#this is SO LONG this is embarassing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sencrose · 2 years ago

Text

— SUNFALL

pairing: megumi fushiguro x f!reader

tags: NONCON, stalking, obsessive behavior, creampie, master kink, male masturbation, dacryphilia, alcohol use, cunnilingus, aged up characters, reader is a maid cafe worker + smokes

wc: 6.5k

a/n: hii i basically just heard that maid cafe/outing in akiba drama cd and ran a marathon with it ٩( ᐛ )و you don’t really need to listen to it, it’s just mentioned in passing in the beginning.

summary: megumi wants to find relief from the cold, unforgiving world of jujutsu sorcery. he finds warmth in your hands.

➳ crossposted on AO3

There is nothing glamorous about being a jujutsu sorcerer. It’s a thankless job. The people you put your life on the line for aren’t aware that they’re in any particular danger, and it’s common to see your colleagues die young, their dreams and ambitions dying alongside them. With that in mind, it’s no surprise Megumi yearned for some semblance of warmth that could relieve his stress and burdens. So he found himself at the maid cafe he went to with Itadori, back when they were still students. He usually wouldn’t be caught dead at an establishment like this, but it was one of the only places from his academy days that weren’t tainted with wretched memories of dying civilians and near death experiences.

The bells on the entrance of the cafe jingle as he steps in, alerting the workers of his presence. It’s gaudy, to say the least. Bright walls and pastel checkerboard floors line the interior. There’s a couple of cork boards by the entrance, showing the lineup of girls as well as some polaroid pictures of them with customers. The seats and tables alternate between pink and white, and Megumi can’t help but consider turning on his heels and running out the door. Before he can even turn to face the door, you step towards him, with a cheerful smile painted on your face.

“Welcome master! Table for one?” Megumi is taken aback by the sight of you. The black socks that squeeze the plush of your thigh, the cat ears that adorn your head, the fluffy skirt that seems to bounce with every step you take; it is all too much for him. The ‘master’ pet name doesn’t help either. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s been referred to as such. It’s been thrown around here and there during his rare visits to the Zenin Estate when he was a child. There was something different; the timbre of your voice, the excitement in your tone. Remnants of your voice echo in his head as he tries to compose himself.

“Yes.” Megumi’s eyes shift to the side, unable to maintain eye contact.

“Alright, follow me master!” You lead him to an empty table by a window, and place a menu down. Megumi sits down, perplexed at all the options presented in front of him.

“Do you have any recommendations?”

“The omurice is super yummy! It even comes with a super special surprise.” You wink at him, pointing your pen to your face.

“Then can I get that?”

“Of course, master! One omurice coming right up!” With a dramatic rip of the order slip, you deliver the ticket to the kitchen, skirt flouncing about with each step you take. As you disappear into the back, Megumi relaxes his shoulders, unaware of how tense he was in the first place.

As you pop back out from the kitchen, he’s taken by surprise as you skip to sit in the seat in front of him.

“Is this part of the service?” He asks, tilting his head in confusion.

“No, but it’s not like we’re busy or anything!” You gesture to the empty tables in the rest of the cafe, and your other coworker who’s lounging on their phone in a corner. “Unless, you’d rather be alone?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“No, this is fine.” He responds coolly, despite his heart threatening to burst out of his chest. When was the last time he held a conversation with anyone outside of Jujutsu society, much less with someone as cute as you?

“So, what brings you in?” You ask, placing an elbow on the table and resting your face on your hand. It catches him off guard, just how close you are to him. The table couldn’t have been longer than 2 feet, but it was more than enough to bask in your beauty.

“I was in the area and just thought it’d be fun. I came here with a friend a while ago.”

“Oh really? Was I your server?” You bat your lashes as you bring your hands to your face, cupping your cheeks. Heat rushes to his face as he looks at you before briefly shifting his eyes to the side.

“I don’t think so. It was a few years back.” As far as he remembers, the last time he was here, he was focused on keeping Yuuji in line and keeping an eye on Gojo. Checking out the maids of the cafe was the least of his worries, though in retrospect, he might be feeling a twinge of regret for not paying closer attention.

“Aw, that’s a shame. I think I’d remember if I saw someone like you around.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Megumi raises an eyebrow and tilts his head, unsure of what you’re trying to get at.

“Just that you look a bit different from the usual kinda guy that comes in.” You respond, leaning your face onto your hand. “But enough about that. You liked us enough to come back?”

“Not necessarily. I don’t really know the area that well.” He runs his fingers against the back of his hand, not knowing how to explain that he was feeling nostalgic for a place he’s only ever visited once in his life.

“Well, what are you into?”

His head perks up to look at you, perplexed that you’re attempting to strike up a conversation with him. It’s not a common occurrence for a waitress to talk to him beyond taking his order and dropping off his meal.

“I like reading.” He answers matter-of-factly.

“So like, manga?”

“No, non-fiction.”

“Not sure if this is the best place for that. If you give me a bit I could probably come up with a list of nice bookstores.” You grab the pen from your apron pocket and spin it in your hands before pointing it at him.

“It’s alright if you can’t think of anything. I can’t find the time to read these days anyways.” He’s touched by the idea but doesn’t want to place a burden on you.

The ring of a call bell from the kitchen marks the end of the conversation short, as you perk up to go pick up his order.

With your return, your tone shifts to a higher register as you place the plate on the table and announce, “Alright master, one omurice for you! What’s your name?”

“Megumi.” You take the ketchup bottle and carefully squeeze out his name onto the omelette, adding a smiley face at the end.

“Alright master Megumi, we have to do this together. It’ll make the meal complete!” Master Megumi. He likes the ring of that.

“What are you talking about?” He asks in earnest.

“We have to give the omurice a super love beam!” You puff your chest out with your hands on your hips, as if that’s the most obvious answer on the planet.

“I’m not sure I understand wh-”

“Come on, it’s really easy!” You place your hands around his, molding his fingers to form a heart. Your hands are soft and warm against his rough calloused fingertips. A soft blush forms on his face as you play around with his hands. When was the last time he’s held anyone’s hands? Are they always this warm? This welcoming? He never knew someone’s touch, especially that of a stranger’s, could make his heart race.

You finally get his hands in the right shape, before pointing it at the meal. “Say it with me, suuuper love beam!”

“Su-super… love beam…” He mutters, looking away from the meal. He can’t bring himself to say it without feeling embarrassed at how absurd it seems. You let go of his hands, but the warmth still lingers. Megumi finds himself holding his hands where yours were; longing for the sensation to stay.

“Now, it’s ready to eat! Oh wait, I almost forgot something.” You briskly walk to the back counter, skirt bouncing with every step, before returning with a polaroid camera.

“It’s your first time back in a while, right? We have to celebrate with a picture!” You kneel down next to him before pointing the camera at the two of you, but you can’t seem to get both of your faces to fit in the tiny viewfinder.

“Hmm, you won’t be in the frame this way.” You lean in closer towards Megumi, your chest pressing against his arm, face only centimeters away from his. If Megumi wasn’t flustered before, he definitely is now. He can feel the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe and the heat radiating off of your body. His breathing stills, as if the tiniest movement will push you away. Time halts for a second, even if that’s not the reality he’s faced with. He wishes this moment could last forever.

“Alright, say cheese!” You throw up a peace sign and smile at the camera. With a press of a button, a bright flash illuminates the room and fills your eyes. The flash catches Megumi by surprise, causing him to blink and rub his eyes to alleviate himself of the stars clouding his vision. A dull buzzing noise emits from the camera, as it slowly prints out the photo.

“Here you go! Enjoy your meal!” You hand him the polaroid and wave before going back to work.

He holds the image in his hand, shifting it back and forth in the light, waiting for it to develop fully. The black starts to fade, revealing your radiant smile, in contrast to Megumi’s awkward expression as a result of him blinking. In that moment, Megumi realizes something as he stares at the polaroid of the two of you: your smile shines like the sun, and he wants to go blind.

---

The plan to find something to get his mind off work may have worked a bit too well, as Megumi finds himself in a pocket of the bustling city again, standing in front of the maid cafe entrance.

“Welcome, master! Oh, back so soon?” You ask with a smile.

“Yeah… I am.” He says with a hint of hesitation in his voice, as if he doesn’t quite believe it either. You show him to a table, a different one than last time.

“Can I get the omurice?”

“Coming right up!”

“By the way, here’s that list of bookstores. You left before I could give it to you.” You hand him the list, and he bows his head slightly in thanks and acknowledgement.

The list is written on the back of an order ticket, slightly crumpled, probably from being in your apron for the past couple of days. Blue pen is scribbled along the off-white paper, listing addresses of various bookstores; some located nearby, others located elsewhere.

“You really didn’t have to…” He looks away from you and scratches his neck, trying to collect his words. “But thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, it was fun to make!”

The conversation is interrupted by a call of your name from a back room.

“Hey, could you help out back here if you’re not too busy?” Your coworker peeks out and gestures for you to follow them.

“Sure!” You turn to look back at Megumi. “I’ll be back in a bit.” You leave with a simple smile and a wave, before disappearing to the back.

As much as he’s disappointed that he can’t spend more time talking to you, he’s grateful that he knows your name now. Something so simple yet it hadn’t occurred to him until he heard it. He tucks it into the depths of his chest, locking it away as a secret for him to keep.

He takes a harder look at the list of bookstores you gave him. It’s more detailed than he expected, as you took the time to write out a rating and other interesting notes for each store. He traces the ink with his thumb, imagining you hard at work writing this for him. It brings a tender smile to his face and butterflies to his stomach. Maybe he’d be able to return the favor someday.

He jumps in his seat at the ring of a bell from the kitchen. You come out soon after, heels clacking against the tiled floor as you approach him.

