Seems like we both had fun.” You say. He smiles walking over to you and resting his hand on your waist, he pulls you close to him and leans down to kiss you. You can taste mint in his mouth, you wonder if he can taste John on you. He hums before breaking from the kiss, his eyes twinkle before he slips past you out the bathroom.

You look back at him and he winks at you before disappearing into one of the rooms. You scoff, shaking your head and go into the bathroom.

When you make it down to the kitchen everyone is already sitting or standing around the dining room table. They seem like they’re talking about something important so you go to make a cup of tea. You feel happy, you catch yourself smiling even though you’re just doing the most mundane thing.

When you’re done you look back to see them still talking. You decide to take the tea to the living room, leaving them to finish whatever they’re doing. There's a newspaper on the sofa arm, you’ve never read a newspaper before. You put the tea down and pick it up.

The first thing you see is an article about a war, somewhere you’ve never heard of. Right next to that there’s something dramatic about a celebrity. You frown, it’s almost like the 2 polar opposites of news right next to each other. You can’t help being drawn in to page after page soaking up all the information about the country you were born in.

Who the president is and what he’s doing. How the economy is - most of it if you don’t understand. There’s news about football and baseball, an entire page of scores that seem overly complicated. You soak up the colour images of people in fancy outfits, some kind of awards ceremony. There’s even a page dedicated to people who have died. That makes you sad.

“Hey, love.” Johnny calls from the doorway, you look up from the paper over at him. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here. You look over at your mug of tea, there’s no steam coming off it now and your legs are stiff.

“I thought we could do something.” He says, you put the paper down on the coffee table.

“Okay, what?” You ask standing up, he holds his hand for you.

“You’ll see.” He says as you take it.

He leads you outside into the back garden. It’s nice weather, not too warm but not too cold. The garden is surrounded by a high wooden fence and there are some trees at the bottom. You follow him down to the end of the garden and see a bag of stuff. He turns to look at you, his hands land on your shoulders and he squeezes them looking over you.

“What’s going on?” You ask, he takes a step back and holds his arms up.

“Hit me.” he says, patting his stomach.

“I don’t want to hit you.” You say.

“Okay but just do it. I’m a big man, I can take it.” He says winking. You really don’t want to but you sigh feeling like he’s not going to let this go. You punch him in the stomach. It barely feels like anything Johnny doesn’t even move. He sighs, pulling his arms down.

“Okay, what about something different.” He says. You feel Kyle come behind you, his hand lands on the top of your back.

“You don’t have to be worried about hurting us.” He says.

“Why do I need to know how to do this anyway?” You ask looking down at your hands. The scars on your palms are almost gone now, you can’t even tell if what's left are even scars or just lines on your palms. When you look back up Johnny has pads on his hands.

“Now you can punch me as hard as you want.” He says. You look up at Kyle who steps back from you. You sigh but bring your hands up anyway and punch at one of the pads. His arm hardly moves, at this point you think you’re doing more damage to yourself then anyone else. Kyle chuckles behind you, his foot comes between yours kicking them apart a little.

“Spread your feet.” He then twists your hip and it forces you to put one of your feet forward. “You want to be at an angle slightly.”

“Yeah, your body should swing when you punch.” Johnny says, swinging his arms to show you. You frown at him, you ball your hands up into fists. Kyle’s hand lands on your right fist and he presses your thumb under your fingers.

“Aim for the center of the pad.” Kyle says letting your hand go and steps back. It feels unnatural but you try to follow their instructions and swing your arm and fist into the pad as hard as you can. You immediately look up at Johnny who smiles at you.

“Better.” He says, nodding. “Harder this time, as much force as you can.” You nod as Kyle's arms come back to your hips and he positions you again, moving your feet with his toes again. You punch again harder, Johnny nods and you do it again with your non-dominant hand. You can definitely feel the difference in power, using your left hand feels weird.

“Why do I need to know how to punch someone?” You ask after a few more tries.

“Peace of mind, it will make us feel better if you know how to throw a decent punch or shoot a gun.” Kyle says.

“Shoot a gun?” You gasp, turning to look at him. He nods, you swallow hard, you’re not sure why that makes a pit form in your stomach. You look back up at Johnny, he sighs lowering the pads.

“It’s just some basic self-defence, everyone should know.” Johnny says, that sounds more reassuring and you nod. Johnny takes the pads off and Kyle’s hand rubs the top of your back. You turn looking over and see Simon and John now standing outside watching.

“C’mon, let's show you a few other things then we’ll have lunch.” Johnny says when he turns back around. You nod and force a smile, maybe they’re right, it would be good for you to learn some self-defence. You’re not really sure when you would need to use it but Johnny and Kyle assure you it's better than not knowing anything.

They show you how to get out of someone's grip, and where to hit someone to really hurt them. How to knock a knife or a gun out of someone's hand. It’s a lot of information to take in and when John calls you all in for lunch. You’re hungry, apparently they actually got food in and cooked for once instead of eating food out of bags.

You sit with Johnny and Kyle in the living room, Simon and John are still working on the plan to raid the base. Johnny and Kyle tell you a little more about it, it shouldn’t be too difficult apparently. The plan is for them to go tomorrow evening, as soon as the sun is down. It gives Kyle and Johnny another day to acclimate and sleep off the rest of the jet lag.

Kate is going to be coming later, she’s been helping as much as she can but has to fly from Virginia every few days. From what it sounds like it must be exhausting. There are a few other people they mention Alejandro and Rudy, you’ve heard about them before. Apparently they’re in New Mexico helping with something to do with drugs.

“Finished?” You hear Simon ask as he places a hand on your shoulder. You look up at him and nod.

“C’mon, got something we need to do.” He says squeezing your shoulder then walking away. You nod following him to the front door. He hands you your coat.

“Are you going to teach me how to fight too?” You ask, half joking.

“Something like that.” He mumbles, picking up a set of keys and walking out the door. You follow him over to the car and get in. The weather seems to have changed, there’s thick gray clouds rolling in from afar. You have no idea where you’re going but you drive out of the little suburban burrow you’ve been staying in and follow a big road for a few kilometres.

Suddenly Simon pulls off the road to a massive run down building with a chain link fence running the whole way around it. He gets out of the car going over to a padlock between two fences. He uses pliers to break the lock then throws them open.

He comes back to the car and drives in, you get a better look at the building now, it’s seen better days all painted white, you can see the faint outline of where there used to be signs and massive letters but you can’t quite make out what they say.

You’re still squinting at it when Simon comes back to the car after closing the fence.

“We’re not supposed to be here are we?” You ask as he drives the car around the back of the building to the loading dock.

“No, but it means we won’t be disturbed.” He says, stopping the car. You smile and get out, there's a chill in the air now and you can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance.

“It’s going to rain.” You say as he takes a bag out the back of the car.

“Good, gives us more cover.” He says, you frown at him as you walk over to a smashed door. You follow him in, the place is massive. You’re hit with the overwhelming scent of damp, some of the roof has collapsed letting light spill in. You follow Simon as he walks you over to an old countertop. This used to be a department store by the looks of things. There’s a worn and warped sign above the ring of counters that says ‘jewellery.’

The roof is broken just above you and you watch as Simon unzips the bag revealing pistols and targets printed on paper. You feel nerves rise in you as you watch him take the pieces of paper out. There are more pistols under them, bigger pistols and more magazines.

“You’re going to teach me how to shoot.” You say blowing out the nerves. He nods then looks around. You stay by the bag in the light as you watch him drag a temporary wall into place. He sticks three targets up then walks back over to you. You swallow the lump in your throat, the targets are about 10 meters in front of you. Simon walks around to the other side of the counter top and gestures for you to join him.

“Don’t be afraid.” He says reaching over to take one of the pistols out the bag.

“I’m not.” You lie, honestly the thought of holding something as deadly as a pistol in your hands scares you. Last time you held one you almost hurt your pack, you shot at them while you were dreaming. You stand up against the counter looking out towards the targets. Simon comes behind you, putting the pistol and a mag down in front of you.

“Pick it up, it’s not going to bite you.” He says, you nod and pick it up. It’s heavier than you thought, sleek and black with a rubber grip.

“And the clip.” He says, you nod and pick it up with your other hand. It’s almost as heavy as the pistol which surprises you. His arms come around you, his hand gripping yours.

“This is how you load it.” He says as he moves the clip over to the bottom of the pistol, you let his hands guide you but you do all the actual work. You feel it click in place, suddenly it feels like you’re holding a live grenade in your hands.

You hear him search through the bag, you turn seeing him pull out a pair of ear defenders, he slips them on you and kisses you on the top of the head, his chest is pressed against your back again. His hands come back around to pick up yours, he moves your free hand to grip the bottom of the gun.

“Just get used to feeling it in your hand.” He says moving his away, you nod and try different positions with your hands and fingers. It still feels wrong, maybe this is a good thing, you shouldn’t be afraid of this.

“Hold it up and look towards the targets, do you see them?” he asks, you swallow and nod.

“Words, love.” He says his hands landing on your hips.

“I see them.” You say.

“Good, you see that little switch on the side?”

“Yes.” You reply, already moving your thumb up to it.

“That's the safety, when you’re ready click it.” You nod and let out a long breath before flicking it with your thumb. Now the pistol feels suddenly heavier in your hands.

“Good. Now you need to load it. Use your bottom hand to pull the barrel back.” He says. You move your hand around following his instructions and grip the top of the gun pulling it back until you feel and hear it click.

His hands run up your side and down your arms straightening them. He bends down, his breath is hot on your neck. You can do this. You tell yourself, it’s just shooting a gun, nothing bad is going to happen.

“Take a deep breath, look at the target.” He says, you nod. You take a breath and move your finger to the trigger. “Nice and easy, take your time.”

You nod and let out a breath as you pull the trigger. The noise makes you jump even with the ear defenders on. Simon keeps you stood in place, the weapon makes your arms shake there’s more power in it then you thought. You can’t tell if you hit the target or not, you’re assuming you didn’t. You lower your arms but Simon stops you gripping your elbows.

“Safety first.” He says and you nod, flicking the little switch again. You put the pistol down on the table as he lets your arms go.

“See, not so scary after all.”

“I guess.” You say smiling, it did feel good, strangely powerful. You already want to do it again, reaching down to pick it up. This time you make sure your dominant hand is on the trigger. You bring your arms up and look over at one of the targets.

