#gem was done with them from the start

[wrenthewrenbird]

Gigs in part one of Pico park vs. in part two

(Part one on the right and part two on the left)

Their part two faces are hilarious. Then Impulses part one face XD.

[brontes]

and THEN I got bit by a bug that said "Chicago house?" What if I could contrive a situation such that Edward and Bella could get married in Chicago? In a little old church just a few blocks from the house he grew up in. That he inherits from himself every few years. Which would be kept in good order and have minor updates made but stay true to the time period in which it was originally. And what if he had it fully furnished and decorated and stocked and they spent the night there before leaving on their honeymoon. And what if they lived there while Bella was human for a few years. What if it was restorative and healing for Edward to do that. What if he took this house that he had owned and not known what to do with or why he kept it. And what if he began to restore it as he fell in love hardly knowing what he was doing. What if the house was a metaphor for the humanity inside him brought back to life by the power of Bella's love for him?

[gender-euphowrya]

blue prince is gonna make me set up a conspiracy theory corkboard with red string wall

[monstersholygrail]

Dragon bf takes care of his treasures like any proper dragon should. You, being his most precious treasure, always come first.

Before you, his favorite task of the day was polishing his treasures. Licking and rubbing them vigorously until they shined and sparkle like nothing you’ve ever seen. And now that he has you, his darling mate, you could say it’s still his favorite task of the day.

Except one minor twist being that you’re the treasure he’s polishing so intently.

Every day he places your pretty curvy body on his table and spreads your thick thighs so he can fully enjoy his task. Exposing your wet folds to the cool air and making your breath catch with anticipation.

A rumble of pleasure moves through your bf’s chest, watching as your slick makes your pussy shine brighter than any jewel or gem he’s ever seen. Though he knows you can get wetter and he won’t stop until you’re absolutely dripping.

Dragon bf moans lewdly as he starts lapping up along your wet slit. His eyes rolling back as he gorges himself on your delectable essence. Eating you out like he hasn’t had a meal in a century and now that he’s got it in his grasp he refuses to let it go.

Your cries echo against the walls of his cave and he growls in response, picking up pace, needing more of your sweet noises and the honeyed nectar that spews from between your thighs with each swirl of his tongue.

You swear you’ve never been more wet in your life. His tongue igniting every nerve in your body, making your cunt throb and gush with your arousal. Giving him exactly what he wants as your slick pools out of you, making a mess of your thighs and the table beneath you. Even his face is shiny and soaked with your essence, glittering against the lit torches on the wall.

Every orgasm simply falls into the next. His tongue building you up and making you drip with need until he latches onto your clit and sucks another orgasm out of your spent body. Over and over again, your body growing unaware of everything besides how soaked he’s made you.

When your Dragon bf lifts his head from your quivering and wrecked cunt, you sigh in relief, believing him to be done. He looks down at you with a satisfied smirk as your pussy glitters in the firelight and your face glows with the flush of your release.

But then he’s rolling his tongue over his thumb and something in your belly clenches. Your traitorous cunt fluttering around nothing at the implication of his actions.

“Did you think we were done, my mate? Tsk. No, a treasure such as you deserves only the best and I am nowhere near finished with you.”

[sadagios]

GIGGS Immortal Company AU

"Nothing in the world is more precious than one’s life, and sometimes, we have to deal with forces that threaten to cut it short. Ghosts, monsters, and sometimes, even people. This fear prevents us from enjoying our short time in this world.

"But what if I tell you that you don’t have to worry about your life falling into danger? What if I tell you that there are people willing to let go of their lives so you don’t have to?

"Ghost busting? Monster journalism? Creature Handling? Cryptid hunting? Property retrieval in ominous places and planets? There is no job we can’t handle!

"Throw your worries away and let GIGGS handle your dangerous affairs. Give a grand to GIGGS and your life will be nothing but grand."

aka A GIGGS AU where the five of them are broke immortals trying to capitalize on their inability to die by taking on life-threatening jobs.

more under the cut!

Impulse and Skizz founded the company. Skizz had the idea and persuaded Impulse to pursue it. Impulse has extensive experience in ghost hunting and prioritizes on-site jobs, while Skizz’s expertise is in handling clients and paperwork. They started as a duo and received mostly ghost-busting jobs. Years into their business, the jobs became more demanding and dangerous, and despite their immortality, it was still a bit much for two people to handle.

