#that even comes close to this temperament

[kedreeva]

My setup today at the reptile expo!

I will definitely say, the Sunday shows are not as good as the Saturday ones. We'll probably be skipping Sunday ones from now on. I did hand out a lot of business cards and brochures today, though, and made a good impression on a lot of people. I even had one person drag her family to my booth after she handled a mouse, and we were able to work out trading in the mice her niece bought from someone else for some of mine instead.

I KNOW we changed some minds today, because there were several people who made disgusted faces until I started talking and they meandered close enough to see someone holding a calm, sweet mouse. Absolutely LOVE hearing "I never knew a mouse could be like this." I had one pest-control guy stop by and explain that he kills mice for a living, but he wanted to hold a live one that was calm and he kept quietly saying to himself "it's so different/it's so nice." I had so many people ask me "how much do you handle them to get them this tame" and be surprised the answer is "I do not handle them, this temperament is bred into their DNA." I had a lady who just... broke, standing there with a mouse laying in her hands calm as could be, and she said very quietly "do little kids hold these?" Just mystified.

I've learned now to say that they won't jump or bite because they are bred for show and have to be able to sit in a judge's hand without jumping or biting, and for some reason the judge part of this just clicks the info for people? Like I always say no they won't jump or bite, but they don't always believe me... but I say a judge has to be able to hold it? Every single person was like "oh" and just relaxed about it. Suddenly it's just like: Ah, Yes, this is a Professional Mouse.

Someone from my old job showed up, and didn't recognize me, though I recognized them. When I mentioned it, they said they'd left, too, they only "lasted" two months. I said I was there twelve years and they were like HOW and it's like my dude (neutral), I entered a fugue state in 2010 and quit the job 12 years later I guess. They ended up taking 2 mice home.

At any rate, I had fun as always. We have another one Saturday, so I'm hoping to sell the few that didn't sell today, and to bring a few more that weren't quiiiiite ready to go today. I wish the tricolors would get their act together and start breeding better, because I would LOVE to offer more of those. The siamese are working on it, which is great because those ALSO sell fast. But alas, I cannot make the mice go any faster than they want to go.

[eupheme]

— tooth and nail

alpha!logan x mutant!f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dub-con (logan goes into a rut), a/b/o-lite elements (logan-only - ruts/knots/mates), breeding kink, mutual pining, two jealous dummies, size kink, fighting as foreplay, return of The Claws (claw-play?), outercourse, biting, marking, come play, rough PiV sex 

a/n: pure pwp. reader has druidic-based mutant powers (wild shape, strong connection to nature/animals, influence over vines/foliage) and is from Earth-10005.

Logan knows this feeling. He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest. 

Should have told you no. Should have locked himself away like he always did. Instead, he’s stuck, unable to keep his mind from wandering while his sparring partner - sweat-dewed and squirming - is pinned beneath him. 

(Or - Logan’s rut begins at a most inopportune time)

Something wasn’t right.

It’s been settling under his skin for days now.  Tiny hooked claws, digging into flesh. A syrupy urge low in his guts, his mind not quite his own.

He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest. 

The world he lives in now is different. There’s humans, mutants, aliens. But none like him, answering to something innate that defined him in a way that didn’t matter anymore.

It’s been a while. Almost forgot how it felt, after years of tamping down this part of him. Should have recognized sooner what it was. This rippling, simmering irritation just beneath his skin, so much stronger than usual. 

Should have locked himself away, when he realized his rut was returning.

In his years in his own Earth, the urge had lessened. Dulled by alcohol and grief. Managed by himself, in the few months this part of his nature did visit him.

But he hadn’t been able to tell you no. Hadn’t been able to resist, not when you smiled so prettily at him, practically begging him. 

And the thought of you leaving him behind at the X-Mansion, while you went off without him - to spar with Hank, instead - made him want to rip McCoy’s arms off. 

Desire swirls around him now, as he trades blows with you. Your arms snaking around his shoulders as you shoulder a well-placed hit, bringing you both down the floor.

Logan feels like a pup again, watching your breathless laugh. The clench of your thighs around his waist. The heady throb low in his guts, the pressure of his cock as it strains against his suit. 

His hips lift, separating him from you. Trying to form an excuse, while his brain is rocketing into overdrive.

Fighting back the urge to close that gap again. To peel down those tight leggings that drive him mad, bury his mouth against your pussy and make you scream. Fuck you full of him, until he’s dripping out of you for days. 

The though makes him growl, as he tries to concentrate.

Tough to fake an illness, or injury. You’d see right through him.

Or even worse, worry.

So all he had to do was finish out this session. 

Shouldn’t be too hard. 

If you can just avoid touching him… he might just make it through. 

You know you shouldn’t let yourself get distracted like this while sparring with Logan, but you can’t seem to help it.

Not when you’ve been nursing this thing inside you for months now. Something planted from another earth, settling low in your chest. Infesting like the vines that sprout from you, taking over until you’re fully ensnared.

You’ve tried to ignore it. Didn’t want to ruin a good thing between you. 

Out of everyone in the X-Mansion, you got along with Logan the best. Used to a solitary lifestyle after being raised among the druids, before you knew the truth to what you were, the mutant lineage that flowed through you.

It had paired well with his temperament. His anger and grouchy quips slipped from you like raindrops on a leaf. Something about spending time with you softening him at the edges - just a little bit.

He was still the hard man he used to be. Grizzled, with that scowl of his and the flecks of grey at his temples.

And despite your efforts - forgetting and moving on hadn’t been successful. Not at all. 

Because it’s impossible to ignore when he’s close, like this. Pressing your back to the mat, your wrist slammed against the padded floor. A knife skittering away, because even after all this time - even with his insisting - you were still reluctant to use it.

It sends your pulse racing. He’s so fucking strong - and you think that maybe, even if you had been an equal pair, that you’d still throw these matches. 

Let him win, if it gets him like this. Sweaty and pressed up against you as you struggle beneath him. A thigh jammed between yours to prevent you from slamming your heel into his calf.

You’ll think about this later. 

You always do after your sparring sessions. You hand slipping between your thighs in the shower after. Bitten-back moans as you play out more in your mind - the plunge of your fingers inside your aching cunt until you’re shuddering with the pulsing pleasure, slumping back against the cold tile. 

The fantasies always comes back to him. 

You think that maybe Logan wants it too. Have felt his gaze on you when he thinks no one is looking, but your senses have always been keen. Animal attraction, perhaps. Pheromones. Something about his smell, his touch, beckons you - though you don’t understand what it means. 

And it’s only now that you realize he’s gone still above you. Eyes blown wide, a sharp breath of air inhaled through clenched teeth. A low growl, caught in his throat. 

Holding himself back. You can see it - the way his muscles string tight. How his eyes dip, flicking over your face. Down to the part of your lips. The sweat that dews your chest. 

Close enough that you can inhale him - the smell of leather and cigar smoke blending with more - something inside you giving them a name. 

Want. Need. 

It gives you courage. 

You bridge the gap, for a just a moment. A shallow lift of your hips. Encouraging, the movement pushing your tits against his heaving chest. 

“Bad fucking idea, sweetheart.” He growls.

It’s rough, low. Ground-out as if to himself, a wounded sound slipping from his throat. 

His response has a mark forming between your eyebrows. A soft murmuring of his name.

Logan’s face dips, eyes closing as he inhales. Then, without warning, his knuckles cradle against your throat. 

Wrist flexing as two of his claws spear forward on either side of your neck. Punching through the training mats and sinking deep into the concrete beneath.

Pinning you completely under him, your hips dropping as your free hand wraps around his forearm. A tug of fear ripples through you, but he doesn’t budge.

“Logan,” You repeat, gasping, “What are you doing? What’s wrong?

This isn’t like the times you’ve sparred before. He’s never drawn his claws. You don’t heal like he does - you both know it. Never using more than a loose fist, an open palm in your sessions. 

He’s breathing heavy. Holding himself over you, his other hand still wrapped firmly around your wrist. 

“I’m gonna let you go.” It comes out ragged, through clenched teeth.

“And then I need you to leave, and lock me in after.” Only now does he look at you - his dark eyes burning, “You understand?”

His voice is so rough that it makes your skin prickle. Heat licking down your spine, stoking the embers that have settled low in your belly. 

“I don’t.” It comes out hushed.

How can you? It’s like a flip has been switched, in those few moments. Did you truly misread everything? 

His eyes haven’t left your face. There a peek of his tongue against his lips, the words coming slowly, “Don’t wanna do something you’re gonna regret.”

And for a moment, time stands still. An ache in your chest that’s so different than the one between your thighs. Finger unfurling, reaching.

Slipping up his arm, touching his cheek. He flinches, eyes fluttering shut as he holds his breath. 

“What could I regret with you?”

If it were anyone else, the question would be stupid. You should be running from the man that has you pinned to the ground, claws drawn. Another twitch and you could be dead - the middle unsheathing to pierce clean through your soft throat.

“Whatever it is, let me help you.” Your voice is gentle - coaxing -  and for a second, he leans into the touch. Palm pressing against heated skin, and you gasp, “You’re burning up, Logan.”

“You can’t help me with this.” He rasps with his eyes closed, voice strained. 

Your head shakes, “Let me try.”

A long pause lingers. The room filled with the uneven intake of breath. Logan’s words coming slowly, as his eyes open - dropping down to your throat. And then away, like he can’t bear to even look at you, “Does the word rut mean anything to you?”

It feels like something stirs again inside you. The flutter of wings, not unlike the feeling when you tap into your power. Like threads slipping your fingertips, connecting you down to the earth below. 

“Animals have ruts. Deer, elk, creatures like that.” A beat, as you begin to understand. Heat flaring in your cheeks at the implication, “But, not… not humans.”

He grunts, shifting.

It takes everything not to let your chin tip down, to look. 

“They do where I come from.” 

Pieces start to fall in place. His increased irritability around you lately. Territorial. Aggressive. 

Blending in to what you know, in your connection to nature. Those animalistic instincts that linger in your blood long after you’ve shed your beast form. 

Desire. Mating. An urge to breed. 

Oh, fuck. 

You squirm and he makes a warning sound without thinking - a rough rumble from his chest. His weight shifting on top of you, still hovering.

“How do you handle it?” 

His eyes flicker up to yours, then away again. Jaw working, a breath before he answers, “Take care of it myself. Or, I’d find someone to work through it with me.”

Even as you’re scrambling to make sense of it, you understand his insinuation. It stuns you into silence. You cannot allow that. The thought sends your heart crashing into your guts. 

Your chin tips up, defiantly.

“Let me help you.” 

Those dark eyes narrow as they snap to your face. Your words softening, as your thumb sweeps across his skin, the scruff of his cheek.

“I want to help you.”

Logan laughs, the sound ragged. Showing the points of his canines with the shake of his head. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice is smoky-low. Rough as it scrapes across your skin, leaving goosebumps, “You couldn’t take me.”

Your heart feels like it’s pounding in your throat. Heat licking down your spine, and surely he can feel it - the flutter beneath the press of his knuckles. 

“I can.” It comes out breathy. Insisting. 

His tongue brushes over his lips as they part. A tilt of his head as he lowers himself. His knee pressing against the meat of your thigh, nudging. Opening your legs up further. Spreading them wider. 

“I will ruin you.” 

It’s growled in your ear. Each word coming slowly, as he lets the hard curve of his cock grind against your core. His meaning unmistakable, his voice pitching down with a ragged groan. 

“I want you to ruin you. You understand?”

And, you do. It floods through you, sending your nerve endings alight. Imagining how he would handle you, take you. The space between your thighs throbs. 

His admission - the rasp of his words and the heavy nudge of him against you makes you do something very selfish. 

And very stupid. 

You’re just able to reach your thigh holster now, with this new angle. The quick fumble of your fingers to loosen the small dagger.

The metal side of his claw pressing into your skin as your head turns. Before he can move, a flick of your wrist sends it through the air.

Your aim is slightly off, but it does the job. Seating itself in the control box by the door, a sizzle as the wires are cut.

A metallic snick as the doors lock. The lights click off, plunging the room into darkness. The ground bathed only with the stripes of sun that stretch across the floor from the row of window along the wall.

Logan lets go of your wrist, but leaves you pinned. His fist curling in the strap of your tank, knuckles pressing against your throat as he yanks you forward.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Logan snarls, “You want me to use you?”

His words make you whimper. A soft little whine that has his hips dropping further. An unconscious rut against your core, leg muscles flexing as you clench around nothing. 

You meet his second thrust, your body curving against his. Head tipping back as the seam of your leggings nudge against your clit.

“Fuck.” It almost sounds awed now, his words soft and slow, “You do, don’t you?”

Letting his full weight drop, as your hands grip onto his shoulders for purchase. You had thought you were pinned before, but he had still been using his knees, his elbows. Hovering, in an attempt to keep control.

Now, you can feel all of him, as his body maps against yours. Pulling a rough groan as his hips flex, grinding himself slowly against your core. 

“Logan, please.”

He growls. Fingers unfurling from your shirt. Ghosting down your side to fit against the curve of your hip. Biting into flesh with a bruising force, as his face buried in the crook of your neck. A hot exhale against your skin, as he pants - finding a rocking rhythm, as his body curls around yours. 

You can feel the way his muscles tense with each needy snap of his hips. The way each breath pitches into a near-silent whine, as he seeks friction. 

It’s not enough, as much as he wishes it was.

“I need-” Logan rasps, “Tell me to stop and I will.”

The hand on your hip snakes between you. Roughly tugging on the belt of his suit, until the clasp opens. All while murmuring assurances, half to himself.

“I’ll let you go. Work through it myself-”

That need he speaks of rolls off him in waves. Facial hair scraping against your cheek. The brush of his lips against your throat, just above the cool press of his claws.

“Don’t stop.” It’s easy to answer. Easy to lean into what he offers you, all those sweet promises wrapped in steel. 

The groan he makes is filthy, “Give me your hand.”

Your fingers unlatch from the vice-like hold on his suit. A broad hand wrapping around your wrist, as he tugs you where he needs you. The tips brushing heated skin, making you gasp. 

“Make a fist,” He rasps, “Fuck, that’s it.”

Lining himself up, pushing his bared cock into the circled grip of your fingers. Using you like a cheap imitation of what he craves, as his desire leaks from him. Slicking up your fingers, with each roll of his hips. 

He’s heavy in your hand. You can feel how your fingers stretch - flexing, opening, with each forward thrust. Barely able to circle around, fingers splitting when you reach his base. 

You can’t help but move with him. Hips rocking up, to match his messy rhythm. The knuckle of your thumb pressing against your seam, nudging at where you ache for him.

“I can smell you, sweetheart,” Logan moans, his nose dragging along the curve of your jaw. Lips parting so he can test his teeth against a spot under your ear, the pressure making you shiver, “Your pussy’s leaking, thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, as you whine. Squeezing his cock a little more tightly, wishing it was filling you instead just your fingers. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” He husks, “You think you can take it?”

You want anything he’ll give you. And anything is better than the way he’s teasing you. Palm slick with his desire, your own soaking through the soft fabric of your leggings.

“I want it. Want your cock,” You breathe, “Want to fuck me, please-”

There’s a final jerk of his hips against you, his voice gruff as his thighs shift.

“Stay still then, sweetheart.”

There’s the sharp rasp of adamantium against stone as they withdraw from the floor. His knuckles easing carefully from your throat as he leans back. Eyes dropping down, considering.

Barely a heartbeat before there’s the kiss of metal against skin, as the edge of a claw hooks under your shirt. Your breath held as it slips up, between your breasts. 

A tug, and the fabric is shredding. Fibers splitting until the drag of the sharp tips, from belly to throat. Baring you, the air in the open room chilling your heated skin as you gasp.

Nipples already pebbled as his mouth descends. A needy moan loosening when he kisses at the curve of your tits, his tongue flattening across a tight peak. 

Your arms wrap around him, their duty forgotten. Distracting you as his claws shift down. Your breath catches, but then there’s the sound of them sheathing - slipping back under his skin. 

His hands finding the slice he made in the waistband, making short work of the rest himself. Ripping your leggings open - dragging your thighs over his as he leans back on his knees. 

And looking down, it’s only now that you can fully see him. The familiar, worn yellow suit that shows off how broad he is. Zipper yanked down at the crotch, his cock pulled through with his impatience.

Eyes widening, when you realize there’s more to him than you though. Hanging heavy between his thighs, pretty and flushed. A thickened bulge sitting where your fingers had split - what you had mistaken for his base. 

“Need to be inside you, sweetheart,” Logan’s hand already wrapping around his shaft, dragging the tip across your cunt, “Don’t make me waste a drop, alright?”

Fingers tugging the gusset of your panties to the side. Letting the tip slap against your clit. It glides against you, slipping against your combined arousal. Seeing how you flutter as you clench, your own need spiking.

“Logan,” You beg, “Stop teasing, please-”

He makes a rough sound. Almost a laugh, if it didn’t sound so pained. 

“Just listen to you. Begging like you’re in heat,” He grunts, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need.”

The tip dips down, nudging at your entrance. Lining himself up, before his hips drive him forward. The sudden pressure chokes you - a bitten-back cry as your muscles string tight, thighs clamping down around his waist.

“Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this.” He growls. Spearing into you an inch at time with a long, fluid motion. Fingers biting into your thigh, holding you open as your own scrabble against the mat - searching for something to hold onto.

“Tugging down those leggings. Fucking you into the floor.”

You can barely contain the whine. Brow furrowed, as he splits you open. Your pussy making room for him until the swollen ring at his base cradles your entrance. 

Only able to inhale a short breath before he’s moving. Hands catching your legs, slipping to the joints of your knees where they press into his ribs.

Pushing your thighs back towards your chest, opening you up further, as his cock drags along your walls. He feels deeper, bigger - groaning at the way you clench so tightly around him.

Better than any of those daydreams, as he leans into you. Chasing that animalistic urge inside to bury himself fully in you, ensuring that you’ll take every drop.

Your fingers bite into his wrists. The breath pushed from you with each thrust, feeling like he’s deep in your belly, as that swell stretches at your opening.

“Thought about it too,” You admit with a gasp, as that heat inside you burns, “Wanted you, like this.”

“Yeah? I bet you did.” He grunts, as his thighs snap against your ass. Leaning over you now, eyes fixed on yours. Close enough that you can see the glaze to them, lost in his need for release. 

Before his eyes drag down. Seeing where you’re stretched around him. Another shallow nudge, urging himself deeper. His thumb pressing at your entrance, before slipping back to hook around the swell.

“Good girl like you’d take my knot too, wouldn’t you?”

His knot. Your head shakes. He barely fits at is. You can feel every ridge as he ruts into you, every thick vein, “I don’t think- Logan, that won’t fit-”

The thumb shifts up. Pleasure burning through as he rolls the pad across you clit. His brow pulled in concentration, but there’s a flesh of white teeth.

“Sure it will, baby.” It’s slick, how he touches you. His cock grinding again and again against a spot that steals your breath, “You were made to take it. We’ll make it fit.”

It makes you moan. Your fingers sliding into his hair tugging at him. He comes willingly, a soft sound as his mouth dips to press against yours. Turning hungry as your lips part. Rubbing at you as his tongue strokes against yours, deepening the kiss. 

The pleasure licks in your veins, a molten feeling building in your core. 

A rough murmur against your lips, “Tell me you want it. I’ll make you feel good, sweetheart.”

You parrot it back to him without thinking, hips chasing the press of his thumb. 

“I want it,” You keen, “Your k-knot.”

Willing to do just about anything he asks if he keeps touching you like this. If he keeps rutting against the spot that makes your arousal leak around his cock, each drive of his hips loud and messy in the quiet room. 

He groans, the hand at your thigh pinching, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. The fingers at your clit slipping up to splay across your abdomen, his palm hot again your skin. 

“Yeah?” Logan husks - pressing down, almost as if he can feel himself buried inside you, “Fuck, you’d look so good filled with my pups.”

His rhythm going sloppy, as a hand slips up to palm at your breasts, “These pretty tits nice and round. Wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you, baby.”

Some of his words are new to you, but your body still reacts to his tone. The need, the longing. An intrinsic understanding of what he wants, even if it’s impossible with your implant. It still doesn’t stop your hand from slipping down to replace his.

Of pretending, with him. 

The circles practiced, leaving him to concentrate on his own end. Soft panting cries pulling from you as the pounding of his hips drags you closer. 

He’s close, as well. Those sharp thrusts growing shallow, messy. Letting go of your thighs, letting them wrap around his waist as he drives you into the padded mats. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips pressing against your jaw. Tongue dipping out to drag against a spot on your neck that makes you go slack in his arms. 

“Should mate you,” He rasps. Teeth pinching down, where his tongue just was, “Bite you right here. Make you mine.”

The words tip you over the edge. A ragged gasp as your pussy clamps down around him, blood thundering in your ears. Nails catching on the panels of his suit as you cling to him, moans ripped from your throat as you pulse around him in time with your thudding heartbeat.

There’s no sharp bite of teeth. Just a muffled groan against your skin as he grasps at your hips. The sharp feeling of pressure increasing, as something thick works its way inside you. You keen as it stretches you, swelling so he can’t withdraw. 

Twin ragged moans, as you’re joined together. 

He comes with you squirming on his knot, his lips pressed against your throat. Sweet nothings murmured - “squeezing me so fucking tight, baby”, “gonna need you to take every drop, atta girl” - his cock throbbing as he spills inside you, pumping you full.

Still grinding into you. It draws your own orgasm out, with the way he’s rubbing against your walls, nothing left untouched. Overstimulation flickering at the corner of your mind, but you’re locked in place as he breeds you. 

Understanding what he meant by using you - you feel it now. Fucked out and boneless and it sends another gush of sticky need between your thighs. 

The sharp, panting breath starts to ebb. The ghost of his teeth becomes the nuzzle of his face, that strung-tight pull of his muscles turning liquid as he relaxes into your embrace. 

“Why were you so worried?”

It comes out hushed, in the now-silent room. You’re sore - will be, tomorrow. Pleasure-drunk certainly, but not quite as ruined as he promised. 

Almost to your disappointment. 

“That wasn’t too much.”