“Alright, one omurice just for you master!” You place the plate on the table and start shaking a bottle of ketchup. “Your name was... Megumi, right?”

His head perks at the mention of his name, delighted to hear it coming from you again.

“Yeah.” You carefully squeeze out his name onto the omelette. To change it up a bit, you draw cat ears above his name, reminiscent of the accessories that decorate your head. He finds it endearing, seeing your eyebrows furrow, the slight bite of your lip as you concentrate on drawing, your hands delicately wrapped around the bottle and fingers pressing into the pliable plastic.

“Alright, we gotta hit it with the super love beam! You know how to do it, right?” He does, but doing it right means that he won’t be able to feel your hands against his. Besides, doing it of his own volition filled him with a deep sense of embarrassment, and although nobody he knew would be all the wiser, he still couldn’t bring himself to do it. Megumi puts his hands up into an awkward shape, resembling an oval more than a heart.

“Like this?” He presents his hands to you, with a raised eyebrow.

“No, silly, more like a heart! It’s a super love beam.” He fumbles with his hands a bit more, but the shape that unfolds looks more like an 8 than a heart.

“Here, let me help.” You place your hands on his, gingerly putting each finger in their proper place. You bend his thumbs backwards slightly to form the right curve before pushing them together. His hands are rougher than you expected; all calloused palms and hardened fingers. They’ve seen enough woes to last a lifetime or two.

“There! Alright, say it with me. Suuuper love beam!”

“Su-super love beam…” Megumi still can’t bring himself to say the phrase out loud.

“Alright it’s ready to go! Enjoy your meal!”

Megumi’s hands ball into tight fists, contemplating whether he should ask you for another photo but you’re gone before he can muster the courage. He hesitantly digs his spoon into the fluffy pillow of eggs on his plate, as he watches you walk away. He blankly stares at the dome of egg blanketing grains of rice before taking a bite. The metal spoon scrapes against his teeth as he takes a bite, chewing for what seems like an eternity before swallowing.

It doesn’t taste as good as last time.

---

It’s the only picture of you he has. He was hoping during his last visit to the cafe, he could get a proper picture where he looks presentable, but he couldn’t find it in himself to ask. Maybe it was embarrassment, maybe it was a useless sense of pride, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s sitting at his desk holding one polaroid instead of two.

His thumb gently traces along the curve of your face, the glossy finish of the film sticking to his finger.

Oh, how he wishes he could feel more of you. He wonders how soft your cheeks would feel if he were able to caress them, if they would be as comforting as your hands. His mind starts to race with questions, each more obscene than the last. How would you react when his thumb wanders from your cheek to the pout of your lips? What kind of choked moan would escape your lips as he hooks his thumb into your mouth and presses down on your tongue? How warm would your mouth feel as it wraps around his cock?

He shouldn’t be doing this; he swears he’s better than this. But any concern of pride or saving face is quickly melting away as his hand wanders down to his boxers. He palms himself through the fabric until the muted sensation just isn’t enough. He reaches over to the bottle of lotion on his desk, pumping twice before stroking himself, desperately wishing it was your hand instead of his.

He lets out a groan as he leans his head back and closes his eyes. Pictures of you fly across his mind as his breaths get heavier. Impatient hands desperately undressing you, finally being able to see you at your most vulnerable. Maybe you’d be a bit bashful as he grabs your waist, his hands gently traveling to the curve of your hips. Maybe you’d squirm under his touch as he traces your inner thigh, teasing you before getting any closer.

What kind of lewd sounds would leave your mouth as his fingers slide up and down your folds? How would your face contort in pleasure as his cock splits you open?

He thinks about you chanting his name, no, Master Megumi, in between choked moans and whimpers as he fucks his fist. His pace quickens as he loses himself in his fantasy, panting your name under his breath. With a final pump, his cock starts to twitch, hot spurts of his seed painting the polaroid in white, the excess dripping onto the floor.

As he comes down from his high, shame washes over him, but it’s short-lived. A burning desire arises in its place: to have you all for himself.

---

He’s heard the tale of Icarus before, the man who flew too close to the sun. He never paid it much mind, especially since it came out of Gojo’s mouth during one of his long-winded lectures in his middle school delinquent days. The strongest sorcerer lecturing him about reckless pursuits and self-constraint? How rich.

And though he disregarded it before, it weighs heavy on his mind as he stands in front of the cafe entrance for the third time this week, chasing the high that is the warmth of your hands enveloping his.

He throws on that aloof expression as always, walking into the familiar jingle of the cafe’s bells. The atmosphere of the restaurant is completely different from his past two visits, bustling with customers and workers rushing from table to table.

“Welcome master! Table for one?” He doesn’t recognize the worker in front of him, his eyes wandering off to a corner where you’re helping another customer.

He supposes that this was a possibility, but he doesn’t want to accept it. Your hands are all over theirs, demonstrating the super love beam. Your smile is as radiant as ever, and envy begins to simmer in his body because he isn’t at the receiving end of it. The rational side of him says that this was to be expected; it is your job after all. But another side of him can’t help but be disgusted.

“Um, sir? Is everything okay?” The waitress waves a hand in front of Megumi’s face to get his attention, causing him to blink a few times before responding to their question.

“Oh, sorry. I’m okay, I’ll be back later.” Megumi shows himself out the door, the bells ringing as it closes. He stands still for a moment, staring again at the entrance before letting out a heavy sigh.

His hands feel a bit colder today.

---

While Megumi hasn’t returned to the cafe in quite some time as a customer, he’s developed a bad habit in its stead. Well, he tells himself it isn’t a bad habit; he’s just making sure you get back home safe from work.

It’s a fairly quick commute; a walk to the station, staying on for a few stops, before getting off to walk for fifteen minutes. But anything could happen within that time. If anyone tried to hurt you and he wasn’t able to protect you, he would never be able to forgive himself.

So he’s started to enjoy this peaceful little routine, lurking in the shadows and following you home, unbeknownst to you. Though he misses the banter and the warmth of your hands he tells himself this is ok for now. If anything, there was a special sense of intimacy in seeing you wearing something other than the ornate maid dress that seemed to swallow you whole.

Today was… different. You left the cafe in a rush, heading in a different direction than usual. Megumi follows close behind in your shadow, as you make your way to an unfamiliar part of town. It’s quiet; away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

You make your way into a bar, and a seedy one at that. Overhead lamps hang from the ceiling, painting the room in a murky yellow. The floor is littered in scratches and nicks, the wallpaper worn down and stained with patches of brown of varying intensities. It’s fairly empty for an evening, save for a few patrons scattered along the worn down leather booths and tables.

You sit down at the counter, your body plopping as you sit down on the bar stool. The wooden counter has deteriorated from years of wear and tear, scuffs and water stains well settled into the surface.

“Would you like something to drink?” the bartender asks.

“Not right now. Waiting for someone.” you answer.

Something cracks in Megumi upon hearing your response. What kind of person were you meeting in such a run down place like this?

You wait and wait. Megumi does as well, with bated breath. Fifteen, thirty, forty-five minutes pass by with no appearance of this mystery person. You finally unlock your phone, finding something to cure your boredom.

His eyes glance over, your eyes glued to the screen as you scroll.

The world stops for a second.

A dating app.

He should have known it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but it doesn’t matter.

You open up your inbox, typing with an annoyed expression, and Megumi’s chest tightens with each tap on your keyboard.

if you’re gonna stand me up at least choose somewhere nice lol

You both sigh for different reasons.

Though he can’t help but think, what kind of asshole would stand you up of all people? Even with his limited interactions with you, he can see your kindness shine bright through your smile. Your hands, soft and inviting, are warm and comforting to the touch. His heart skips a beat at just the thought of you touching him again. Whatever, it just keeps things easier for him.

“Give me something strong please.” You ask the bartender, tapping your fingers against the counter. The bartender silently nods, pouring a concoction of various liquids into his mixer before shaking vigorously. He gingerly pours the drink into a glass with ice before sliding it your way.

The drink burns on the way down, but you don’t care. You take large sips, only taking breaks in between to let out a heavy sigh.

“Another one please.”

Megumi should stop you. He knows he should stop you. But he’s too distracted, enamored even, by watching you drink. The way your lips pout to reach the straw, the way each gulp slides down your neck, the way you suck to make sure you’ve cleared the glass of every drop of liquor.

The evening continues uneventfully, and at some point you’ve lost count of how many glasses you’ve had, and decide that’s a good marker to start making your way home. You’re stumbling a little bit, but you’re confident in your ability to get back, though that doesn’t really matter.

Megumi will be right by your side, whether you know it or not.

---

Even with your hellish shift at work, you’ve somehow gotten through another day. The sun sets on the horizon, painting the sky and cityscape in a mix of hazy orange and soft pink hues. Even in your drunken stupor, you can appreciate the beauty of the skyline, maybe even more so as your vision blurs all the colors for you, like watercolor paints blending into one another on paper. Whether it’s the last of the sun’s rays washing over you or the alcohol in your system warming your cheeks, you don’t care. The warmth is comforting in contrast to the chilly breeze of the city.

You’ve come to admire this view on the rooftop of your apartment complex, arms leaning against the metal railing as you take it in. While living in a cramped unit you can barely afford has its burdens, this has been one reassuring constant; your temporary place of respite from the chaos of the world around you. You take out the box of cigarettes from your pocket, cellophane packaging crinkling as you unwrap it. Flipping the top open, you place a cigarette in your mouth, the faint smell of tobacco wafting through your nostrils. You reach for your lighter, spinning the wheel once, twice, three times until the flame comes to life, before bringing it to your face.