Their first recruit was Scar. They never talked to the man, but they often saw him in the city; each time they saw him, he always sat near the lake with a journal and pen in his hands, and a cane rested on his chair. They have been working as IMP n’ SKIZZ for a few decades at this point, and Skizz pointed out to Impulse that the man doesn’t seem to age despite seeing him every week or month. When they talked to him, they found out that Scar was an immortal as well. He agreed to join the company, and although he was clumsy most times and he died so often, it helped out the duo’s workload a ton. Especially with clients. It felt like they accidentally hired themselves a top salesman and a PR guy.

Their next recruit was Grian… well, more like their first applicant. He suddenly showed up one day in their company building asking they need one more employee. Impulse thought it was a good idea as they started to receive jobs that required them to go off-country, or even off-planet. Grian served as a great addition to their team with the way he strategizes and how quick he get things done. Though he’s a very unsettling person. They’re not even sure if he’s human. Each time he died, his corpse stayed on the ground, and he suddenly pops up somewhere.

Their last official member is Gem, who was neither a recruit nor an applicant. She was a hitman paid to kill Scar. She sabotaged a lot of their jobs just to get a swing at Scar, who never seemed to die even when she ripped his heart out. When Grian tried to kill her to get rid of her, her wounds instantly healed. After a while, she realized that her attempts at killing the old conman were futile. Skizz and Impulse tried to recruit her, seeing that her abilities can help the company, but she refused. They didn’t see her for a few years, and she showed up one day saying she’s sick of killing people for money and wants to go on (creepy) adventures.

The five of them made a perfect team, and thus IMP n’ SKIZZ was renamed to GIGGS after a few years.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

IMPULSE

When he dies, his body tries to repair itself back together, and if his important organs are still intact, he goes back into consciousness.

The cause of his immortality is unknown.

Before falling into an existential crisis and state of depression and hopelessness thanks to his immortality, he was a ghost hunter.

SKIZZLEMAN “SKIZZ”

His immortality is the same as Impulse’s, but his consciousness never leaves his body.

The cause of his immortality is unknown.

A few hundred years ago, he was a radio host who was known for his ghost stories segment. The station eventually fell into obscurity before it completely stopped its operation.

He joined a ghost hunter services company a year later, and that’s where he met impulse.

MR. GOODTIMES "SCAR"

He gets scars and can bleed, but doesn’t feel pain. He can also get his heart ripped off and still be able to live. No part of his body can die, and even though he can’t regenerate a whole new organ, his organs can live apart from him.

However, once his body parts or organs reattach to him, it connects with gooey gold which harden after a while, making it harder to remove the next time. Though, this also causes problems sometimes and makes it harder for Scar to move. This is why he uses a cane for his leg.

He gained immortality from a golden cat statue after he repaired it. Some of its shards are missing, so he’s unsure whether this immortality was a blessing or a curse.

He used to be a con artist. He once tricked a billionaire into investing in his fake business. After he got some hundred million, he booked it and lived comfortably in hiding.

GRIAN

His corpses stay dead, but he pops back into existence randomly.

Beneath his glasses, his eyes are hollow and hold a deep abyss inside them.

Sometimes, his new body doesn't express emotions well, so the team rely on his voice and actions to tell how he’s feeling.

The cause of his immortality is unknown. It’s also unknown what kind of creature he is.

AGENT GEMINI "GEM"

She can die, but only if every single one of the cells explodes. She can grow old, but her regeneration is so fast that her aging is incredibly slowed down. She calls herself a “Pseudo Immortal”. Her skin is difficult to slice apart with how fast it connects back together.

Her immortality’s cause is a secret.

Her life before being a hitman is also a secret.

[goldengirlgalaxy]

The Bedazzler

After a very hazy night that... may or may not have been caused by something he found in the Ghost Zone, Danny ends up discovering in his haze he bought an absolutely outrageous amount of various craft supplies, especially shiny things like those little plastic rimstones.

Good news, everything was bought from a going out of business sale, so he didn't drain all of his funds. Bad news, everything was bought from a going out of business sale, which means he can't return them. And, frankly, he doesn't want to just throw away a bunch of stuff he paid for. But he still doesn't know what to do with it all.