“Which one are you looking at?” Simon asks.

“The middle one.”

“Good, keep your arms straight. Take a breath and when you breathe out fire.” He says, you nod flicking the safety off and follow his instructions letting out a long breath as you fire. This time you think you’ve actually hit the wall, you hear the bullet ping at least.

“Nice.” Simon says. “This time just aim a little higher.”

“Okay.” You say smiling at the praise and raising your arms a little. He presses himself closer to you, you can feel his chest expand when he breathes. His hands are on midsection. You can smell his alpha filling the air. You fire again this time you definitely hit the target, the paper rips.

“Good, try the next one.” He says, you feel his hands squeeze you. You blush watching as his hands travel down to your waist. “Hey, pay attention.”

“Sorry.” You say, looking back over at the targets and straightening your arms again. You feel warmth travel through you, he’s warm too, you match your breathing with his. You can smell his alpha and the hint of vanilla slipping through. You try to ignore it focusing on hitting the next target, it becomes next to impossible when you feel him grind against your arse.

You keep firing until the weapon is empty. It feels good, it’s like there's this new energy pulsing through you. You shot a weapon, pretty well too at least you managed to hit 2 of the 3 targets. As soon as you’ve put the safety back on the weapon Simon’s hands grip your waist picking you up.

You gasp as he turns you and plops you down on the counter. He steps up between your legs pulling the bottom of his mask up over his nose and pressing his lips to yours. He kisses you rough, his hands running up your thighs then under your shirt. You drop the pistol hearing it crash on the floor. Simon doesn’t stop though, his hands running up to your breasts, you can smell vanilia fill the air and you spread your legs even further for him moaning in his mouth.

“Fuck, love.” He says breaking from the kiss and running his hands back down to your hips. “I want you now.” His voice is feral, his tongue working its way down your neck. You grip the top off his mask. You want him too.

“You can have me. Anytime you want.” You breathe, he growls sucking on your neck, you feel his teeth tease your sensitive skin. He pulls his face out your neck looking up at you, you project your scent for him watching his eyes dilate. He picks you up in his arms, you wrap your arms and legs around him as he takes you to the exit.

“Not in here, fuckin’ filthy.” He says, when you make it out and back towards the car you can feel the first few drops of rain hit you. There is still the distant rumble of thunder, it makes the air feel electric as he opens the car door and lays you down on the back seats. You prop yourself up to see him gripping the waistband of your jeans. You put your legs together and he pulls them down to your ankles.

You shiver as the cool air hits your legs, he’s on his knees pulling your pussy down to his mouth. You lay back as he presses kisses up your thighs throwing your legs over his shoulders. You spread your legs as much as you can for him shuffling down to chase his mouth.

“Fuck.” You hear him breathe, his hot breath hits your already soaked clit. A second later he presses his tongue against it. You moan out throwing your head back, he starts with long drags like he’s almost trying to drink you up. He presses his tongue in your entrance then runs it back to flick your clit before locking his mouth around it and sucking.

“Simon.” You call reaching out to grip the front passenger chair, you’re going to come if he keeps this up. You moan out for him, it just makes his mouth attack your clit harder, his teeth nibble against it too. It’s all too much, the adrenaline from firing the gun and Simon’s scent has got you all worked up. You squeeze your legs crying out as you come, he doesn’t stop though, working you through the orgasam.

“Alpha!” You call as your legs start to twitch from overstimulation, Simon chuckles looking up from between your legs, he still has his mask on, pulled up over his nose. You smile at him and he crawls out from between your legs. He leans over to kiss you, he tastes sweet, his lips puffy as he presses his tongue in your mouth.

It just makes your pussy throb harder for him. You run your hands up his chest. He breaks from the kiss looking down at you.

“I need you.” You say reaching up to chase his lips again. He smiles, quickly kissing you before moving back down to your legs, it’s awkward with your jeans wrapped around your ankles.

“Turn over,” he says. You obey flipping onto your stomach, your arse sticks out of the car door, you can feel the rain hitting it. You hear Simon undo his belt buckle and drop his pants, one of his hands presses on the small of your back then slowly works its way around your arse and to your pussy.

He presses two fingers into you and you cry out, at least this is a pretty secluded spot. His fingers drag in and out, your hands grip the seat as you feel his fingers get replaced with the head of his cock. You moan with him as he presses into you. You squeeze your eyes closed clenching around him.

You always forget how big he is, he stretches you out pressing into you slowly.

“Christ, love. I forgot how amazing you feel.” He says both his hands are gripping your waist. It’s not long before he’s pulling you even further down his cock. You relax for him, another groan leaves his throat and he starts to buck his hips into you.

He feels good, you keep moaning for him arching your back, he pulls your waist against him in time with his thrusts. He’s pressing into you so deep, his cock feels like it’s bouncing against your cervix.

“Missed you so much.” He says as he speeds up, you can hear the rain pounding on the roof of the car, he must be getting soaked.

“I. Missed. You. Too.” You say between thrusts, it feels like he’s knocking all the air out your lungs each time he pulls you down on his cock. His moans turn to grunts, you can barely think straight, you clench around him to stop yourself from coming which only makes him slam his cock into you harder. It causes your breath to hitch in your throat.

“Simon.” You call, you’re not going to last like this, you dig your nails into the car seat. One of his hands runs up your back.

“Fuck, you can hold it.” He says, although it sounds like an order.

“Yes, yes, alpha.” An order you’re going to follow it seems, you cry out relaxing as much as you dare which makes Simon’s grunts turn back to moans. It’s like music to your ears, he drives his cock into you harder picking your hips up slightly.

“Si-” His name catches in your throat, you can’t hold on he’s hitting a new spot inside you that's making your legs shake. “Please.” You beg.

“Come- come with me.” He says. You nod biting down on the inside of your cheek so you’re not biting the seat. Your whole body goes limp as you come, the only thing holding you to reality is your pussy throbbing around Simon's cock. You almost miss him coming too, but you hear him grunt, his fingers dig into the soft skin on your hips.

He slows his thrusts eventually stilling inside you. Your whole body is pulsing, your head spinning from the scent of leather.

“I love you, I love you.” You mumble into the seat. You feel him pull out of you leaving you feeling empty. You’re still panting, enjoying the come down. You relax and Simon runs his hands down your legs.

“C’mon, love. You’re going to get soaked.” Simon says as the rain starts to come down harder.

“I don’t care.” You hum as you feel his spend slip down your thigh. He chuckles and lets out a long breath, you hear him opening a pack of tissues. You feel him clean you up and pull your underwear back up. You shuffle out the car, Simon helps you to your feet and you reach down pulling your jeans up.

You reach up to kiss him, he holds your head in his hands rubbing your cheeks as he presses his tongue into your mouth.

“You know I read in books this is romantic.” You say as you break from the kiss.

“Not if you catch pneumonia it isn’t.” He smiles back reaching over to open the passenger side door.

…

The rain is really coming down by the time you get back to the house. You both run inside almost tripping over each other. Simon has his arm around you as you walk into the dining room. Kate is here now, she smiles when she sees you and Simon drops his arm.

“Hey.” You smile back at her. Johnny comes over to you wrapping his arm around your waist.

“You’re soaked.” He says kissing your cheek, you hear him breathe in. You turn to look at him. “Smells good too.” He winks. Simon scoffs coming over to rest his hand on your shoulder.

“I have something for you.” He says, you frown and he walks over to the stairs. You follow him hearing Johnny come too.

“What is it?” He asks over your shoulder. Simon goes into a room and you stand in the doorway as he looks through a bag. Johnny’s hand rests on your shoulder and you both watch as he searches for something. After a few seconds he comes back with something in his hand.

“Here, maybe guns aren't really your thing.” He says handing you a terrifying knife. You take it out his hand though.

“Was I that bad?” You ask looking up at him. He chuckles, his fingers come to brush your cheek.

“No, not like that but just so you have something. Makes us feel better.” He says. You look back down at the knife, it’s small, only slightly bigger than your hand. You don’t want to think about why you would need to use a knife. It’s not like you’re ever going to be alone.

“Thank you.” You say, you’re not sure what you’re supposed to say but you take the knife anyway.

“Should put it somewhere safe.” Johnny says moving away from you. You nod and move to the room you shared with John and Kyle. You’re not sure what the sleeping arrangements are like, you guess one of the good things about you all being together means you don’t have to worry about that too much. People just sleep where they want, when they want and with who they want. It makes you smile.

You place the knife in the bedside drawer, at least you’ll remember where it is and it’s somewhere you can find easy. The rest of the evening you spend with Johnny and Kyle, then introduce you to American Football while Simon and John are busy with Kate.

Kyle cooks with the limited ingredients he has breaking open multiple packets of the MRE’s you remember them talking about. After food you’re full and end up dozing off in Johnny’s arms. You’re watching some kind of sports game on the TV, it’s nothing like the football game you watched in the UK.

“Who’s winning?” You ask eventually, Johnny pulls a blanket over you.

“Nebraska.” Johnny says.

“Where’s that?” You ask, closing your eyes.

“South.” He says. You yawn.

“Maybe we could go there one day.” You ask shuffling next to him, getting comfortable and relaxing against him. You wrap your arm around his stomach and he kisses the top of your head.

“Yeah, We’ll go there one day. We’ll go wherever you want.”

You’re woken from a deep sleep, someone comes into your room and drags you to your feet. You don’t get a chance to ask what's going on, you just focus on keeping upright so you’re not being dragged across the floor. It's not long before you’re thrown into a room, your body slams painfully on the ground.

Hands grab you pulling your body up but keeping you on your knees. You finally get a chance to take in your surroundings, you see John and Simon on their knees with guns held to their heads. The professor reaches down and grabs your chin painfully, snapping your head up to look at him.

“These are your alphas?” He snaps spitting in your face. You know he already knows the answer so you ignore him. He slaps you hard across your face, your head snaps to the side and you whimper. Your cheek is still stinging as you’re hauled back to your knees. You can’t keep your eyes off John and Simon, they don’t look hurt but they’re here, in the bunker.

“I told you what would happen if any other alpha claimed you.” Hale says pulling your attention back over to him, you hear the click of a weapon then the professor turns with a loaded pistol in his hand.