“You have a lighter?” The voice takes you by surprise, causing you to jump. You raise an eyebrow as you take a skeptical glance at the hooded man next to you. Something about him looks and sounds vaguely familiar, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

“Do I… Do I know you from somewhere?” You ask, tilting your head as you try to get a look at his face.

“I moved here recently.” he responds, slightly shifting his face away from you and adjusting his hood.

“Well, nice to meet ya, neighbor.” You hand him your lighter before looking back at the sunset and exhaling a puff of smoke.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, ’m fine. Just had a shitty day.” you respond, pinching your forehead.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“What’re you sorry for? Not like it’s your fault I had a shit day.” you scoff, before inhaling another puff of smoke.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“It’s--” you let out a sigh before debating on whether or not you should go on a drunken rant in front of a stranger. Instead, you let out a guttural groan, planting your forehead against the railing, trying to find some form of catharsis. The metal is cool against your nearly feverish skin, as you slightly raise your head to bring up the cigarette to your mouth and take another hit.

“Are you drunk?”

“Probably.” The answer was definitely yes, extremely. It was obvious with your gestures, the ways your words slurred, the stringent scent of alcohol leaving your lips with each sentence. It was a miracle you even found your way home, or up to the rooftop for that matter.

“Do you need someone to walk you back to your apartment?”

“’m fine.” You attempt to shoo him away as you take a step forward, only to stumble over your own feet.

“Seriously, I’ll take you back.” His offer sounds enticing, especially considering how intoxicated you are. There’s no way you’d be able to walk down three flights of stairs to your apartment without falling or hurting yourself. So you collapse into his arms, accepting his proposal.

“Thanks. ’m three floors down.”

---

The trip down three flights of stairs wasn’t ideal, but manageable. Megumi had your arms slung around his shoulder as he attempted to keep you balanced during the descent. You messily shift through your keyring once you get to your door, metal clinking against each other until you find the key to your apartment.

The hallway is cramped, a small kitchenette built into one of the walls. The coat rack is nearly collapsing in on itself with the amount of clothing you’ve thrown on to it, some of the garments already forming a wrinkled puddle of fabric on the floor. With a few steps he’s already in the main room, where your bed and desk are crammed together.

He places you gently onto the bed as you shift around and sprawl yourself against the sheets.

“Thank you.” you mumble into the mattress.

“No worries.” he takes a step away from the bed, but his eyes are glued to your body. He knows he should be leaving but he can’t bring himself to look away.

If seeing you outside of work was intimate in and of itself, he didn’t know how to describe this sight. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your cheeks squish against your pillow and cause your lips to pout slightly. He wishes he could see this side of you more often.

He’s not sure what comes over him. Maybe it’s the lingering sensation of your warmth from helping you down three flights of stairs. Maybe it’s a selfish desire to prove that he can make everything better. You don’t need anyone else: not those customers who are undeserving of your touch, and definitely not the pathetic loser who stood you up.

And like Icarus who flew too close to the sun, his hand stretches out to reach for your waist, greedy, desperate for your warmth.

His hands feel like they’re burning as they gently lift the hem of your shirt. Nimble fingers softly graze against your supple skin, as blood rushes through his body from the contact. He works to unbuckle your pants before peeling the fabric off from your body.

“Hmm?” You shift around trying to make yourself comfortable only to realize your pants have been stripped off of you, and that hooded stranger from earlier is staring you down like a deer in headlights.

Panic starts to course through your veins as you start to thrash your body around, but your coordination is less than ideal with all the alcohol flowing through your system, and he’s able to easily overpower you, pinning down your legs.

He slides your underwear to the side and pushes your legs apart, salivating at the sight of your cunt. He wastes no time, swiping his tongue against your folds. The sensation is foreign and takes you by surprise as you instinctively push your legs close. He seems unphased by this, wrapping his arms around your legs as he desperately sucks on your clit. Tasting you is better than anything he could have imagined. His hips roll into the mattress in languid strokes, mimicking how he wants to fuck you.

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction that you’re enjoying this, but the tension building in your stomach is undeniable. It becomes harder and harder to choke back your moans, soft pants occasionally escaping your lips. Hearing even the smallest sliver of your voice sends him into a frenzy, with him pulling you in closer and messily lapping at your cunt while a mix of your arousal and his spit pools onto the sheets.

He adjusts his position, bringing his fingers to your clit before drawing tight circles. His tongue licks at your folds before going lower, prodding at your hole before going in all the way. He flicks up at your walls, saliva mixing with your juices before slipping a finger in. His tongue pulls out to messily lave at your clit while fingering you. He adds another finger in, curling them as he finds a steady rhythm. His fingers are longer, thicker, reaching places you wouldn’t be able to on your own.

“You have such a pretty cunt.” He purrs into you, before going back in. His breath is warm against your folds, seeping out and brushing against your inner thighs.

He’s unrelenting as he hooks his hand over your leg to pull you closer. Your breaths get shallower as the pressure in your core builds. His fingers move faster, slick wet noises echoing through the room as they thrust inside you.

“T-too much!” You squeal, grabbing onto his head to push him away. It only has the opposite effect on him, as he shoves harder into you, his face buried in your cunt. His tongue swirls around your clit, bringing the tension in your core to a head. Your moans fill the otherwise quiet room as you wrap your hands around his hair, needing something to grip as you come undone. Your climax seems to have no effect on him, as he plays with your clit and guides you through it.

He’s out of breath by the time he pulls away from your legs, face covered in your juices. He casually wipes it off with the back of his hand before licking it off. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, clit throbbing from overstimulation; your body is spent. There’s no way you can take any more.

On the other hand, this was just the beginning for him, and he’d rather not ignore the growing length in his pants. He could cum from the taste of you alone, but he’d much rather feel your cunt squeeze him for all his worth.

He needs more.

The sound of a belt buckle jangling and fabric shifting brings you back to reality, as you look down to see him removing his pants, revealing his fully erect cock.

“Don’t worry,” he pants out, before lining himself up with your entrance, “I’ll make you feel even better.”

He breathes in shakily before entering you slowly, feeling your warmth surround him. He savors the moment before bottoming out, biting down on his lip and letting out a hushed moan. His head leans back as he starts moving, hands shaking as he takes in the view of his cock splitting you open. Just the sight is enough to send him over, but he can’t lose focus; not now when he finally has you all to himself.

“F-fuck, you feel amazing.”

He rushes to take your top off, pulling the fabric over your head before reaching around your back to unclasp your bra. He shoves it into the pocket of his jacket, planning to keep it as a memento. He’ll have fun with it later.

His hands find yours, delicately intertwining your fingers together. Your hands are just as warm as he remembers, maybe even warmer than before.

He can’t stop himself from kissing you. It starts gentle as he acquaints himself with the shape of your lips. The lips he imagined wrapped around his cock, the lips he’s only been able to see from a distance for so long. He takes his time exploring them, trying to see what makes you tick. He tastes the faintest hint of alcohol on your lips, but he’d rather you remember the taste of him instead. What starts gentle becomes overwhelming, rougher. His hands wrap around yours tighter and it feels like he’ll swallow you whole (maybe that’s what he wants).

His hips start striking into yours faster, his lips quivering as he tries to control himself. It’s taking every bit of self-restraint to keep himself from pounding you harder.

Fucking his fist to the polaroid of you came nowhere close to the real deal. Your soft moans are much cuter than anything he could have imagined. The way your cunt swallows him whole, the bounce of your breasts with each thrust, it’s all a work of fine art to him. And though this was the moment he’s been dreaming of for so long, something was missing.

“Megumi.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Master Megumi.”

Everything comes crashing down. Your alcohol-induced haze shatters, as you finally remember where you’ve seen him from. You attempt to shuffle your legs closed, panicking as you try to free your hands from his iron grip. Megumi swiftly pins your hands above your head, adjusting so that he can hold them down with one hand.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this, p-please just once-“ he begs as he continues fucking into you.

Tears start to pool in your eyes at the realization, burning as they run down your cheeks.

He feels sick at the sight of your tears. It’s a mix of things; guilt that he’s the cause of them, but also the desire to see more. There’s a certain satisfaction in being able to see something so intimate, something you don’t just show off to any old patron at the cafe. Something for his eyes only.

If your smile is the sun, then your tears are the ocean and he wants to drown.

Megumi grabs your thigh with his free hand and starts to fuck into you harder, as you hiccup and cry with each stroke. You’re barely able to stifle your cries back as he gets rougher, holding your hands so tight it feels like they’re going to burst. He bites on your neck, a bit too hard, but he’s overwhelmed with the urge, the need to leave proof that this happened, that he was here with you.

“Please, just once.” He moans into the nape of your neck.

“M-Master Megumi.” You whisper through gritted teeth and muffled sobs.

The pressure in your stomach starts to build as Megumi desperately hits the spot that has you seeing stars. You can barely bite back your moans as you squeeze his hand in an effort to ground yourself. He mistakes it as reciprocation.

“I knew you’d come around.” His lips form a soft smile before he loosens the grip on your hands slightly. It’s just enough space to separate your fingers but nothing beyond that. The hand on your thigh moves closer to the space between your legs to start playing with your clit again, languid slow strokes that have you desperate for relief.

“Say it again.”

You close your eyes tightly in response, not wanting to give in to his demands. The grip around your hand tightens again, pain building from the pressure.

“M-Master Megumi.” You blurt under your breath, doing your best to muffle your cries. His fingers around your clit start to move a bit faster, along with his strokes.

“Louder.”

“Master Megumi.”

He brings his face closer to yours, his eyes only a finger’s width away from yours.

“Who’s making you feel this good?”

You attempt to look away from his face that’s dangerously close to yours. You wince as his fingernails start digging into the skin of your hands, the sharp pain demanding an answer to his question.