Logan laughs, the sound dripping with condescension. A flex of his hips, still knotted inside you. Cum leaking from your swollen pussy, smearing against your inner thighs.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He coos, “Ruts can last for days.”

His fingers drop, dragging through his spend. Finding your clit again, rubbing slick circles against the tight little bud. 

Intent on doing this one himself. 

“We’re only just getting started.”

[moodboard] // I had two ideas for his claws after the movie - this was the second one! This is my first time writing something like this, so keeping it a little light with the dynamics 💖 thanks for reading!

and speaking of - I have to link this amazing alpha!logan thot by the incredible @avocado-writing! please check it out! 💕

[envy-of-the-apple]

Monsoon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

10.1k wc

Synopsis: Four years after Toji Fushiguro died, Satoru decided to give his widow a visit

(Warnings: age difference (nothing underaged), dark content, AFAB reader, pregnancy kink, non con, overstimulation, piv sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, rough sex)

It was raining when Gojo Satoru entered your flat. 

Not particularly harshly, but more than enough for a scare. You weren't in the mood for visitors; the rain made you drowsy, and it was coincidentally your one day off. You wanted to lean against the window and watch the droplets fall against the pavement with a warm blanket. You did not want to exchange pleasantries with some kid. 

The only reason you didn't slam the door in his face was because he said your husband's name. 

It was why you were bringing tea to someone who clearly couldn't care less about it as he lounged on the sofa. You sat on the other end, staring at the scuffed coffee table. Out of anxiety, you play with the ring wrapped around your finger. 

"...He's dead?" 

It's a question, but you already know the answer. Gojo doesn't even bother to reply, humming, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. You still stare at the coffee table. It's slightly crooked. One of the legs was broken. Toji promised he'd fix it. 

That was four years ago. You hadn't seen him since. 

You should have expected this. You knew the kind of man Toji was even before he stuck that flimsy ring on your finger. The kinds of people he hung out with. The suspicious amounts of money he would shower you with. There would have never been a happy end for the two of you. 

You can still feel your throat close up, bile rise from your belly. You can't do anything but watch the old table you never threw out because he promised he'd come back and fix it. 

The only reason you close your eyes, sucked in a tight breath, was because you still had a guest over. One that clearly wouldn't care about your crocodile tears. 

You've never seen someone his age so apathetic before. That temperament was associated with the people of your generation. The people who've already been in the workforce, who carried stress on their backs and hips. You can't see his eyes, but the slouch in his posture is indicative enough. Maybe all kids his age were like this. Uncaring, indifferent, subtly disrespectful. 

Because he was a kid. It didn't matter how tall he was, how much bigger than you he was. A single look was all you needed to know that this boy was at least a decade younger than you. Unkept white hair, sunglasses despite the weather, a cocky smile, a voice oozing with misplaced confidence.

You don't acknowledge it; it's clear he didn't come here just to tell you your husband is dead. 

"How old's your kid? Eight?" Gojo tilts his head. "You gotta' know what that means, right?" 

You do. Even if you weren't steeped into the world your husband willfully left, you know enough. You know how important your son is. 

It's why you stop Gojo before he can make his offer. You've already heard this before, a week ago when men with Zenin as their last names knocked on your door. 

"Thank you for your concern," you tell him as calmly and respectfully as you can. For the first time, the man straightens up, as if your answer wasn't what he expected. You can sense he isn't used to being told no. 

 You keep your smile neutral, pleasant, final. 

"But we're fine as we are."

Moments later, when he's about to leave, you offer an umbrella, insistent on him taking it. It was raining after all. He takes it with him without any protest. 

You don't notice that, despite the downpour, he was perfectly dry when he stepped into your home.

☔︎︎

Megumi was always special. 

Every mother thinks that for their child. You're no exception. As soon as he was born, tiny in your arms, swaddled in blankets, something shifted within you. You'd always wanted children, but the concrete feeling of your child in your arms when he's so vulnerable. You'd never felt anything more right. 

To you, Megumi was always special. But when Megumi turned 5, he became special to the entire world. 

Toji was never tight-lipped about the world he came from. Shamans, sorcerers, shikigami, curses. You weren't an expert, but you certainly knew more than the average person. He'd often tell you things, when he was drunk, pulling you against his bare chest, underneath cheap blankets. You always heard the bitterness in his voice. That world had rejected him. It would reject anyone who wasn't special enough. Special people were rare. 

It's why you were convinced Megumi would never have to deal with any of that. His father wasn't a sorcerer, neither were you. He'd live a normal life and would only be special to you. 

"It's on your other shoulder." 

You switched hands, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. Like always, you couldn't feel anything. There was no weight on your skin, nothing tangible that you could grab and toss. There was just this small feeling of dread. A small ache in your bones. 

He waves a tiny hand. Instantly, the feeling of dread is gone. The ache lifts and you roll your shoulders. 

"Thank you," you tell him with a strained, but grateful smile. He nods, turning back to his food. 

"You're getting more, now," he simply says. 

"Haha, sorry," you reply instinctively because even though he's eight, you feel like you've burdened him. 

"It's okay," he mutters, quiet as always. His gaze flicks back up at you, before glancing back down. He takes a second to gnaw on his lip. 

"Are...are you okay?" 

You're being so obvious even your own son could see it. 

Your smile feels more forced as you placate him with the usual lie of 'Mommy's just tired, long day at work'. He doesn't buy it, but he doesn't say anything back. He's so much like his father in these moments. Truthfully, you didn't think Megumi got a single thing from you. His black hair is Toji's, his blue eyes are Toji's, his pale skin is Toji's, and even his forever-present scowl is your late husband's. You supposed that should have been the first sign: Megumi would be anything but normal. 

You hadn't told him about the visits. You're his parent, you had justified to yourself. He's a child. He doesn't need to know about the visits. Especially, considering you decided for him. Megumi would be raised out of the jujutsu world, away from curses, and sorcerers. 

You can't have your son taken away from you like his father was.

('Special Grade', Gojo had told you. A powerful cursed spirit. You hadn't gotten closure until you let him in. No body was ever recovered.)

You can't let your son end up like that. 

But was this the right life for him? You watch as Megumi's gaze trails up, like he's tracing the movement of a fly or something bigger that you would never see. 

You can't relate to Megumi. You don't have cursed energy. You can't see the things he can. As much as you loved him, you'd never be able to understand what he is. None of his classmates can. None of his teachers. It sounds lonely. Isolating. 

Only a handful of people that could ever give Megumi that connection exist. And they're willing to accept him with open arms. 

He had been an older man, flanked by another. They eyed your home with relative disgust; you, with mild derision. It'd been their words that echo in your head today. How much happier Megumi would be surrounded by his own kind. How the clan would welcome him and teach him to hone his technique. 

They were words that would sate the parent of a lonely boy, but you couldn't help but remember the disregard in his voice. Their words made Megumi sound like a tool, instead of a child. 

The offer of payment for your son was enough to turn them away. 

Was Gojo Satoru any better? From your brief encounter, you couldn't tell. There was always a smile on his lips whenever he talked about Megumi's future and Jujutsu Tech. The lilt of his voice felt fake, artificial. But at least he didn't ask to outright buy your son. 

When Megumi's tucked into bed, you pace around the living room. You glance at the slip of paper he'd left behind. The scrawl of numbers in neat handwriting. The thing he slipped into your unsuspecting hand. You've had a glass of wine before, maybe that's why your hands are a little more steady when you punch in the numbers. 

He picks up after the second ring. It oddly feels like he was waiting for your call. 

"Can jujutsu sorcerers live normal lives?"

There's a laugh on the other end. Light. Amused. 

"No," his response is cold, even when his tone isn't, "Even if they leave the jujutsu world, they will never have normal lives." 

The answer you were afraid of, but you weren't surprised. Special people rarely live normal lives. You knew what this meant: trying to protect Megumi from his father's fate would be pointless. No matter how far you run, no matter how far you take him, it will never be enough. 

"Does it really matter, then?" you ask, "who Megumi goes with." 

"In that sense, no, not really," his voice crackles back, "But I think you've already made your decision." 

You had days ago. You were just wasting time, picking up the phone only to drop it just as quickly. As much as you'd wanted to keep your son away from the jujutsu world, you knew, even before they knocked on your door, it was a failed endeavor. Megumi was special. Megumi was too special for you to hide. He shone too brightly. 

The Zenin clan would extinguish that. You knew it. Toji knew it too. It's why he took on your name. 

It's silent again. You bite your lip. You've been doing that a lot lately. 

"Gojo, may I ask a favor?" He gives a hum. 

"Please, don't tell him about Toji." 

There's a beat of silence. The line clicks. 

Two days later, Megumi meets the strongest sorcerer of the modern era. 

☔︎

There was always something clinical about Megumi's and Gojo's relationship. 

You wouldn't call them father-son, let alone brotherly. It was strictly student and teacher. From the start, it was clear Megumi wasn't impressed with the sorcerer. His scowl would somehow get deeper whenever the young man was around. 

Gojo didn't seem all that impressed either. He wasn't as blatant, but you could sense that it was a chore for him, rather than anything else. You don't think you can blame him. He's barely twenty. He should be doing other things. Living his youth, and continuing his education. 

Gojo grew up too fast. You can see it in his face. He's never not smiling, but it's never truly sincere. It's not clinical either. It looks exhausted. You wonder-if he wasn't wearing those glasses all the time-if you'd see dark circles. 

He's too young to be running around this much. He's too young to carry the entire world of jujutsu sorcery on his back. He's too young to be an educator. A mentor. 

Yet he is. Yet he does. All with a smile on his face. 

You're less intense nowadays to him. When Megumi comes home, clearly a bit more roughed up than when he left, you criticize Gojo less harshly. When you make lunch for Megumi, you ask if he'd like anything as well. Gojo has a bigger sweet tooth than your eight-year-old son does. You never nag him for it. 

The change doesn't fully happen until that fateful conversation. It's an offhanded remark he makes about him not being there to train Megumi for a few weeks because of a mission. 

"A curse?" you ask, as if they aren't all around you. 

Gojo grins because you've discovered he likes talking. "Reports are coming down from Sendai. The running bet currently is special grade." 

You frown. "Oh. Well, be careful." 

He freezes at that. You think he's staring at you, but you're not too sure. His glasses give away nothing. Your fingers dance with nerves. Had you said something wrong?

"What?" 

You tilt your head. "Oh! Uh, 'be careful'. Stay safe." You end your sentence awkwardly. 

Eventually, Gojo recovers. "Yeah. Well, obviously." He smiles. 

You watch him leave, keeping your eye on him until he disappears into the sleek black car. 

It doesn't occur to you until much later that Gojo probably hasn't had someone worry about him before. 

☔︎︎

Whenever Megumi's training continues much later in the evenings, you go to the Gojo estate to pick him up yourself. 

It's a grand house. Practically a mansion. You've never felt so embarrassed about your humble apartment until you saw the lavishness Satoru lived in. A part of you is now even more impressed by Megumi's stubbornness. Children are the first to fall for the affluent. 

It's big, but you've never quite gotten over how empty it looks. Every time you visit, there's always just Satoru. You haven't seen his mom, his dad, any siblings. It looks like a family home, but he's the only one who's ever there. 

He's never mentioned any family. You wonder what happened to them. Where they are now. 

Somedays, you arrive a bit earlier than needed. During that time, you tend to stroll through the gardens. They're so beautiful. Large and expansive. They're empty, however, just like that grand house. No flowers. Not even weeds. It's just a bunch of dirt and stones, plainly stacked on top of each other. It disappoints you a bit. The grounds had so much potential. 

"Whatcha' got for me this time?" You jump, whirling around. Satoru is right behind you, a teasing grin on his face. 

You give him a disapproving look, though it lacks any real heat. "I told you to stop doing that." 

"Doing what?" Though he may be twenty, he acts like he's younger than your son. Speaking of your child:

"Where's Megumi?" You prod, glancing behind Satoru, as though your grumpy child would pop up behind him. No such thing happens. Satoru's incriminating smile grows wider. 

"Homework," he cryptically replies, "also, he didn't want to disturb us adults having our grown-up conversations." 

"Of course he did," is all you say, but you acquiesce regardless, digging through your bag. 

You've always been taught to bring something when visiting another person's home. You found it rude not to, despite how casual Satoru acts around you. You discovered he liked sweets the most, so you have tried your best to satisfy his sweet tooth. He seems happy with whatever you give him. One thing you like about Satoru is how he cherishes all the gifts he's received from you without any complaint. You spotted the umbrella you'd given him all those weeks ago, sitting right by the door. He'd never given it back. You'd never asked for it. 

You try to ignore the feeling that the only reason he gets excited about your gifts is that it's rare for him to receive anything at all. Satoru doesn't need to be pitied. 

It's nothing too big, just a bag of saltwater taffy from an Americanized store. He's already ripping the package open, pulling one out of the wrapper to stick it in his mouth. 

You blink when he extends his hand, another piece of candy between his fingers. 

"Say 'ah'!" 

"Oh no, I'm fine. They're for you—" Satoru interrupts you by popping the piece right in your mouth. Your lips instinctively close. 

"Oh." You say after you taste the sweet. "Peppermint." 

He laughs, taking another one out for himself. You follow him through the abandoned gardens. 

"So, how's Megumi's-"

"Nuh-uh," Satoru immediately stops you, "enough about work. Let's talk about something else!" 

You roll your eyes, but your smile is too affectionate. You ask him about his latest trip overseas. He tells you about the country he visited, the curse he exorcised, practically giddy from excitement. Conversation starts there before moving onto other things, small talk, your job. 

"It's a shame the gardens are so empty," you say when the conversation reaches a lull. 

He stares at the bare patches of dirt with you. "When I was younger, the gardeners would take care of 'em for us. Flowers would bloom every spring." 

You feel him recoil. Satoru does that sometimes. Say something too intimate, hissing when it's too late to take them back. For his sake, you don't comment on it. 

"It must have looked beautiful." Is all you respond. Understanding, but closed enough to give him relief. 

You stand there in silence for a couple of seconds. In the dirt, you can see a tiny ant carrying a grain of sand. 

"Roleplay time!" Satoru suddenly exclaims. You whirl your head to look at him. "Imagine you become the great Gojo Satoru." You stifle a laugh at that. His grin only gets wider. "What kind of flowers would you choose?" 

Toji always thought bouquets were stupid. 'There's no point' he'd always say 'the weeds will just die anyway, why you somethin' like that?'. But sometimes, he'd bring home these tiny, golden flowers. Simple. Pretty. He'd tuck it behind your ear, grinning at his work. You'd kiss him in return. 

"Marigolds," you say at last. 

Satoru only hums in response. A few seconds later, he's leading you out of the garden, rambling about how expensive sushi was overseas. 

A few days later, you see men with barrels of soil, combing through the garden. 

A week after, tiny golden flowers start poking through the dirt. Simple. Pretty. 

☔︎︎

You had that same dream again. The day Toji left. 

It's rare to have these dreams. They wouldn't leave you alone the first year he'd disappeared. Back when you thought he'd gotten bored of you and your son, like he'd finally decided he was sick of the family life. 

They come back sporadically, nowadays. You can't sleep after you have them, so you often find yourself curled up in the living room, looking at the window. It was raining. Heavy droplets thud on the glass. The violence seems desperate somehow. Like the weather is begging to be let in, to snuggle underneath the warm blankets too. 

On nights like this, it's a habit to stare at the tiny golden band on your finger. You slip it off, holding it in your palm. It's nothing extravagant—tiny with a simple design—but it's the last thing you have of him. Toji was never that sentimental. 

It's not really a dream. Dreams are more whimsical, cloudy. You can remember everything, down to the outfit he'd been wearing, the fly that had been buzzing around your door. It was like you were there all over again, begging him not to go. 

"You promised you'd stop." 

"This is different," Toji said and you flinched when he tucks away his gun. You thought he'd gotten rid of it. 

"The money?" You're pressing, "we have enough money, you-" 

"This isn't about fuckin' cash," his voice cuts through you, sharper than any blade he carried. 

"It's somethin' else. Somethin' you wouldn't understand. It goes beyond money." 

Your gaze lowers, curling your fists on the table. You can't understand, not when he refuses to tell you. Not when he barely explains why he's going back to his old ways in the first place. 

Sensing he's upset you, Toji sighs. You can hear him place something down on the dining table, metallic and clanky. Calloused, rough fingers brush your cheek, your jaw, coaxing you to look at him. You don't, forcing him to lean forward, giving a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips are rough, cracked, but overwhelmingly gentle on your skin. 

"I love you," Toji mutters into your skin. 

You don't respond. You wish you had, you wish you'd gotten over your pride and told him because maybe then he'd still be here with you. He's giving another sigh, tucking your hair into place before he's leaving. He closes the door behind him. 

That day, you told yourself you wouldn't forgive him. Whenever he came back, you'd tell him you were done. You'd take Megumi and you'd leave. 

Now, you think you would have forgiven him. Eventually. It would have taken a while, a lot more than measly flowers and apologies. But, if he had come back, you would have let him back into your heart.

"Couldn't sleep?" you ask. 

Megumi blinks his eyes. It's past his bedtime, but you aren't going to nag him for it. You place the cup of steaming tea down on the coffee table, clicking your tongue when it wobbles. Right, four years later and you still hadn't fixed it,

"The rain was too loud." He gives. 

Wordlessly, you invite him into the cocoon you'd nestled yourself into. The sofa sinks under his weight as he settles next to you, leaning against your side. You tuck the warm blanket around his tiny body. He's still small enough to fully wrap your arm around him, bringing him even closer. You take advantage of it. You don't know how much time you have until he's too big to cuddle with anymore. 

His breaths are even and slow. He's a boy of few words, but even you think he's asleep until he's mumbling something into your ear. 

"I hate him." 

You give a confused hum, leaning down, resting your head on top of his. The coffee table looks even more uneven at this angle. It burns to even look at, these days.

"He makes you cry, even when he's not around anymore." 

You laugh at that. It's a quiet huff. When you glance down, you think you spot a faint smile on the boy's lips. He’s so much like his fathers, in the little things. You don’t think you will ever tell Megumi that. You don’t think he’ll take that observation well.

"I wasn't crying.” You tell him. “I was just thinking.”

He doesn't give a response after that. A few minutes later when you look down again, his eyes are closed, and he's drooling against your shoulder. You laugh again before gently gathering your son in your arms and settling him down to bed. 

The next day, you notice the monstrous amount of duct tape wrapped around the leg of the coffee table. When you ask Megumi about it, he just shrugs, his ears twinging a bright red. 

You throw the coffee table away. It's replaced by a new one the following week. 

☔︎︎

Satoru didn't like talking about Toji. 

You only tried prying once or twice. He was tight-lipped about it. Not quite cold, but he'd shut the conversation down quickly, more than eager to talk about something else. You missed it the first few times, but it became clear that Satoru disdained even the mention of your late husband. You can't tell if it's whether Satoru admired Toji enough that the mere mention of his name sends him into grief, or if it's something a lot more complicated. 

Now that you think of it, you barely even knew the relationship Gojo had with Toji. Had they been close? Was he just an acquaintance? Satoru had always been so cryptic about it. 

Toji hadn't. 

"He's called the strongest man?" you ask, amusement twinged in your voice, "I thought he was 12." 

"They don't care about age when giving titles," Toji replied.

You were leaning onto his shoulder, watching your son sleep in his crib. Only three months old and he had this permanent frown on his face, as if he was already sick of the world. 'He already acts like you' you once told your husband. He'd scoffed, but he didn't disagree. 

"That's a little funny," you find yourself saying. "What, can he lift a car? Does he benchpress 200?" 

Toji doesn't find the image of a child casually lifting 150lb weights as funny. He only grunts, drawing you closer. 

"I met him once," he says after a beat of silence, "back when he was barely older than a toddler." 

"Hm?" you prodded, still mesmerized by a sleeping Megumi, "what'd you think?" 

"Power," Toji responds, "more power than I'd ever have." 

You tear your gaze away from your son, glancing at your husband. Toji's eyes were looking somewhere, farther than you could see. It's the envy in his voice that you can't help but keep. A mere child already has everything Toji could ever want. Strength, a name, honor. 

You should have realized then that Toji would never belong to you. Not truly. His heart, whether or not he swore up and down otherwise, would always belong to the Jujujtsu world. It's a tragedy. Someplace that he always longed for acceptance, will never truly see him. Even when he died for it. 

Satoru will probably never answer your questions about Toji, but perhaps you could get close. 

"Why did you do it?" 

It was after dinner. Satoru had dropped your son off, and you had practically dragged the white-haired man inside with you, sitting him down on the dining table. He'd complained, but you know he secretly liked being coddled. He didn't deny the second helpings, nor the thirds. Sometimes you wondered if he was a man or a black hole. 

Megumi had already gone to bed, and you supposed he had enough of Satoru for one day. It left you and him in the kitchen, putting away the dishes. Rather, you put away the dishes, and Satoru watched. Not that you minded. It was nice to have company. 

"Hm?" He was typing away at his phone, blearily turning back to look at you. You couldn't get why he didn't just go home if he was so uninterested. 

"Why did you interfere when the Zenin came?" You repeat your question, putting the last of the plates in the dishwasher. 

Looking back, things could have gone much differently for you. For your son. You didn't realize how much power the Zenin clan had back then. Had Satoru not stepped in, had you kept rejecting them, you honestly wonder what sorts of drastic measures men like them would take for the sake of power. 

"Are you upset?" He asks, tilting his head. 

"Of course not." You smile. You were grateful for Satoru, you always have been. He's helped your family out in more ways than you could imagine. After all he's helped Megumi with, there was nothing Satoru could do to get you mad at him, hate him, not truly. 

"I was just wondering. It's not like you had an obligation to." 

You close the dishwasher with a soft click. The machine starts with a soft hum. He doesn't reply, not for a long while, when you look up, you see him staring back at you. His sunglasses were off, folded, tucked under his collar. 

"Clans are bullshit." You're surprised by the venom in his voice. There's a cinch in his jaw. You wonder how many years his hatred has been festering like this. 

"The entire Jujujstu world is, honestly. But clans are the worst of all. The hierarchy. Traditions. All dogshit. They'd gobble the kid and spit him back out. I-I didn't want him-" He stops with a hiss, like he'd said too much.