At least until Clockwork decides to give Danny a small boon that lets him stop time. Then he gets some ideas.

It first starts off with Superman. He's doing his regular hero thing, when he suddenly feels his cape pulled to one side. He brushes it off as the wind, until people start pointing at his back. Clark nearly panics when he finds a bunch of green crystals on his cape, only to calm when he realizes they're plastic and attached with glue. That of course begs the question, who was able to glue gemstones to his back without him noticing?

Later that same day he's both amused and even more confused when Luthor appears again, only for a bunch of gem stickers to appear on top of his bald head, clearly arranged to spell out 'I Heart Superman' in icons.

Captain Marvel suddenly feels something appear on his head, only to discover it's some kind of cardboard crown. He's confused, but ultimately decides to wear it the rest of the day, thinking it might be from some meta fan of his.

Martian Manhunter finds a necklace appearing on him. When he pulls it off, he finds it's one of those Shrinky Dink plastics, designed to look like a medal that says '#1 Hero' on it, also with some extra plastic gems for extra bling. He wears it proudly for the rest of the day.

The Gotham Bats all get hit at the same time. Fake flowers, various colors of ribbons, Red Robin had a helium balloon attached to him for an hour, and of course plenty of shiny fake gems.

At first, everyone thought the funniest part of the mysterious crafts was Red Hood appearing with several rimstones attached to his hood where he mouth would be, several gold ones arranged in such a way that it looked like he was flashing a bunch of yellow teeth.

Then the Joker showed up. And was promptly doused in several pounds of glitter. Even better, it got into his eyes, effectively blinding him and giving the Bats a chance to capture him (after they were done laughing).

Of course, as more Leaguers get trolled, the more the stories start to paint a picture of someone running around pranking them. And many of them want to know just who this Bedazzler is.

Meanwhile, Danny is laughing his ass off and is planning on giving his friends a chance to have their own fun.

[quirkycritters]

Game Night: CHAIN ATTACK!!!

i am,,, withering away but ITS DONE ITS DONE IM FREE FROM THE CURSE (<<< still haunted by wips) clocking in at 32+ hours, this sucker has been getting pushed around for 10 months-

while theres some things i would have done differently if i could redo this from scratch, i still had a BLAST cramming in as much detail as i could tolerate >:) some highlights / cut ideas / ramblings are below the cut, but please zoom for details! (if tumblr doesnt shred it to bits)

gonna be real i locked so hard onto drawing ripped jeans that i forgot i could have just shoved legend into a skirt and called it a day

SOCKS. SOCKS. the amount of Joy anytime i figured out how to personalize them with game references: legend (hibiscus), twilight (ordon goats), and four (force gems)

i WAS going to put time in a turtleneck, but had an epiphany and started digging for the most obnoxious hawaiian shirts i could find,,, ft. a sea flower (wind waker) and a saturation boosted plumm (twilight princess)!

yeah so warriors got the sweater instead of the skintight shirt, sorry gang

speaking of if i ever say im going to draw a cableknit sweater again, somebody PLEASE shake some sense into me- warriors sweater was a NIGHTMARE since my art program has an astonishing lack of good brushes (and yet here i am still using it)

MOST of the text has been modified using the twilight princess cipher because yeah. i was procrastinating shading. also the other ciphers were in japanese- times shirt is cropped, but reads "its 5 oclock somewhere"

winds lobster shirt :) that is all i just think its neat

wilds jacket :) link w(ild) 2017, aka the release year of botw

jewelry! sky has the fireshield earrings, and wild has the amber earrings~ could barely squeeze the bombos and quake medallions onto legend, and wind got the joy pendant

hyrule :D embroidery on his sweatpants because i was struck by whimsy- also i 100% thought his shield was purple tinted for weeks while drawing this because the page i used as reference was set at night, and i was originally basing his sweater on his shield- scrapped the cross pattern after several failed attempts but kept the color ^^

the chips are bbq because im biased (reads "crisps" in twilight princess cipher for no real reason except whimsy)

bless my dearest homie for game reccs because the og plan was to have them all be loz games! titles include wii sports resort, elebits, super mario party, smash bros ultimate, just dance 2016 (its box art is colorful ok), and myth makers orbs of doom (I HATE THIS GAME WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING, as i should, anyways i should play it again). four is suggesting orbs of doom, buddy aint even playing,,,

kinda was hoping to play around with hair colors and skin tones a bit more, but again, see the hour count- ill get em next time surely,,, also blue vs violet eyes for legend already had me in decision paralysis

the whole gang was gonna have friendship bracelets with color combos based on dynamics i found neat but oops! didnt finish the layer :')

thats a wrap! didnt yap about everything but im curious what yall catch onto- anyways surely ive learned something about biting off more than i can chew (<<< lying liar who lies)