“Please, no please don’t make me!” You cry and scream. You try to fight the person holding you but they don’t let you go, they grip you harder, so hard you swear you can feel their nails drawing blood. He just walks over to you, slapping your face again.

“You brought this on yourself!” He snaps. “I am your alpha, no one else!” You sob feeling blood pool in your mouth, you must have bit the inside of your cheek.

“I’ll give you a choice though. Of which one you want to kill first.” He says, you hear the weapon click in his hand. “Make sure she looks.”

Your head is forced up right, your chin held painfully in position looking at John and Simon. The professor bends down so he is eye level with you.

“You better not close those pretty little eyes of yours.” He says before pressing a kiss on your forehead. You can’t move from it but when he moves back you spit at him. He hates that, immediately getting to his feet and wiping his face.

Your mouth is squeezed close. Hale curses, you hear the weapon click again and he punches you in the stomach. Whoever is holding you doesn’t let you double over in pain and he keeps your mouth closed as you scream.

“Now you don’t get to choose.” Hale says. You watch in horror as he walks over to John and puts the pistol to his head. You scream as the weapon goes off.

...

You wake with a scream. Hands are already on you as you instantly. Everything is so bright you can’t tell what's going on. Your eyes fill with water as you try to feel around the person who’s holding you.

“John!” You scream as someone pulls you into their chest. There are voices all around you now as you bury your head into whoever is next to you.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” It’s Johnny you think. His hand comes up to rub your back. “I’ve got you.” Definitely Johnny, all you can do is sob in response. Someone sits on the coffee table in front of you. You look at them through your tear filled eyes, trying to figure out who it is. As soon as you see John you pull yourself out Johnny’s arms and throw yourself against him.

You taste blood in your mouth, your cheek throbs, it makes your stomach turn.

“Okay, you’re okay. I’m here.” He says rubbing your back, you can smell beta in the air trying to relax you but it’s not working. John’s hands land on your shoulders pushing you away from his chest.

“The professor-”

“He’s not here.” John says cutting you off and squeezing your shoulders. You nod, hanging your head, while Johnny rubs your back.

“Look at me.” He says, you snap up and look at him, he’s real, he’s alive. It was just a horrible dream. You feel silly now, the adreanile has worn off now. You look around the room, everyone is standing watching you. You sniffle and his expression softens and he pulls you back into his arms. You press your face against his chest.

“I’ve got you, I’m safe, we’re all safe.” He says and kisses the top of your head. You nod sniffling in his chest. When you finally start to calm down he tries to transfer you back into Johnny's arms.

“Take her to bed.” He says going to stand up.

“Come with me.” You ask reaching out for him

“Let me finish up.” John says coming to stroke hair behind your ear. You nod and watch as he leaves with everyone but Johnny following behind him. Johnny helps you up and guides you up the stairs. He keeps his arms on you, his hands rubbing your arms and back.

“It’s going to be okay, love. This will all be over soon.” He says as you go into the bedroom and over to the bed.

“Then we’ll go back home.” You say as you lay down in the bed.

“Then we’ll go back home.” He repeats, falling in behind you and wrapping his arms around you.

You sleep all morning, you’re never alone, Simon comes and wakes you around lunch. You force yourself out the bed. Everyone seems distracted, this is the day, as soon as the sun goes down they'll be leaving. The day feels like it's dragging on forever, but before you know it they're all dressed in full gear and John comes over to you.

“Johnny’s going to stay behind with you and Kate.” John says. You nod looking behind him to see Simon and Kyle still getting ready at the table. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“You’re not going to get hurt are you?” You ask, reaching out to grip his arm.

“No, this is a routine job, we’ll be back before midnight if we’re lucky.” John says, you nod and throw your arms around him. With his vest you can’t quite reach all the way around his back but he hugs you back and squeezes you tight.

“I love you.” You whisper as he breaks from the hug.

“I love you too.” He says stroking your cheek with his gloved hand. He turns to go over to Simon and Kyle who are waiting at the door. Johnny comes over and rests his hand on your back, you lean into him and watch them as they all leave with Kate through the door.

“Is Kate going with them?” You ask.

“No, probably just making sure they have everything they need.” Johnny says, squeezing you tight to him. “You okay?”

You turn to look up at him. “Yeah, just worried.” You admit. He leans down to kiss you.

“Don’t worry, they know what they’re doing.” Johnny reassures you, you nod but you just can’t shake the pit in your stomach.

“I’m tired, I'm going to lie down.” You say. If you take a nap maybe it will go quicker and when you wake they’ll be back.

“Okay, love.” Johnny says kissing the top of your head.

“Wake me when they’re on their way back?” You ask. He chuckles.

“Of course.”

You wake to your door opening. You smell beta, but not what you’re used to, it’s not Johnny. You’re facing away from the door, you slowly move your arm over to the bedside table, opening the drawer while listening to the footsteps. They didn’t close the door behind them, if it was Johnny he would have been in bed with you by now.

You feel around for the knife your heart is racing in your chest, you focus on containing your scent. You want him to think you’re still asleep. You take out the knife and pull it to your chest slowly closing the drawer before shuffling both your arms back under the duvet.

You’re lucky the room is dark, you hear the stranger walk around the end of the bed. You close your eyes, as soon as you can sense they’re near you’ll stab them, you don’t care where just as long as you hit them. You’re holding your breath as the footsteps inch closer to your head.

“Shadow-one.” The gruff American voice says. There’s a second of silence that feels like it lasts forever. A hand lands on your shoulder. “I have the omega.”

Your hand flys out the bed with a grunt. The knife meets flesh and the man in front of you drops to the floor with a cry. Adrenaline pulses through you and you throw the duvet off. You jump off the bed and stand in front of him. You can’t see the stranger's face, he’s wearing a mask, you don’t think you just plunge the knife into his chest before he can get up. When you pull it out a spurt of blood follows and his eyes close.

You killed him, you killed someone.

“Hey!” You turn to see a similarly dressed soldier standing in the doorway. He’s not holding a weapon at you but he has one swaying by his side. You don’t think just let the adreanile control you and sprint at him with the bloody knife raised.

“Hey! Stop!” You don’t listen to his pleas, he doesn’t reach for his weapon in time and you jump at him plunging the knife into his neck. It takes him a few seconds before he falls to the floor, all you can smell in the air now is blood. There’s blood all over you, you don’t care, you need to get to Johnny and Kate.

You reach down to take the knife out his neck but you can’t, it’s stuck. You hear more voices now, people talking downstairs, you can’t hear Johnny though. You give up on the knife and reach down to take the pistol off the man's hip.

Even now it still feels wrong in your hand but you remember what Simon taught you. The weapon is not the same but similar. You can see what you assume is the safety, you pull the top of the barrel until you hear a click. You’re not sure what to do, you decide to keep the safety on.

What if this all a big misunderstanding and you accidentally shoot Johnny or Kate? No, you can smell alpha as well now. There’s another alpha here who isn’t John or Simon. It’s not Hale either, someone new. You slowly start to creep down the stairs, you can't see anything there’s walls on either side of the steps so you have to rely on your hearing to know if there is anything waiting for you at the bottom.

You only get one foot on the bottom step before someone grabs you, you scream trying to fight them but they’re stronger than you. The pistol is knocked out of your hands and you’re dragged from the bottom of the steps into the dining room. You can see Johnny, his head is bleeding, he's on his knees with a weapon pressed against his head. You gasp when you see him tears start to stream down your face.

“No!” You shout squirming in the person's grip. As soon as Johnny registers what's happening to you he moves. Instantly the person holding the gun to his head hits him around the head with it. You’re forced to your knees by the person who has his grip on you.

“Johnny!” You scream as his body slumps to the floor. You can see more blood now, on other parts of his body and the floor.

“Please leave him alone!” You cry. Someone walks towards you, you recognise who he is, it's Graves, he’s the alpha you smell. It makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck.

“Nice to see you again.” You ignore him looking past at Johnny on the floor. He hasn’t moved, your stomach sinks. What if he’s dead, what if you got him killed.

“Johnny.” You whimper. Get up Johnny please. You plead, he can’t be dead. Graves turns to see him.

“Get him to his feet.” He orders, two soldiers pull him up. He moans and looks over at you making eye contact. Graves bends down to look directly in your face.

“You better do as you’re told or we’ll kill him.” Graves says, you can hear the anger in his voice, you can smell his alpha in the air. This is a threat, a threat he will be more than happy to follow through with. You nod feeling more tears roll down your face.

“Good, maybe we can have some order in here now.” Graves says as he gets back up. You look around the rest of the room, you see Kate laid on the floor on the other side of the table. She’s not moving but you can’t see any blood, her face is turned away from you.

“You’re not going to get away with this Graves.” Johnny says through gritted teeth, there’s a slur in his voice, he’s injured. He’s still trying to fight with the people holding him.

“Easy with the threats Soap, Hale never specified what state we need the omega in.” Graves says. Johnny looks over at you, you want to plead with him, tell him not to fight. He can’t get killed for you, you shake your head. He doesn’t seem to get it looking back up at Graves.

“We’ll come after you, chase you to the ends of the earth if we have to.” Johnny says before spitting on the floor. He’s hit over the head again. It makes you feel sick, the sound of plastic hitting his skin, you sob and drop your head.

“Good fucking luck. Clearly you have no idea where we actually are.” Graves says. “The little performance we put on at the listening post was enough to keep you occupied.”

You look back up at Johnny, he’s not going to give up without a fight and you can’t let that happen. You need to do something or he’ll die and you won’t be able to live with yourself. You close your eyes letting out a shaky breath to compose yourself.

You need to scuff him.

It can take up to a minute of scuffing for a beta to pass out but Johnny’s never been scuffed before. You just need to keep firm pressure and not let him pull your hand off his neck. He’ll fight it, it’s his instinct and he’s stronger than you.

You have to try though because if not Graves will kill him.

The person who has his grip on you loosens it for a second. You don’t think you just sprint towards Johnny, there’s shouting and people trying to stop you. You’re able to dodge them and make it to Johnny. You throw your arms around him and he squeezes you tight, they let his arms drop too.

You feel sick, but you need him out of the way or he could be killed, or kill himself trying to protect you. “I’m so sorry.” You say moving your hand up to the back of his neck. Before he can reply or realise what's going on you dig your fingers into his scent glands.

“I love you Johnny.” You sob as he squirms in your arms but your hand stays strong digging into the back of his neck.