This time, you don't let him run away. 

"...you didn't want him to end up like you." You finish. 

It clicks, fits together like a jigsaw piece. The Gojo name had ruined Satoru, turned him into something he was too young to be. The name forced him to grow up faster, stronger. The name forced him to be isolated, lonely.

That conversation with Toji curls up inside of you. Back then, you'd only empathized with Toji's pain, but what about Satoru's pain? What about the amount of expectations that had been piled on top of a 12-year-old boy? What about the responsibilities he's forced to carry, each weight growing heavier and heavier but he can't break because he is Gojo? 

Satoru stands before you, but you can easily picture him as Megumi. Tiny, small Megumi who didn't speak much but whose heart was bigger than anyone you knew. He could end up like Satoru. Standing at the top of the mountain. All powerful. All alone. 

You don't want Megumi to be alone. 

You don't want Satoru to be alone. 

"Satoru." You step forward. "Could...could I give you a hug?" 

He doesn't respond. You step closer. No barrier. 

When you wrap your arms around him, you think you can feel him tremble. It takes a moment for him to catch up, for his arms to drape across your back. You clutch onto him tighter, silently promising not to let go until he does. 

He doesn't, not for a long while. 

☔︎︎

Satoru had a mission on his twenty-second birthday. So, you celebrate five days after he turns twenty-two. 

"Again," you say for the nth time, "If-if you have other plans, or anything else, I don't have to stay-" 

"Will you stop it, already," Satoru interrupts, "You're gonna make me depressed. I already told you, I got no other plans." 

 "Well," you frown, "if you change your mind, and you'd rather spend time with your friends..." 

"What other friends? You're the only one I got." 

You frown at that. He smiles, barely lingering on his loneliness. He does that a lot lately, brush it off. Perhaps it's become easier to. Perhaps it's because you're here now. 

The sun had already set on the Gojo estate. The stars were already out. Typically, you would have been antsy staying too late over, especially when Megumi was still home, but your son was a few cities over. He was training with another sorcerer, his new mentor stating that your son wouldn't be back for a couple more days. 

Wait, now that you think of it. 

"Satoru," you say, your voice heavy with disapproval, "Did you send Megumi off purely because it was your birthday?”

He grins wider, showing off his pearly whites. "No idea what you’re talking about." 

You frown harder. He clicks his tongue in distaste.

"It's not like the kid would wanna come celebrate anyway, and now you can focus on me! Two birds one stone." He flops on the couch.

"Satoru." 

"Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!" Satoru chants, as if that'll distract you. 

Unfortunately, it does. You roll your eyes, but you lean down, pulling out the pastry out of the bag. It's nothing special, and you do not consider yourself an expert in baking. It certainly isn't fancy, but you were still a little proud. Simple, a small chocolate cake, perfect for two.

Satoru stares. 

"I know it isn't much-" 

"I love it," he says and you can't tell if he's joking or not, "I'm gonna make it a family heirloom." 

You laugh at that. It shakes your shoulders. 

"I don't think cakes are built to last that long. How about you just eat it, instead." 

"Much better plan," Satoru responds, grabbing a fork, eager to dig in. 

He yelps when you slap his hand away as you give him a stern look. You touched his skin. You try not to linger at that, at the fact that he let you touch him. 

"Not now," you say, but you still smile, "you need to blow out the candles first." 

He huffs but doesn't protest when you stick two candles into the soft frosting. It takes a while to work the old lighter; you have to shoo him away when he tries to snatch it from you. You force Satoru to sit there for at least a minute as you sing the dreadful happy birthday song. He doesn't seem to mind, a mean grin growing on his face, letting you finish up the lyrics. 

Toji was mortified every time you managed to stick a birthday hat onto him, dragging him to the living room for his cake. He'd hold his infant son in his arms, his frown even less amused. Even then, he never interrupted the stupid tradition you put him through. He'd sit through the entire ceremony, Megumi asleep on his chest. A scowl would twitch on his lips whenever you managed to smear a dab of frosting on his nose.

You clap when Satoru blows out the candles. 

"What did you wish for?" You ask minutes later, swallowing down a bite of frosting. He was already on his third piece. You know you should tell him to slow down but you don't think it will do much. 

"If I tell you, it won't come true," Satoru responds, his tone light.

"That's a myth," you point out, "but keep your secrets if you must." 

You set your plate down when Satoru speaks the next time. 

"I wished for us to do this again." 

His voice is shallow, echoing throughout the empty house. You look at him, his white hair, his pink lips, his blue eyes. Everything that encompasses Gojo Satoru is focused entirely on you.

"That next year, we'll celebrate the exact same way." 

He sounded so small, as though he were younger than 22. Perhaps, a part of him was. A gentle smile spreads on your face. 

"Of course we will," you assure, before your voice gets teasing, "the next year, the year after that, and the next year until you get sick of me." You laugh. He doesn't laugh back. It's silent again, the kind of quiet that's full and meaningful. Distantly, you hear a clock ticking somewhere. It's a nice night. Peaceful. God, you were so tired from all the stressing you did for the cake. Satoru wanted to watch a movie after the cake cutting, but you wonder if he'll forgive you if you fell asleep during the film. You were exhausted. 

That's why it takes you a second to register his lips are on yours. 

The kiss is soft, and patient. His mouth moves slowly against yours. You can taste the chocolate. It takes a second to understand what Satoru was doing that he wasn't Toji before your hands are moving, reaching up to his shoulders, keeping him there as you shy away, breaking the kiss. You two stay like that for a few more moments, still touching. You can hear your breath, feel your heartbeat. A little while later, he moves closer, intent on following your mouth, before your brain kicks in and you're shutting him down, standing up. 

Satoru blinks up at you, the realization of rejection sinking into his eyes before you stumble over yourself to apologize because, dear god, you should have seen this coming. 

"I'm so sorry, Satoru," your voice is coming out in clumps, "I never meant to... I always thought...I'm a decade older than you." 

The ocean eyes crystalize, turning into cold tanzanite. You're too muddled with guilt and self-hatred to notice. Of course, Satoru would take things the wrong way. Of course, he'd misunderstand. You always thought he was wise for his age, but he's still in his early twenties. You should have been better and made your boundaries known. God, you were so stupid. 

"So?" he asks, but his voice lacks the usual snark. "Who cares how old you are?" 

You resist the urge to say something accidentally condescending. 'You'll understand when you're older' stings in the back of your tongue, and you wonder if it's fair to say considering how you acted when you were younger than Satoru­­-- when Toji was an older man who found you amusing enough for dinner and a warm bed. 

It's different now. You were older, wiser. Toji had been a mistake. A mistake you miss every day. 

"Of course, you don't," you say, and despite it all, a laugh fumbles out your throat. Shaky, delirious. "Again, I'm so sorry. It's entirely my fault-I-I should have communicated things better."  

"Why does any of that matter?." It's his turn to stand up, and it makes everything so much worse because Satoru's taller than you. "It doesn't, not to me. I lo-" 

"Stop."

It's not a yell, but it's the harshest tone you've ever used on him. Still, it's enough for his breath to falter, to give you a moment of reprieve because the only other person who said that to you and meant it died six years ago. You touch the cold metal of your ring. You twist it around your finger. When Satoru's eyes gaze down, following your movements, you force yourself to stop self-soothing. 

The ticking of the clock starts back up again. You want to smash it. 

"I should go."

You already know it's a bad idea. You shouldn't leave Satoru alone. You should stay, sort things out, mend his heart, but you're human. You want to run, sort yourself out first. You want to take the cowards' way out. Satoru doesn't stop you. You can't bear to look at him, not when it's so much to even be here. Your mind is already being thrown into disarray and you're barely remembering to grab your purse. 

Your hands rest on the door when you pause. You don't bother turning around. You know he's already looking at you. 

"Happy birthday, Satoru." 

For some reason, you cry the entire ride home. 

☔︎︎

Surprisingly, it's Megumi who asks about it. 

It'd been a week since you'd last spoken to Satoru. Communication stills, and stops completely. It goes both ways, he doesn't randomly pop by anymore, scaring the daylights out of you. You no longer buy strange-sounding sweets because you know you won't be seeing him later. One week ago, Satoru was there. The next, he wasn't. 

"Has he said sorry yet?" 

You jolt up, staring at your son. Megumi is still glowering at the vegetables you'd put on his plate. At this point, you know he doesn't hate the food. He just always looks like that. 

"What?" 

"He obviously did something to you." He mutters. "Did he at least say sorry?" 

No matter how uninterested your son always portrayed himself as, he was very observant. Of course, he would. As much as you loved Megumi, you wish he'd be just 10 percent less attentive. 

You force yourself to laugh anyway. "Satoru didn't do anything." You assure. "What makes you say that?" 

"The idiot's been sulking all week," Megumi responds, "everyone's been wondering what's up with him." 

You give him a disapproving look, but you doubt it did anything. Instead, you glance down, mindlessly poking at your plate. 

"Don't call him that," you say softly.

Megumi only shrugs. Despite everything, you still have this strange urge to defend Satoru, if only to save your own dignity of fighting with someone 10 years younger than you.

"Nothing happened. It-it was a misunderstanding, that's all." You hope your smile doesn't look uncertain. He's only ten, but he's already so perceptive. You don't think it's enough to convince him. Your smile drops. You roll your shoulders. 

Another thing you should have seen coming. Of course, Megumi would notice. Despite how annoyed Megumi acts around him, there's still a sort of bond between the two boys. A connection between two sorcerers, something you will never have with your son. You were wrong about your initial assessment about their relationship. They were much closer than you thought. Satoru cared about Megumi, as did Megumi about Satoru. Your souring relationship with Satoru might break that. . 

Your actions have consequences. To everyone, not just yourself. 

"I'll talk to him soon about it, I promise." As if to placate him further, you reach over, patting his hair. He frowns deeper but doesn't make a move to shove you off. 

To your chagrin, soon comes later that evening. Satoru breaks the ice first with a single text. 

you free tomorrow

It's nothing like him. No emoticons. No exclamation marks. You say yes, regardless. The next evening, you step out of the taxi, thanking the driver before stepping onto the Gojo property. 

It was raining, barely a drizzle, not enough to make you want to bring an umbrella. Still, the air was chilly, just enough so that you clutched the coat covering your body tighter. You carefully avoid the puddles adorning the sidewalk. 

You agreed to come here, but it's hard to keep that in mind as you climb the patio steps. You stand in front of the door for an entire minute, counting each second, before you knock. 

"Finally! Took you long enough." 

It's hard to look at him. Already, your gaze threatens to waver. You force yourself not to wrap your arms around your sides. For once, you're glad he wears those sunglasses of his. 

Satoru, on the other hand, barely looks affected by the encounter. He's dressed well, in a white collared shirt and black pants. He smiles cheerily, widening the door so you can step inside. You thank him when he wordlessly mentions for your coat. 

Your eyes catch the living room, along with the coffee table. There'd been a half-eaten birthday cake the last time you'd been here. Now the table is completely clean. You wonder what Satoru had done with it. You hoped he threw it away because the thought of him sitting there, alone, finishing the pastry filled you with so much guilt you could almost feel sick. 

"Did you see the weather just an hour ago?" He asks offhandedly, "thought the rain would smash through my windows, from how loud it was." 

"Oh?" You ask genuinely because you honestly hadn't noticed anything regarding the weather. You'd been stressing about the reunion, mind too preoccupied to care about the skies. 

"'hope the violets survived. I just planted 'em yesterday." He glances out the window as though he could see through the sheets of rain. You hum, already feeling out of place. The silence is only accompanied by the rain lightly patting on the windows. 

"You still love him." When you don't answer right away, Satoru turns back. "That Zenin guy. You love him." 

It catches you so off guard that you can't help but tell the truth. You nod once. 

He's still smiling, but the air feels off somehow. Like you're passing unmarked territory. It's a silly thought, and you brush it off immediately. Despite how strained your relationship is currently, Satoru isn't dangerous. He never will be. 

"Yeah," he responds, "I just don't get why, y'know?" 

You try to smile, but it's like pulling teeth. "I-I don't see how-" 

"It just doesn't make sense. You and him, I mean. You two are so different." 

You couldn't argue with that. Toji and you were on opposite ends. He was from a world that you would never be able to reach, let alone touch. You were a regular woman. He was a man who fought curses on a regular basis. A man who died from it. 

Satoru's laughing; it takes you a moment to realize you might have said some of that out loud. 

"Right. Fuck I keep forgetting that's what I told you." Satoru leans against the counter. "A special grade killed Zenin." 

"I mean, technically, I didn't lie, right? A special grade did kill him. A special grade sorcerer." 

Your brain stops. You can only stare. Satoru reaches up, taking off his glasses, folding them before neatly placing them on the counter. His eyes were always so breathtaking; now they look empty. Soulness. 

You laugh. It sounds delirious. "But-but you said you were one of the only special grade sorcerers around." 

"Yeah." Satoru nods along. 

"Satoru...you're not making any sense..." 

"Really?" Satoru tilts his head. "What part of 'I killed your husband' is confusing for you?" 

He continues at your silence. "I mean, it wasn't like it wasn't for a good reason. The guy shot a junior high girl for cash. Knowing him, he's probably done worse. If you're asking me, I did a good thing by killing him--oh." Satoru pauses at your expression: horrified, broken.

He's smiling. You think that's the worst part. It's the same smile he's always worn. Playful and mischievous. 

"C'mon, you seriously didn't know what he was up to. I can't tell whether you're that stupid or if he was that good at hiding it." 

You should have denied it. You should have said Toji would never do the heinous act Satoru just accused him off, but can you? Could you honestly say that? You knew Toji was in bad shit. You'd always known that. He told you about the gambling, the drugs, the money. After he married you, he promised he walked away from that life, he was walking away with you. One last job, he'd said. Just one last job and he was done forever. 

Something that goes beyond money, Toji had said, something you would never understand. 

You can hardly breathe, sinking against the wall behind you as you collapse onto the floor. Your hands are pressed against your mouth, muffling your sobs as your eyes are filled with tears. Every interaction you've ever had with Toji is flitting through your mind. You can feel the bile in your stomach, threatening to leave your lips, splatter across the floor. 

Your husband was a murderer. 

Your husband was a monster. 

His fingers are cold as he firmly pushes your hands away from your face. You glance up. Satoru stares right back. His smile is gone, replaced by a frown. He squats before you, idly tracing his pointer figure around your cheeks, catching your falling tears. 

"He took everything from me, y'know," he says, quiet, low enough that the rain almost drowns his voice, "in just a day, my entire life changed. Someone died. A person I thought would be by my side my entire life disappeared." 

"But, I gotta' thank him. Without his help, I wouldn't have become stronger, and I wouldn't have you." 

You suck in a breath at that, but Satoru isn't paying attention. His hand traces down to your neck, feeling the skin. 

"I like to think that he gave me you as an apology of sorts. It's nice to think of it that way, right?" 

You look at him, absolutely horrified at how casual he was being. 

Your husband was a monster. 

And he’d left you with another one. 

Immediately, you slap his hands away. 

"Stop." You say, a weak hiss, "don't-don't touch me. Never ever touch me-" 

"Yeah," he interrupts, ignoring your wavering voice, "I didn't think you would jump into my arms after what I said, either. But, hey, a guy can dream, right?" 

What? And before you can think, he's pressing his lips against yours. 

It's not like his first kiss. Before, when it was soft and sweet and he barely pushed, like he was savoring you. This kiss was harsh. Filled with teeth and lust and endless greed. You can taste the inexperience, and the thought that this might be the second time Satoru’s ever kissed someone fills your head. The fight is almost pathetic as you sink into his hold, helpless to do anything but wilt until he's had enough of his fill. You push against his chest, but he only leaves on his terms.

You're both panting, but you're more frazzled. His lips are blushing pink, and there's a string of saliva that stretches before snapping apart. You can feel the way his hands are positioned on your hips. Disgust and self-hatred wells up within you.

"I meant what I said that day: I love you." You squeeze your eyes at his confession. "I mean, what's there not to love? You're sweet; you're hot."

His hands play with the hem of your shirt. You stiffen as you try to claw them off of you, but it doesn't help. You don't want to look, but you just can't help yourself. It's morbid curiosity. Looking at a car crash. Your eyes open and you stare at Satoru. 

"But I think the thing I love about you the most is that you'll never hate me." 

Two glowing blue eyes stare back at you. He looks ethereal like this. Even when he's kneeling, he's still taller than you. He's always been above you. Not just in height, you're slowly starting to realize. 

You always thought Satoru hated his last name. You always thought he blamed his lineage for his loneliness, his isolation. He grew up too fast, forced to become something for the sake of others. It's why you tried so hard to treat him like an equal, as though he were another human. 

When he leans in to kiss you again, you finally understand that Gojo never wanted to part from his last name. Why would he? It was always a part of him. It was your fault for trying to humanize and connect with him. You fought for years to see him as an equal that you neglected to ask if he even wanted to be on the same plane as you. 

Perhaps, once he did. Back when candlelight illuminated his face. When chocolate was the only thing you could taste.

"You can't hate me." He smiles against your lips. "You feel too sorry for me." 

"No matter what I do to you, you'll never hate me." 

You start crying again. Satoru hushes you, wiping away your tears in a way that suggests he's not used to being soft and delicate. Yet, he's trying to be. Soon, his gentleness fades, and his impatience seeps in again. It's all too easy for Satoru to haul you to your feet. He was the strongest, after all. You struggle anyway because you're human and your heart is filled with foolish hope. He laughs at your meager attempts to push him away, and you feel that this is all a game for him. Maybe it always was. 

"Satoru-Satoru," you're begging as he pulls you through his empty house, "you don't have to do this. Please just-" 

"See? You still aren't getting it." Satoru sighs, like he's disappointed before he's tossing you in a room. You flail against the bed, your chest pressed against the cushions before he's flipping you onto your back. It's worse when he's hovering over you, both hands on either side of your head, caging you in. 

"I'm not doing anything I don't want to do. I never have." 

You expect Satoru to kiss you again, that disgusting display where he rips you apart with his teeth, consuming you whole. Instead his pretty blue eyes flit to your clenched hand. He snatches up your wrist, easily unfurling your hand.

You react too late, only reaching up to stop him when he’s done pulling the ring off your finger. Satoru barely gives it an unimpressed look before he’s tossing it aside. You can only stare in the direction of it, watching as the last thing you had of him drops into the darkness. There’s two metallic clinks before it’s rolling to a stop. And then, you hear nothing.

He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved, dipping his head into the crook of your neck.

“I was so sick of looking at that.” He mumbles into your skin, giving it a playful nip. “Parading that thing around in front of another man like that. It’s kinda’ rude, y'know?”

You give another sob when his hands dig underneath your shirt. He presses on the softness of your belly, burying his face deeper into your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He groans into your neck. You can feel something press against your thigh.

You know what he was planning on doing, he made it clear ever since he dug himself into your skin with fangs. But the evidence. The hands twitching up your shirt, groping and feeling. The bulge grinding against your thigh

You can’t fight him, you stopped trying. Instead, you clench your fists again, letting the last of your tears drip down your face, praying and praying that what Satoru said wasn’t true.

Satoru isn’t nice to your clothes. You don’t know why you thought he ever would be. When he’s done with feeling and not looking, he pushes your shirt up, letting it catch just over the swell of your chest. He’s pushing your bra down, leaning down to trace your skin with his hot, wet tongue.

You jolt at the contact. It’d been so long since you’ve last been touched. He’s barely done anything and yet you’re already so sensitive. Something between a gasp and a moan is pulled out of your lips when Satoru swirls his tongue around your nipple, before he takes it fully in his mouth.

He’s tasting you, savoring you in a way you’d only seen him do for his cherished candy. He’s messy with it too, drool and spit spilling onto your skin, making you feel even colder than you already were.

Satoru has never stopped with just one candy, has he? He’s greedy, popping another and another in his mouth until the bag is all empty. It’s his natural essence to take until there’s nothing left. That’s why his hand trails down to your skirt, pushing it down before you can even decipher what he wants next from you.

You gasp when his hand presses against your panties, pushing them between your folds. The fabric lightly brushes against your clit, not enough for you to have any kind of relief. Still, a tingle jolts up your back.

“You’re soaked!” Satoru’s exclaiming. His voice comes out in the form of a laugh, light and innocent. It hurts to hear him sound like that. You have no more tears to cry again.

You want to tell him that it wasn’t you, that you don’t want him, that it’s just your body, but you doubt he cares about any of that. He pushes your panties down, letting them sit against your thighs before he’s pushing a finger deep into your wet pussy.

You can’t stop the noises this time. It’s more of a yelp than a moan, but Satoru takes it in stride as he continues to finger fuck you. When he digs a second finger into your hole, there’s a wet squelch of a sound. You have to turn away, but you can feel his smile against your skin. Victorious.

His other hands comes, pushing in between your breasts to keep you on the bed as he plants butterfly kisses down your ribs, your stomach, your hips, all the way down until he’s practically on his knees.

You were right to assume his inexperience. He’s sloppy, spreading his saliva and your wetness all over your pussy. There’s no rhythm, no clear pattern as he’s trying everything at once--swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit before licking his way into your hole.

And yet, it’s working. Your battered cunt responds to his enthusiasm, and your walls squeeze his fingers.

You can’t stop your noises. You don’t think he’s trying to stop his. His voice is muffled by your pussy, but he’s moaning and groaning so loudly. You think he’s saying something, but you can hear anything over the wet sounds of your cunt, the throbbing between your ears.

Your orgasm was inevitable, but you’re still surprised when it hits. Ramming into you like a train. Your back arches, and your thighs are involuntarily squeezing Satoru’s head. Keeping him there.

There’s a hum of satisfaction coming from him, but he doesn’t pull away. He folds your thighs, pushing them up into your chest so he can get more access to your pussy, sucking even harder on your clit. You were so far out of it that you can barely remember that this isn’t for you. It’s all for him. Satoru is greedy. It’s his natural essence to take and take until you’re nothing more than an empty bag, once filled with something sweet.