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Jimmy's fake task in Permit Master

Grian: Okay, are we ready for our next task? Gem: I think we're ready. Grian: (sighs) Um…before we actually start, um, have you ever wondered how long it takes to cut up and line one hundred blades of grass? Gem: No, that's-that's not possible. Grian: Oh, I think it is. Gem: Okay. --- Jimmy: Hey, there's me! This is me! (A video of Jimmy from before) Jimmy: So I tried to get as many strands as I can, to make up to the hundred. We will see. (snazzy timelapse music for ten seconds) Guys, this might be the stupidest thing I've ever done, ever. This is horrendous. And, guys, at this point, I know I've lost. None of them. None of them match. I'm wasting--how much have I been record--I've been recording for eight minutes. Right. I've got my hundred, I've got my one hundo. None of them match up. Oh, oh, I've breathed, I've breathed too much. Let me snip this one a little bit, make me feel a little bit better. (timelapse music for five seconds) Jimmy: (current times) That's pretty good, right? That's pretty good! (five seconds of dead silence) Right? (Martyn laughing loudly in the background) What? 'Cuse me? --- Gem: Thank you Jimmy. Grian: Thanks Jimmy. Gem: That was-that was enlightening, truly. Grian: That was truly enlightening. Right. Let's get on with the next cli--uh, the next task.

[salemlunaa]

success story!!!!

OMG SALEM SALEM SALEM, U AND UR WISDOM LITERALLY SAVED ME

idk if you're going to see this because you don't seem as active anymore but i literally revised my entire school life thanks to you!! this is like the first really huge thing i manifested (even though there's no such thing as big lol but you get what | mean)

this success story is gonna be superrrr long but it’s worth it i promise!!

For context im from the UK, and in the last 2 years of school is called a sixth form or called a college (16-18) and you can either transfer schools or stay in the one you were already in for 5 years.

I decided to move (like 80% of the people in my year/grade 💀)  i wanted change and to meet new people, but my entire friend group and so many people i love stayed in my old school.

I found out the grass wasn’t greener on the other side and let’s just say i really did not like the change, i felt fomo from my friend group and all of them expressed how deeply they missed me and how much i should’ve stayed and so i started to feel regret. 

And if you’ve ever felt regret to a significant amount, you know it’s the worst feeling you can ever feel, it’s like your insides are twisting, it’s like beating yourself up over and over again. And it got really bad. It lead me to a deep depression where i barely focused on my studies, and it showed with recent test scores. But I read your post and so many others and realised: i’m not stuck, and never will be, I can go back if i wanted. And so that’s what I did

No one really speaks about revision, not as much as i’d like as someone who now owes revision her life lol, so i was a bit nervous and super doubtful, but i looked at revision success stories and told my self if someone can revive someone back from the dead, someone can revise a serious diagnosis and another can change their age, you can revise the fact that you ever moved. 

I really hung on to your posts that drilled it into our heads that it’s already done and there’s nothing to do. And tellafairy’s posts about how we can change our lives from the comfort of our own beds. Even in my darkest moments i repeated that mantra and it calmed me down. 

I wanted to use the void but realised i probably would’ve have put it on a pedestal and most likely would’ve gotten so hung up on it, so decided to use SATs and choose the reality where i never moved schools and school life was so perfect.

I fell asleep on the first few nights, but then one particular night, i felt really fulfilled and floaty so I just kept visualising a day at school with my friends. AND I SWEAR TO WHOEVERS UP THERE I WOKE UP AND I FELT LIKE SOMETHING SHIFTED, LIKE I REGAINED ALL THESE MEMORIES

I LOOKED AT MY PHONE AND MY SCHOOL EMAIL WAS MY OLD ONE WITH ALL OF MY OLD TEACHERS AND I WENT TO SCHOOL IT WAS LIKE I WAS ALWAYS THERE AND NEVER LEFT

it felt weird when i woke up, like i felt a change, but it felt like i was supposed to be here, like i was at peace with what happened. 