“I’m so sorry, I love you.” His body collapses to the floor; it breaks your heart watching life leave his eyes. As soon as he’s unconscious on the floor you kiss his forehead. A second later arms are around you pulling you away from him.

“Please don’t hurt him.” You sob watching his chest rise and fall. You feel a weapon pressed against your back.

“Put a fucking peg on him and lets get out of here!” Graves orders. You’re pulled to your feet as he walks towards you, someone clamps the back of Johnny’s neck. Now he’ll be unconscious until someone finds him.

“Try anything like that again and we’ll kill you.” He says. Before you have time to say anything, fingers dig into the back of your neck.

It feels like you can’t breathe. Your hands fly up to scratch and pull at the hand but they just dig their fingers in deeper. It doesn’t matter though, there’s nothing you can do. Your legs give way and everything goes black, the last thing you see is Johnny’s blooded body on the floor.

Piper can smell something is wrong as soon as she gets out of the car. She can smell it in the air, the unmistakable scent of death. She swallows hard, there doesn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. She knows John, Simon and Kyle are out at the base but Kate and Johnny should be here with you.

When she makes it to the door the worry turns to panic, she can’t smell you, she can smell something just as strong though, she flares her nostrils taking in a deep breath. The rotten smell of death fills her nose, beta. Her heart sinks, Johnny was staying with you while they raided the base. She fumbles with her phone to get the code for the door, her hands are shaking as she types it in.

The door clicks and she swings it open preparing for the worst. She sees Kate first, she drops her bag and rushes over.

“Kate!” Piper calls as she shakes her shoulders there's no response she presses her ear against her face. She’s still breathing, she presses her knuckles hard on her sternum. Kate groans, Piper lets out a sigh of relief before turning her on her side. She looks around the rest of the room and sees Johnny.

“Johnny!” She calls going over to him. He’s curled up in the fetal position. Before Piper can get a chance to see how he is she can see the peg on the back of his neck. She shuffles around behind him, she should hold him down when she takes this off he could lash out at her. It doesn’t matter though she needs to get it off him. She takes a deep breath and pulls the clip off, it takes a second a shaky breath leaves his throat before his eyes fly open.

His body shoots up, Piper reaches out to steady him but he elbows her in her face. “Ow.” She cries pinching her nose and getting to her feet. Johnny is screaming, calling for you. His movement is frantic, his eyes wide and confused. She needs to calm him down.

“John!” She calls, he turns to look at her, she can see the fear in his face, she can smell it in the air.

“The omega. He took her.” Johnny says, his breathing picks up as he sways on his feet. He falls against the table gripping it for support. Piper goes over to help support him, he tries to shove her off and fails.

“Easy, you don’t know how long you were out for.” Piper cautions him. He scoffs slowly walking around the table.

“They fucking took her and I couldn’t do anything.” He says she can hear the anger in his voice, the disappointment.

“Who?”

“Graves, Shadow Company.” He says slumping down in a chair. Piper can see the wounds on his head, dried blood in his hair and around his face.

“It’s not your fault, they scuffed you. You can’t do anything about that.” She says, it’s all she can really think of, he looks over and sees Kate.

“Help Kate.” Johnny says reaching over for a phone on the table. Piper nods leaving him and going over to Kate, she’s still unconscious. Piper presses her fingers into her neck, she counts the pulse in her head looking down at her watch.

She’s okay, she should be okay, Piper feels around her head and neck anyway.

“Do you know what happened to her?” Piper asks.

“I don’t know, she was unconscious when I was dragged in here.” Johnny says. She can hear him trying to call someone, she assumes John and the rest of them. She tries to focus on Kate, there are no injuries she can see. She could have been injected with something and she’s not going to know what.

Piper reaches over for her bag, she can hear the phone ringing out but no one is picking up.

“Fucks sake John!” Johnny snaps, Piper tries not to let the fear overtake her. You’re gone, Shadow Company have you which means it won’t be long before you’re with Hale again and they still have no idea where he is.

Piper’s hands shake as she attaches a pulse ox to her finger. “Come on Kate, you’re going to be okay.” Piper says if just to have something to do.

“How is she?” Johnny calls over.

“She’s okay. Just unconscious.” Piper replies, she can hear the sake in her voice. She can’t hide it as well as they can. Kate groans, pulling Pipers attention to her, her eyes scrunch and she slowly opens them.

“Easy, you’re okay.” Piper says.

“Price.” Johnny says.

“Soap we’re kind-”

“She’s gone. Graves- he took her.” Johnny says interrupting john, Piper helps Kate sit up, she can hear the fear in his voice. She can smell it in the air.

“What do you mean?” John asks.

“Graves, he broke in. She’s gone.” Piper hears the break in his voice.

“What happened?” Kate asks, rubbing her head. Piper looks back at Johnny standing holding the phone up to his mouth. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, he looks at Piper for a second then turns. Piper turns her attention back to kate.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” She asks.

“I- I was sitting at the table. The coms went down, I called John. That's the last thing I remember.” She explains. Piper rubs her back.

“Just, sit here for a minute okay.” She says, Kate nods at her. Piper stands up letting out a breath, she turns to Johnny who’s taken the phone off speaker, he’s pacing in the kitchen. She flares her nostrils, she can still smell death in the air, dead beta. She follows the smell heading for the stairs, as she walks up the smell gets stronger, hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

She makes it to the hallway, there’s one body half inside a room half outside, as she gets closer she can see the pool of blood, there’s a knife sticking out the side of his neck. She uses her foot to roll him onto his back, he doesn’t respond, he’s definitely dead. She steps over him to walk to the next room when she hears a moan.

It makes her jump, it’s coming from the room the dead body is half inside. Adrenaline rises in her, she reaches down keeping her eyes on the room door and pulls the knife out the dead man's neck. Blood spurts out but she ignores it standing up and slowly walking into the room.

There hasn’t been another noise, maybe she imagined it, people can still make noise after they’ve died, it could have been that. She’s holding her breath as she walks into the room, there’s a weapon at the end of the bed, she kicks it out the way as she walks around to the other side of the bed.

She gasps when she sees the person on the floor, there’s a lot of blood she can smell it, he’s still alive though his hand pressed on his chest. They can get info from him, he probably knows where you are, and where Hale is.

“Johnny!” She shouts watching as the man looks up at her. Before he gets a chance to unclip his pistol she jumps on him.

Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui

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sleepymarimo · 2 years ago

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𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤.

summary: toji tells you about the newest job he's set to take on. you can't stop worrying but, hey, he always comes back, right? pairing: toji x fem!assassin!reader cw: s2 spoilers, angst, angst, angst. no comfort. character death. realizing you're in love too late an: did i cry while writing this...perhaps. this is technically part of my little set of blurbs i write w toji and an assassin reader bestie. i aint done yet, but this is how it ends ig? or is it... wc: 1.7k

"star plasma vessel?" something twists in your gut as the words leave your lips.

he's crashing at your place, again, briefly explaining how he'd get a nice thirty million yen for this particular kill.

"yeah." he yawns, sprawled out on the couch. his lazy green eyes follow you as you go about your routine in the comfort of your kitchenette, more than accustomed to his impromptu visits. "think she's all safe, just 'cause that gojo guy is guarding her."

if possible, your stomach churns even more.

you'd taken on many jobs, are more than familiar with the weight which came with that name, and your instincts scream at you.

still, you can't find it in yourself to show your growing concern, so you hide behind a facade of passiveness.

"maybe he'll knock you down a peg or two." you huff, brows unintentionally furrowing as you ignore the pit forming in your chest.

what was wrong with you?

toji breathes out a rough bark of a laugh, crossing his arms behind his head, not a care in the world. "a prideful brat like that? nah, i just gotta be smart."

you hum in response, not really trusting yourself to speak. instead you focus inward, preoccupied with your thoughts.

while he was a pain in the ass, distastefully charming and incredibly lax, he'd wedged his way into your life. this profession didn't allow room for many connections, yet in an odd way, you found something akin to a friend in him, though it took a while to get to that point.

perhaps it was more than that, but you didn't dare acknowledge it.

since your first mission together, you knew that toji was capable. as much as you hated to admit it, he was a force to be reckoned with. so why was this irrational worry gnawing at your gut?

you're so caught up with what you're cooking, that you don't notice him swiftly get up from the couch and make his way towards the kitchenette.

he leans against the counter adjacent to you, his voice making you flinch and click your tongue in annoyance.

"you're worried?" he smirks, crossing his arms over that barrel of a chest as he watches you turn your back on him. "you fuckin' serious, doll?"

ugh, damn him.

"not even!" you hiss, glancing over and fighting the urge to smack him as he gives you a knowing, smug look. your hands come up in a defensive position, tone as nonchalant as you can manage it. "i'm just saying, i have a bad feeling."

out of the corner of your eye, you can see him shaking his head. one of his hands runs though his hair, the black strands messily falling back into place on his temple.

he doesn't wonder about the last time someone was worried about him. if anything, he thinks you're a little foolish for even caring in the first place. why bother putting in effort for a guy like him?

"re-fucking-lax." he waves off your worries, sneaking a taste of whatever you're cooking and grinning at your futile attempt to be angry with him. "quit it with the 'bad feeling' shit, it's too sappy."

you grumble and lazily agree with his words, but your body speaks for you. your tense muscles, the way that you seemingly shut down and refuse to engage in your usual banter... he can tell that you really are worried.

as much as he avoids being plagued by the heavy chains of sentiment, something stirs in his chest at the sight of your unease.

you're not the only one who found comfort in this unexpected... friendship of sorts.

with a resigned sigh, he slings an arm over your shoulders and forces you away from your cooking. the warmth of you against his side is a familiar one, his eyes twinkling with amusement when he hears you verbally protest his actions.

"you're being annoying." you sigh. yet, your muscles relax in his hold. a walking contradiction, a game of chicken between two hard-headed assassins that refuse to give into one another.

he scoffs, entertained more than anything. toji is calm, not even considering the possibility of failure.

"sweetheart, lemme tell ya what's gonna happen, a'right?" his hand trails from your shoulder to your waist, moving you so that you're pressed chest to chest in a lazy embrace. "m'gonna kill the vessel, put that gojo bastard in his place and get the cash."

emerald eyes peer down at you, smirking at your doubt-filled expression.