He doesn’t stop until you’ve come around his fingers and tongue a second time, when your cries are on the brink of overstimulation. When Satoru finally pulls away, the bottom half of his face is shiny. He keeps his eyes on you, messily wiping the remnants of you off his face before his leaning forward to kiss you, letting you taste yourself.

Unlike you, he doesn’t bother undressing himself. He’s unraveling his belt from his waist, pushing his pants down enough that he’s able to untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s already hard, giving his dick two cursory pumps before he’s settling his on either side of your body, keeping you there.

He’s big. Big enough that you worry he might actually succeed in breaking you. A semblance of rebellion, motivated by fear than anything else, stirs inside you. You push yourself up, elbows pressing against the mattress before he’s ending it.

There’s a grin, a flash of teeth, before he’s roughly pushing you down again.

“Satoru-“You start, you beg.

“Shut it,” he says, his smile too dangerous to be friendly, “if it isn’t begging me to fuck you, then I don’t wanna hear it.”

As though he’s taking the sight in himself, he hovers over you. The light from the window gently caresses his face in an angel kiss. His white hair is almost like halo, swathing him in an innocent shade of beauty.

When Satoru sinks his cock deep inside of you, you wonder if he’s defiling you or himself.

Just like before, he doesn’t bother letting you acclimate. He doesn’t wait, he doesn’t hold off. You can’t expect him too. Your pussy is squeezing him, edging him on. How could you expect him to not take it as a challenge and fuck you the way he’s dying to?

It’s exactly what he does as he bullies his cock deep inside your walls again and again. He whimpers, high and pitchy before he’s leaning down to bite and lick at your neck, your chest, leaving your skin with marks and bruises that will last for days.

Satoru loses his sharpness the more he’s inside of you. You cry when he leans down, circling his thumb across your clit.

“So good,” he’s mumbling into your sweaty skin, like a mantra, “so good so good. You’re so good. I love you I love you I love you-“

It’s torture to hear him say that over and over again and a part of you tries to force yourself to think of someone else to give you comfort. Scarred lips. Thick black hair.

You can’t.

Satoru has taken away everything, even your dreams.

There’s another gasp before he’s harshly gripping on your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are blown open, wide and manic.

“Say my name,” he’s begging but his grip is too tight to be anything but an order, “I-I need you to-fuck-say my name.”

“Sa-Satoru.” He lurches at that, almost collapsing into your chest.

“Again.”

“Satoru,” and then you say it again and again and again because your brain’s too muddled to do anything but listen to him.

His thumb is moving faster and faster on you clit, his thrusts are getting sloppier.

“Gonna-gonna fill you up,” An alarm of panic ring as he’s blabbering, words stilted and strained, “I gotta’—I just gotta’, can’t think of ‘nothing else—fuck fuck.” He adjusts your legs, folding your body in half so he can push that much deeper inside of you.

He smiles again. Wild. Unhinged. The monsoon that is Gojo Satoru. If you won’t wash away with him, then he is more than happy to drown you in his rain.

“Fuck,” he curses again, his voice a mix of a laugh and a groan, “think the kid would like a younger sibling?”

You can barely process his words. You don’t think Satoru could process his either. His orgasm triggers your own, and you’re both tipping over the edge together. His cum fills your pulsing cunt, searing your insides with white heat.

Satoru collapses on top of you, pressing you into the mattress of expensive sheets. You two stay like that, just the sounds of your harsh breathing fills the room. Satoru gives a shaky kiss on your lips, just as sweet and chaste as the first time.

He stays there for another minute, before he’s pushing himself up again. You can’t understand what he’s doing until you realize he’s still hard inside of you.

“Satoru—” it’s a plea, your voice overwrought with exhaustion, “Don’t—"

“One more, ‘kay?” he slurs, pushing his cock as deep as it could get inside of you, “Just—Just one more.”

You wake up hours later. It's pitch-black, the lights are gone. Distantly, you can feel Satoru's hand curled around your waist. He'd fallen asleep with his head buried in your neck. You can feel his rhythmic breathing against your skin. Outside, the rain beats on the windows, and thunder rattles in the sky. 

You wait for it—the anger, the hatred—for yourself to hate Gojo Satoru. 

He was right. Nothing came. 

[msfantasy-comics]

The Sick

Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: a requested short story on Damian reacting to a sick Y/n.

“Damian, get off your phone and pay attention.” Bruce reprimands Damian who still hasn’t spared a single glance at their glowering father, while the rest of the bat kids stare on in dumbfounded shock. No ‘yes father’ no ‘apologies father’. No, instead Damian continues to frown down at his phone as he furiously taps away at the screen.

“Gordon, I need you to hack Y/n’s video feed on her phone to see what she is doing.” Damian demands, ignoring his now dumb-founded father.

Bruce has never seen his son ignore him so brazenly.

“Uh, Dami, firstly, I’m not breaking your girlfriend’s privacy. Secondly, the magic word-“ but before Barbara can even finish her sentence, Barbara is shoved away from the Bat-computer. “Hey!”

Damian sporadically slaps at the keys until a video feed of you pops up, the soft sounds of your congested breathing stifles Damian. A chesty cough causing his brows to knit together in worry.

Why hadn’t you told him?

He sends you yet another text message, making you weakly glance at your phone propped up on the nightstand. Only for your eyes to flutter close; drifting off into a sleepy trance.

God, you look so weak. Had he not hacked your cameras, he never would’ve known how sick you were.

“Damian, I thought we already discussed this. Appropriating the bat cave to monitor your girlfriend is not an appropriate use of the technology.” Bruce sounds off but Damian waves his father off.

“She wasn’t answering her phone so I got worried she was abducted or subjected to torture or what if some creep took a special interest in my-“ But Dick butts in, refusing to hear the end of Damian’s sentence.

“It’s tempting to use this technology to check on our loved ones. But it’s a huge breach in their trust and privacy. If you aren’t hearing from them, there’s probably a reasonable explanation for it.” Damian looks completely indifferent so Dick ups the ante. “If you aren’t going to respect your partners boundaries. We are going to have no choice, but to tell her about your unapproved monitoring again.”

Now Damian looks terrified.

“TT, I’m going to be in great trouble again.” All concerned trains of thought comes to a screeching halt when your choked coughing fit blares through the speakers. “Father, I have to attend my beloved.” And without waiting for his father’s approval, Damian rushes off to the nearest car in the bat cave.

“How are you going to let him act like that Bruce?!”Jason berates with a disapproving shake of the head. “Typical.” He mutters accusingly under his breath as Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.

You groan at the frantic knocking at your door. Rolling out of bed you shuffle out of your bedroom only for the front door to fly open with a loud bang and a frazzled looking Damian standing in the entry way with a lock pick wedged between his clutched fingers.

Without a second to spare he rushes and pulls you into a gentle embrace. Instantly curbing your annoyances. “Why are you out of bed? Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Your favourite soup is on its way made by Pennyworth himself. What medication have you taken so far? I’ll tell Pennyworth to pick up some anti-inflammatories on his way. Have you checked your temperature?” Your mind swirls at the barrage of questions.

“Why? How? Damian- were you spying on me again?” You asked irritated only for Damian’s palms to press on on the base of your neck.

“I was worried-“

“Damian!”

“TT, I apologise for my indiscretions.” He answers, looking anything but sorry. But your sick swirly brain is exhausting your temperament.

“You’re going to be in big trouble when I’m feeling better.” Your normally stoic lover grins victoriously at your resignation.

“I am aware of my inevitable predicament. Come.” He mutters almost anxiously before resorting back to his stoic expression. Stumbling back to your bed, Damian lifts your blanket up, allowing you to crawl back under the crispy clean sheets, followed by Damian, moulding around your form. “Sleep, I’ll keep you warm.”

[whensecretsrise]

The monster adoption fair was like nothing you could imagine. It was massive. Feeling as though it stretched on forever. Creatures ranged from mundane to outlandish. Rows upon rows of were-creatures- be it wolves or cats, naga or foxes or great feathered birds and more- all nestled safely within their kennels. A sign directed the way to where the centaurs, minotaurs, and satyrs were kept. You barely gave it a glance before turning down the next row. Tanks held merfolk and sirens, some muzzled for safety, and a number of amphibian and reptilian creatures. One tank in particular seemed impossibly large. The water in it so dark you weren't sure what could be inside. That was until a great suckered tentacle brushed along the glass.

Your heart kicked against your chest at the sight of it. Half primal fear, but the other half. Well, there wasn't any use dwelling on it. There was no way you could imagine what caring for something that large would take.

You wander deeper, giddiness welling inside you. The background checks you had to pass, the rounds and rounds of interviews you had to go through to prove that you would be a responsible owner. All of that and more was worth it to be allowed entry into the fair.

There was a temperature change in the next room you entered. Everything was warm enough that you were already starting to sweat before taking even a dozen steps inside. Demons, incubi, succubi, and plenty more beyond that all stared out at you through their glassed enclosures. The glass was thick enough that you couldn't hear their words, but the way they moved, so languid and sensual, had a blush rising to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat. The temperature slowly lowered as you approached the far end of the room. The creatures in those enclosures were more insectoid. Joints that seemed to bend the wrong way, appendages stranger than any you'd seen before. You couldn't help but pause to watch their twitching movements and how they traversed the structures in their enclosures. Beyond those lay more familiar creatures. Giant bees. Wasps with their wings beating so fast you were sure you could hear their buzz. Moths that had left a fine coat of powder from their wings on the glass. After a moment of awe you move on.

The temperature in the next room was considerably lower. A much welcomed respite from the heat. More tanks and enclosures filled this room. Your heart began to speed for you had made it to the room you had come for. Slimes of all sizes and colors pressed against their glass. There were plenty of humanoid slimes with big, soft eyes and coy smiles, but that wasn't what you wanted. You brushed past the larger tanks with barely more than a second glance. A smaller companion was what you were seeking. Something that wouldn't take up too much space, but was easy to cuddle with if you wanted.

You carefully inspected a number of tanks. Some of the slimes gave off a faint glow while others shimmered under the lights. There were even some that seemed to change from one color to another as they moved. Each one had a small description plate in front of it detailing habits, temperament, enrichment suggestions, and more besides. The wiggling masses within regarded you with varying levels of interest.

One, however, immediately perked up when you approached it. It was a beautiful pearl white that sparkled with golds and pinks. It swarmed against its glass, pressing itself as close to you as it could manage. Tentatively you placed a gentle hand against the glass. Doing so wasn't allowed, but you couldn't help the way it was drawn to you. A trickle of warmth passed through the glass and a wave of calm washed over you. This was it. The one you would take home had claimed you for its own.

You quickly scribbled down your guest number on the provided card, and took a copy of the creature's location card. The slime remind pressed against the glass as if watching you work. It was only when you began to walk away did it shrink back down to the bottom of its container.

It took a while to locate a staff member among the vast network of rooms and the other visitors of the fair.

"I would like to adopt this creature please," you said as you handed over the slime's identification card.

The worker scanned the card before giving you a sympathetic look. "Are you sure about this? This particular slime has been bounced back to us at least three times. It's very temperamental."

You recall the wave of calm you had felt when you were only separated from it by the glass beneath your hand. "I'm certain."

"Have you ever had a slime before?"

"No," you admitted, "I've never had the money to adopt one. I've been saving for years though, and I'm certain this is the slime I want."

"You might want to start with an easier one first. You being brand new to this and all. I can almost guarantee that this one will still be around if you decide to go looking later."

You shake your head. "I appreciate the advice, but I'm set on this one," you say firmly.

"Suit yourself," the worker shrugs. "Not like the poor thing isn't used to coming back here."

"I'm going to take great care of it. I've got my apartment set up and everything."

"Alrighty then. You can go ahead and head up front to pay. I'll have your slime brought up by the time you finish." The identification card is handed back to you.

As promised, there was a small, travel sized tank waiting for you after you'd paid and gone through the mandatory speech on slime care. You already knew most of it after years of research, but it did remind you of a few things you seemed to have forgotten.

You carried your new creature out to your car and buckled the tank safely in the front seat.

"Alright little slime, it's me and you now. I'm going to make sure you have a good new life. I'm not going to give up on you like the others." You pat the top of the tank and feel a vibration and a soft noise from the other side of the glass, almost as if the creature was purring.

Back home you carried the case over to the tank you had prepared for it and sat it inside. Only then did you open the travel container so that the slime had a chance to safely explore and get used to its new surroundings. You secured the tank lid and went off to put away the pamphlets that the adoption fair had given you.

When you returned the slime had moved into the big tank. It pressed itself against the glass as though it could sense you.

"Hey there, it looks like you're getting used to your new place. I hope that it’s big enough for you. It'll be a while before I can afford something bigger, but even then I'm not sure it would fit."

The slime vibrated again.

You smile and open the tank to remove the travel container. The slime oozed off of the glass and to the bottom of its tank. You stick your hand back down, fingers brushing affectionately against it. Another purr came from it. This time, the first time you've actually touched it, had it suckling at your fingers. Calmness washed over you again. Your fingertips began to tingle.

"Hey now, what are you doing?" You pull away with a laugh.

The slime follows you up, but releases you once your hand is nearly out of its tank. It sinks back down into a puddle and crawls to a corner as if sulking.

With another laugh you reach both hands down toward it. "Alright, if you're going to be mad about it, I guess I can let you out for a bit. We'll both have a chance to properly meet each other."

It surged upward into your hands. It oozed over the edges of your hands, but retained its overall shape. You carried it over to the couch.

The creature puddled into your lap. Bare seconds had passed before it was sending tendrils out to explore you. It wrapped itself up your arms. Retreated and slid along your neck. It caressed your lips and coated your stomach.

No residue was left in its wake. You had expected needing a full shower after taking it out of its tank, but perhaps not. Calmness had stolen through you, stronger now that the two of you were touching. The soft, lapping movements over your skin lulled you. Before you knew it you were stretching out across the couch, mind hazy with calm. Time passed and your eyes dropped closed. Your slime exploring you had faded into the back of your consciousness.

When it slipped beneath your clothes you barely noticed. Not even when it explored lower, seeking out the warmth between your thighs. By then your body was pliant and wanting. A wanting that stole over you on paws so soft that you couldn't remember not that want. Something secret, just for you. The slime drizzled like honey into your center. So slow and fluid you didn’t register the feeling. No, you existed in a state of such hazy serenity that it was only when the slime began to purr that you clicked back to reality.

The purr sent a jolt through you. A vibration that had your hands clenching into fists on pure instinct. Now you could properly feel the ebb and glide of it within you. Your hazed mind began to clear with your racing heart. Heat bloomed in your cheeks. Seemingly of their own accord, your hips began to rock. The slime began to spread. It filled you in ways it hadn’t before. A moan escapes your mouth. You arch your back, trying desperately to grind on thin air.

The slime moves inside you as if thrusting. Hitting you deep and slow. Even through your first orgasm it doesn't stop. It sent another wave of haze inducing calm washing over you. Keeping you right on the edge. Making sure you felt every millimeter of it. A tendril of slime draws out of you. It spreads to cover your center. The feeling of it sucking at you pulls another orgasm from your pliant body.

It wrings orgasm after orgasm out of you. The state of bliss and arousal is never disrupted for long. It ebbs and flows from orgasm to orgasm until, finally, the slime pulls away. It climbs up your sweat slicked skin to nestle against your chest, purring contentedly.

"Little slime," you whisper, "you and I are going to get along very well."

HAVE YOUR AGE LISTED OR CATCH A BLOCK

[reikiajakoiranruohoja]

One thing that eternally baffles me with people calling dog sports abusive, is how the offered alternative assumes that a dog is happiest when it is not doing anything.

Putting aside PETA and its anti-pet stance, most critique I have seen comes from people saying the dogs are forced to perform for humans and therefore its exploiting them.

But even a cursory understanding of dog breeds tells you this mentality is not only flawed but also ignorant of the needs of the animal.

For one, you cannot force a dog to do things most dog sports require. If a greyhound doesn't want to run, it won't. If a husky doesn't want to pull a sled, it won't. Have you ever seen a dog in a situation it doesn't like? Most of us have to drag our dogs to the vet and then try our best to mitigate the dog's displeasure towards the vet.

A dog who wants to do something like running or fetching will do it regardless of your opinion. That is why most of dog training is directing this want so the dog isn't destroying things or hurting people.

The breed or breed mix also affects things. If you get a chihuahua, the experience with that dog is completely different from a border collie or a husky. Heck, even closely related breeds like German shepherds and Belgian malinois are vastly different in their temperament and mentality. There is this call for ignorance and naivete in posts decrying dog sports, where breed doesn't exist and any kind of activity outside the home is harmful to the dog. Admitting that dogs have been bred for jobs is to admit that human contact is not always negative for animals and that is a bridge too far for many of these people. It also means that jobs such as ratting, hunting, protection and such are blissfully ignored or assumed to be forced by humans. This means that when a pampered terrier does maul the family guinea pig, the owner gets blamed for abusing the animals. Posts that tell you dog sports are evil are not made with the dogs in mind, they are made solely for an ideology that benefits humans who do not have to live with the animal in question and so can sit on their constructed high horse.

[fishnapple]

FUTURE SPOUSE - Channelled message: What they love about you

(can also apply to long-term committed partner)

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost

Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

1. Citrine

Loving you and being loved by you is like registering for a foreign language course, a never-ending one. At first, I was perplexed by your emotional distance, I could see it, your emotions, but I couldn't reach it. It felt like a wall was between us. I suppose my emotional expression felt foreign to you, too. Our language didn't match. But we persisted. We learnt and we've found some success.

You will find my neediness less annoying, and I will find your distance less scary. We've learnt to appreciate each other's endearing traits more, to admire rather than criticise each other.

I get to feel your care in such an intimate way. It's subtle, modest but warm, and it makes my heart squealed. It's like a perfume scent that lingers close to your skin. Sometimes you would forget that it is there, but you could still feel its effect on you, subconsciously, it makes you feel at ease, relaxed, like an invisible embrace. You always know me so well, inside out, even the smallest reaction wouldn't escape your eyes. You make me feel so appreciated, and I want to give you my unwavering devotion. We are, in a sense, the only existence in each other's eyes. (We still care for other people in our life, but no one understands us like us, no one sees us like us)

We don't show our love for each other in such an extravagant and boisterous way. We want to go about our life together quietly, to protect our nest. We are more alike in the way we function in this world than you think. Both your detachment and my attachment stemmed from a sense of solitude in life. The difference is, you want to embrace it, I want to run away from it. And when we are together, we enjoy our solitude together.

We get to feel life together in such a pure and beautiful way. I had never paid enough attention to little beauties surrounding me until I met you. Life takes on many more colours than before. It's vibrant, it's blinding, and it's moving.

Note: You guys could have some difficulties in the beginning due to differences in your way of expressing love. They are more attached and needy while you are more detached and distance. I don't think they are generally the needy and clingy type. They could just appear that way to you. But, gradually, you will learn to understand and adjust to each other. And that will be immensely rewarding. They will come to appreciate your more detached temperament, it shows hidden strength and also shows that you don't just overreact to situations, you will face adversities with calmness.

They love your quiet devotion and how you care for them in such a subtle and observant way. They feel seen and understood by you.

They will want to enjoy the quiet life that you share with each other. The type that goes under the radar, very private, not many will be able to intrude upon.

They also love how being with you makes them notice more beauty in life, to pay more attention to details. They learnt to enjoy smaller things, to find joys in ordinary days with you.

2. Red jasper

If you were a detective, a secret agent, or a spy, I think you would be very successful. Or are you one? Your silent moves would kill me every time. I didn't know that I could be attracted to something so dangerous. Why? The anticipation, the dread, it builds and builds in me, until suddenly, I find myself floating in the middle of dark water. I love it and I'm scared of it. The food you gave me, I'd never know if they were poisonous, if they had some kind of spell cast on them. Anyway, It filled my stomach, and it filled my heart. Full and contented. That's how I feel when I'm with you, minus the dread and the fear.

You don't say much, but your stare is enough, more than enough, it's intimidating, you know? Don't you know that people are scared of that? Or you've already known and you're enjoying it?

Whenever I look at you, I can't resist the urge to play detective myself. To deduct your thoughts and plans from those minuscule expressions on your face, your reactions. I want to observe them, to study them, so that, next time, you can't spring your surprises on me. Haha, fat chance, I will fail most of the times though. It's frustrating but also fascinating, especially when I see your surprising tactics worked on other people. A sense of sympathy, perhaps. Where do you get all those outlandish ideas from? Is there a recipe for the ideas generator with a 'totally explosive and secretive' tag on it in your mind? Do you have a production team working overtime behind the screen for you? Give me a hint.

You do whatever you want, sometimes you even moved away, change your address without telling me, knocking at my door in the middle of the night to tell me some irrelevant stories then walked away, telling me to go to the beach in the middle of winter. It's maddening, and it's addicting. I just want to grab a hold of you. I know it's impossible, but I always want to try.

Note: Are you someone who is on the quiet side but like to do whatever you want? Maybe you aren't, but they will view you that way. Your silence means unpredictability for them. They can't read you. And when they can't read someone, they perceive that person to be dangerous, they can't predict the other person's next move. But they love that feeling of uncertainty with you. It's scary but exhilarating, I think they have a liking for extreme sport and scary movies, anything that hints at a hidden, darker side.

They like your cooking, whatever you cook, even if it looks weird or unidentifiable, made from strange ingredients, it gives them a sense of uneasiness but also satisfaction.

They find you to be intimidating and inexpressive. They also like that other people are intimidated by you, is that a sense of camaraderie? A secret fan club. Your mysterious existence intrigues them. They want to probe into your mind to understand your inner working, with not much success, and that will even drive them more into it. It arouses them in every sense. They want to catch hold of that elusiveness, that uniqueness that you have. Be careful that it could translate to some possessive and obsessive behaviours from their part.

3. Amazonite

If you look closely at everything in nature, you will find that balance is everywhere, the equilibrium of randomness and order, of opposition and unification. And I find that balance in you too, because you are a part of nature, we all are, I find me in you and I find you in me.

You are the everlasting flame that burns. I got close and got a burn mark for touching you. But it's the mark that I would proudly display. Not to show off my bravery but to show off our closeness. You touched the softest part of me, the body hiding behind a tough shell. It hurts. It feels scary. It feels naked, but I wouldn't choose the other way.