“You are, Master Megumi.” You respond, more tears falling from your eyes.

The last thing you want to do is give in to the pleasure growing in your core, but the way his hands play with your clit and his cock bullies you into submission, you can’t help yourself. Your breaths get faster, your heart beating so hard you can feel it in your head. Your grip tightens around his hands as you grit your teeth and come undone on his cock, a mix of garbled moans and hushed whimpers echoing in the room.

Just the sensation of your walls clenching around him and cute moans are enough to send him over. He pushes one last thrust into you, cock twitching as he paints your insides with ropes of white. He takes a moment to catch his breath before taking himself out of you, admiring the way his seed drips from your hole.

Flying too close to the sun and drowning in the ocean may have been a terrible fate for Icarus. But after seeing the glassy tears on your face, your form glistening with sweat, and the taste of you lingering on his tongue, he’d argue otherwise.

#megumi fushiguro x reader smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #megumi fushiguro smut #cw.noncon #cw.stalking #this was in my docs for so long it is EMBARASSING #sen writes #sen fics #s.jjk

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shoezuki · 8 months ago

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Sampo likes to be vague about where they're going. It's kind of like a game to him, one that only he knows the rules to. Gepard asks, even though he knows it's nearly hopeless; where are we going? Is it a planet, a ship, a living creature? Which galaxy are we in? Is there oceans, deserts, forests? What kind of animals are there, what kind of people will they see?

Even when his questions go unanswered, Sampo's eyes gleam. Sometimes he shuts Gepard up with a kiss, a hand pressed over his heart, or teeth brushing over the column of his neck in a way that makes his breath stutter.

This time, though, Sampo is direct. For once, Gepard doesn't have to ask. Sampo wakes him up with instructions.

"Don't leave the ship," he instructs for the hundredth time as he guides the ship towards a strange, lone rock in the cosmos. The section of space they find themselves in is strange, a sweet, heavy feeling in the air. Their destination is in the midst of an asteroid field, metallic debris and chunks of meteors strewn and suspended about like someone strung them up randomly.

It's a bar, that much is evident. A sort of small, concrete building on a rough landform. It looks industrial, like someone had sliced a building out of a strip mall and deposited it here. There landform it's placed on is a small island, overrun with weathered docks made of scrap metal and decaying wood, anchored to nothing. various ships, dozens of them of all shapes and sizes, cling to the docks or are anchored to the landform itself, with ropes or chains or strange contraptions. For a desolate corner of the universe, it's packed. Yet Gepard doesn't see a single living person in sight.

"Gepard."

Sampo says his name with an uncharacteristic urgency that makes him jump, only then realizing Sampo had docked their ship as well and left them sitting in silence for however long. Sampo stands in front of Gepard now, hands on his hips and a rigid, towering figure. The starlight seeping in and the bright, flashing fluorescent lights on the bar glow from behind him, casting a shadow over his face. "Did you hear me?"

"Don't leave the ship," Gepard parrots, only half awake, with his legs crossed and a blanket draped over him. Sampo's jaw tightens. "Yes, but what else?" Gepard's sheepish silence is met with a low sigh, Sampo pinching the bridge of his nose. "Geppie, I'm being serious here, okay? This is important."

Gepard doesn't understand, but Sampo's tight posture, the pinched slant of his eyebrows, the way his stare feels intent, pointed on Gepard's skin, all makes secondhand unease curdle in his stomach. He bites his tongue and nods his head. Somehow that motion is enough to make Sampo sigh with clear relief, all but collapsing onto the rickety futon beside Gepard.

"Okay, take notes, Gepard. No-- not literally," Sampo adds on when Gepard pulls out his phone, making him blink and put it back down, attention fully on Sampo. "So, you will not leave the ship, under any circumstances. Got it? Never. You could watch the tavern collapse into itself and you still have to stay here. Don't leave and absolutely do not follow me into the tavern.

"But..." Sampo hisses between his teeth, as if pained to say more, "if for some idiotic, stupid reason that only the Aeons know of, you do go inside, there's rules you need to follow." He holds up one finger, intently watching him as if to make sure Gepard was actually paying attention. "First, don't tell anyone your name. Call yourself... the Captain, or something. No one can know your real name. Second, don't eat or drink anything. People will act all kind and hospitable or whatever and try and offer you drinks. Don't take any. Thirdly, do not dance with a single person. Don't dance at all, really. Just stay put somewhere and I'll... I'll find you, alright? Not that I’ll need to, since you won’t go in the Tavern, right? Okay? You got all that?"

Gepard frowns, chewing on his lip. This is the wrong answer, apparently; Sampo makes him jump by grabbing his shoulders, fingers tight where they dig into his arms. "Gepard, please. I'm being serious here. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course," Gepard nods rapidly, repeating Sampo's rules in his head like a mantra. It's not the truth, though. Confusion prickles under his skin. "Why... are we even here? Wait, why are you going inside? Won't it be... dangerous for you too, then?"

Sampo's smile is sharp, a dangerous flash of pointed teeth. "I am technically a Masked Fool, y'know? And if we're gonna go through this neighbourhood of the universe, I need to, uh... partake in some revelry with the ladies and gentlemen in the Tavern. It'd be rude to walk through their house and not at least say hi!"

It's not the truth, or at least not the whole of it, but before Gepard can press anymore Sampo rubs his hand over his mouth, his words muffled into his palm. "And I gotta pay the owner of the tavern a visit, make sure he's upholding an old deal of ours."

Distaste, a sort of rancid discomfort makes Gepard stay quiet, simply watching Sampo as he gets up waltzes around the small bedroom on the ship. He hums something, talking to himself in cut off sentences like he often does as he gets his jacket, puts on his shoes. He feels different, though, a different kind of undercurrent below his skin. Sampo double and triple checks that his daggers are sheathed and hidden on him before turning to leave.

"Oooooookay! I'll be back!" He sings out, vanishing through the bedroom door and into the cockpit. He's leaning back into the door in less than a second, something in his eyes that makes Gepard sit straight. "Don't. Leave."

Sampo doesn't turn away until Gepard nods again, wiping around and vanishing like he'd never been there. Gepard hears the sound of the shuttle door opening with an airy hissss, slamming back shut.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, stewing in the silence Sampo left behind. The ship is quiet without Sampo's presence. His absence is always a sort of empty stillness, but now it feels suffocating. Gepard starts pacing, at some point.

Neon signs hang on the industrial cement walls of the bar, flashing images of two beer bottles colliding in cheers, an open sign that pulses blue and white. A massive, pink neon glowed the name 'The Green Chapel,' gaudy and far too bright. It makes his eyes hurt, but they still glow on the back of his eyelids when he tries to block them out.

Gepard doesn't see a single person, constantly walking around and up to the windshield, looking out at the other ships. Not a thing has moved, not another living soul has announced their presence. Gepard feels horrifically alone.

It's completely quiet. He can't hear any music, but there's a constant thump thump thump rattling in his bones, his heart, sending goosebumps rising on his skin. It reminds him of Serval's concerts, the times when he went to see Mechanical Fever perform; that sort of all consuming, booming sound of drums and bass that rattles the air.

He isn't sure how much time passes, but he knows it's far, far too long. It takes hours of worrying, of anxiety and unease making him feel nauseous, before Gepard realizes Sampo never said the tavern was safe for him, either.

It's deceptively easy, to leave the ship. Gepard makes sure he has his gauntlet on, properly dressed in jeans and a dark jacket. The air feels cold as he steps down onto the metal dock the ship is precariously perched on. Gepard doesn't hear a thing until he's standing at the old, weathered door, the fluorescent signs humming electric above him.

Gepard walks into the bar and is instantly engulfed by it, sound exploding around him. The music is electric, rhythmic harsh beats that crackle and surround him. It's massive inside, beyond what should be possible. The lights above pulse, the lights like living beings cutting through the darkness and bathing the crowd of writhing bodies in pink, purple, blues and reds. It's warm, a type of wet humidity in the air that smells of sweat and liquor and something strangely sharp-sweet that makes Gepard wrinkle his nose. He barely gets a chance to even recoil after stepping inside when a hand catches him, fingers on his elbow making him jolt away.

"Oh?" A woman, short in stature with long dark hair that glows blue-purple-pink under the throbbing lights. Her face is obscured by a mask, a pointed face with triangular ears. Gepard can almost make out swirling designs, the dark and light colours indistinguishable under the pulsing lights. He can't see her eyes, but there's a sharp tilt of her head that makes him feel small.

"You're new, aren't you?" She giggles, voice somehow cutting through the pounding music. "You are. I'd have recognized that handsome face if I'd seen it before." Gepard stands far taller than her, but somehow Gepard reels cornered, as if she's towering over him. She leans heavily into his side, a hand brushing over his clothed ribs. "Want to grab a drink? My treat, if you pay me back with a dance."

Gepard shoves her away without much thought. "No, I'd rather not," Gepard grinds out. She doesn't even flinch at his rejection, just stepping back. "I'm just looking for someone--"

"Aw, c'mon! No need to be such a bore. Just one dance won't kill you! Why not have some fun while you're here?"

Gepard bristles, overwhelmed and worried with Sampo's warnings swirling through his head. He narrows his eyes, goes to say something or push past her, but for a split second her mask shifts, the corners of its black eyes crinkling like paper. "Wait," she says, her voice burst of noise, "who are you looking for?"

Gepard catches himself before he can respond, clenching his teeth. Sampo had stressed he not say his own name, but what about Sampo's? He doesn't want to take the risk. "That... is none of your concern. Now, if you'll excuse me." He's uncaring as he shoves past her, gritting his teeth at the overwhelming lights and music, trying to stay out of the dancing crowd and keep towards the wall. He freezes when he feels too many fingers on his back.