"then m'gonna use that cash and finally take ya out to dinner." he adds, hoping it would quell those dumbass worries of yours.

he always promised that.

after every mission, he'd tease about taking you to that restaurant he'd always see you eyeing.

did he ever follow through? no. the money was quick to be spent on poker games and horse races.

but you can't help feel that this time, he means it.

so, you relent.

you can count on one hand the number of times you'd actually returned his so called affections. your arms wrap around his middle, stubbornness urging you to plant your cheek on his chest to avoid his satisfied, triumphant gaze.

"fine." you mumble.

his heartbeat thumps rhythmically against your eardrums. strong. unbothered. it's a sound that you commit to memory, one that you hope will stop the lingering worry rattling between your ribs.

toji's palm runs up and down your back, half-teasing as the hand on your waist tightens with... something. maybe after this damn mission, he'll finally deal with all these feelings he thought were buried deep within his heart.

"atta girl." he smirks, giving you a final squeeze before releasing you. "no need to worry that pretty head of yours."

toji can't wait to see the look on your face. he can't wait to say "i told ya so" and give your cheek a pinch, to tell you that you were worrying over nothing.

he and shiu make their way out of their client's building after successfully assassinating the vessel. big whoop, another job that he knew he could handle.

"damn." the words that leave toji's mouth are spoken before he has a chance to think about them. "just wanna get home already."

shiu exhales, a puff of smoke rising to the sky as his eyes narrow in amusement. "is that what you call her place now? since when?"

"slip of the tongue." the assassin nonchalantly insists, nose wrinkling at his small slip up. damn him...

"whatever you say, fushiguro." shiu nods, staring ahead. "i knew i made a good choice when i paired you guys up for that mission a while back."

eventually, the men part ways.

toji stuffs his hands into his pockets, gaze blank but mind strangely full.

dinner. he needs to take you out to get some damn dinner, like he always promised.

the bright sun blinds him, his eyes squinting before landing on an eerily familiar figure. toji hates being caught off guard, that voice snapping him into a state of disbelief.

"hey, it's been a while."

well, shit.

you were right. fuck, you were always right, weren't you?

toji can feel his body giving out, a sensation so hauntingly foreign for a man like him- the only man like him.

he knows he should've left it, that there was nothing in this fight for him except a chance at proving to the world that they made a mistake when casting him aside.

there's not much to be thankful for, to think about, as he dies.

his mind goes to his wife, the first person to show him love. it goes to megumi, the product of said love and perhaps one of the only good things he'd given the world.

and it goes to you, too, the woman who wormed her way into a heart he thought was long sealed off.

he remembers when he'd first told you about his time in the zen'in clan and how he left it all behind.

he swears he can remember your hand messily and purposefully combing through his hair in that way that he hates, his stomach churning when you gave him a smile with empathetic tears in your eyes.

"so you left?" you echoed back, looking through his walls as if they were made of glass. "good for you."

he should've taken you to dinner a long time ago.

the few good memories he has flood into his mind, an odd sense of euphoria numbing the pain of his dying body.

and then, it fades to black.

when you hear three solid knocks at your door a day later, you just know.

shiu stands on the other side of the door, briefcase in hand. he doesn't come in or speak a word, simply extending the case out to you.

it's the pay from toji's job.

the former detective figures that the sorcerer killer would want you to take it. after all, this place was the closest thing he had to a home.

you take the money and the door clicks shut.

it feels like your throat is closing up. you're quick to chuck the case to the ground, your hands running down your face as you collapse on the couch where toji always slept.

you're mad at him. you're mad at yourself. why didn't he take you seriously? why didn't you try harder to keep him from taking that stupid fucking job?

later in the evening, you take the money and head to the restaurant that you'd been eyeing for a while.

you order your favorite dish and hell, you order something you know he'd eat, too.

the chair across from you is empty, in front of it a plate full of food that you know is never going to get eaten.

he finally paid for the dinner that he had always promised you.

you don't care for how other customers look at you, swollen tears silently rolling down your cheeks. when you taste salt on your tongue, you sniffle and take another bite.

he'd probably give you so much shit if he saw you right now. he would roughly wipe away the tears with his thumb and give you a softened smirk. "oh c'mon, princess, quit bein' such a fuckin' crybaby."

your arm comes up to wipe away the mess, head shaking and heart shattering. "you're such a fucking idiot, fushiguro."

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk angst #jjk x reader #toji x you

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innerfare · 9 months ago

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Lawbin Headcanons

Summary: Early stages of Lawbin. This whole thing is basically Law being a dork who’s constantly trying to play it cool while falling for the weird girl (Robin, I love you, never change).

Characters: Trafalgar Law x Nico Robin

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

———

When Robin met the Captain of the Heart Pirates, the Surgeon of Death and a Warlord of the Sea, Dr. Trafalgar Law, she didn’t trust him, not even for a second. Recall, she has extensive experience with Warlords and would have died at the hands of one if Luffy hadn’t saved her despite her own insistence he leave her to die. As soon as she meets Law, she swears to herself that if things go sour, Luffy won’t be saving her and, in fact, she’ll be saving Luffy. She won’t let the Warlord take a shot at her Captain, and she takes Luffy’s proposition that if the alliance goes bad, the crew will have his back, to heart.

For the longest time, that’s how Robin thinks of Law: the Warlord. She never talks about it, but she has PTSD from her time with Crocodile. She had never known peace or solace in her life; the safest position she’d had before joining the Straw Hats was as the right hand of a man who ultimately viewed her as expendable. And Sir Crocodile wasn’t just any man, he was a pirate brimming with power and eerily intelligent, with a mind for strategy. Just like Traffy, whose insistence on planning out every little detail and having a backup plan for every backup plan takes Robin right back to Alabasta.

Robin becomes a little obsessed with comparing him to Crocodile. She zeroes in on his willingness to make small sacrifices for the greater cause, his analytical nature and reserved emotions, his apparent lack of friends. Only, Traffy went to great lengths to help the Straw Hats rescue the children on Punk Hazard, and he didn’t take the opportunity to be too cruel to Smoker and Tashigi despite having them chained in front of him. But that doesn’t stop her from trying to make him into Crocodile 2.0.

And then there’s Law, who’s such a dork. Strategic alliance this, strategic alliance that, but from the second he met the Straw Hats, he wasn’t thinking about betraying them, he was wondering how he was supposed to remain impartial with such an affable group. He thought Nico, at least, would be an ally against the general Straw Hat insanity, but she turned out to be the crew’s worst enabler rather than the mother hen he had originally pegged her for. Which begs the question, what else was he wrong about?

Annoyed to have been so wrong, Law begins paying more attention to Nico. He notices that she doesn’t fall into the insular trap that a lot of academics do. She’s not just an expert on her one field but in fact is incredibly well read and is a wealth of knowledge on a menagerie of different topics, and each topic he learns she is well-versed in is weirder than the last.

Why is Nico an expert on Panda Shark socialization? How did Nico come to find out that there is a mythical, lost library full of love poems on an unnamed sky island? Why does Nico have so many books on a random king from the South Blue who died eight hundred years ago? How did Nico learn that there’s an island in the West Blue where white pumpkins grow on bone trees? And why, oh why, is she versed in Germa 66 lore? Finding out the last one makes his heart drop, the realization that he would risk it all for the Straw Hat archaeologist making Law’s stomach churn.

And how is she so calm all the time? He had pegged the academic as similar to him, but her crew’s shenanigans seem to just roll right off her. She sat in that cell with him and the others in Punk Hazard reminiscing about old times with Luffy and Smoker instead of cowering in the shadow of Vergo, and she more than held her own on Green Bit, lending herself to him as an asset time and again, always being there to lend a helping hand (or twelve) when the plan fails.

All that is to say, Law falls first. But it’s Robin who makes the first move.

It’s only when she sees Traffy interact with his crew that Robin sees him for who he is, and she can’t get that man out of her head- that man who isn't domineering but tries to make people follow his orders to protect them, that man who is so adored by his crew (the members of which he protects rather than uses for his own gain), that man who, despite being called Warlord, is kind of adorable.

Robin starts teasing him a bit; she just can’t help herself. Now that her Crocodile glasses are off, she can see that he doesn’t have the sort of temper that leads him to kill people but rather the sort that just leaves him spluttering and speechless. And, well, she thinks it’s cute. She starts feeling dumb, too, for not having seen it sooner. After all, Luffy saw he was a good and trustworthy person, and that should have been enough for her, but she had been blinded.

No longer blinded, she starts enjoying her time with Traffy, though he doesn’t notice the shift, doesn't realize she's soft on him. He thinks she’s needling him for some other reason. It never occurs to him that Nico (or anyone, for that matter) finds him cute. And he almost goes into cardiac arrest when she tells him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He demands one night, fed up with that little smile that always seems to be on Nico’s face while she’s staring at him. “Nothing,” she says, swallowing her giggle, “I just think you’re cute when you’re annoyed.” And with that, she leaves him to process what she’d just said.

Their relationship is built on info dumping. Robin can talk about her weird interests, such as the mating habits of Sea Kings and the fact that the antidote made from Conine in the bark of Kona Trees can actually be used as a poison if mixed with the correct substances. And Law can talk about his childish interests, such as various comic books and ninjas. These two geek out on a level not previously known to humankind.

They bring each other odd tokens, typically the weirdest possible thing they could find on their respective travels.

Law buying Robin books and leaving notes inside that get progressively more personal, Robin asking Sanji to show her how to make onigiri because it’s Law’s favorite.

And then there’s the trauma. Both were nearby when their parents were murdered. Both were alone in the world at a very young age, Robin hunted by the World Government and Law by the Donquixote family. Both know what it’s like to be completely alone with nothing to their name but a bizarre devil fruit ability and a target on their back. Both managed to find their way in the world despite feeling for years that they never would. They didn’t save each other because they didn’t have to. They’re traumatized, but they’re not broken, and together, they can be even stronger. They saved themselves, and now that they did, they’re free to bask in each others’ presence. And that’s exactly what they do.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece headcanons #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law headcanons #law headcanons #heart pirates #robin #nico robin #Nico Robin headcanons #robin headcanons #lawbin #lawbin headcanons #law x robin #traffy #straw hat pirates

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everparanoid · 1 year ago

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Depths of Eternity Left Behind

Satoru Gojo x Sorcerer fem! Reader

On October 1st, 2018, you find Gojo crying in an empty classroom and you try to comfort him.