How can someone so fierce and powerful like you can also be so tender and soft? softness could kill, strength could soothe.

I saw you walking on a strange road that not many dared to walk, but you seem so calm, so at peace, it made me curious, it made me envious and it also made me yearn to be with you. To walk with you, even if you don't need a companion. Are you chasing the moon, a faraway dream, a total darkness? Whatever destination you are heading to, I want to be there with you, for you, because I know my happiness also lies there as well. Your steadfastness gave me utmost trust and security, something that I didn't know I needed that much.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm seeing multiple people in front of me, but it's just you. I see a playful child, I see a wise wizard, I see a naughty trickster, I see a serious teacher. Somehow, they all act in union, a harmonious whole. It's ever fascinating. I could go to you for the soundest advice, then have banters that go nowhere and everywhere. I could go to you for the sweetest smile then having the rawest touch. What can I not find in you?

Note: This person practically loves everything about you. The love and the hurt that you can give them.

They find you to be their perfect counterpart, someone that they want to walk with, the one that can lead them to their happiness. They find happiness in their journey with you, no matter the destination.

They love how multifaceted you are. You seem to embody lots of different and contradicting traits, but it worked for you. You can harmonise them well into a fascinating being that they can't get enough of.

This person probably loves someone who can teach them, widen their mind, make them face their deepest part, but also be gentle about it. They love someone that know where they are going, someone who is very sure of their self, even if the path they tread doesn't mesh well with other people, I see the image of a stream (conventional ideals) feeding/pouring fear on a fish, but the fish just swims pass them. They find this steadfastness (their word) give them the courage to also go their own path and put their trust in you completely.

I think the way you act is pretty gentle, soft, and loving towards them, but it can also trigger them, touch them deeply, they can perceive a liveliness to you, as in someone who is brimming with life.

4. Labradorite

Hmm, the people seeing you be all smiley and warm probably won't be able to guess the wild animal that you've put on a tight leash behind closed doors.

Not with me, I will see it and I will love it. I love how you present yourself in such a soft, sweet way, then act all passionately when you are with me. Can it be called deception? I don't think so. It's just that you have such admirable self-control, you know when to hold and when to release, you don't just show your wild side to anyone. They have to earn your trust. I feel like the only guest in a private show. It boosted my ego, I will be honest. It makes me excited every time I get to meet you. Like a kid going to amusement park to watch firework.

You know how to play with words. Make it more flirty than necessary, but also make it into a soothing balm for the most agonising pain. I will tell you every time, to write a book, and I will be your most avid reader.

Being with you is me deciding to be brave, to embrace changes. You will bring changes into my life. Not intentionally. You just are. I found my life getting flipped upside down, being shaken, wrung out all the unnecessary grimes that had tenaciously clung on. I know that after they'd gone, you would fill me with real life. It felt like a dream before. Now I'm wide awake, lying on the shore, empty and liberated.

How can you give so much? Is there an infinite bank of fire inside you? Falling for you is like falling into the rabbit hole. It leads me into a strange land, expanding then contracting, being too big, being too small. Then, you will shine a light through a tiny hole on the sky for me to find you. I always know how to find you. The fire in me longs to be one with your fire.

Note: This person have so much passion for you. It's not just lust in a physical sense. It's more like your fire ignites their life fire and make it burn wildly. They can feel a passionate energy from you, it's generous and giving, like a sun. It's a life force that attracts every living being. I think that life for this person before meeting you had been quite dull. You make them feel alive. And to be alive is to be aroused, much like a seed sleeping underneath the earth, one day, sprouted out and kept growing.

They love how you're able to control yourself. They sense that you have a more wild side, an animalistic side to you that you just don't show to anyone unless they are deserving. They love how you present yourself beautifully and can also act passionately and assertively. You know when to be flirty, when to be serious, when to be soothing. You're probably have a talent with words too. They love your way of communicating, it's fun and creative.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Bratty!Fem!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Tired of your antics regarding how cavalier you take your sexual relationship, your lieutenant cuts you off and that has you immediately plotting. You know you can get him to break and all it'll take is one purchase. How can he keep his resolve when he sees what you've bought? And how will he act when he catches you?

Word Count: 6.8 k

Warnings:

The office is silent now except for the distant sounds of movement filtering in from outside the door of people coming and going through the building. Your shirt clings in a rumpled mess to your body, sweat speckling across your limbs from that specific heat that gets shared between two bodies, euphoria still running through your veins when the man sitting beneath you speaks. “We’re not doin’ this again, so get that straight. Understand?”

You tilt your head to the side and raise a curious eyebrow, staring back into the face of your lieutenant as he gets you to your feet and grabs his shirt to throw it back over his head, covering his sweat-glistening torso. “Care to explain what you’re talking about or am I meant to just guess?” you ask with snark in your tone as you pick up the rest of your clothing off the floor.

Buttoning his pants and re-buckling his belt, he takes his time before answering as you finish and stand there impatient and agitated. “What the fuck did I say about startin’ stuff with me when I’m busy?” Lt. Riley questions back, his voice harsh. “Did ya think I was jokin’ or are ya just hell bent on gettin’ caught? Cause that’s what’s gonna fuckin’ happen if ya keep temptin’ me in the middle of the day.”

“You could turn me away,” you say with a roll of your eyes, “ever heard of self-control?”

Stepping up close to your body, the lieutenant grabs you by the chin and looks down his nose at you. “You’re too much of a distraction. And ya need to be taught a lesson, sweetheart; when I say somethin’ I fuckin’ mean it. Consider this my self-control.” 

“Oh, gonna punish me now?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you pull your face out of his grasp with a flick of your head. “Okay, go ahead. Let’s see what you got.”

“Ya ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from me til I can be sure you’re gonna listen. You’re cut off, sweetheart, and until ya can learn, we’re done with this.” 

You hold his gaze steadfast, not intimidated in the least. If he wants to play this game, then you’ll play it, but if he thinks this is going to end the way he wants, he is going to be sorely mistaken. “Fine.” You don’t argue, there is no sense to. “Have it your way, sir. Is that all?”

You’ll have it your way soon enough. All it’ll take is patience.

He doesn’t say anything, opting to sit back in the chair behind his desk without uttering another word. It is a gross miscalculation on Lt. Riley’s part not to immediately take your acceptance if his reprimand as a giant red flag, but if he isn’t willing to put his knowledge of your competitive temperament to use then that is fully on him; he is a big boy and since he wants to talk about consequences, then he should be ready to receive his own.

You double check yourself in silence before you leave his office with a smug sense of satisfaction, though a plan isn’t in mind just yet. It doesn’t matter really, the bigger they are the harder they fall and you are confident that you can make him fold with very little effort because despite being a man of mostly mystery, you know the intimate details of what makes that 6’4” military officer weak. 

The day isn’t even over before you already have a plan in mind and it all involves one very specific item. It’s a shame you have to order it, but the time it’ll take to come in the post will work in your favor. Lt. Riley needs time to cool off, to miss his pretty thing, to let his appetite for you get ravenous again.

Patience was never your virtue unless it came to getting something you wanted, so you bore your restlessness in silence as you waited for your order to come in. You give the lieutenant his space without a fuss, letting him believe his little delusion that at any moment you’ll come crawling back ready to obey him just as he wants.

A week passes and then nearly another when finally you are gifted with your prize that comes in the evening mail that Friday. You can taste the sweetness of your retribution already as you rip into the package and pull out the smallest, tightest pair of jet black hot pants with white trim. No more keeping this body for his eyes only; if he doesn’t want to give you the attention you desire then someone else will. 

You rush to your barracks the second the day comes to a close with your package in hand; you have only a short window of time to pull your entire plan together or you’ll be forced to wait till after the weekend and you are tired of waiting. Tonight is the night that you make your lieutenant come crawling back to you and stop with this nonsense.   

The tiny swath of fabric covering your ass barely hides a damned thing from view, hugging around your hips like they are painted on and resting at the very top of your thighs so that the underside of your butt peeks out from below the hem. There is a slit that goes up the side and it is doing its job in making your legs look extra long while also showing as much skin as possible. It leaves almost nothing to the imagination for anyone who happens to look your way… and boy do you want as many eyes on you as you can get.

Let’s see him be steadfast in his resolve to teach you a lesson now.

With a head full of devious thoughts, you leave your room and head out onto base and into the oncoming night. Shoulders back and head held high you walk past the buildings with confidence on the way to your first stop of the night: the officers building. You had checked the clock just before you left, it’s nearly time now. He’ll be leaving his office soon and you need him to catch sight of you on the way to your second destination: the rec center.

How lucky it is that the lieutenant is a man of routine and so giving it another minute or two you step out in front of the building and start heading directly for the rec, though at a slower pace than usual. And sure enough, when you’re still within eyeshot, you hear the front door to the building open. 

Stepping out into the cooler evening air, Lt. Riley looks up and his sight is captured by a figure moving just up ahead in the distance. People coming and going isn’t abnormal on a military base, but what really catches his attention is the familiarity of the body and the way that body is dressed. He is stunned in his tracks because you are barely wearing anything at all with shorts that look like they’ve been painted on. Paired with the tight black tank top you’ve chosen and you might as well be naked for all the covering it does. After a good almost two weeks of no action, the man is starved…but also curious as to where the fuck you are going dressed like this. 

The best thing would have been for the lieutenant to turn tail and walk away, leave it and you alone, but as smart as Lt. Riley is when it comes to temptation the man is a goddamn fool that cannot help himself.

You are a good bit ahead by the time he takes action and decides to follow you, but he keeps the pace as heat floods his body from staring at the back of you walking away, desperately wanting to take a bite out of all that juicy meat tempting his gaze as it bounces with each sure-footed step you take. Fuck, he is a sucker for all the plump, tender parts of your body and having them on display like this is a regular buffet that he can’t help but soak up even with his nosiness into what exactly has you looking so killer. 

Those auburn eyes of his continue to follow you as you come to the front of a building and enter. Now that you are out of view, he can think more clearly and he realizes that it’s the rec center that you’ve just entered. The closer the lieutenant gets, the more he catches raucous sounds of many voices braying like a pack of crazed hounds, making him quicken his steps that match his rising blood pressure until he stands just outside the doors to peer in without being detected yet.

Through the glass doors he can see towards the back of the main room that a group of privates surrounding the single government bought pool table with cues in hand are now circling you like wolves circling a wounded deer, practically begging you to join them for a few games while he knows that its only to get you to stay longer so that they can enjoy the view. It makes his blood boil to watch them ogle you like that, getting far too close to what isn’t theirs. 

…to what belongs to him.

Standing in silence, now cloaked in darkness as night has fallen, he watches angrily as a private gets bold enough to place his hand at the small of your back just as you lean over the table to make your first shot and suddenly he is seeing red. He can barely comprehend anything through the angry haze clouding his vision, but he can feel the cold steel of the door handle in his hand as he wrenches it open and stalks inside as if he is ready to kill.   

All eyes immediately drift towards the source of the sound. You look up through a giggle to see the form of the lieutenant standing there, sharp gaze boring straight into you specifically and the man who still has his hand on you. 

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere,” that deep voice booms through the small space to quiet the rowdy bunch.

“Is there a problem, sir?” one of the more brave privates speaks up.

His sight doesn’t leave you. “Seems we need to have a chat about propriety,” he growls. “This is a military base, not a fuckin’ strip club.” 

You smirk. “I don’t know what kind of strip clubs you frequent, sir, but I can assure you that this is more clothing than most will allow.”

A few of the privates snicker behind you, impressed with your audacity to backtalk someone as imposing as the skull-masked officer and that does nothing but add fuel to the fire.

“Come with me- now.” His voice is firm. 

A collective “ooooh” passes around the bunch that is quickly quelled with one harsh glare. “If I were ya I would get back to my fuckin’ game,” Lt. Riley barks. “Or would you lot rather be placed on permanent fire guard to drive the goddamn point home, since ya want to meddle in an officer’s business?”

His command is absolute and none of the privates have the balls enough to question it. Quickly they scramble back to their game, keeping their heads down and eyes locked to the table. Whatever trouble you are about to get in is none of their concern, not when being reprimanded by the imposing lieutenant is on the line.

Satisfied, those amber eyes snap right back to you. “Move, now,” he demands and points towards an area of the rec that is blocked off by a wall, essentially cutting the room in two and will give enough privacy that the others inside won’t be able to witness what is about to transpire. 

“Of course, sir,” you say in agreement without a syllable of dissention. 

Turning on your heels you take off in the direction pointed out to you, walking ahead of the masked officer eagerly. He’s mad; there is no need to turn around, you can feel his glare on you the entire walk over and it makes you smile. You’ve hit the nerve you had hoped to. Now to bring it all home and get your lover back the way you want. 

As soon as you make it behind the cover of the corner his hand is on your waist as he shoves you into the wall with brute force. Your back hits it and you let out a surprised gasp. He stands towering over top of you, a powerfully intimidating figure with a massive presence to match as he glares you down with fire in his gaze. 

“Can I fucking help you?” you ask as you quickly regain your composure.

Christ, when you want to get his attention you sure know how to do it. “What the fuck do ya think you’re doin’, hmm?” he questions back heatedly. “Puttin’ on a fuckin’ show for all the privates? Do ya fuckin’ think this appropriate, what ya got on?”

Something about having this conversation with the barrier of his balaclava covering his face infuriates you as if this was any other time he would have already had it off his face. “You think you can just treat me like everyone else after all we’ve done? Fuck you; take off the mask when you’re talking to me.”

His eyes narrow as he shakes his head side to side. “You don’t get to make demands a me anymore, princess.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge back. “That what you think?”

Leaning in a bit closer, you can feel the heat of his breath even as it filters through the fabric. “That’s what I know. Now answer the question. Do ya think this is appropriate?”

Your shrug is nonchalant. “For field work? Well, it depends on the climate I suppose. That doesn’t really apply here does it, since we are still on base. Why? Do you have a problem with it?”

A sharp hiss of air exits rapidly out of his nose. “Like hell I do,” he says and suddenly you can make out the feel of his fingertips as they toy around with the fabric at the edge of your shorts. He lets them brush against your outer thigh as he follows the line of the hem up the slit that goes higher towards your hip. There is electricity in his touch and it makes your pulse start to race. “You're distracting my men. An outfit like this is askin’ for attention. Whose fuckin’ attention ya tryin’ to get, hmm?”

“Who said anything about attention?” you question him back as if you can’t possibly understand what all the fuss is about. “I just wanted to be comfortable. You know, unwind and all that after a long week.”

“Comfortable,” he scoffs as he rolls the fabric in between his fingers. “Ya barely have a god damned thing on.”

“Maybe that’s how I feel most comfortable,” you push, your reply a little more breathy. “You of all people should know that.” 

Oh you are walking on thin ice, lying to him like this. He is not that innocent that he can’t tell what you’re doing and you are not that naive to think that he won’t immediately figure it out. Harshly grabbing your chin, he holds your face firm in his grasp as his dark eyes shadowed within the confines of his mask stare back into your own. 

“Don’t ya lie to me, sweetheart,” he says, that gruff voice metered and unyielding in its severity. “The way ya were just eatin’ up how those boys reacted, I know ya didn’t fuckin’ dress like a slag for nothin’.”

“Are they not allowed to look, Simon?” you ask without missing a beat and using his name as if it’s a curse.

The question hangs in that air as Simon shifts in his stance while not saying a word, eyes narrowing as he realizes that there is no right way for him to answer that without giving himself away that he has dug himself into trouble.

A smug grin crosses your lips before you try to lick it away. “Ah, so that’s the problem right? That they were looking at me? Strange, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were… jealous. But that can’t be right, can it Simon? Because I thought I was cut off and that you were done, so it’s all fair game yeah? Unless there is something you want to fess up to?”

Simon’s chiseled jaw twitches under his mask as his eyes shimmer; you are pushing it, though why is he even surprised. “Ya better watch it, luv,” he warns under his breath as his grip along your chin tightens. “You are playin’ with fire and if ya ain’t careful, your pretty little fingers are gonna fuckin’ burn.” 

And before you are even made conscious of it, your mind immediately knows what to say in response. You hold his gaze steadfast in your own. “Make me.”

Those two little words and their variations are Simon’s kryptonite and you know it; that’s what got you on his cock in the first place. Nothing else can make that man go feral than a threat from a bratty bitch that puts him in the position to show them the consequences of what their cocky attitudes get them.  

You smirk, satisfied with how you seem to have the upper hand in this little confrontation. Simon is now in a place where he will either have to admit he still wants you and that his threat meant nothing or he will have to let you go… and you know by the rapid increase in the rise and fall of his chest the longer you stand between him and the wall that the latter is looking less and less likely. 

“Still waiting on your answer,” you say with a smug, satisfied grin spread across your lips, “or is it that if you say anything, it’ll make it clear that you are now regretting a certain… decision… you so hastily made?”

God, you know just how to rile him up in the exact way that both infuriates and entices him. His devil with a pretty face, his sin that feels like heaven; he is drawn to your stubbornness like a moth is drawn to a flame.

“Ya vicious little bitch,” he says, the words sharp. 

Gotcha, you think to yourself. You have that serious military officer right where you want him. Now all you have to do is go in for the kill. You take a step into him even with your chin still secure in his grasp. “Oh yeah,” you respond, your voice husky. “As if you don’t fucking love it.”

You are met with only silence as a shiver runs straight through him. He’s barely able to react in time to hide its presence, but grits his teeth hard and stifles any movement other than the rapid breaths he continues to take. 

“Cat got your tongue?” you ask and wait for a response that doesn’t come; you don’t expect it to. “That’s what I thought. So, here’s how it’s going to work: I’m gonna wear what I want, when I want, and if you don’t like how others react to my wardrobe then that’s on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a game to return to.” 

Pulling your head back forcefully out of his grip, his strong, rough fingers release your chin and he watches as you make your move to step past him, but he can’t let this go like he had originally planned. This is the game you both play and he just can’t quit you. You are his, his, and he isn’t going to just let you forget that. You barely take the first few steps around him headed back the way you came when you hear Simon mutter under his breath. 

“Fuck,” the sigh hits your ears before his arm jettisons out and grabs you by the wrist. 

Your body is spun around and pulled into him, your back flush against his warm chest as he leans himself back against the wall. His hand shoots up to cover over your mouth, cupping across your cheeks to stifle any sound that may come from the shock of his action. Sure enough you gasp into his palm as he straps you to his chest by locking you in place with his other arm. 

“You’re not goin’ anywhere, princess,” he grunts lowly into your ear. 

Stoic and silent he pushes a knee up through the gap in your legs to widen them before his hand slinks down your abdomen, over your pants, and comes to rest against your sex. That large palm now nestled in between your thighs presses up into you and it only takes a few seconds for Simon to realize that he can feel the lips of your pussy straight through the thin fabric of your pants without any barrier. No panties, really?

You fucking witch. You planned this, didn’t you?

There are still soldiers hanging about, out of sight for the moment, but still not something that is conducive for such an encounter. He wouldn’t risk something like this…would he? What you think is going to be a quick touch and pull back turns into his hand locking to your pussy as he begins to massage it through your pants. He pushes his fingers up through the cloth until he can feel the outline of your clit on his fingertips.

A quiet chuckle falls from your lips behind his handmade muzzle as his fingers make contact with the crotch of your shorts and you feel his chest jerk as he struggles to catch his breath. Feel something you like, lieutenant? you think as the corners of your mouth upturn against his skin. 

A moan barely squeaks out from around his hand before he presses it harder against your lips. “Don’t need someone catchin’ us, do we? Not til I’m finished with ya.”

Those heated words cause your heart to race violently, thudding strong against your ribcage to match a certain throbbing growing in strength between your thighs. 

“You gonna keep quiet?” he asks and you nod in his hand. “Don’t make me regret it or else, princess.”

Simon removes his palm and wraps his arms around your waist; you’re not going anywhere. “We could still get caught, you know,” you say softly, stumbling over your words as his fingers continue to play.

“Ya should've thought of that before ya tempted me with this fuckin’ skin, luv,” he murmurs against the side of your head. There is no way in hell you are getting out of these shorts without him fucking you out of them, he will stop only when he can feel a wet spot soaking through the crotch. “ ‘Sides, maybe I want that prick that had his fuckin’ hands on ya ta see that he doesn’t stand a chance.” 

He won’t, he has never been the type to share but the threat serves its purpose. The boys at the pool table continue to distract themselves, but who knows how long that will last. If they come creeping over, there is no way they won’t instantly know what is happening. And yet over and over his large fingers grind against your clit until it begins to ache. 

“Gimme your hand,” he searches for the appendage, only to be met with resistance once he locates it. 

“I said give,” he reiterates the point in that more authoritative tone he is used to using with his men.

You shake your head that still rests in his grasp; you don’t want to make this easy for him. If he wants something he is going to have to work for it. Encapsulating your wrist in his hand, the muscles along his forearm strain as he drags your arm up from your side. He takes your hand firmly in his, fingers lacing themselves over the top of your own as he descends them both down the front of your body and slips them into the waistband of your shorts. No time is wasted in bringing them directly between your legs, parting through your warm, soft lips, and nestling both sets of fingers inside. 

“Gonna need ya ta participate in this part,” he says, low and bassey at the side of your face. “You’re fuckin’ achin’ bad, aren’t ya? Christ luv, I can already feel how swollen your clit is.”

Simon keeps your conjoined fingers resting up against that tiny bundle of nerves. There is a tension-filled pause as he takes a deep, labored breath as the end of his thought hangs anxiously in the air, waiting for him to finish it. His lips are right at the threshold of your earlobe, you can feel their presence as they ghost near the tender flesh, the skin tingling as his warm breath wafts over the area.

You suddenly realize the lack of oxygen filling your lungs as he finally speaks. “Let’s make it worse,” he growls. 

A shiver snakes through your spine as he forces your fingers to work in tandem with his in rolling circles over your sensitive clit, stroking again and again in a steady rhythm that he has set. 

“Best hope they decide to leave soon, sweetheart,” he breathes the words into your ear as he rests his forehead against your temple. “Cause if ya want me to let ya fuckin’ come, they’re gonna have to be gone. Until then we’re just gonna have to keep ya wet and fuckin’ ready.”