“You're with him, aren’t you?” He doesn't know how he recognizes It to be her, her voice now distorted and muffled like she's underwater. Gepard spins on his heels and raises his fists on instinct, heart thumping in his chest--but she's gone. Gepard digs his teeth into his cheek and turns back, squaring his shoulders.

The dancefloor in the middle of the tavern is teeming with people, moving like one unified mass of laughter and cheering and screaming people. Gepard keeps to the wall, walking beside tables and booths filled with people all talking and taking shots, singing and laughing under the music. Many of them wear masks, indiscriminate things of varying sizes and shapes that Gepard can't decipher. Many of them don't wear masks, too, a cheerful gleam over their eyes. Gepard keeps catching glimpses of the bar through the crowd, against the far wall that's lined with shelves choke full of bottles. There's one bartender, technically; the person behind the bar is a humanoid figure in a clean blazer, their head gone with numerous grinning and crying and laughing masks spinning around over their shoulders. Their arms seem incorporeal, not quite real in a way that Gepard swears he sees two arms stretched across the bar collecting change, two more mixing a drink, one more talking with a customer like it's a hand puppet. It hurts his head to watch them move.

He has no idea how he's going to find Sampo in this. He should've asked more questions, especially what he's doing here. He tries to look for blue hair, green eyes, that smile he's come to know so well, but the hazy lights and constant movement makes everything blur together.

Gepard isn't looking where he's going, scanning the crowd and the filled tables and booths. His foot catches on the leg of someone's chair, nearly tripping him if it weren't for the hand that catches him by the shoulder. “Sorry,” Gepard gasps out, standing up. The man in the seat laughs, clapping a hand on his shoulder. His mask is more like a helmet, metal shaped into the face and crown of a king.

“No problem, my man!” He laughs loudly, throwing an arm over Gepard's shoulders in a sort of side hug, as if they're old friends. “No harm no foul! What's your name, friend? Come to watch the show?”

“Call me Captain.” Gepard blurts out, looking past him. There's numerous tables and chairs before him, all facing the wall that is covered in dozens of TV screens of varying sizes. They all seem to be showing the same thing; a first person perspective of someone seemingly in battle, fighting a gargantuan reptilian beast. They seem to be losing, someone out of the corner of their eye screaming for them. Many people are watching the screens, cheering and clapping despite the grizzly scene of claws raking across the person's chest. Gepard sees some people groan, others celebrating as credits change hands.

“It's just getting good,” the man pulls at Gepard's attention, motioning for him to sit down. Gepard holds against his tugging. “According to the script, the performer's love interest will watch them perish and go on a rampage to avenge them! Want me to order you a drink, too?”

Gepard's shaking his head before the man's done talking, watching the way the mask's eyes gleam and blink like melting metal. “No,” he says, glad that the man's grip melts off him like ice as he steps back, “no thank you, I'm--”

He's stepped too far back, colliding with someone dancing. Gepard jumps and spins to see someone with the face of a snake and hair like pine needles hiss at him. His heart leaps in his throat as they vanish into the crowd, looking around to find himself engulfed by the dancers, surrounded. The music is too much, warm bodies pressing around him. He can feel his shirt sticking to his back, his heading hurting from the lights and--

A hand, rough and tight and insistent, clamps down on his forearm. Gepard growls and spins around, raising his gauntlet and punching whoever has grabbed him. His attack is halted midair, their hand encasing his fist. Gepard tries to kick, shove and pull away only to be yanked forward towards them.

Off balance, he falls into their grip, arms around his shoulders and his head shoved down into the crook of their neck. He goes to lash out, heart running rampant in his chest. He only stills, though, when he catches a glimpse of blue hair, feels annoying but familiar buckles digging into his own chest. The mouth by his ear, the chin hooked over his shoulder, makes him relax.

“Gepard!” Sampo's voice is a hissed sound, low and only for him. “What are you doing here?” His tone is harsh, his body tense against Gepard's. Sampo's hands are flurry of panicked motion as he runs them over Gepard's back, his arms, his shoulders, his head. “Are you okay? You aren’t hurt? Has anyone tried to-- Why are you here? Seriously, I wasn't joking when I said you needed to stay put! This place isn't safe. This stupid, sorry excuse for a Tavern--”

“I'm sorry,” Gepard interjects, grabbing one of Sampo's hands in his own, the other light on Sampo's waist. He rubs his thumb over the back of Sampo's hand. “I know, I know what you said. But you were gone… a long time. I was concerned and decided to look for you.”

Sampo is quiet, simply standing pressed against Gepard. He feels the tension slowly leave his body, feels his shoulders drop as he lets out a sigh. He says nothing for a moment, intertwining his fingers with Gepard’s, his other hand on his shoulder as he starts to guide Gepard into a slow, swaying motion. He just goes along with it, let’s Sampo lead him into a slow dance that is wildly out of place with the music, the ecstatic crowd around them. Sampo is humming something soft and distantly familiar, his cheek pressed to Gepard’s.

The music is still constant, loud and vibrant, but Sampo’s presence makes it feel… diluted. Faraway and almost muffled, like there’s a bubble between them and the rest of the bar. Gepard glances around and notices it’s the same with the crowd, too; dozens of people around them, lost in their own worlds, now give them a wide berth, a few feet kept between the two of them and everyone else at all times. No one turns to look at them, Gepard doesn’t feel any eyes on him or note any quick glances towards them, as if looking at Sampo will burn their eyes.

“No need to apologize,” Sampo speaks up suddenly. Gepard turns to look at his face, but Sampo holds him chest to chest, keeping his chin over Gepard’s collar. His blue hair is vibrant in the light, his skin almost sparkling. “I shoulda just… brought you with me from the start, probably. Well I’d rather not bring you here at all but…” He sighs, clicks his tongue, leans into Gepard. “Duty calls! Or something like that.”

“Are you done here?” Gepard whispers. Sampo shouldn’t be able to hear him over the surging, vibrant air, but somehow Gepard knows he does. “With whatever it is you need to do here, I mean.” Sampo’s immediate response is a groaning sound deep in his throat, his forehead knocking against Gepard’s collarbone. “No, no. I still… ugh, this place sucks. Just give me a minute, please? And I’ll…”

“Okay.” Sampo leans into him so heavily and fully, like he’s trying to meld himself with Gepard’s flesh, into his skin. Gepard takes his weight without question, content to hold them both up as Sampo sways them in a slow turning waltz. Gepard’s head doesn’t hurt, anymore. The overstimulation has subsided, but the confusion and concern hasn’t, not fully.

“We’re dancing.”

“Mhm. Well, technically. Sampo Koski a better dancer than whatever this is, I assure you!”

“That’s not what I mean,” Gepard says with an amused snort, knocking his temple against Sampo’s head lightly. “I mean that… you said no dancing. With anyone.”

Sampo’s laugh rumbles Gepard’s chest, through his ribs and straight into his heart. “C’mon, Geppie! If you just don’t wanna dance, say so! I promise I’ll pretend it won’t break my weak, frail heart.”

“And you said no names. But you’ve said mine in here many times now.”

There’s a hesitation, one Gepard feels in Sampo’s stuttering step, his hand clenching so slightly around Gepard’s. “It’s… I’m just that exceptional, I suppose,” he says after a strained pause.

Gepard wants to ask. It is a need, a rising feeling that rises from his stomach to his throat. He wants to ask about the people, the masks, the way Sampo’s touch and his presence makes people keep their distance but makes his head feel clear. Gepard has never, really, been curious like his sisters, but Sampo makes curiosity envelop him; Gepard wants to know everything about Sampo, the good and the bad. The things Sampo won’t tell him. But not here, in this strange Tavern with these strange people.

“I’m sorry,” Sampo whispers out, and Gepard feels like he’s apologizing for more than it seems, “but I need to… connect with some old Fools.” Sampo lifts his head and cranes his neck back, scanning over and past the crowd. Gepard tries to get a look at his face but Sampo turns his head each time, the lights and shadows obstructing his expression. All Gepard gets is shimmering, smooth skin like porcelain and a glimpse of green eyes glowing in an indescribable colour.

“I can leave back to the ship,” Gepard says, “just… promise you won’t be long.”

“Sorry, darling, but, uh…” He clicks his tongue, jerks his chin towards where Gepard came, where the door should be. But Gepard sees nothing but chairs and tables, a tall, harsh wall decorated with paintings and photos and screens that make his mind spin. “You’ll have to wait to leave with me, so I can show you the way out. But I’d rather you don’t meet the Tavernkeeper…” He chews on his lip, humming in thought as he searches for… something.

“Aha!” Sampo suddenly jerks, jumping and yanking Gepard along with him. “Found him! C’mon, Geppie! You can hang out with my old friend while I, uh, go say my hellos.”

The crowd parts seamlessly like water, heads turned away from them as Sampo pulls Gepard along. Gepard keeps his head down, focusing onto the point of contact where Sampo holds his hand tightly, his grip protective and unwavering. He doesn’t look back at Gepard once.

A series of pool tables and poker tables envelop the corner, on a raised floor almost like a stage. Gepard glimpses poker chips, cards and credits and roulette wheels all in motion as Sampo guides him through it all to the far corner. A booth catches Gepard’s attention as they approach it, the seats filled with lifesized, off-white porcelain dolls, carved into various mechanical poses. Each has cards and chips in front of them, as if someone had set up a poker scene. The one, moving person sitting at the table makes his eyebrows raise.

“Gio--” Gepard says, clamping his mouth shut before saying his full name. The man’s head snaps up, the familiar mask meeting Gepard’s gaze. The black, indestructible eyes of his mask are dark and depthless. He holds himself upright and proper, gloved fingers clasping his own hand of cards. He tilts his head towards Sampo as they stop right in front of his booth.