A story in which you are a Grade One sorcerer working alongside Gojo who falls in love with the man behind the overconfident bravado, but can't seem to get close enough to reach him beyond the limitless infinity that separates you.

cw: Canon compliant. Major Character death, Canon Typical Violence, Suggestive Content, Mentions of Pegging and Petplay, Mentions of death, Fluff, Angst. Major Spoilers for Manga, JJk 0 and season 2.

Word Count: 6.3k

Minors Do Not Interact

Spoilers below.

October 31st, 2018. Summary of the Notice from Jujustu Headquarters

Suguru Geto’s Survival was confirmed. We hereby declare the reinstatement of his death sentence.

2. You and Satoru Gojo have been deemed accomplices in the Shibuya Incident and are hereby expelled from Jujutsu society. Following your confirmed death in Shibuya, you are to be wiped from all records. In addition, any attempt to free Satoru Gojo from his seal will be deemed a crime.

3. Masamichi Yaga is sentenced to death for inciting you, Satoru Gojo, and Suguru Geto, causing the Shibuya Incident.

4. The suspension on Yuji Itadori’s death sentence is hereby revoked, and his execution shall be carried out promptly.

5. Special-grade sorcerer Yuta Okkotsu shall be appointed as Yuji Itadori’s executioner.

October 1st, 2018. Tokyo prefecture, Tokyo Jujutsu High School 30 days before The Shibuya Incident

“Sensei, good evening,” Itadori called out to you.

You had poked your head out of the door when you heard the young trio returning from their day out in the city. “Itadori, have you seen Gojo?”

Halting, Itadori’s face contorted in thought. “Gojo sensei?” His arms were filled with shopping bags, presumably Nobara’s. You wondered how his arms hadn’t given out from the amount he was carrying, but you supposed the vessel of the king of curses was a special breed. “Isn’t he on a mission?”

You cursed under your breath. “I thought he would be with you guys,” you said. “Yaga told me he returned earlier today.”

“Knowing him, he’s probably slacking off somewhere.” Nobara rolled her eyes, gesticulating languidly.

Itadori smacked his fist onto his open palm, jostling the bags still hanging off his forearms. “Have you checked--?”

“I’ll call him,” Megumi interrupted, quick to bring out his phone. His fingers dashed over the screen bringing up Gojo’s number.

You waved dismissively. If the kids hadn’t seen Gojo then something was wrong and calling him probably would ruin any chance of you had figuring out what it was. Gojo had a way of masking his problems in front of the kids. “No need, Fushiguro.”

Megumi lowered his phone. “Are you sure?”

“He is around here somewhere.” You smiled. “You guys have a nice rest of your evening.” You slid the door closed.

You found Gojo in one of the sparsely furnished classrooms. He sat slumped, his long legs man-spread, his head resting on the backrest of the chair, and his blindfold on. The setting sunlight pouring in through the open window bathed his white hair in a gentle orange glow.

You didn’t know if he knew that you were there. If he did, he didn’t acknowledge you. It was rare to catch the blindfolded man unaware—ever since the incident with the star plasma vessel and Toji Fushiguro all those years ago his defences had been ironclad. And yet there you were watching the strongest man you knew break.

His cries were hollow sounding. Too frail to be considered sobs of pain, but strong enough to express the tip of an iceberg of agony. From being in its presence, you felt an iota of the weight he carried on his shoulders.

It was fifty-fifty whether your presence would make him raise his guard again, putting on the front of the bubbly jester entertaining the court. However, you couldn’t just stand by and watch him cry.

When was the last time that he was told it was okay to be weak? When was he allowed to be anything other than the strongest?

Gojo was the strongest, that was a known fact. One accepted by everyone in the jujutsu world, even by the overconfident man himself. He was born into strength; it was his birthright.

Throughout the heavens and earth, he alone was the honoured one.

You knew this. It’s not like anyone would ever let you forget. It was why you both agreed you couldn’t be anything more than what you were. It was what kept your worlds apart despite how much you wanted to be a part of his.

Gojo is the strongest.

Other’s words echoed around your head like a mantra.

He was never weak. He could never lose. He was never afraid. He was Satoru Gojo. Six eyes; limitless; idiot; pain in the ass; love of your life… the strongest.

And he was alone, you reminded yourself.

//July 2007

“Is that Satoru?” you asked, watching the usually aloof teen training alone on the fields. It was a hot day in July at Jujutsu High. Hotter than it had been over the last week, and so instead of wasting away in a classroom you’d buddied with Shoko to sit outside near the training grounds.

Shoko hummed in affirmation from beside you. With focused hands, she filled her cigarette paper with tobacco, holding the filter between her lips. She didn’t need to look up to know where you were looking.

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“When is he not okay?” With dainty fingers, she rolled her cigarette. “Fuck this, I’m just going to buy pre-rolled next time,” she said. She licked the edge of the paper, sealing the cigarette. “Come with me later.”

“Sure,” you said absently, your attention failing to leave Gojo. Shoko could have asked you to rob a Konbini and you would have agreed. “He’s been doing a lot of missions alone since the failure of Tengen’s Star Plasma vessel mission... I haven’t even seen him hang out with Suguru.” Or me, but you don’t say that. This wasn’t about you. Even though you had been just as close with the two as they were with each other; not to the same strength level and ability to throw down, still, it was always the three of you—and Shoko occasionally.

Shoko shrugged, lighting her cigarette. “They’re big boys, they can work separately.” She took a drag. “Besides, I can’t imagine him needing backup anymore. Anyone else would be a hindrance.”

You outwardly agreed but couldn’t shake the thought that even the strongest person needed support. And Suguru was his right-hand man. They were inseparable like two sides of the same coin—yin and yang; only imbalance came if one existed without the other. It felt wrong seeing them apart. “Still—I should go and check on him.”

“Don’t,” Shoko said.

You stopped mid-way into getting up and looked back at her. “Why not?”

“Because asking Gojo to open up is like extracting blood from a rock,” Shoko monotoned. She crossed her left leg over the right and leaned back, taking another drag.

“Rocks don’t bleed,” you said.

“Exactly, rocks are weapons.” She tipped her head to the side. “That’s why you’re better off not going to him. Unless you want to be the one hurt, and news flash, I can’t reverse heartbreak.”

You looked away, guilt-ridden. It wasn’t a secret that you were in love with Gojo.

“Besides your form of empathy is about as kind as a slap,” Shoko added.

You hesitated. She had a point. You cast your gaze between Shoko and Gojo in the distance, divided. He whipped a pale hand across his sweaty forehead, his focus undisturbed. He looked tired, determined, and way out of your league.

“Fine, I’ll check on Suguru,” you said, grabbing your bag.

Shoko shook her head. “Out.”

“Again?”

“He’s on a mission alone.”

Alone.

The word rippled through you.

“Couldn’t one of us have gone along with him?” you asked. “We are here too.”

She coughed out a bitter laugh. “And I’ll what? Heal his mouth after he successfully does his job? He’ll be fine.” She stood and placed a hand on your shoulder, taking a final puff in the process. She blew out the smoke. “Like I said, they’re big boys. They’re just licking their wounds right now.”

You watched as she dropped the cigarette butt and stumped out its orange glow with her shoe.

“They’ll be fine,” she said. “Trust me.”

/October 1st, 2018

You often forgot that Satoru was a human too. If you let the words of others, and even the words of the man himself poison you, you too might have been able to ignore that key detail. The only thing that worked to remind you that it was Gojo shouldering the responsibility of the world.

Throughout the heavens and earth, Gojo alone was the honoured one.

Alone.

He would always be alone. He was always alone. Amongst a crowd of people, he was alone. When he was with his students, he was alone. When he was with you and his other colleagues, he was alone. When he was in your bed on the odd times you both were able to sleep in each other’s arms after months of back-to-back missions—he was still alone.

It troubled you.

Despite being whatever you both were—bed buddies? Colleagues with benefits? Star-crossed lovers? You still couldn’t truly reach him. Nor could you fathom the depths of his loneliness or how heavy the head was that wore the thorned crown. It must have been agonising to be seen and acknowledged but not levelled. To be put on a throne you didn’t ask for and wield its power at unsatisfying levels against things that could only at best be considered insects, excruciating even. You imagined it was like holding back a scream of agony after losing a cherished one. Suppressing everything for the sake of not setting the world on fire—to not become the enemy.

But Gojo had no enemies.

//December 24th, 2017

The sky was a deep azure gradating with the orange sunset forming pink and purple stained clouds the day Suguru Geto died. The stars were clear in the sky, and the air was crisp and fresh. It was a new day. Yet in those hours before so much had happened. So many had fought to stop the person you once called your friend. So many years of friendship, years of sitting in classrooms and shaking your head as he and Gojo goaded each other; years of catching the rebounds of their hoop sessions in the sports hall and laughing with them when they returned from their missions—were gone in a matter of hours.

It was just another day. Insignificant. Unsatisfying. There was no big bang, no screaming and shouting. It was just over.

You hadn’t been there when Suguru died. You hadn’t heard his last words or seen his face when Gojo killed him. You didn’t get to see his smile again or hear his soft-spoken voice—the same one he’d use when he’d pat your head and call you kind for trying to stop his and Gojo’s fights, but ended up adding fuel to the raging fire because it was fun to watch Gojo pout. You hadn’t heard any of it, but Gojo had.

And he was alone.

“He’s gone,” Gojo said closing the door to the room in the morgue where Suguru’s corpse lay. You caught a glimpse of Shoko adjusting her gloves and pulling the sheet over his face before you were completely cut off. “He won’t hurt anyone anymore,” Gojo said, his voice steady and empty.

“’Toru,” you said weakly, his nickname meek sounding on your lips.

He looked down at you, his lips pulled into a tight line like he was suppressing everything he wanted to say. If you could have seen his eyes behind the blindfold you were sure they were just as troubled. But you couldn’t because Gojo never showed weakness.

He is the strongest.

“I should have stopped him before—” he gulped, his fist clenching at his side. “I should have been there. I could have—.”