His phallus pulses against your ass through his pants, bobbing with his racing heartbeat as it prods into the cheek of your ass. A struggled, shaky breath escapes your lips as he moves his hips to press it into you; your sanity is hanging on by a thread. All you want is for him to bend you over, rip your shorts down, and thrust inside, but no matter how much you rub against it he does not take the bait.

Time passes so much slower as you stay strapped to him, his hand and yours shoved down the front of your shorts keeping you wet. Your sanity is beginning to wane; no one should be expected to keep it together when a lover who knows your body like the back of his hand is using everything to his advantage to keep you aching.

Pressure gathering in the pit of your stomach only to dissipate before it can ever come to fruition, over and over Simon brings you to the brink only to back off once you get close enough. It feels like eternity in the haze of his capable fingers working your body before the men finally decide that they have had enough with standing around the quiet center when the local bar is just a short drive down the road and head out, completely forgetting that they haven’t seen either you or the lieutenant for quite some time, but they also haven’t seen either of you leave. 

The moment the door shuts and the last sounds of talking can be heard drifting off into the distance, you are released and again turned only to be shoved back against the wall. Simon is immediately pressed against you, one knee collapsing into the wall between your legs as your hands greedily claw at the cloth gathered at base of his neck, fingers pulling up the bottom of his mask without hindrance so that they can get underneath it and push it up to expose his hungry mouth. A devilish, toothy grin waits to meet you as the fabric is removed; he’s proud of the desperation he has left you in. 

“They’re gone,” you say with a heavy bit of neediness. “I did what you said.” 

“Ya want me ta give it to ya now, that it?” he asks with a smug sense of self satisfaction. 

“You promised,” you shoot back, the agony of waiting becoming unbearable the longer he takes. 

His face inches in closer to yours, hot breath meeting and wafting over the skin on your lips as he exhales. “Ya think this is gonna be some sorta reward?” he asks, his voice lowering into the deeper part of his register, that gravely vibrato that turns your legs into jelly just from the sound.  

Those full lips of his ghost over your own, making the skin quiver from the proximity. Your mouth parts open as suddenly you feel like you can’t get enough air while waiting in misery for him to break and crash on you with all of his desire. A breathy gasp escapes through the gap as that thick thigh of his presses up into your pussy. He has you right where he wants you now.  

“Ya still got a fuckin’ lesson ta learn, princess,” he says. “So, I’m gonna have ta fuck the attitude til it comes drippin’ right out of ya.” 

And with that he leans down and forcefully connects your lips together so that your head hits the wall behind you. Fiery and aggressive he embraces your mouth again and again, lips fighting for dominance with each new connection. Breath and spit are shared as the wet smacking sounds of skin on skin hits the air and fills up the quiet of the place. 

You haven’t gotten your fill yet, but suddenly you find your body being lifted into the air and carelessly flung over one of his broad shoulders as he drags you back into the middle of the room. He eyes his destination the moment it comes into view from around the wall and quickly makes his way over to it; somewhere he can put you so he can get to work.

Your backside makes contact with the smooth felt of the pool table as Simon sets you down on top of it. The cool surface of the rails raises goosebumps on the back of your thighs as he situates you right at the edge. No longer pressed together, a spot of cold radiates from his thigh and he looks down to see a present you have left for him right on the fabric.

“Look what ya did,” he growls, pointing to the obviously darker patch on the inner thigh of his jeans. “Made a fuckin’ mess.”

“Whose…ng…fucking fault is that?” you whimper, adjusting yourself as every little movement puts pressure on your aching clit. 

“And I’d do it again ta keep my brat in line,” he smirks as his irises sparkle like a predator locking on to its prey. “Now, open your fuckin’ legs.”

You widen the gap between your thighs more, but he still has to use his hips to shove them open enough that he can fit in until he is right up against you. The sharp edge of his teeth cuts into the plump flesh of your bottom lip as he sucks it into his mouth to give it a hard nip. He swallows down the harsh groan you produce at his delicious brand of roughness like it’s honey. Every single sound you make in response to his actions is music to his ears. 

“Need ya ta know this type a shit isn’t gonna fly with me.”

Fingertips play around the perimeter of your cunt until he hooks them through the cool, damp crotch of your pants and wrenches them to the side to expose your entrance. “Let’s ruin these fuckin’ things,” he smugly says as he works with one hand to undo his pants and slide both that and his boxers down his thighs until his cock pops out of the waistband and stands hard and throbbing for you. “Don’t ever wanna see these goddamn things again after tonight.”

His vice-like grip on the crotch of your shorts causes a few of the overly taut threads to snap as he holds the fabric out of his way to align the swollen head of his cock with that dripping, aching hole he’s been working so that it’s already ready to take him in. You can feel the tip of his hard girth push against the moist skin before he bucks his hips and it strains through the barrier. His grip moves to your waist to force your body further down on him as you whine, the stretch overwhelming, but divine. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, princess? Why you wore these tight fuckin’ things, yeah? Ya tryin’ ta make me take ya like an animal?” he grunts, the feel of your tight, silky walls fluttering around his cock as he fills you full threatening to send him straight to hell. 

“The moment I saw ya in ‘em I thought I was gonna lose control. Been a while since I had ya. That on purpose too?”   

You fall backward against the table, your back arching up off it and your eyes roll back into your head as he pulls you down while slamming the length of his phallus up into you until he reaches the base. He doesn’t give you a moment to gather your sanity and instead snaps his hips into you, the intensity in each stroke causing your body to jolt over the felted surface. 

“Look at me,” he grunts as he reaches out to grab at your chin and pull you back up to him, “look - at - me.”

You’re unable to deny him when he’s thrusting so deep and your eyes open to meet his gaze again. “You’re mine, ya hear?” he breathes the words desperate and firm. “Nobody else can look at ya like this, got it? Nobody.”

His breath hitches a moment as a shudder runs through his cock from the way you tighten around it. “Those boys out there mighta gotten a show tonight, but that’s the last they’ll ever get,” he growls more intensely. “Don’t even want ‘em to think they have a fuckin’ chance wit ya cause you belong ta me. You were made for me, princess. Only me.”

Harder and harder he pounds into your pussy with a need that feels like it cannot be quenched no matter how deep he goes. “And nobody else - nobody else- ya don’t need anyone else ‘sides me. Say it.” 

A pathetic whimper is all he gets in response as his cock digs in deep, but that isn’t good enough. You’re gonna do exactly as he says and repeat it - out loud. His grip around your face tightens.

“Say it,” he demands again. 

“Don’t… need a-anyone…else…” you stammer out as it is a struggle now to speak. 

Then you hear it, the distinct sound of fabric beginning to rip. The seam along the crotch has had too much strain put on it and it is starting to give, threads ripping more steadily the harder Simon thrusts. God, that sound is the catalyst to you suddenly feeling wild, like all you want him to do is shred the fucking things off of you by screwing you out of them. It’s at that moment that familiar warmth begins to gather in your belly. It won’t be long now and you’ll be spilling.

“Say: you’re the only one I fuckin’ want,” he insists as he clenches to make his cock pulse inside of you.

Simon’s wide hand slides down from your chin to just at the base of your throat where he wraps it around and gives it a light squeeze for emphasis. The pressure feels like heaven amongst all the stimulation and trying to keep your eyes on him and speak at the same time is nearly impossible, but find your words soon enough.

You lick your parched lips. “You’re the only one I want, Simon,” you moan.

“Again.”

“You’re the only one I will ever want, Simon.”

Another couple of desperately strong thrusts. “And you’re gonna listen from now on, yeah?”

“Yes!” you blurt out.

He pulls you by the throat so that you meet him in a kiss as his hips never stop snapping into you. “Such a fuckin’ obedient girl for me,” he groans against your mouth as he breaks free from it. “Now, let’s make ya come so ya never fuckin’ forget who it is that ya belong to.”

Releasing your neck, Simon brings his hand down, parting through your dripping lips to find your clit so that he can rub over it as he thrusts. There is not much more you can take now; all his work before has done its job to perfection and your body is falling apart so rapidly it feels like the nosedive off that first ddrop of a rollercoaster. 

“G-gonna… gonna come, baby,” you stammer out. You bring your lips in closer to his, desperate to kiss him again, but the pleasure is just too much to handle that you devolve into simply panting instead. 

He inhales in ragged breaths the sweet air from your mouth, his teeth grinding together the harder he thrusts. All those days without you have been frustrating as he waited for you to come crawling back. He missed the feeling of you wrapped around him and right now he needs you to come on his cock. 

But this isn’t going to teach you what he wants. Pulling out amidst your whined protests, he pulls you off the table onto your feet and spins you around before pushing your upper body down while guiding you to spread your stance wider and ripping the crotch of your pants aside again, this time he doesn’t hesitate to enter you.

From this angle the penetration is even deeper and as his finger finds that tiny bud of nerve endings again, you are right back where you want to be - a mess ready to explode.   

“Come for me.” He is demanding while trying to hold it all together. “Now.”

Harder and harder he pushes, thrusting and stroking, and like the flick of a switch all that heat and all that pressure culminates in an explosion that has you crying out loudly as you come with force, your back arching to pull you away from his grasp. Waves wash through your body as the intensity of your orgasm shakes through you until your legs are vibrating around his hips. 

The moment you cry out he allows himself to let go, finally finished with his task, and fucking you through your orgasm he comes so hard that he has to grab the sides of the pool table to keep himself upright. Grunting like an animal he coats your walls and thrusts his cum continuously back up into you until he is spent and cannot go another second. 

Simon stays inside as you both come back down from that exhilarating high, two glistening bodies conjoined at the forehead with eyes closed until he has enough strength to pull his sensitive cock carefully out of you. Both of your mixed juices follow his cock out, dribbling out of your entrance to collect in the crotch of your pants as they snap back into place now that there is nothing keeping them pushed aside. 

You flip yourself back over and lean against the edge of the table to look down at what’s left of your shorts. They are completely soaked, drenched in so much of your juices that they look wet. The ruined fabric clings to your body as if it’s glued on and you are left feeling cold down there as Simon pulls away.

“That’s better,” he says with satisfaction as he studies his handiwork of the ripped, saturated fabric. “And so is this.”

A more gentle kiss is placed on your lips this time, one in praise of you doing so well for him. You reciprocate the feeling by cupping his face in your hands.

“And we’re not gonna have any more a this, right?” he asks as he pulls from your mouth.

Looking into his eyes, a subtle smirk contours your lips. “We’ll see,” you say as Simon shakes his head.

He wouldn’t expect anything less.

“So,” you continue, “I’m just wondering if you thought about how I’m going to leave here, now that I look like this. Gonna need something so I don’t have to cross base.” 

Across the way he spots a random jacket hanging off the back of a chair, left by one of the privates no doubt. Looks big enough and he returns with it in hand. Carefully he circles the sleeves around your body and ties them in front to cover you until you can get back to your room and change. Don’t need anyone seeing anything they shouldn’t.

“I did really like these by the way,” you pick as Simon pulls you by the knot in the sleeves wrapped around your waist back into him to catch your lips one last time with his.  

“Don’t ya worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna be gettin’ you a new pair, ones that I chose,” he says. “Cause I’m gonna be the only one that gets to enjoy this fuckin’ view from now on. And it’s a view you’re gonna give me ‘gain and again, darlin’.”

[just-some-user-hunny]

More Cannibal thoughts...

~ Cannibal is an ancient creature, yet he is far from brittle. He may ache and groan when he rises from slumber, but the way he carries his tremendous weight with those powerful wings that envelope the sky you could barely tell.

He's old, but not tired.

He's as full with fire as the day he hatched alone in his nest. With the temperament of a wild ferocious dog who's tail does not wag, hes full of pride. How can he not be? He has outlived many dragons. He survived the doom. He was here before the targarian blood came and imprisoned the remaining dragons to impairment.

He's survived off the blood and flesh and bone of his own kin, there is no softness to him. The countless tales of wannabe dragon tamers who have found their deaths awaiting in his stomach, or the nest of bones he resides in are far from fiction. He's untouchable, something he prides and revels in.

But then you came along...

~ Considering he's such a large dragon and refuses to wear a saddle, you'll probably have to pull a Daenarys targarian and ride bareback. A large part of this however is also a reflection of your bond. You keep him free of reigns and confining straps, and he keeps you safe and out of harms way whenever you ride with him. It displays the strength of your mutual trust, and how he isn't a tool to you. You are so close, scales to skin, that you are almost one. It may be terrifying to your family, but you'll never be safer. He has a thick spine of large pointy spikes and scales to hang onto. I also like to imagine that you somehow find a way to create some 'handles' that are tied to a few of his spikes for you to hang onto. It's not as constricting as reigns, and it's about the only thing he'll endure. For you, he supposes he can cope.

. He's a territorial dragon, and is such a grump about it. If another dragon even appears on your line of sight, he's all growls and bared teeth- letting this other dragon know you are off limits. He may even disappear like a disgruntled cat if he picks up a scent belonging to another dragon on you. (This does not stop Syrax from snuggling her snout into your hair, or Ceraxes from huffing his dragon breath all over you like a panting dog).

He'll press his scarred nuzzle to your hair, huffing and sniffing loudly like a dog- before the inevitable deep displeased rumble thunders from his throat. It never fails to make you laugh, such a giant dragon huffing gently over such a small human and then having a strop. You'll pat tenderly against black scales and exposed teeth to appease him- which usually works. As long as you sing his praises in the sky later. The chip in his scaly armour is you, after all.

~ He won't be confined to the dragon Pitts, he'll let you learn right away. Besides- it'd be too tempting not to grab a snack or two if he were to somehow squeeze his behemoth size into the little stone dungeons. He'll probably have to be kept on an entirely separate island near DragonStone, and even then he'll come and go. Do not fret though, he'll never dream of leaving you for long. He also has this way of telling when you're in trouble, and he'll come barreling back through the skies back to you- no matter the weather. You're his, after all. His human. No-one gets to hurt you under his claim and watch.

~ speaking about being under his watch, oh boy are you. There's never a moment in his presence where his eyes are off you. Since he probably bonded himself to you when you were young, he cannot help but see you as a fragile little child in his eyes. If his gaze isn't glued to you like a hovering parent, then he always somehow knows if you're in trouble or not. The bond between you two can be the only reasonable explanation. And there's nothing he adores more than seeing humans tremble and fall still like rigid corpses at the sight of him. Either it be his dark form encompassing the sky like a storm, his shadow forming a dreadful shape above their heads- a promise of dragonfire burning in his throat. Or perhaps his black scaly body descending from a rocky hillside, traversing down with his behemoth claws that piece rock. His eyes never off them as he slinks closer like a snake. A predator. You swear you can see him smirk when he does this, ever so the sadistic show off.

~ you'll find the word that leaves your lips the most often, is 'be calm'. Because oh, this dragon is the most aggressive of them all. He knows no chill, he wants problems. Always.

Either it be a soft mumbled word to soothe his hostile growls towards your father, or a firm yet calm demand before he decides to torch a group of knights who are only there to escort you somewhere, then best believe you'll have your work cut out for you keeping this monster at peace. You are quite literally the only thing keeping him at bay from devouring the guards and dragons around you.

~ I'll also touch upon the effect that riders have upon the relationships of dragons, because it's so beautifully complex. We all saw how Ceraxes sang at the sight of Syrax in season 1, so it's no surprise that the bonds between riders have an effect on the feelings amongst dragons.

So safe to say, Cannibal and Ceraxes are the most at each other's throats (figuratively... At least for now). They growl at each other, Ceraxes slinking his lithe neck back like a coiling serpent, hissing, as your Cannibal glowers and thunder rumbles in his throat. It's a game of who can hold back the most. So far, they're both winning. For now.

[writingescapades]

Jealous Rafayel

A/N: This started as jealously headcanons than became something else, lol.

Has two sides. The immediate more obvious, dramatic reaction is the one you are most used do. More like, it’s what you see on an almost daily basis. Rafayel basks in your attention. It’s like seeing the sun on a cloudy day, or feeling it’s warmth as a ship comes close to shore. One always notices the presence and loss of the sun, and Rafayel finds himself in continuous orbit around you.

There is also desperation painfully laced in this response. A question wondering how much time does he have left in this life? When would he see you next? These are questions that hang over his head and subject him to the agony of being a powerless god. So forgive him for his numerous gimmicks to veer your attention towards him. It not about knowing one another. It on creating those moments where it just feels like only the 2 of you exist in the world, like you’re the only 2 stars in the sky, because one day, there will be only one star. And he doesn’t want it to be. He doesn’t want to bear your loss anymore. So he clings on, each time reminding himself that you’re still here.

He's not particular on whether it’s your work or another person who is taking your time. They’re all evil demons that have him dramatically flailing because woe betide the young man who suffers the loss of love. If your try to console him, he’ll playfully scoff and shove you off claiming to not be second choice. If you cater to him, he’ll sigh and supposes he’ll accept your love. If you shrug and walk away, he’s chasing after you. It’s one thing to be jealous. It’s another to be alone in your jealousy.

But it’s all fun and games. His words are all bluffs intended to capture your attention on any excuse. Afterall, who wouldn’t want to hold onto the sun after lifetimes of darkness? But when you allow your priorities to consume you. When the time away from him is more than the time spent with him, that’s when Rafayel’s true jealousy comes out. Despite his temperament, Rafayel’s negative emotions do not flare out as easily as his positive emotions. Sarcasm and wit are as far as he gets, and even then, he keeps a light tone. Negative emotions coils around him, slowly, slowly twisting until it seeps out.

His voice cuts you like an ice shard. This time, he looks right at you, eyes so dark you cannot find their original colour. He uses everything at his disposal to his advantage. Leaning over you, he speaks in a sharp quiet voice. He’s direct in his accusations and tells you upfront that he doesn’t like what’s happening. Despite his anger and demeanour, deep down Rafayel is worried. He doesn’t trust easily, especially not humans, and though he knows not to treat you the same as other humans, he can’t help but notice patterns. When those patterns appear to be heading down paths he’s traversed too many times, he panics. He should trust you. Why did he trust you? He knows you won’t hurt him. But too many humans have said the same and done worse. You love him. Love is a dangerous word in the human realm. Such conflicting thoughts run amok in his head as he listens to you.

The truth is, Rafayel doesn’t really know what sort of life he wants with you. You both never made it far enough to even think about that. And now, when it finally seems like the universe is giving you both a chance, to see if being ripped apart because of your own priorities frustrates him. A part of him doesn’t want you or this human life. He wants Lemuria and Lemurians. Yet the moment that thought runs through his head, he laughs bitterly to himself because he knows that even if he’d manage to achieve that, he’d still not be satisfied. What was the point of such an accomplishment if there was no sun to bless them?

When Rafayel truly gets jealous it’s a reality check for both of you. For him it’s a reminder that you both made it this far. The path ahead has not been carved yet, there is still a chance. That he should still hope and fight because after centuries. Being with you feels is comforting, familiar, like wearing a glove. You both just slip back in each other’s lives as if you’ve never been apart. But what really shakes him is how accustomed he’d become to your loss. He’s spent too many years without you than with you. And he doesn’t know if he should let your in or let you go.

But when you talk to him. When you hold his face and call his name, he realizes that you are currently here, beside him, willingly. That you won’t abandon him. And while trusting you is still too hard for Rafayel, he knows that you are willing to protect whatever he does trust you with. So he apologizes, immediately, mumbling half-coherent reasons into your shoulder. He’s emotionally drained and just wants to be near you. He would prefer taking a nap, but is also okay doing something together or separately, just so long as he can feel you beside him.

[gaypiece]

Trafalgar Law + going down on you for the first time

☁︎ it’s 2am and i have earworms for law giving head 🫣 this is my first smut so i apologize in advance if it’s bad

☁︎ pairing: Law x afab!reader

☁︎ word count: 2.3k im sorry

☁︎ cw: 18+ mdni, shy reader, oral (fem receiving), surprisingly experienced law, law is a cocky teasing bastard, afab!reader, gender not specified but contains use of slightly gendered pet names, no plot, all smut

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The topic of experience had never come up between the two of you. You were shy, but still had been with a few people before. You thought from Law’s temperament of being cold and distant that he might be a virgin, but you also knew how sex-crazed boys tended to be during puberty. You wondered occasionally if he had messed around at that age, or ever, but were too shy to inquire about it. Needless to say, you weren’t sure what to expect when your relationship with Law turned physical.

It was a quiet, uneventful day. You laid with Law in his bed that night, holding each other, enjoying each other’s company. It began with playful kisses along his collarbones, your fingers lightly tracing the lines of ink on his shoulders and chest, exposed by the wife beater he wore. He hummed in appreciation before lifting your chin to kiss you fully on the mouth. It was a gentle kiss, the tip of his tongue lightly tracing your bottom lip as his hands navigated familiar territory, trailing over your waist and hips. He seemed to grow hungrier, biting at your lips, squeezing at your already bare thighs, until he had you beneath him. Your legs wrapped around him as he ground into you, both of you letting out breathy sighs. His mouth found your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat before nipping at the tender skin beneath the edge of your jaw, making you gasp softly. You and Law had made out before, but this time was so much more intense, and you could feel how hard he was, pressing against you.

Still, it took you by surprise when he murmured against your jaw between kisses, “Can I touch you?”

Immediately, you turned bashful. “Do you. . . want. . . to?”

Law loosed a breathy chuckle, the warm air tickling your neck. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to.” His hand squeezed your hip.

”Y-yeah, you can.” Your voice shook with your nerves. “After, I can take care of you if you w-“

He cut you off with a kiss, his tongue greedily invading your mouth, causing you to whimper. He pulled back to murmur, “Don’t worry about me, doll,” placing another kiss against your jaw. He then brought his lips right to your ear, close enough that they brushed against it as he breathed, “Right now, I’d love nothing more than to eat that pretty pussy until you’re cumming on my face.” The feeling of his breath on your neck, on your ear, gave you goosebumps, your already flushed face burning hotter at his filthy words. It was then that you realized that Law knew exactly what he was doing.

Your body reacted instinctively. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your legs tightening around his waist at the thought of his head being between them. He responded by grinding into you again, his teeth tugging at your earlobe. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you.