“Ayo, Gio! Long time no see!” Sampo laughs, his tone sarcastic and light. He wraps an arm around Gepard’s shoulders, as if unwilling to let go of him in any way. “I didn’t take you for the kind to haunt around this Tavern, but I knew I felt you here! What have you been up to, you old Fool?”

“Brother Sampo, delightful to see you, as always.” His voice is a low, lulling tone, despite how he has to raise his voice to be heard over the constant din of music. He glances down at his cards, tapping the table before looking up again. “I’m simply passing through and staying here a moment before moving on. It’s, frankly, much more strange seeing you here. Business as usual?”

“Business as usual,” Sampo hums and nods, tilting his head in a harsh, jerking motion. “Sorry to, uh, interrupt your game, but I have a favour to ask you.”

“A favour?” There’s a pointed, sharp interest in his tone. Gepard stares at the smooth, two-toned design of his mask, suddenly jumping when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks to the mannequins, staring at them and challenging them to move again. “I don’t mind dealing in favours, especially with you, Sampo. I assume it has to do with…”

Gepard looks back at him, noticing the weight of Giovanni’s attention now on him. Sampo’s grip is tight, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Captain,” Gepard blurts out, “you can call me the Captain.” Sampo’s grip relaxes. The lips of Giovanni’s mask almost seem to lift. “Ah, the Captain, yes. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here, Captain. Have you been well?”

“I’m doing well, G-Giovanni. It’s good to see you, too.”

“We’re on our honeymoon,” Sampo coos, making Gepard’s face heat up. Sampo gives him the opportunity to protest, but Gepard bites his tongue instead and lets Sampo squirm. “Uh-uhm, yeah! I’m showing him all the sights! The best places in the universe! Not this Tavern, though. This is an unfortunate pit stop I couldn’t avoid. You get it, Gio.” Giovanni just nods in response, lifting his hand and pointing to a mannequin across the table from him. He says a word that is static in Gepard’s ears, and the mannequin has vanished, a seat open.

“Gep,” Sampo whispers in his ear, pulling his attention. Gepard tries to look at his face--Sampo ducks away, just enough to cast shadows over his face. “You don’t mind keeping Giovanni some company here for a minute, do you? I’ll be back before you know it! Oh, don’t play poker with him, though.”

Gepard can’t help but tense, looking to Giovanni with narrowed eyes. “Why?”

“Because he’s a dirty cheater.”

“You shouldn’t project your own failings on me, Sampo Koski,” he says as he shuffles. The chips and the cards have shifted when Gepard wasn’t looking, Giovanni’s winnings now significantly lighter. “Would you like me to deal you in, Captain?”

“I’m okay, thank you.” He peels himself away from Sampo, sliding into the booth across from Giovanni. The music is instantly louder, now away from Sampo. “I won’t be staying long, after all.” Gepard says it with a pointed look in Sampo’s direction, making him snort. Sampo is looking away, only the portrait of his face visible. The little of his smile Gepard can glimpse looks stiff, plastic. “Thanks, Gio! I’ll be back before you know it, Captain.”

He turns on his heels but hesitates. Gepard frowns, goes to ask if he’s okay, only for Sampo to move and surge towards him. He’s quick, the lights making him a blurred movement. Gepard feels Sampo’s lips on his cheek, strangely cold and smooth against his skin. It makes his chest swell regardless.

“See ya!” Sampo spins around and marches off, the dancing crowd parting for him. Gepard watches him all the way, seeking him out when he loses sight of Sampo. He can see the bar in the back from here, the inhuman bartender behind it. Gepard sees a familiar head pause by the barstools, the bartender going rigid like a statue. They move, turn towards Sampo, leaving all their customers who were begging for their attention abandoned without a care. The masks spin, shivering, settling on a massive mask with its expression twisted in something resembling fear. Sampo gestures, shrugs, makes wide, clipped motions with his hands as he says something that makes the bartender recoil. Sampo opens a door Gepard swears wasn’t there before, making the bartender go inside before following them in.

“How has Belobog been?”

Gepard turns back to Giovanni. The lights are overwhelming once more, the music piercing through his flesh, to his very core. It’s hard to focus on the other man, who’s looking down at his poker hand intently. “It’s… yes, Belobog is doing well. Nothing out of the ordinary since you’ve left.” It’s a lie, one Gepard doesn’t feel bad about. If Sampo hadn’t mentioned what had happened to his friend, Gepard definitely wouldn’t be the one to bear both their chests open. “You’ve… been well? You said you aren’t here for long. You’re traveling, I assume?”

“I’m not one to stay idle for long,” he hums, putting chips into the center of the table. The mannequins keep moving out of the corner of Gepard’s eyes, making him jump and stare at their still figures. They’re only animated, fully formed people when he isn’t looking at them, seeing people holding their cards and matching Giovanni’s bet, only to go still once more. Their faces are painted on with what looks like makeup, lipstick spread over their doll-like lips messily.

“I am, frankly, surprised to see you away from your city, Captain.” Gepard looks back to him, watching as he collects his winnings from the mannequins. The sound of his chips clattering together sounds like bells. “Not to say I’m not glad. There is a lot of joy to be found in leaving home, seeing new things. I’m sure Sampo has treated you to some entertaining sights.”

“Honestly,” Gepard sighs, sinking into his chair just a bit, “I never thought I’d leave, either. I could never leave permanently, or travel forever like you do. But it’s been… phenomenal.”

“I’m happy for you.” Giovanni’s tone is the same, level and collected, but Gepard can tell he’s genuine. “Sampo Koski is well versed in… elation, after all. I wouldn’t have expected you to have found each other like this, moreso I’m shocked that that old Fool can settle, but I truly wish the best for both of you.”

He doesn’t really know what to do with this turn of conversation, covering his warm, blushing face with a hand. He laughs into his palm, watching talking mannequins just barely out of his focus. “Ah… thank you? It’s… we… yeah. Yeah.” He pauses a moment, the entirety of Giovanni’s words registering and making him frown. ��What do you mean by that?”

Giovanni hesitates while shuffling, the cards in his hands slipping to the table. He huffs, dragging them back together in a clean stack. His movements are smooth, practiced as he shuffles, with unnecessary flourishes as he fans the cards, cascading them between his hands. It reminds Gepard of Sampo, the times they spent playing poker between the two of them, later with Seele once Gepard actually got the hang of it. Sampo is far, far more flashy with it, though.

“You have questions.”

Gepard does. Many of them, listless and disorganized in the confines of his skull. None of them are meant for Giovanni, though. “Are these actually people, or mannequins?”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Giovanni says with a chuckle, dealing out cards. They glide across the table, settling perfectly in front of the mannequins. “Frankly, it is… unimaginable to me that Sampo would bring anyone here, let alone you.”

Gepard crosses his arms, sitting straight. “Why is that?”

“This place is… well, you see how it is.” Gepard doesn’t look away from Giovanni as he gestures out and around them. “Sampo has some… previous agreements that make him come here, but I know he would never set foot in this place if he could avoid it. But him bringing you to any Tavern? He has pulled risks in the past, but I thought he’d be more… careful.”

“I came in here of my own accord,” Gepard bites back, not hiding his defensiveness. “It’s my fault I’m even here. Sampo told me to stay away, but I came in myself.”

“Because you wanted in on the fun?” Giovanni says, “or because Sampo wouldn’t tell you why he’s here?”

“I came in here to make sure he was okay.”

“You truly don’t need to worry about him in any Tavern,” he laughs, clicks his tongue, shakes his head like he’s talking to a child. “I think you know that, too. Sampo isn’t in danger here.”

“You’ve called him old,” Gepard blurts out, digging his fingers into his thighs. It bothers him, for some reason, this strange and unimportant thing. Giovanni seems to expect this, maybe knew he’d planted that niggling worry into his head, tapping his fingers on the table. “Yes, I did.”

“Why.”

“I’m sure Sampo has been careful with you, considering you will return to your planet.” The tap tap tap tap of his fingers on the tabletop send a hammer swinging against his skull. “But Sampo and I are old, especially for Masked Fools. We tend to get too involved in our performances, especially tragedies. Fools don't live as long as us. We have been around this universe… many times. And time isn’t kind in every galaxy.”

“You’re not answering, Giovanni.” He grinds his teeth. He has the rising feeling that Giovanni is taking delight in this, and it makes his hackles raise. “Tell me. What do you mean.”

“How old do you think he is?”

“Gio--”

“You’re probably right,” he interjects, pulling more chips to himself. One of the out of view mannequins shuffles the cards, and it grates on Gepard’s skin. “In your assumption, I mean. He isn’t technically much older than you, but he’s been around longer.

“An example,” he hums, taps his chin, holding Gepard’s gaze. “I have an old business partner in the Klimt Republic. About five years ago, I left and journeyed across the galaxies to meet with merchants, business associates, sponsor the Interastral Tournament Festival, etcetera.” He leans forward, over his own cards and chips and towards Gepard. “I visited him, about a week ago. For him, 30 years had passed. He’d retired and his daughter was managing his business.”

Gepard doesn’t say a word, just watches the tight, careful way Giovanni raises his cards and throws them down on the table. Two aces stare up at them, vibrating on the table like they are going to take flight. Gepard hadn’t noticed the chips all collecting into the middle of the table, Giovanni chuckling lowly as he drags them towards himself.

“I don’t mean to alarm you,” he says without raising his head; Gepard doesn’t entirely believe him. “As I said, Sampo is careful when he wants to be. And knowledgeable, too. He knows the universe better than most do. If you haven’t noted any temporal discrepancies when messaging people, then there’s no harm, no foul.”