“Could have what?” you interjected. “Could have saved him? Could have talked him out of insanity?” You scoffed. “No, you couldn’t.” You knew it was the wrong time for tough love, especially when Gojo had willingly opened up to you, but you couldn’t meet him on his level. Your emotions were running too high—and you hated rehashing the past. And that’s all his words were doing for you. Restating not Gojo’s failure, but your own. “He killed his parents. He wiped out an entire village of people. He was prancing around like some born-again Buddha with an almighty saviour complex spouting nonsense about monkeys and mass genocide.”

Gojo remained still. He had no funny remarks or stupid grin. He was a ghost of himself. Before this in your eyes, Gojo Satoru had died once. It was after he returned from failing Tengen’s star plasma protection mission. And he never fully returned. It was like he was teetering on the edge; neither here nor there.

You knew he knew that you were right.

You were rarely wrong.

They’ll be fine, trust me.

You didn’t blame Shoko, or Gojo, or even Yaga. You blamed yourself. You should have been there for your friends. You could have been there for them… both of them. But you weren’t. You were too weak. You weren’t Gojo or Suguru. You were you. Just another Grade One sorcerer growing alongside two Special Grade giants—watching them race on ahead and crash and burn without even attempting to catch up and put out the flames.

You didn’t have time to filter the words vomiting out of your mouth. “What? Do you think you could have brought him along on all those missions with you back then after Riko? Like he could have worked alongside you when you were acting like everyone was a burden?” You stood, pointing a single finger into his chest—not bothering to question that he was allowing you to touch him. That in front of you he had let his limitless technique down. He had met you midway and let you into his world just like you wanted, all because you were one of the last people he had whom he believed somewhat understood him beyond the bravado. “Have you forgotten that you alone are the strongest Satoru, not you and Suguru? Just you. And the moment that imbalance came—the moment you both realised that you were no longer equals—was when you could never have stopped him. If anything, you would have pushed him there faster.”

You dropped yourself back into your chair, burying your head in your hands. Tears fell quicker than you could stop them. And so, you let them and felt them soak your dark clothes.

Gojo didn’t attempt to comfort you or say anything for the matter. Instead, he stood over you as you sobbed—letting your tears slide off his loafers.

When your tears let up, and you finally were able to hear yourself think again you noticed the puddles on and around his shoes. You hadn’t known he was still there—that he had stood and let you say all of that to him, and not said a single word. Your eyes trailed slowly up his long legs, to his relaxed hands, his chest, and up to his blank blindfolded face, emotionless.

Dread incensed you, made your mouth dry and your eyes even drier. Guilt had you recalling everything and letting go of all your misplaced anger.

You’d said too much. He’d let you touch him, and you threw everything back in his face. All because of your selfish guilt.

“Satoru.” You didn’t miss how he flinched slightly at the word. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of that. I am just upset. It’s not your fault.”

“No,” he said. “You’re right.”

His smile unnerved you; told you that you had fucked up.

“Throughout the heavens and earth, I alone am the honoured one.”

You went to touch his hand but were stopped inches away by his limitless technique. “Toru,” you pleaded, wishing that you could take it all back. That you could go back to who you both were before the world tore you all to shreds.

His fists clenched. “Only me,” he said.

And for the second time since you’d known him, Gojo Satoru died again.

/October 1st, 2018

“I know you’re there,” he said.

You straightened, pushing off the door frame you took a hesitant step into the empty classroom. You had been so lost in thoughts that you didn’t realise he had stopped crying and had lifted his head, watching you through the blindfold.

Gojo lifted the rim of his mask. His unearthly blue eyes were tinged red around the edges and deep bags framed them. He gave you a weak smile—the gesture not leaving his lips. “You spyin’ on me?”

His tone didn’t hit when he looked so drained.

You slid the door closed behind you. You didn’t know why you did it. Perhaps you thought that some privacy would allow him the space to lower his guard. As if the flimsy sliding door could shut out the rest of the world, and let you in. “I came to check on you, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Check on me?” It hurt you how foreign those words sounded on his lips. He tilted his head, his already smiling lips pulling into a larger grin. “Did you miss me that much?”

You suppressed a frown. “Of course not, stupid.”

Missing would have been an understatement. Worried was more like it. Worried and pitied.

He laughed; the sound was a relief to your ears. Even if it was fake, you decided that seeing Gojo laugh was better than seeing him cry. You loved his laugh—his smile. You wondered how you could protect it. But the strongest didn’t need protecting. The strongest protected everyone else. That was his purpose. That was what he did.

Satoru Gojo alone was the honoured one.

“You love me,” he teased unaware of how true those words rang.

You did love him like how a sunflower loves the sun.

“When was the last time you slept?” You deflected.

“You sayin’ I look like shit?” He stretched his arms above his head, lifting out of his laid-back position. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t insult shit,” you said seriously.

He laid his head back again, lowering his blindfold over his eyes. “I was sleeping.”

You raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really.”

You stood between his legs. “You can talk to me.”

He remained silent.

“Or not, we can just be in silence. It’s nice not hearing you speak for once,” you continued, lightening the mood. Unfortunately, your best way of comforting people was not comforting at all. If past events hadn’t been an indicator, you’d never been good with empathy, and you didn’t claim to be. Most of the time you avoided heavy conversations because of how awkward it would be to not relate to or understand any of what was being said to you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to but if you had a choice you would choose to not participate. Unless it was for Gojo and once upon a time, Suguru too.

Gojo was like you in that sense, well you thought Gojo was like you, but it turned out you were completely wrong on that front. The selfish man was the most empathetic person in the world. Who else could understand the burdens of these young sorcerers and vessels but the tool of the jujutsu world himself? He was thrust into a life of assassination attempts and responsibility from the day he was conceived after all.

//August 2018.

Principal Yaga gave you a curt nod as he passed you in the corridor. He was exiting the faculty room leaving you to enact your perfect plan on Gojo. It was a simple prank.

An easy one.

You had to wait for him to be mid-conversation with his guard down. This meant ignoring his texts enough that he would be too busy spamming your phone with inappropriate messages and stickers, to notice you sneak in outside of his field of vision to surprise attack him from behind. It was nothing compared to the horrors he’d pulled on you this week. Gojo had taken to pranking you, so it was only fair to return the favour.

You weren’t playful often. You tried to present yourself as the dependable stable one out of you and Gojo for the kid’s sake, and the rest of the faculty's sake too. However, sometimes the man tickled your nerves just enough to have you unable to do anything else but retaliate. This happened to be one of those times. You had no malicious intent aside from the crippling desire to avenge yourself because unlike Gojo you weren’t trying to embarrass him in front of the kids. Yours would just be a little jump scare.

You darted forward, your arms open wide to capture him from behind only to fall smack bang into thin air, frozen by the pressure of the limitless space between the two of you. Being this close, you noticed the fine hairs on his neck standing on end like a startled cat.

Was Gojo afraid?

“Failed,” he said cooly, stepping forward and releasing you from his invisible hold. “Ya should’ve tried a different approach.”

“How did you?” you asked, your words falling off.

He spun to look at you “Back shot? really? I know you can do better. If you wanted to peg me you could have just asked. I’d buy the strap-on and everything so ya don’t have to worry your pretty little head.”

You went to wack him but his limitless once again halted you. “It was going to be a hug, you freak.” You lowered your hand. “Besides, I’m sure you were shit scared just then—admit it.”

Gojo laughed and squeezed your cheeks, pulling and stretching your face like playdough. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m not,” you swat his hands away.

“You didn’t respond to any of my texts,” he said. His hand traced down your face before lifting your chin to look at his masked eyes. “Now that you’re here though, you can answer my question.”

“What question?”

“Are we on for tonight?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you held your focus refusing to give him another thing to annoy you with. “You’re really not going to explain why you’re sitting in the faculty office with limitless on? Utahime isn’t even here to throw stuff at you,” you deflected.

He wrapped his other arm around you, bringing you into a hold that was too intimate for school grounds. With a dip of his head, he brushed his lips over yours. When you went to kiss back, he pulled back, smirked, and then dipped down again. You couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy kissing Gojo. Any woman in their right mind would die to be in your position—fuck it, you over ten years ago would have died to be here too; alone with this gorgeous man. However, not even his lips or his curious hand slipping under your shirt and clasping your bra could distract you enough from the fact that even in an empty faculty room he was on guard; waiting for an attack—for something to disrupt his peace.

He broke the kiss, your residue lip gloss glistened on his lips. “I’m going to need compensation later for the emotional damage your failed assassination attempt caused me. PTSD is real you know.”

He manhandled your face with the hand still caressing your chin. The door opened and Nanami entered with a mug in his hands and a newspaper tucked under his arm. Gojo let you go at least letting you save some face. You reclasped your bra bashfully.

You brushed off your clothes. “Nanami.”

Nanami greeted you in return, setting his coffee on the coffee table and sitting on one of the adjacent sofas.

“Na-na-mi! Aren’t ya just the most respected man I was looking for? What do ya say we hang out for a bit and talk about the social and political state of the world?” Gojo grinned.

The stiff ex-salary man’s response was immediate. “No.” His attention moved to Gojo, who wore your gloss like a trophy.

Gojo turned to you and shrugged, sticking his tongue out comically.

You shook your head, wishing he would give the other man a break. Not everyone had a high threshold for Gojo’s buffoonery, and Nanami was one of those people.

“How about we go to this bakery they sell good kikufuku and we could—” Gojo tried again.

“No.” Nanami opened his newspaper.

“But—”

“Have you considered putting a leash on him?” Nanami asked you.

Gojo snapped his fingers. “Kinky, I like the way you think, Nanami. I’ll buy a leash and collar whilst we’re in town—it’ll be perfect for tonight.” He draped an arm over your shoulders and leaned down till his lips brushed the shell of your ears. “Would you like to be my pet?”

“I think Nanami was implying that you should control yourself,” you muttered, your body tense. You feared not only was Gojo probably serious, but he also now had discovered another avenue in which to stroke his raging God complex.

“But it would be more fun to control you,” he said.

Flabbergasted, you shoved him—well you tried to.

Gojo stepped back his arms up in surrender and limitless once again on. He laughed menacingly. “I’ll take that as yes.”

Nanami cleared his throat, aggressively.

“I’ll get you a cute blue collar to match my eyes,” Gojo said to you. “I know how much you love them. That way when I am fucking you, you’ll know who you belong to.”

Your eyes widened. “You—”

Both disturbed and visibly disgusted, Nanami closed his paper, picked up his coffee, and evacuated the room.