His mouth returned to yours, somehow even more eager. Cold hands slipped beneath your shirt, trailing over your curves, lightly gripping at your soft skin. One hand slipped beneath you, fingers gently following the line of your spine. His other hand roamed higher, until it cupped your breast. Long fingers massaged the supple flesh for a moment before finding the sensitive bud of your nipple, pinching and tugging teasingly.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be irked with his teasing. You relished every touch he gave you, becoming putty in his hands, just as he intended. Still, your hands wandered over him, just as greedily as his. You gave a slight tug at the shirt that still clung to his chest. He hummed against your lips, understanding what you wanted.

He sat up, kneeling between your legs. You watched in fascination as he removed the tank top, revealing the toned planes of his abdomen. The black ink across his chest was stark against his tan skin. As your eyes wandered further upward, you noticed the sexy, cocky smirk that he gave you as you admired his body. His raven hair was disheveled from your hands running through the thick locks. He mimicked the motion now, golden eyes admiring you back as the matching ink of his fingers combed through the mop. The action mussed his hair even more, and you were taken aback by how breathtakingly gorgeous the man above you was.

”Like what you see?” he teased.

You couldn’t deny it, nor did you feel bold enough to tease back. All you could do was give him a sheepish nod, teeth digging into your lip.

”Me, too.” It was true. He enjoyed seeing you this way, cheeks flushed, lips puffy, pupils blown wide with lust. He had never seen anything more beautiful.

He leaned down to kiss you again, now slow and deep. His hands went to your sides, continuing to ease your shirt upward. The kiss broke momentarily as he pulled your shirt over your head, leaving you in nothing but your panties. You felt the shyness return, being so exposed to him. You didn’t give him a chance to look, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to you for another eager kiss the moment your shirt left his hands.

The feeling of your bare chests touching sent a thrill through you, and your grip on him tightened. Fingers twisted into the hair at the back of Law’s head, you gave a gentle tug. You didn’t expect the low groan that spilled from his mouth to yours. Hearing that, you decided that you were definitely going to return his favor, even if it wasn’t tonight.

His mouth returned to your neck, biting at sensitive muscle and making you gasp. Your gasp turned into a whimper as his tongue eased over the bite. Slowly, he made his way down your neck, trailing kisses in his wake, along with the occasional nip. You couldn’t help but get lost in the feeling of him, admiring the way his lips and breath felt against your skin, the scrape of his teeth, the slight tickle of his goatee. This was bliss.

Law took his time making his way down your body. He seemed to be enjoying you as much as you did him, muttering sweet praises in between kisses. “So pretty. . . so perfect. . .” You were a desperate, whimpering mess by the time his lips found your lower abdomen. He bit down harshly just below your belly button, making you cry out, and surely leaving a mark. He pulled back momentarily to admire his work. When his eyes flicked up to your face, you didn’t miss the smugness in them as he pressed a soothing kiss to the sore spot left by his teeth. His gaze didn’t leave yours as he traveled even lower to mouth over your panties.

You didn’t expect your hips to buck up at the sudden contact. Law, however, simply chuckled at your reaction, “So needy.” By this point, you had had just about enough of his teasing. You threw your arms over your face, letting out a distressed groan.

”Hey, don’t hide from me,” he chided. He reached up to uncover your face, and you yielded, allowing him to move your arms. The smug smile he wore widened as he looked at you. “Are you pouting?”

You hadn’t realized you were. “No,” you denied, abashed. Your pout deepened, along with the flush on your cheeks as you turned away from him.

”You are,” he grinned. He repositioned himself so that your faces were level once more. He placed his hand under your chin, turning your face to look at him. You glowered. “You’re so fuckin’ cute,” he chuckled, capturing your mouth with his before you could argue. As he kissed you, he sucked softly on your pouted bottom lip, immediately making you melt. He always knew the right buttons to push in order to get you exactly where he wanted you. His lips parted from yours just a fraction so he could murmur, “Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?” Before you could respond, he was kissing you again. You hummed a “yes” against his lips, though it came out sounding like a whimper. “Good,” he praised, giving you another swift peck before reverting his attention to your lower half.

Law didn’t waste another second before removing your panties, leaving you fully exposed. He kissed along your inner thighs, still teasing just a little. You tensed in anticipation when his fingers carefully parted your labia.

His tongue licked a slow line, starting at your entrance, all the way to your clit. There, his tongue swirled around the bundle of nerves before closing his mouth over it with a tender suck.

”Ohh. Fuck,” you breathed, gripping at the sheets.

You whimpered as he hummed against you, sending vibrations through your core. “Delicious,” he mumbled, kissing your clit.

He continued this slow process of gentle licking and sucking, making you whimper and moan. You could swear that his mouth was magical, working over you so well. Combined with the sensation of his goatee brushing against you and his breath between your legs, you were in absolute heaven. Even better, you could tell that Law was enjoying this almost as much as you were. He put so much care into every little gesture, even in the way he gripped your hips and thighs. As you thought about it, the idea of Law enjoying you, enjoying pleasing you, it sent fire through your veins. Your hand found its way into his hair, making him hum against you once more.

Again, your hips bucked of their own accord, and his grip on them tightened. “Stay still for me, princess.”

You bit back a whine, clutching at the sheets and Law’s hair as he continued to slide his tongue over your clit. “I’m close,” you whimpered. One of his hands left your hip, and you didn’t have time to process what that meant before you felt two of his long fingers enter you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He timed the pace of his fingers to match that of his mouth, and it was almost enough to push you to your release. You stayed on the brink until he gave a slightly rougher suck to your clit, partnered with his fingers curling inside you. That was what finally made stars explode behind your eyes.

”Law!” you cried out. “I’m cumming. . .!”

He groaned into you, though you more felt it than heard it, struggling to control your own volume. He kept the same pace as he worked you through your orgasm, but continued even as you came down from the high. Both of your hands were now buried in his hair, weakly clutching at him. His hand that remained on your hip gave you a rub and a squeeze before reaching around your leg to brace his forearm across both of your hips. You didn’t understand why until his mouth and fingers quickened in pace. Sensitive in the afterglow of your orgasm, you couldn’t control the sounds that escaped you, nor the way your body squirmed and writhed with pleasure. His tongue now flicked over your clit repeatedly, relentlessly. His fingers were now knuckle deep in you, curled to continuously stroke that sensitive spot deep within you. He continued in this manner, persisting until another wave of pure bliss washed over you.

”Fuck, Law!” you nearly screamed. “Oh, gods.”

He slowed as he worked you through this orgasm, easing you down from the high. When he finally parted from you, a shiver ran through your body as you tried to catch your breath. You looked at him through lidded eyes. He gazed back with a smug smile, seeming to enjoy the blissed-out look on your face. Eyes locked on yours, he lifted his hand, still glistening with your arousal, and brought it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean.

”Gods, you’re sexy,” you breathed. You reached a weak hand out to him. “C’mere.” He obeyed, moving to hover over you as he had before. You cupped his cheek, pulling him in for a sweet kiss. “You’re amazing,” you muttered against his lips. You could taste yourself on him. It was so erotic that, if you hadn’t been so spent, you probably would have taken care of him in return anyway. You told him as much, making him chuckle.

”I told you not to worry about me,” he chided, adding, “I did only intend to get you off the one time, but hearing you moan my name like that. . .” He shook his head. “I just had to hear it again.” The flush that had just started to fade returned as you turned away from him. “Oh, don’t be shy now,” he teased, grabbing your chin. “You were making such pretty noises for me.” He brought his lips right to your ear again. “Makes me wonder how pretty you sound while you’re being fucked.”

You grew more flustered with each word he spoke, your face turning redder. “Okay, time for bed!” you announced, pushing him off of you so you could find your clothes. He let out a low chuckle, allowing you to move him to the side. As you put your clothes back on, Law left the room, returning moments later with his face clean, glass of water in hand. He offered it to you, and you took it gratefully, your mouth dry from all of the heavy breathing you just experienced. He took the cup back once you drained it, setting it aside to guide you back to bed. You were so thoroughly worn out that it took only moments for you to fall asleep.

pt 2

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi! I really enjoy your one piece writings, they have given me so much comfort when I don't feel okay 😭

Can I please get a Mihawk (I'm completely in love w this man aah) imagine where his wife is a sensitive person who gets sad when someone is rude to them but they feel insecure couse they think it's stupid

Thank youuuuuu ❤️🥺

First of all, I'm honoured that I can provide a source of comfort to you. I'm glad my work has made you feel better in your time of need.

Second of all: oh yessss bestie this hits the spot. It also reminds me of a wonderful scene in The Gentlemen (10/10, highly recommend) [it also hits close to home because I am a sensitive person]

The thing about strong people is that they make others want to be just as strong, which isn't always easy if even possible. You've always known you're a little 'softer' than most people but only after marrying Mihawk did you find the difference in temperament bothersome. Instead of considering your sensitivity a fact of nature, you've begun to find it a flaw, something that you should change about yourself.

You've never admitted it to yourself but the truth is plain and simple - you think it's embarrassing. That Mihawk will find your sensitivity embarrassing. Maybe if you had been up-front about it with your husband, you'd learn that he adores your soft heart. If he felt forthcoming enough, perhaps you'd even hear that you're the source of warmth and light in his life. Hence he calls you his 'sun'.

To say that Mihawk grew concerned when he heard your muffled sobs would be like not saying anything. A delicious euphemism at best. Anger and fear bubble inside his chest. There's a strange itch in his hands that eggs him to wreak havoc.

"Apple of my eye," his voice carries well through the rather empty room you're both staying at currently. "What is the meaning of this?"

Frantically wiping away your tears, you look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Mihawk is leaning against the doorframe, blocking the entrance if you so wish to run away from this situation.

"Oh, it's nothing. Really, I'm alright. No need to worry," you half-heartedly attempt to reassure him.

The swordsman loudly exhales through his nose. He's your husband, worrying about you is his duty. In slow steps, Mihawk walks over to the edge of the bed where you're sitting. Pride and titles as if forgotten, he drops on one knee in front of you. One of his hands gently squeezes your knee.

Unsure what's the best way to go about these circumstances, you timidly meet his intense gaze. The passion in his yellow eyes makes you think of a maelstrom captured in a jar - something devastating held back by a miracle. He's already seething, just doesn't yet know who exactly to direct his violence at.

"Indulge me," he prompts you to confide in him. There's a rare sense of pleading in his tone.

So indulge him you do - you tell Mihawk all about the unpleasant encounter with a local tearaway. Your husband tries his best to control his expression as you recount the unambiguously offensive words, unwanted touches and threats of real violence coming from someone who was probably looking for a cowardly scapegoat to vent his anger. As you continue your story, tears just keep rolling down your cheeks, fear and humiliation finally finding their way out of your heart.

"I know I'm being stupid," you mumble as you clumsily wipe your face, "he was just rude and it's not like he actually hurt me but-"

Mihawk's touch makes you cut your sentence short. His hand, its skin rough and calloused, gently cups the side of your face. Your hot, salty tears disperse as his thumb slowly rubs them away. Something about the tenderness of his touch, of hands that have killed and maimed, is enough to make you feel like you're about to break in his arms. Even if you do, you know that when dawn breaks you will be whole again, put back together with the unending love Mihawk holds for you.

"You've always been too good, my sun," he tells you in a low voice. He could have said 'too soft' or 'too sensitive' but then his remark would come off as deceitful as it would suggest his dislike towards your nature. Nothing of that sort - Mihawk genuinely thinks you're a better person than most people walking this plane. And he'd rather succumb to torture than let anyone make you feel bad about that.

The man leans in and places his warm lips against your forehead. Without much effort, he lays you down on the bed and you let him. Even if you wanted to fight back, you're way too tired to do so.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing your face, neck, arms and back as he's waiting for you to fall asleep. The anticipation doesn't require much patience - Mihawk's tender touches lull you to peaceful slumber rather swiftly. When he's sure that you're asleep, he kisses your forehead again before cautiously leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Perhaps he can't turn back the time and make the offending man choke on his words but he can ensure that the tearway won't hurt you ever again. Someone resting in peace so you can rest peacefully is a good bargain.

Mihawk knows exactly who he's looking for. He made a note of a certain characteristic trait you had mentioned - an earring with a single, red-coloured feather. It doesn't seem like a piece of jewellery that would be common anywhere.

It doesn't take much to find the tearaway. He makes his presence well-known as he stumbles out of a tavern, his legs almost giving away with each step.

So he assaults random women minding their business and then gets blackout drunk. It's pathetic enough to consider his death merciful.

Staying true to his name, the swordsman stalks his prey before lunging. Appearing as another patron of the inn, Mihawk follows the stranger around the corner towards barns, stables and pigstys. Fitting place for the likes of him, Dracule thinks to himself.

The man with the curious earring staggers his way towards a drinking trough. He's fumbling with his pants, desperately trying to pull them down to relieve himself but his fingers are not dextrious enough.

Mihawk picks up the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall. In one, swift motion he gores the tool through the back of the man's knee. A guttural scream tears through the night as he falls to the ground.

The swordsman grabs a fistful of the tearaway's hair. He forces the kneeling man to look up into his seething, yellow eyes.

"Do I owe you money?" The man is slurring his words. He squints his eyes, trying to focus his hazy vision on Mihawk and, possibly, recognize his creditor. "It's money, isn't it? Shit, just give me two days, man. I'll give it back with interest."

"I don't care about money."

Instantaneously, panic appears in the tearaway's eyes. Did he just find himself in the same position he's put hundreds of people in to cure his own boredom and need for grandiosity?

"Then what it is?!" he shouts, fear settling in his viscera. Dracule's calmness put together with the sheer hatred emanating from him makes for a deeply unsettling impression.

"You hurt my wife," comes the answer. The fist clenching the man's hair tightens its hold further, threatening to tear off his scalp. "My wife," Mihawk growls.

But before the tearaway can ask for clarification, his head is forced into the drinking trough. Surprised and scared, oxygen is escaping him fast. Soon, his throat and chest begin to clench and throb painfully. Dark spots dance across his vision, foreboding blindness.

Then, Mihawk pulls his head just above the surface. The man desperately gasps for air.

"If you believe in a god," the swordsman begins in a low voice shaking with anger and adrenaline, "I suggest you start praying. Fast."

The tearaway's head is forced underwater again but this time, Mihawk keeps it there until the ruffian's body stops trembling and shaking. After that, Dracule waits for a while longer - just for good measure.

You're woken up by the creaking of doors as they slowly open. Blinking sleep away from your eyes, you look over your shoulder only to experience a sort of deja vu: Mihawk is standing in the doorway. Before you can ask about his strange behaviour, your husband makes his way to you in long, quick strides. He kneels on the floor beside the bed.

Mihawk takes your hand in his. He takes something out of his pocket and places it in your palm. You recognize the red feather earring immediately. And is that... a piece of skin still attached to it? Gently, your husband closes your fist and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

"The rat has paid for its sins," he whispers to you. Judging by the intense look in his eyes, you don't want to know the details of this story.

[hitomisuzuya]

scaramouche x fem!reader. no smut. arguments. fluff. angst. two arguments in which scaramouche realizes he is in love.

i have been kicking around this idea for awhile, i am just gonna let my fingers do the typing. i don't expect this to hit very well, tbh

scaramouche is notorious for his temper. he is an experience to deal with, and it is not easy for anyone. most especially you, his assistant and secretary. he didn't want one, but he was advised by pierro and the captain that women are very capable for that type of job. that it might be good for him.

so now he was saddled with you. you are small, shorter than he is which was what he first noticed. he supposed you are a hard worker, kind of overachieving to do your best and do everything to the letter. if you messed up, you were quick to cry, which scaramouche loved.

at first.

he is currently in a stand off with you in his office. he is shooting you a glare that would make anyone drop dead and back down. but not you. you are determined to stand your ground.

"i don't need coffee, woman. what i need is competency, and some peace and quiet. and another pen. yet here you are, running your mouth and displaying the incompetency that i loathe," scaramouche snapped, barely even looking at the coffee you set on his desk.

he was stunned to see that you remembered how he likes his coffee. black with no sugar or cream.

"sir, please. you've been working so hard all day without any rest. if you won't rest, at least drink some coffee," your fretting was pathetic to him. he didn't need these things to sustain himself. "and in the meantime, i can find you a pen that won't explode. you probably squeezed the pen too hard," your smile was soft and he hated it.

"shut up, woman. leave. can't you take a hint?" he snarled, figuring that would finally make you flinch and cave.

nope.

instead, you grit your teeth. "i don't shut up, sir. i grow up," tough words for someone who threw the reports he asked (commanded) you organize for him like a child. finally, you turned and left his office, slamming the door behind you.

he swore it rattled through the entire hall. scaramouche's mouth was agape. nobody has talked to him like that before. as infuriating as it was, he thought you were pretty brave for a lowly human. and why did you look so cute when you are angry?

in the wake of all that, you still showed respect for him by calling him sir.

he stopped snapping at you for offering him coffee he didn't ask for after that.

this argument was over a cat of all things.

it was bad enough that his squad seemed to listen to you more than him. you'd found an injured black cat while out on a scouting mission. one that he glared out his tent the whole time watching for you to come back. where were you? this was a simple mission. what was taking so long? he'd hardly seen you all day and it was pissing him off.

when he started getting pissed about it, he didn't know.

there you came, black cat wrapped in your jacket and cradled carefully in your arms. "what took you so long? you are supposed to be my assistant. that dignifies staying close to me," he demanded, striding out of his tent.

you blinked at him, remaining quiet for a moment. "but you sent me out on the mission," you stated the obvious.

"that's not the point. and," he hissed, glaring at the bundle in your arms. "what is that?"

"a cat. i found him injured and abandoned. it's going to snow tonight, i refused to leave him to die," you replied, petting the cat and cooing to the animal as it showed signs of distress sensing scaramouche's unpleasant temperament.

scaramouche knew exactly what you were going to ask the moment you looked at him and opened your mouth. "no," he deadpanned, "go put it back where you found it. now," he crossed his arms. he saw his other subordinates shoot you apologetic looks.

"but-"

he cut you off. "no means no. the cat will just get in the way," his breath hitched in his throat as tears welled in your eyes.

you were quiet for a moment, and he thought he finally won.

nope.

"no," his subordinates suddenly looked very scared.

"what did you just tell me, woman?" he hissed lowly. "repeat yourself, i dare you."

"no," you said more firmly. "i refuse to abandon him and let him freeze to death. how would you like it if someone abandoned you when you needed it the most? that would be so so terrible. i refuse to put this kitty through that any more than he already was."

with that you turned and walked away back to your tent, cat on your arms and striding with a purpose.

scaramouche was stunned. not only had you just so boldly stood up to him, you'd effectively bitch slapped him in the face with words. what you said jarred him right to his core. he stared at your retreating back until you disappeared inside your tent.

your parting words hit home more than he liked to admit. why did you have to be so fucking smart all the time?

he seethed in his tent for many hours. you usually came by and checked on him, asking if he needed anything even if you were angry at him. but he saw hide nor hair of you.

and he couldn't stand it.

"where is my secretary?" he snarled, striding out of his tent and rounding in on the first subordinate he saw. he pointed to your tent.

why did you have your own tent, anyways? you are his assistant, damn it. you should be by his side with him in his tent. "come sit with me for awhile. and bring that infernal beast, if you want."

you look at him like he had two head. "wh-what?" he sighed at your response, raising an eyebrow. you are confused. scaramouche has never asked you to come sit and keep him company before. your heart fluttered like it always did whenever you were in his presence, never the less, you got up and cat in arms followed him back to his tent.

there was a long, companionable silence between the two of you. he noticed you didn't feel the need to start a conversation just to occupy silence. he really values that. "what happened to it?" he finally asked.

he hated he felt jealous of the cat curled up asleep and purring in your lap. "he is a cat, not a thing, scara," your eyes widened realizing you hadn't addressed him with the respect you always did. "i..i'm sorry," you stammered an apology.

sighing, scaramouche shook his head. "stop it. you don't have to call me sir when we are alone, at least. scara is...fine," he observed your relieved smile, looking away shyly as a blush he wished wasn't there dusted his cheeks.

"oh! by the way," you exclaimed, smiling more like a cat who just put her paw in the cookie jar. you unwrapped something from the sleeping cats collar and handed it to him. "you were looking for this, right? you mentioned pierro was suspicious of unrest in a smaller fatui faction. here is the documented proof. it was tied to the cats collar," the way you looked at him now, hoping for some form of approval, he hated to admit how cute you look.

scaramouche looked down at the paper and then back at you. you actually listened to him when he gave mission briefings. you singlehandedly accomplished what the rest of his squad couldn't do the entire week.

he put his hand on your head, stroking it through your hair. "impressive. you can keep i-" he started to say it in reference to the cat, but stopped when you raised an angry eyebrow at him, "him. the cat i mean," it was worth it to see you smile.

you keeping him company turned into a regular occurrence. which then led to you sleeping in and staying in his tent. love wasn't easy for scaramouche, but this was perfect way for it start.

[elysiansparadise]

Analysis of Aries Rising in the composite chart

🖤Having an Aries Rising makes the attraction between both of you quick, almost immediate. You are both very determined about the relationship and making things work between you. This duo stands out for being people with a strong temperament, decisive, passionate and driven to achieve everything they set out to do. Upon meeting the other, they caused a spark in the other, awakened an intense flame in the other's core and awakened that desire to have each other close. Passion and desire flow through you with intensity, you are burned by the need to have the other, to touch them and to be together. They love to tease each other, joke together and take risks to try or experience new things together. Here it doesn't matter if you are afraid or have a lot of doubt when it comes to opening up to having a relationship, you will jump in together and take that leap of faith. They are decisive about the other being what they desire and want, so much so that the other's opinion will be just another thing to which they do not pay attention.

🖤With Taurus in the 2nd house, the desire to feel close becomes a strong need. They greatly value spending time together and showing affection to each other in tangible ways. You are a couple that shows love more through meaningful actions than promises or cheesy words. They value constancy and perseverance in this relationship, that demonstrations and affection are not something typical only of the beginning of the relationship, but that both demonstrate their commitment throughout it, maintaining the rhythm and affection over time. They may be somewhat jealous or possessive of their time as a couple, or even of each other. In this relationship, both focus on contributing things that help build solid foundations so that the relationship lasts. They enjoy filling themselves with gifts and details that make their partner happy.