“Your name isn’t Giovanni.” Gepard’s words bubble over, not-quite questions that press between his teeth. His head hurts, his brain feeling too large in his skull. Giovanni shakes his head. “No, it is not.”

“Sampo Koski… isn’t his name, is it?”

Giovanni laughs, a full body cackle that sounds shrill and strange from the other man. Gepard grits his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the pulsing lights that taunt him from above. “Believe it or not, Captain,” Giovanni sighs, rubbing nonexistent tears from the eyes of his mask. He pauses to collect the credits the mannequins had bet, folding it neatly. “But it is. Out of every name he’s taken, it’s the truest.”

The cards have vanished, the chips gone, the mannequins nowhere to be found. It’s as if it had never existed, that Giovanni had been alone. Gepard stares down at the bare, worn table before looking back to Giovanni as he stands up, straightens his suit. “Sampo Koski is an exception.”

He almost wants to ask what in the Aeons he means by that, but Giovanni is making a shocked noise in the back of his throat before he can. He looks down and raises his arm, peeling back his sleeve and looking at his bare wrist. “Ah! Apologies, Captain, but I’m afraid the time has slipped from me. I best be going. Please give Sampo my farewells, and tell him I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows raise, going to stand himself. “Sorry? For wh--”

Giovanni doesn’t say a word, spinning on his heels and straight into the wall. Gepard’s mouth hangs open on his unfinished words when he watches the wall seem to crumble in on itself, revealing a door out into a bright, golden cityscape. It unfurls behind Giovanni and returns to normal in an instant. Gepard bursts to his feet then, hands flat on the table as he gapes at where the other man had once been. He stares a moment, before slowly sitting back down, his stomach in his throat.

He doesn’t know what to do, if he should do anything besides sit there. The bar is overwhelming now without someone or something to focus on, a headache clawing up the back of his spine and digging in behind his eyes. Gepard sinks into the seat, avoiding looking at the writhing crowd of laughing and dancing people. He finds himself looking back to the bar constantly, as if Sampo is waiting for him there. But he isn’t. The bar remains unmanned, numerous customers having climbed over the counter to help themselves now, standing on barstools and sending glass bottles clattering to the floor.

His anxious silence is interrupted quickly; “you look like you need some company!”

“No,” Gepard said instantly, looking up at the man leaning heavily on the table. He’s young, a thin but tall man practically holding himself up against the table. He isn’t wearing a mask, his grin still wide like the artificial smiles he’s seen on numerous predatory masks on other dancers. His eyes are fixated on him in a way that makes Gepard’s skin crawl.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that!” The man coos, falling forward onto the table and leaning on his elbows, his chin in his palm. “Why’re you all alone in the corner like this? You should be having fun, dancing, drinking! No need to be all standoffish. I bet I can get you smiling in no time. What’s your name, friend?”

“I’m not your friend,” Gepard growls, standing up, “and I definitely don’t need you accosting me. Goodbye.” He really shouldn’t leave, should stay so that Sampo can find him easily, but the man keeps leaning closer and closer and Gepard feels like a cornered animal. He glances away, ignoring the man’s whined protest, squinting against his headache as he scans the crowd. He steps away, figuring he can just sit at the bar by the drunk, cackling patrons and wait for Sampo there.

He barely takes a step before a hand circles his wrist, fingers feeling cold like a chain, tight against his skin. Gepard bristles, his lip curled as he turns towards the grinning Fool. “Let. Go.”

“Why?” He giggles, pouts, tugs on Gepard’s hand. “Letting go is no fun! You know, you’d be happier if you just danced with me, let me buy you a drink. Why not have a good time, let loose, have some fun?”

Gepard responds by trying to rip his hand out of the man’s grip, but he falls forward with the movement, so close it’s suffocating. His breath smells of liquor as he laughs, eyes shining and too bright. “Ooooh you wanna slow dance instead? Why not just say so? I still haven’t caught your name, though. How ‘bout we trade? You can call me--”

“I don’t want to know,” Gepard growls out, lip curled. He flexes his fingers, feeling the cold swirl around his gauntlet as he clenches his fist and holds it back to strike. “Let go of me right now, or you’ll regret it.”

“How rude.” His smile is sharp, voice like a hiss. “Dance with me, and I’ll forgive you.”

Gepard gave in to the hot anger crawling up his throat, hoping that this wouldn’t cause Sampo too much trouble. “No. Don’t say I didn’t warn--”

He lungs forward as if to tackle him into the other crowded tables behind them. Gepard goes to meet him with his fist but doesn’t get the chance. There’s a surge of movement, a flash of red and purple and blue and the cackling, growling huff of indistinguishable words.that crackle in his ears. A clawed hand on his sternum pushes him back, the man flailing and shoved back like a marionette wrenched by its strings. The man yelps, something cracking as he’s shoved back onto the table and his head collides with the wood. Sampo towers over him as he yanks the man up by his shirt.

“He said no.” Sampo’s voice is a fierce, screeching sound. The fog in the air almost dissolves, the music and the lights secondary to Sampo’s presence. The people nearest have all gone inhumanely still, heads craned in their direction as they pause in their card games or conversations or dancing. Gepard finds himself stunned still, too.

“W-wait!” The man gasps, sounding choked on his own words. He goes to grab at Sampo’s arm but jerks away as if afraid to even touch him, struggling to kick back and away from him. “I-It’s-- I didn’t--”

“Did you not hear him the first time? Or the second?” Sampo grits out his words between his teeth, a sort of dangerous, humourous tone in his voice; a warning. “What makes you think you could grab him like that? Huh? Tell me.”

The man is shaking, eyes wide and manic as he breathes heavily, frantically. “I-I-I don’t--” He gulps, glancing around and behind Sampo as if for someone to save him. Not a single person makes a move, says a word, does anything but gawk with a sort of stunned, scrutinizing stare. His eyes landed on Gepard for only a second before Sampo shook him, saying something low that Gepard didn’t hear. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please, I thought-- I didn’t know that he’s y-your toy already. Please don’t--”

“Toy?” Sampo’s laughter is something shrill and echoing; crunching glass between teeth, violin chords snapping, the echoing ringing of bells, a bellowing horn. It makes Gepard wince slightly, but the people around recoil and groan in pain, hands over their ears as they lurch back. The man in Sampo’s grip looks like he’s going to be sick.

“You are,” Sampo hums, his tight grip on the man’s shirt shaking, “are the worst kind of Fool. The kind who find their sick fun in messing with others? Toying with people and stringing them along. Is that right?” He accentuates his words with a chuckle, shaking the man slightly. Gepard is lost on what to do--until he sees Sampo reach for his dagger. “Is this really Elation, to you? Is there really any joy in making other people suffer, using them? You should thank Aha for not caring how you get your sick thrills, because I won’t--”

Sampo!” Gepard grabs his hand, his fingers a shackle around Sampo’s wrist and his other hand harsh on his shoulder. Sampo tenses and goes to twist towards him, giving Gepard the faintest flash of his face. His eyes are not just green, but swirling with specks of colour like confetti and glowing beyond what should be possible. His skin is too smooth, discoloured and unblemished and sparkling in a way that is entirely alien to Gepard. He sees his eyes widen, something sparking under his irises, before Sampo ducks his head away again. He’s rigid under Gepard’s grip.

“Sampo,” Gepard gulps, pulling back on Sampo’s arm, peeling at his grip around the hilt of his dagger. The man still held in Sampo’s grip whimpers and begs but Gepard ignores it. “That’s enough. Just put him down and we can leave and never come back, okay?”

“But--”

“I’m alright,” Gepard interrupts, already knowing the words caught on Sampo’s tongue, “this wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I’m fine. I’d be better if we’d leave, though.”

A muscle in Sampo’s jaw tenses. Gepard just watches him and ignores the weight of the attention on their backs. He watches as the tense, frigid line of Sampo’s shoulders slowly melts and softens. Gepard loosens his grips as Sampo sighs. He lets go of the men, unceremoniously dropping him and letting him fall back onto the table. He sucks in a panicked breath, not looking at either Sampo or Gepard as he scrambles frantically off the table, giving Sampo a wide berth as he bolts.

The music is dulled, a faint pulse in the air. The entire Tavern feels different, tense like everyone was waiting for Sampo to snap again, to attack anyone. Gepard ignores it all, ignores the way masked faces follow him as he takes Sampo’s dagger from his hand, runs a hand across his back. “You’re done with what you needed to do?”

Sampo’s response was a delayed nod. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry for the wait.” Gepard just shakes his head, Sampo watching Gepard out of the corner of his eye as Gepard holsters his dagger, intertwines their fingers. “Okay, good. If you can show me the way out, then?” He squeezes Sampo’s hand; it takes a moment for Sampo to squeeze back.

“Okay,” he sucks in a breath, exhaling harshly and shaking his head, “okay! Let’s get out of here!” Gepard is all too glad to be pulled along by Sampo, his grip a reassurance as Sampo takes him through the room. Heads swivel in mechanical unison to follow them, people once again parting for Sampo as he tugs Gepard through the dancefloor, moving in a strange pattern until they escape the crowd, a familiar door in front of them. Sampo doesn’t look back at him once, but hesitates a moment.

He spins around, towards the back of the bar. “Hey!” He yells out. Gepard follows his line of sight to the bar; the inhuman bartender stands behind it once more, but they hold themself… strangely, now. Their numerous arms shiver and shake as they messily prepare drinks, and at the sound of Sampo’s yell they jump and recede into themself, the crying mask gyrating.

“Don’t forget our deal, my friend!” Sampo bellows out, one hand by his mouth. His teeth are just a bit too sharp when he smirks. “Or I’ll take matters into my own hands!” The bartender puts their dozens of hands over their mask before ducking behind the bar, Sampo’s laughter seeming to make the liquor bottles shake on the shelves.