Gojo gave you a fleeting kiss on your temple. “Na-na-mi! Wait for me.” He strode off after his junior, abandoning you in the faculty room. “I wasn’t done asking you whether you think this shirt makes my butt look too big. Hey! We’re going into town remember. Don’t ignore me! Na-na-mi~!”

/ October 1st, 2018.

Gojo’s chest shook gently as he inaudibly laughed.

You went to take a step back deciding that you had been out of your mind asking Gojo to open up to you, only to be stopped by his legs closing against your thighs trapping you in place.

“You tryna leave me?” he asked.

“You weren’t speaking.”

“You said ya liked my silence,” Gojo said.

You scoffed. “I didn’t realise that now would be the time you would decide to take someone else’s advice besides your own.”

He raised his head to look at you, mask still in place over his eyes. “I always listen to other people’s advice; I just don’t always take it. And today happened to be a good day for silence.” He raised a finger, pointing upwards. “Can ya hear that?”

You stopped, waiting to hear something out of the ordinary. You looked around the classroom taking in the empty wooden space before turning back to see that stupid big smile once again on his moisturized lips.

“So not only are you taking other people’s advice but you’re also lying?” You shook your head. “That’s a new low even for you, Toru.”

He pouted and reached his arms around you pulling your hips forward. He hugged you like a koala, his head resting on your lower abdomen. “I’m just playing with you.”

“Play with someone else, you’ve expended my nice quota for the day.” You tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “Let me go.”

Gojo held you tighter. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

You halted your actions. “For what?” you asked breathlessly. You didn’t need to ask, and he didn’t need to tell you for you both to know what he meant. Your hands remained by your side too afraid to touch him. Too afraid to do anything that might freak you both out and break whatever emotional domain you’d locked yourselves in.

“I’m going to die one day,” he said softly. “And I’ll remember this moment when death comes.”

You don’t speak; afraid that he’ll stop if you do.

You imagined the thought of his death soothed him in a way. It was the final frontier, and in both your line of work, it meant that you had been defeated. Bested. Beaten at your own game. It meant that you’d given your all and, in the end, it just wasn’t enough. That you as a warrior had fought with all you might and come out the loser. You’d tried. You’d been tested and you’d finally been chosen unworthy. You imagined that despite how much his words hurt you to consider, the thought of death at the hands of someone stronger than him would be an honour. A blessing. It would be the moment when Gojo Satoru, the enlightened one, finally could be human.

After all, death was the ultimate leveller—the unequivocal equalizer.

His grip loosened slightly as he relaxed his weight against you. “Then I’ll be allowed to rest without regrets,” he said. You don’t miss the end of the statement although it is whispered barely in hearing range. “And maybe I’ll be able to greet you both again on the same level, finally.”

“Thought you didn’t believe in all that?” you asked.

He chuckled. “A guy can dream, right?”

// December 24th, 2018

“Satoru,” Suguru says, a bright smile on his youthful face. He appears to be about sixteen. “Long time no see.” He is sitting a seat away from Satoru in his jujutsu uniform.

“Blegh!” A younger Gojo coughs shooting forward in his seat. The force of the action causes his circular glasses to slide down his nose.

“You couldn’t have held on a little longer?” a younger you asks, sitting beside him, also in your uniform. “I was rooting for you to make it, so, I could at least decay in my grave a bit more. Don’t tell me you missed me or something?”

Suguru calls out your name. “That’s not very kind of you, you didn’t even let him land.”

“He’s the one who hasn’t let me land. I only died in Shibuya less than two months ago. At least you got a year to compose yourself accordingly.”

Suguru nods in defeat, his smile remaining.

“Currently dying again here,” Gojo says between coughing fits.

You and Suguru pat Gojo’s back.

“You’re kidding me this sucks,” Gojo says. He slumps back in the chair, sighing. He doesn’t spare either you or Suguru a glance, seemingly annoyed.

Suguru hunches over and shakes his head. “Pretty rude thing to say right after seeing someone’s face.” He shoots you an exasperated look.

You respond with an unsurprised lift of your shoulder.

Gojo scrunches his face. “I’ve always told my students.” He raises his fingers in quotation marks. “‘When you die, you’ll die alone.’ So please tell me this is just some ridiculous dream.”

You snort.

“Does it matter?” Suguru says.

“There’s nothing you can do about it either way,” you add, pulling his ear. “We are all dead either way, stupid.”

He swats your hand away and scratches his head. “No shit.” He looks perplexed. “Fuck, and there’s still all that stuff with his dad.”

“Megumi’s?” you ask. You’d sort of presumed he knew. “Thought you’d said you wanted to die without regrets?”

Gojo looks up at the high airport ceiling thoughtfully. “I asked Shoko to handle it.”

“Of course, you did,” you whisper. “Always a step ahead.”

A wistful smile appears on his lips. “Always.”

You begin to mindlessly play with the back of Gojo’s hair.

He leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

“So, how was the king of curses?” Suguru says segueing the question to the culprit of Gojo’s demise.

“Insanely fucking strong, and I could tell he wasn’t giving it all he had.” When your hand stops massaging the back of his head, he reaches back and takes your hand into his. “Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve won even if he didn’t have Megumi’s ten shadows.”

Suguru brows raise. “I’m shocked anyone could make you admit that.”

“I’m not,” you admit.

Gojo gives you a bashful look. He squeezes your hand in his.

It’s odd for you to see him be so openly vulnerable, but you like it. No, you love it.

Gojo looks down. “I feel kinda sorry for him,” he admits softly.

Suguru glances at you quizzically but you give him no reaction, allowing Gojo the space to continue. You’re not sure if he means Megumi or Sukuna or maybe both, but you decide to listen anyway.

“I’m no stranger to feeling isolated,” Gojo starts. “There was always this gulf between me and other people. Even if they adored me. You can admire a beautiful flower…but you can’t ask it to understand you.”

Suguru straightens in his seat.

Gojo lets go of your hand, scrunching his hand into a fist. “I put everything I had into tryin’ to reach him. To make him understand…all my physical training techniques I mastered… my explosiveness, quick thinking, and attempts at humor. I gave it my all, but it wasn’t enough. The loneliness that comes with unrivalled strength…the one who will teach you about love is—” he pauses, “I had fun.”

You place your hand on his thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He gives you a thankful nod. He releases a weak laugh, the mood lightening. “Sukuna wasn’t able to give me his all though. And I think that’s a damn shame.”

“Consider me jealous, at least you had the satisfaction of going out with a bang,” Suguru says.

“Satisfaction, huh?” Gojo scoffs. “I guess my only disappointment was that you weren’t there to slap me on the back.”

Suguru laughs.

“But I guess I am glad I died facing a strong opponent. It’d have been embarrassing if I let some disease or old age get the best of me,” Gojo says.

“What are you a samurai?”

Gojo's eyes widen.

A sly grin appears on your face when you watch Gojo turn around to see a young Nanami and Haibara sitting behind you all. They begin to scuffle for a while mocking Gojo for his selfish mindset in life. You remain silent, watching him the way you always do.

Gojo is the strongest.

Those words still hold despite you both dying. His strength isn’t just about his physical prowess but his mental one. It is why you love him, you decide, even though it kept you worlds apart in life.

“What ya thinking?” Gojo whispers bumping your shoulder playfully.

“Nothing much,” you whisper back. You flip your hand palm up on Gojo’s thigh and he interlocks your fingers.

“Don’t look like nothing much,” Gojo teases leaning down to search your eyes.

You dip your head, watching your interlaced hands. “I’m just glad we’re all together again.”

You don’t look but you hear Gojo’s smile. It sounds like an endless blue ocean crashing against a yellow sandy shore. It feels like the sun warming you back to life.

Gojo lifts your hand and kisses the back of it. “Me too,” he says. “Which one are you choosing North or South?”

“Does it matter what I chose?” you ask not disclosing your choice.

“Maybe.” His gaze flicks to your lips. “Definitely.”

“When did you two get all sappy?” Suguru interrupts. “It’s disgusting.”

“Exactly,” Nanami adds. “I had to endure that. Trust me it gets worse.”

“Sounds to me like a whole lot of bitchless jealousy,” Gojo says, raising his voice over their declarations. “Personally, could never be me.”

Haibara laughs. “I think it’s cute. Good for you, Gojo-san. Finding love despite your personality.”

Gojo grins and pulls you into his chest. “Thanks, Haibara. See, ‘least someone is happy for me.”

Suguru snickers.

Nanami rolls his eyes.

“I think that was an insult,” you say, raising a finger.

Gojo dramatically hushes you placing a long finger to your lips. “’m taking what I can get. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“When have I ever been? You act out of pocket all the time. Someone has to help Suguru humble you.”

Gojo shakes his head. “Betrayed by my girl and my best friend…that’s crazy. Not even in death can I catch a break.”

The airport fills with the sound of laughter.

And in these short moments, laying against Gojo’s chest encased in his comforting scent as he bickers with Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara, you feel like nothing is blocking the front of either of your eyes. Like in some absurd way, this is what Gojo meant. You know that even if these days fade… even if you’ve come to know his world, different from yours in the depths of eternity left behind…even now the blue remains—clear; in the summer colours that refract off your cheeks like crystals becoming one with the endless sea.

Gojo’s thumb brushes your cheek smudging away the tears. He says your name softly. “You cryin’?” He asks peering down at you from above.

You reach up and pull off his dark sunglasses. You see those blue eyes, glimmering like sunlight on water, or like grains of stars in an infinitely expanding galaxy that used to spill through the gaps between your fingers. And they’re staring straight back at you. Asking ‘Will we meet again?’

You nod, unable to say the words that are stuck in your throat.

But Gojo doesn’t need to hear it, a grin forming, nevertheless.

“Hey, Principal!” Gojo shouts looking up and spotting Yaga up ahead trying not to be noticed. “Thought ya said no Jujutsu sorcerers die without regret?”

/ October 1st, 2018.

You let your hand slowly move to his white hair, caressing the soft locks. “You know, you’re pretty weak for the strongest man,” you said endearingly.

“Maybe I’m pranking you?” he muttered. “Making ya let your guard down and believe I am weak so that I can get some. I am prone to lyin’ ya know.”

You hummed in disbelief. “What an unfunny lie.”

“What a sick twisted joke,” he agreed.

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