🖤Gemini in the 3rd house makes communication between you not only fluid and easy, but also very entertaining. Both feel that they never stop learning from the other and may feel fascinated by the other's way of thinking. They highly value maintaining constant communication, regardless of distance or whether the topics range from sensitive and profound to trivial and mundane. Even if they are very different, it is easy for them to do their part to understand their differences and debate or share ideas without being aggressive or taking what the other person says to heart. There will be many moments of laughter and entertainment between you, long hours that will feel like minutes. It is very likely that you plan trips together or frequent outings. They like to spend time together, even if it is for a short time.

🖤When they are alone, they both lower those high barriers and their tough exterior to enjoy the tenderness, affection and love that they have to give to each other in their entirety, that happens due to Cancer in the 4th house. They love spending time alone and are comfortable doing the most domestic activities together. Emotionally they feel protected and understood by the other, there is also a strong feeling of belonging with the other, being together just feels good. In their own way, they take care of each other and fill them with affection, opening themselves up to be vulnerable and talk about things that usually remain hidden from them, such as their feelings. They feel that the other understands their emotional needs and that without realizing it, they do things that make them feel good. Although they are both people always on the go, they feel that they can take a break with each other.

🖤When they are with each other, they feel that they are loved, cherished and accepted just as they are, and we attribute that to Leo in the 5th house. Fun is common in their relationship, they love to surprise each other, put a smile on their faces and fill themselves with positive emotions and affection. Their inner child feels happy next to each other, they feel that they can bring out this playful and childish side and that their partner, in return, will bring out this side too. They love going on dates and planning dates, choosing to alternate and do things that one enjoys, then others that the other enjoys, and finally finding a plan that they both want to do. There is a strong sexual attraction between you, the desire seems only to increase. They are seductive and playful with each other and many times this playful teasing leads to fun experiences in the bedroom.

🖤Virgo in the 6th house tells us about a strong sense of duty in the relationship, a conscious decision to want to do things right with the other, to always respect them and give them their place as your partner. Despite the light yet passionate quality, there is a strong devotion in both of them, and while they can be affectionate, they show this passion and dedication to the relationship through more practical ways. They are always willing to help, advise and be by each other's side at all times. Do they have fun? Of course, but they know what things to take seriously and when to tone down the jokes. You both respect each other's individual time and are likely to have a schedule to see or spend time together, dedicating that time fully to each other. They like to do things for each other and support each other during stressful days or moods.

🖤The presence of Libra in the 7th house makes both of them feel delighted with the relationship, they know that the other does their part to make it work, they love how easy it is to coexist with the other and they feel a deep adoration for the other as well. as an individual as a couple. Mixed in this connection is the fascination that your heart has for the other, like reason, that no matter how much you analyze the other, you only see someone with whom you want to spend time, the one you admire and whose presence you long for when you are far away. In this relationship it is not a you and me, it is an ‘us’, there is a strong sense of union, they give what they receive and both have the same importance. They both make decisions together and always take the other into consideration. 

🖤With Scorpio in the 8th house, both will have the strength and resilience to face moments of crisis together. You two feel a strong emotional and spiritual connection with the other. This couple also feel that the other is the one who accepts them as they are, who has seen them break and rebuild and has not loved them any less for it. The magnetism between you is strong and the moments of intimacy are passionate, you seek to merge with the other, belong to the other and be one with the other. They overflow with passion and desire, they become addicted to each other and want to give themselves pleasure in as many ways as possible. There is a strong complicity between you, the trust you put in each other is total and you know that your secrets are safe with the other. Intimacy is easy with each other. You are reserved with many areas of your relationship.

🖤Sagittarius in the 9th house makes them have a desire to experience, explore and know many different things alongside each other. They are both equally inquisitive and curious and love the idea of ​​being able to live adventures with their favorite person. Side by side they feel lucky, positive and optimistic, they have a positive way of seeing life and always encourage each other to move forward no matter how difficult the path they want to follow seems. They respect the autonomy of their partner and do not seek to control themselves, on the contrary they want their partner to develop and flourish, in the same way, they seek to grow by their side. They want to experience things together as a couple that they have always longed to experience in the past. They feel a boost of energy when they are together and feel lucky to be in love with the other.

🖤Having the 10th house in Capricorn makes you give the impression of being a couple that takes each other seriously, people may think and think that you will last a long time together or that you are the other's first truly formal relationship. You take your future plans seriously and genuinely see yourself standing next to each other, you have many goals together as couples and you put all your effort and time into getting closer and closer to that reality. You are both seen as very independent, capable and rational people, and as a couple you give the impression that nothing is capable of shaking the stability that you have. You keep many aspects of your relationship and your partner away from the rest, because you don't want to deal with people who are invasive about your relationships. They are very protective people of both the relationship and their partner.

🖤With Aquarius in the 11th house, you both feel the freedom to share your individual plans and dreams and not only that, but you show your support for your partner's. They love that, although their partner gives them realistic perspectives, they do not judge their deepest dreams and ideas. They really like to think about their future together and all the plans in which they want to include each other. In this relationship, individuality is valuable and necessary, so there is respect for the interests of the other. It is very likely that you both have common interests and you may discover new passions or tastes after entering this relationship.

🖤While Pisces in the 12th house makes them prone to idealizing the other and putting each other on a pedestal, they are both capable of giving a lot for the other and being open to being vulnerable and connecting authentically and completely with the other. The relationship becomes a space of comfort and mutual understanding where both feel they are healing old wounds and developing a genuine connection. They can dream a lot about each other and have moments of subconscious attraction where, out of nowhere, they think of the other and receive a call from them or run into them on the street. The relationship may feel predestined, and may awaken very intense feelings in each other more quickly than they are used to. They both like to drown in each other's love and affection, which is like a kind of balm for their soul.

[diejager]

could you write something for stepdad alejandro and dbf rodolfo?🩵

Cw: stepcest, praising, worshipping reader, fluff, barbecue, cheating, tell me if I missed any. Note: I stuck with the “canon” age, meaning Rudy and Alejandro are in their late 30s or early 40s.

Mexican summers were always warm - warmer than what you were used to when you were living farther up - with it’s blazing sun and vivid fauna that seemed to glow under the heat and clear blue sky. Thankfully, the air wasn’t stale, neither dry nor humid, but a equal temperament with a soft breeze that cooled the sweat that clung to your skin. You hadn’t dared wear anything other than your bikini when you stood in the busy backyard barbecue your mom and your stepdad had decorated and filled to have guests and friends alike over in the mids of a beautiful July. Unlike many of the older women who covered up in a dress or loose pants out of traditionalist convenience, their children - a cousin or a friend, young adults who were as rambunctious as you - were unabashedly prancing around in thin-strapped bikinis and low trunks, all happy to take in the warmth on their bronze skin. 

Some people you knew, others you didn’t, Alejandro often invited his ragtag group he called Los Vaqueros to every barbecue if he could, his bright and joyous smile lifting the corners of his lips while he flipped the spiced beef kebab he left marinating yesterday. You couldn’t say you knew them very well, boisterous and proud people, but you were familiar with his right-hand man, sweet Rudolf who seemed to loved pampering you as much as he adored you. A man of softness and tender praises, the rough texture of his fingers carefully holding your hips, massaging the fatty rolls and whispering compliments, affectionate confession about how pretty and perfect you were.

“Muñequita, ” Rudy mumbled, pulling you towards him by your waist in open affection, letting others see how close he was to you, arm wrapped around your back and cheek pressed to yours, a smile lighting up his face with every flustering words he let slip down his tongue, “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, lashes fluttering from how close his lips were to yours, his minty and warm musk filling your sense as much as it drowned out all your thoughts, “Why?”

He chuckled at your flustered and glazed expression, your lips pulled in a small and adorable pout while you clung to him, leaning your weight into his side as if you attempted to stand closer and closer to him despite being wrapped up in him arms:

“Ale and I were thinking of taking you out. That new restaurant you mentioned? We managed to reserve a table.”

“What?!” You turned to stare at him, gaping admiringly, “I- How’d you even do that? I’ve tried so many times and they always seem to be booked!”

“Well, Ale pulled some fa-”

“Honey!” Your mother called out to you from her side of the garden, surrounded with friends near the food table, “Could you go down and get more beers?”

“Of course, Ma!” You clambered out of the pool, water dripping down your thighs while you patted yourself dry, “Sorry, Rudy, I’ll be right back.”

You caught him smiling at you before you slipped through the kitchen door, carefully stepping down the basement-turned-man-cave’s stairs to get the beers out of the fridge. Finding the right pack, your bent down to rummage through the back to reach it when you felt hands grasp your hips. You jolted, eyes wide as you peered over your shoulder-

Only to see Alejandro’s shit eating rain, wild and blazing, smirking down at you with his crotch pressed to your ass. You swallowed thickly, watching the corded muscles of his arm flex and his swimming trunks hanging low, a bit of trimmed hair peaking out to tease you. 

“Thought I’d come down and help.”

Your body burned under his lidded gaze, thick and heavy, weighing you down with a churning in your core,

“Seems like more than just help.”

He laughed, a low bellow that rocked you forward, his shoulders shook and eyes gleamed so brightly, but mischievously. He was like the sun, hot and boisterous, and Rudy the ocean, all embracing and calm.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[yowumi]

CONSUME ME.

— pairing. osamu dazai x reader x chuuya nakahara [bsd]

✧˚ · . warnings. minors do not interact! 18+, they are all old friends who worked for the port mafia, teasing, they have to work together for a mission, teasing, hinting of past sexual encounters, yes chuuya and dazai are on that gay shit, all characters are in their 20’s, smut.

✧˚ · . a/n. hey guys it’s aries! i just started watching bsd and i love it so far and came up with this idea while making mac and cheese so here we are lol ^-^

pt. 1 // pt. 2 (coming soon)

getting out of the port mafia is hard, but not impossible.

that’s the words you repeated to yourself the day you left, while you ran through the streets with only a bag of weapons and one spare of clothes, as you wiped out hundreds of men chasing after you with bullets shooting over your head, as you ran away from that place for good.

it’s a vivid memory, one that should be celebrated on yet it felt more like a loss, grief. as a stray away young teenager it felt like home but as you grew and matured, you couldn’t help but hate what you were doing. — did you really want to be controlled by him your whole life?

after countless attempts of leaving the port mafia in your earlier years from rebellion and wanting to ‘make a statement’ on how much he really needed you, none of your attempts had ever worked. or more so, you never let any of them work.

the acting out played out for a while, that was until new recruits joined the port mafia. two boys, one named dazai, a tall man with chocolate hair, he had such a boyish demeanor at times, yet his eyes always felt so dark, deprived of the light. the other was named chuuya, a blunt man filled with pride and slight temperament when accompanied dazai. you can’t deny they complimented each other well. despite the circumstances of the port mafia’s harsh nature, seeing the two bicker and argue like teenagers felt refreshing. It was something you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

the two boys were accompanied by you after then, you three became quite close over time, sharing teenage memories with each other as you grew stronger, complimenting each others abilities in combat. although dazai rarely participated in hand to hand, unless necessary.

it wasn’t until a drunken night on chuuya’s eighteenth birthday that the three of you had played a spicy game of truth or dare.

“is it true that your wearing a wig” chuuya grins at dazai with a teasing expression as he sips the cocktail in his hand.

you’d laugh playfully pulling on dazai’s hair, earning a small wince from him.

“you can find out if it’s the real thing tonight when your pulling on it” he cheekily remarks.

“yeah right as if” chuuya rolls his eyes.

and it didn’t take long before the little brain cells left inside you from the alcohol began forming like a lightbulb turning on in your head.

“let’s spice this game up a bit, truth or dare but if you chicken out, you’ve gotta strip!” you presented to them excitedly and dazai claps with approval. chuuya on the other hand sighs in approval.

let’s just say by the end of the night, the three of you were stripped down to your undergarments, after many requests of pranking the boss, which no one had the balls or idiocy of doing even while drunk.

“truth or dare?” you asked chuuya.

“truth”

“is it true that you’re a virgin?” you blurted out without thinking, you were all very close so you didn’t think much of asking personal questions.

unexpectedly, his cheeks turned a light shade of red as he looked away huffing as he stared at his underwear being the only piece of clothing left on his body. “dazai close your eyes, don’t wanna hurt your ego” chuuya snarks at him implying he doesn’t want to answer which only makes dazai’s eyes widen.

“wow, with someone with such a big talking game, you still haven’t managed to get your dick wet yet?” he teased.

“wait you’re being serious chuuya?” you furrow your eye brows at him.

“i’ve done other things, don’t go pinning me as a plane jane alright, i just haven’t had sex that’s all” he admits, “dazai are you even one to talk! i doubt any women would want to do anything with you considering how much you rant about suicide!”

“perhaps your right” he says casually before his eyes lighten with an idea, “y/n, truth or dare?” he asks, suddenly excited making you worried. dazai thinking was never a good thing.

“fuck it, dare”

a smirk appears on his face as he looks at chuuya and you, “I dare you to take his virginity”

chuuya and your face widen as a blush creeped upon the two of your faces. suddenly feeling a bit nervous, “I, uh-“ you stutter, not knowing whether that would be okay to do with your friend. you wouldn’t mind, and of course you knew the two of your friends were very attractive so can’t deny sexual thoughts have crossed your mind late at night when you laid alone in bed but this all seemed so fast, faster than your brain could keep up.

dazai leans into you, slightly holding your waist firmly and pressing his lips near your ear whispering, “oh and let’s not forget that whoever chickens out has to strip” he emphasizes the word strip. “and from what i see, you only have your bra and panties left, i don’t think it’s smart to leave yourself vulnerable like that in front of two men…especially in this state…” he turns his gaze down to his briefs making you look down with him, noticing the bulge popping out against his leg while he looks back to chuuya who’s noticeably hard. you hadn’t even realized it before.

that night you had took chuuya and dazai’s virginity, and they took yours. it was a day you couldn’t seem to forget no matter how drunk you were. the line between the three of you was crossed and it never went back, making it ritual that the three of you were together in all ways.

that was until dazai left a few months later.

after he left, he didn’t leave any trace, no warning, nothing. if it weren’t for a report sent back after weeks of looking for him that he was surely alive but he didn’t want to come back.

chuuya and you grew distant after the fact. instead of the light mood and energy that you two were usually surrounded by, it felt as if the two of you were grieving dazai. not just as a friend, but as a partner.

for the last year you stayed in the port mafia, which was about a year after dazai had left, you and chuuya would spend nights together in your shared apartment, the apartment all three of you used to share.

it always hit the two of you at night that he wasn’t there, that’s when you and chuuya were brought together. silently, whether it was searching for comfort as you held each other as you slept, or angry sex from the frustration of work and the loss of dazai, or looking at each other with understanding, understanding of the same feeling brought upon both of you.

you had made a promise that you would tell him if you were planning to leave the port mafia.

you broke that promise when you had proceeded in refusing to help bomb an orphanage, not wanting to cause harm to children, that was always where you crossed the line. that was always the hard topic for you and you had thought that was something you and the port mafia had agreed on. you were wrong and no isn’t an answer in the port mafia. you were informed by one of your colleagues that they planned on assassinating you, for your disobedience as it was a very important mission needed to be done, something only you could pull off with your strategic planning and stealthy combat skills.

you had no time to leave, it was urgent and non negotiable. if you hadn’t left at that exact moment, you were surely going to be executed.

so you ran.

and you didn’t stop until you knew you couldn’t be found. you tried to find comfort working underground, doing some dirty work, something you were already familiar with. you worked for a on the low agency that helped take down dangerous organizations. it was like the fbi except…the government was some of the people you were mainly trying to take out…

after time of building a name for yourself in the under world, being the go to for underground highly advanced assassinations on huge corporations, ones nobody could dream of touching. your ability allowed you to remain invincible, not physically but not a single soul has been able to sense your presence, you didn’t have any fingerprints or bodily identification that could be left behind. you were the definition of stealth which made you dangerous yet wanted by many.

it didn’t take long for you to have everything you wanted, from where you sat, the port mafia couldn’t take you down unless they gave it their all, same as dazai. they knew it would be a means to war if they were to force us back. a war they wouldn’t be able to win.

you couldn’t deny that it felt lonely, the years you spent alone. you tried looking for chuuya, you watched over him, sometimes you would even stalk him trying to figure out what he was up to these days. dazai on the other hand, you somehow couldn’t find yourself to look for him.

dazai was being looked for, they were trying to bring him back, they wanted him. If he left, it was only because he wanted to.

there was always something so distant about him, he kept up such an act that made him seem okay constantly, never letting his guard down. yet, something about him always felt distant, as if he was right there yet meteors away.

for years, the silent distance between the three of you marinated, not having any connection between each other, no communication, nothing.

that was until 3 years later, you were informed that chuuya and dazai had a little reunion, without you.

you stared blankly at the report given to you of the information, not knowing how to feel towards the situation. pictures were provided and you can’t deny that they aged well. dazai grew a few inches, he wore lighter clothes now, taking on a more casual look rather than the edgy one he wore as a teen. chuuya on the other hand hadn’t grown much since, although his face matured more and his hair grew out a bit, you also recognize he took on a better sense of style.

you put the paper down and threw it in the trash.

their reunion had nothing to do with you, therefore you should be kept uninterested. the past is in the past.

a few days later you had received a visitor at home in the middle of the night, which was rare because you didn’t receive house visits. you grabbed your gun from your night table making your way towards the presence you heard near the kitchen. looking around for any sign of life, you pointed your gun up before being blinded by the lights turning on in the darkness of the night. you quickly gained your composure before you felt a warm body behind you and a hand coming towards yours which was holding the gun.

bandages.

you knew who’s hand that was, you knew that hand all too well. your legs felt the sudden urge to weaken and your breath hitched as you felt him inches away behind you. feeling his breath against your ear as you felt him lean in, “you didn’t think i’d forget about you, did you?” he let out a soft chuckle against your ear as he took the gun from you.

“how did you get in here dazai” you say bluntly not daring to turn around to look at him, in fear of losing your composure, or perhaps your sanity in this case.

this seemed funny to him and you realize how stupid the question is. — why wouldn’t he be able to get in here?

you grew with annoyance swiftly pulling a move fast enough for you to take out a small knife from under the small shorts you were wearing and backed him into a corner, pointing the weapon towards his neck.

“why are you here.” you finally look him in his eyes for the first time in years, taking in the close proximity between the two of you.

“would you believe me if i said a friendly reunion over some drinks?” he teased, “i came back because…” he leans in closely knowing you wouldn’t kill him, “i need you.” he whispered in almost a whine, one you were familiar with.

you were taken by surprise by his words about to kick him in the nuts for his stupidity before a voice comes out from the back.

“you shouldn’t tease dazai, you know that only results in punishment” chuuya’s voice echoed out from the couch that he sat splayed across on. you look up at him feeling immediately guilt in your stomach remembering how you left him.

dazai quickly notices this trying to change the conversation with the mention of drinks. “you must have some type of alcohol in the house, right?” he starts searching and rampaging through your cabnits as he looks for any sign of alcohol.

“aha!” he lifts up an old bottle of wine that hasn’t been opened pulling the lid off effortlessly as he cheered.

you go sit down on the couch next to chuuya where he stares silently at you, “been a while” he says barely making eye contact with you.

“yeah..” you say awkwardly, not knowing what to say. you figured you would tell him you were sorry now while you have the chance as dazai is distracted, “listen, i’m sorry about how i left, i just-“ you were cut off by chuuya.

“don’t worry about it, i’m not holding grudges” he says giving you a slight comforting smile in the best way he can considering his usual blunt and annoyed manner.

you smile back as you two sit in silence, taking each other’s in as you looked at each others new appearances with age and maturity.

looking at him from up close forced you to really look at him and his features, taking in the way his eyes slightly softens when dazai speaks to him from the kitchen or how he plays with the rings on his fingers as he speaks, when you really took the time to look at him, you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by him.

stealing you away from your thoughts, dazai awakened you from your gaze when he calls your name out for what must have been a few times now asking if you want him to serve you a cup, you nod in reply.

as dazai sits down, placing the cups filled to the brim with liquor on the small coffee table that laid in the middle of your nearly empty apartment.

“you should get plants or something ya know, it’s so depressing in here, your house looks like the inside of a grandmas vagina” dazai speaks freely — as always, when does he not?

“how the hell would you know what a grandmas vagina looks like?” you furrow your eye brows at a cheeky dazai, giggling in response.

“i’ve been around, the ladies love me ya know” he sarcastically brags, as chuuya shoots him looks of judgement with a small scoff, “you disgust me.” he takes a sip of his drink.

times like these reminded you of your teenage years, memories that made your time serving the mafia feel not so bad.

“you never answered my question…” you’re still curious as to why they came back to you after years, it was all so sudden. there had to have been a reason, right?

chuuya gives dazai a look emphasizing that he should tell her, dazai rolls his eyes in defeat. he really hated having to change the mood.

“the port mafia are planning to hunt you down so until further notice, i was informed that i needed to take you in so you can receive protection from the angency.” he says taking a sip from his cup.

you look towards chuuya, “and you?” you ask.

his face flushes just for a moment before looking down almost in embarrassment, “…i uh volunteered or whatever..” he looks away.

your face grew with concern coming closer to him, “wait? but that would be a betrayal to the port mafia, would it not?”

he looked up at you, “yeah but it’s fine.” he says plainly trying not to make a big deal out of it. “dazai dragged me into it anyways, pestering me and shit” he glared at dazai sitting next to him.

“hey! you joined without hesitation, it didn’t take much convincing out of him-“ his words cut off with the slap of chuuya pushing a napkin in his mouth left with a pouty dazai.

“well i guess i don’t have much of a choice in this, do i?” you ask.

“nope.” both of them say, dazai with a grin and chuuya with annoyance.

you get up and leave the room making your way to your own bedroom, receiving confused looks and ‘huh’s from the both of them.

you come out within a few seconds with a duffel bag filled with your belongings.

“you were trained well” dazai grins.

“so where are we heading?”

.

.

.

link to part 2 (coming soon)