Gepard doesn’t get a chance to ask, though, confusion bubbling up his chest. Sampo doesn’t look at him, just squeezes his hand again before turning and shoving the front door open.

It’s quiet outside, just as it had been before. Leaving the Tavern is an instant relief; the hot, too-sweet weight of the air had been suffocating. Gepard can’t help but breathe in deeply and let out a sigh, even as Sampo still drags him towards their ship.

Gepard enters the cockpit and collapses into the passenger chair, knocking his head back against the wall. Sampo’s movements are a relaxing sound, his presence enough to calm him down. Gepard just focuses on the scuffling sound of Sampo’s footsteps, the mechanical whirring of the engine coming to life, the thruming of the propellers lifting them from the dock and the clattering, rhythmic sound of the wings as Sampo guides them through the stars. The faint, dull ache in his head fades as time passes, as they get farther and farther away from that damned bar.

Sampo is the one to break the silence, his words making Gepard snap his eyes open; “I’ll take you straight back to Belobog. It won’t be long. Jarilo-IV isn’t technically that far from here and so I’ll make it quick--”

“What?” Gepard sits up quickly, snapping his head towards Sampo. The passenger seats are situated behind the pilot’s, leaving Gepard to just stare at the back to Sampo’s head. Stars and debris and various celestial bodies pass by them in streaks of colour, their movement a blur through the cosmos. Sampo doesn’t look back at him, doesn’t look at him at all as he speaks. Gepard desperately wants him to look at him. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Gepard! You don’t… you don’t need to say anything! I’ll take you home as soon as I can and--”

“No.” Gepard bursts to his feet, marches to Sampo. The other man jumps when Gepard slams his hands down on the back of his chair, forcing him to spin around and face him. Sampo’s face is… back to what Gepard is used to. No signs of needle-point teeth or confetti eyes. But he still doesn’t meet Gepard’s gaze. “What in Qlipoth’s name are you saying, Sampo?”

“I-it’s-- you don’t need to worry, Geppie! I get it, okay? I get it. No need to say anything, I’ll… I’ll just take you back and be on my way--”

“What makes you think I want to leave you?” Gepard barks out, his voice a harsh noise. He grips either armrest tightly, leaning into Sampo’s space. Sampo cranes his head to avoid looking at him, making Gepard make a strangled, groaning noise in the back of his throat. “After everything, you think I want to return home now?”

“Yes! Obviously,” Sampo scoffs, finally meeting Gepard’s eyes. His expression is pinched. “C’mon, Geppie. That… that was too much, admit it. I put you through that, and now you want nothing to do with me.”

“You cannot. Decide that for me,” Gepard growls out, narrowing his eyes. “You can’t just decide for me, Sampo. It’s not your choice to make if I want to be here, with you, or not. And I do. There’s nowhere else I want to be.” Sampo’s eyes flash with something Gepard doesn’t quite catch, but his expression hardens again. Gepard claps a hand over Sampo’s mouth before he can say a word, his protests muffled against Gepard’s palm. “No! I’m talking now, so listen. I have no clue what happened in there, what that place was, what that place did to you. I’m frankly, confused, and concerned, and will absolutely ask you a lot of questions later. But that doesn’t make me want to leave you. And when I do go back to Belobog, you are coming with me, got it?”

Sampo is silent, completely still. Gepard doesn’t look away, doesn’t back down as Sampo traces his gaze over Gepard’s face, catching on his eyes. His eyes shine again, just the slightest bit. Gepard gives him just a moment before he breaks the silence again. “Do you understand me, Sampo? I’m not going anywhere.”

He feels him exhale against his palm, letting Sampo peel his hand off of his face with his mismatched fingers, holding his hand gently, reverent. “Are you sure?”

Gepard doesn’t hesitate: “Of course I am.” He stands back up, Sampo’s grip on his hand lingering a moment like he’s afraid to let go. Gepard just watches as Sampo looks away, his mouth a thin line, his brow furrowing and relaxing like he’s trying not to argue. Eventually he sighs and let’s Gepard go, his relief tangible in the air.

“Besides,” Gepard says with a slight grin, crossing his arms, “you still need to take me to the giant space turtle.” Sampo laughs, glad for the escape Gepard is providing him. His smile is still a bit strained, Sampo’s vulnerability still seeping through the cracks, but he doesn’t seem so… frantic anymore. “Of course, of course! How could I forget.”

He hums, spinning around to the control panels. Gepard still has no idea what Sampo is doing as he runs his fingers over screens, but he feels the ship slowing, halting a moment before shifting directions through the vacuum of space. Gepard collapses back in his seat as they set off once more.

“I do have one question, though.” Sampo tenses, making Gepard quick to finish his thought. “Are all Masked Fools’ Taverns… like that?” Sampo’s laughter is a cackle, his head thrown back. It’s soothing, comforting, familiar. Gepard’s smile is uncontrollable as Sampo looks back over his shoulder and smirks at him.

“I promise you, they are not,” he snorts. He hums a moment, rolling his shoulders. “Some of ‘em are just as unhinged as that, yes. That’s one of the worst, though. All a bunch of old fashioned Fools! None of them know how to really have fun, I assure you. Some other Taverns, though… they can be a lot of fun.”

“We should visit one. A good one.” Gepard tacks on quickly when Sampo wrinkles his nose at him, clearly teasing by the way he rolls his eyes. “Of course. Some of ‘em make some amazing cocktails! Ones you can have, by the way. Maybe in Epsilon, but… well, no, actually. Epsilon tends to have some half decent Fools in it, but they’d still try and, uh, bamboozle you.”

“Sounds like fun,” Gepard says drily, pointedly rolling his eyes when Sampo wrinkles his nose at him. Sampo continues on with a hum, looking up at the softly passing stars. “Uh… where could I… oh! I could take you to Avalon!”

“Is that a Tavern?”

“Yep! The tavernkeeper isn’t actually a Masked Fool. She owns it though, I think she won the place in a game of blackjack? I don’t know, that’s what her husband told me. I met the Queen through him, actually. He’s some former knight or whatever--the most populated planet in that galaxy has some sort of monarchy thing going on, I dunno. But he’s a clutz and I stole from him at one point. He carries a lot of credits on him at all times. But then he just gave it to me and invited me to dinner! I thought he was coming on to me and considering how much cash he had… but uh, anyways. I haven’t seen the Queen in ages! Last I saw her she said she was gonna take over the galaxy system her Tavern is in, and uh, honestly I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“She’s a Queen?”

“Well… I dunno. We all just called her that. She’s scary so no one questions it-- in a good way! A good kind of scary, I promise.”

“I’m not doubting you,” Gepard chuckles, “I’m just… it’s nice, hearing about people you know, places you’ve been. Before, I mean.”

“Before Jarilo?” He says it with a scoff, but Gepard can hear the fond tone in his voice. It makes his chest warm, a sort of contentment settling in his bones. Sampo likes to complain about it, the constant cold, the standoffish people in Belobog, the loss of his criminal history, but Gepard knows better. He sees it in the way he asks about Serval, questions if Gepard has heard how Natasha is doing, how his city is holding up in his absence. It’s obvious in the way Sampo’s ramblings have started to center around Belobog and the Underworld.

Sampo still pretends that he won't return, sometimes. That there's nothing left for him, that Gepard's planet doesn't have any reason for him to stay. Gepard knows it's not true, even now. Especially now. Because Gepard will always be there, wanting him. No matter how long Sampo has wandered the universe or what he's done before, who he was before.

“You know,” Gepard whispers, a secret. “Giovanni said something. Interesting things.”

“Giovanni.” Sampo hisses his name like a curse, slamming his fist on the control panels. The ship lurches to the side just slightly before Sampo corrects it. “That bastard! I can't believe he just left you there! Oh, if Gio thinks he'll get any favours out of Sampo Koski--”

“He said you're old,” Gepard continues, “well, kind of. That you've been around a long time. That time is… Strange, throughout the universe.” He pauses to watch Sampo, to see how he forces himself to relax, shuffling In his chair. “...and that you're old.”

“Don't worry.” Sampo's voice is a hushed tone. his expression as he looks back at Gepard isn't quite apologetic, Isn't quite sad. “I've been careful! Planned the routes out perfectly. Time won't escape you back in Belobog.”

It isn't what Gepard means. They both know it. That Gepard wants to know Sampo, to peel him back and see who he is, what more there is to him. Sampo is infinite, varied; Gepard feels like he could spool through what makes him him forever. He wonders, sometimes, if he can know him fully, if even Sampo knows the entirety of himself. He wonders, and finds it doesn't change how he feels.

“I love you,” Gepard says, because it's forcing its way out of him, from the depths of him. Because it's true. Sampo's smile is blinding, his ears starting to burn red. “Love you too, you softy.”

He hums, thinking a moment. “...what else did Gio say?”

“That he's surprised you could settle down with me, I think?”

“I'm going to murder him next I see him.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

#sampard #sampo koski #gepard landau #honkai star rail #fanfiction #in the bones #sampo is an emanator ofc in this. and it makes him freaky #theres a lot of like. hc type shit in this #also the 'green chapel' is a reference to gawain and the green knight #and the queen and her husband at the end are the fae queen and lanval in the lais lanval by marie de france #and like. avalon. ofc.#uhhhh what else did i shove in here. theres prob more but i dont remember #also this is 9317 words. i thought it was 6k. what the fuck #im postin it here in like . an embarassed anxious way before postin to ao3. since its so long #oh OALSO ALSO. i was torn between naming the tavern the green chapel. for the fae/green knight reference. or 'happy trail' from mp.100 #cuz that was funny to me

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