I also used blanket affirming and manifested some things on the side too:

appearance changes

being sooo good at school

school rules being more lenient

change in subjects and more new friends

a school fine shyt Imao

more money +desired family

I really wanna thank you and and @tellafairy @itsrlymine @pineapplepr1nc3ss888 @scentedpeachlandcreator @sugarplumfairy777 @catherineaboutlife @authenticbunni @empyrealoasis @joc3lynn+ youtubers Rita Kaminski, Sammy Ingram and a youtuber called The Power of I AM (he’s sooo underrated but a literal gem) ik at the end of the day it was all me BUT THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HOW HAPPY I AM WITH MY LIFE RN

If you’ve made it this far, please i’m telling you don’t give up, I was at the lowest of low, like seriously i didn’t even know if i wanted to be here, remember this: you are not stuck , you can manifest absolutely anything, yes, even that thing that seems impossible, and please remember that revision is real and it’s not only for small things like erasing an embarrassing memory or something, you can use it to change the trajectory of your life and i can swear by that as you can see!

you are so powerful you can change the past, please believe me when i say you shouldn’t give up, trust me if i, a D1 procrastinator, someone who was a super doubtful person can do this YOU CAN TOO AND I CAN PROMISE THAT.

it's already done, think as if you have it, and for those who are going through a lot mentally, you. are. not. stuck. that's something i had to remind myself. you can change anything and everything instantly and at any point in time, these circumstances aren't your home.

you don’t have to be a passenger of life, you are the author and creator, please remember that if anything.

i love you so much sai okay byeeeeeee 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

i was lurking through my asks for post ideas and oh my lord. i think this is one my favourite success stories, like ever. I rarely answer asks due to repetitive nature but i had to share this success story

YOU FUCKING DID THAT BABY!!!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU AND IM SO HAPPY YOU’RE HAPPY 💘💘💘

i honestly love a massive revision story because these just show how powerful we are and how nothing is real except the now. and we REALLY CAN change ANYTHING

please please please listen to anon and keep going and and listen to them when they say you aren’t stuck, think as if. there is no such thing as failure.

you can change your life with loa. mark my words

[lenny-link]

Fusions! :D ✨

< part one >

Description of the fusions:

Citrine is the perfect blend of calculated genius and unhinged ambition. With the cold precision of engineer and the fervor of medic, and his many mechanical arms that move with precise accuracy, he is as captivating as he is terrifying

charming yet unsettling, he likes pushing the boundaries of science and logic. Citrine speaks with a smooth, calculated confidence, always one step ahead, never not prepared

Weapon: The Shock Therapy (one of Medic’s melee weapons from TF2 classic) he can shoot little capsules to heal his teammates (just like Crusaders Crossbow/ Rescue Ranger) and give shocks to who ever he punches. whether he id building, healing, or “improving” those around him, one thing is certain: with Citrine in the lab, science is never boring

Sugilite, yes he is entirely inspired by the artist Prince, it started accidentally, whenever i work on his design it will always lean into Prince’s purple rain outfit, so i simply took it xD

he is the embodiment of chaos wrapped in velvet and mixed with stardust. He moves with the grace of a performer, every step a dance, every word is dripping with charm

He speaks in a voice as rich as a glass of wine, but his mind is full of mischief and unpredictable power. he’ll sweep you off your feet with a silver tongued compliment, only to forget about you the next second. He treats war more like an extravagant party where he is both the host and grand finale

Weapons: disco-ball bombs/ smoke bombs. he uses his bombs and when he wants to make a dramatic exit, he’ll toss one of his disco bombs at the ground and a burst of sparkling smoke fills the battlefield, letting him vanish in a cloud of colors and dust

Kunzite is silence, just like a ghost in the night, a presence felt but never seen. moving with grace, he is as precise as he is elusive, striking his blade only when the moment is right. his piercing purple eyes sees every weakness, every flaw, every opportunity, his long cape drifts behind him like smoke, his steps lighter than a whisper

Kunzite does not talk. he can, but prefers not to. A single look from him speaks more than an entire conversation, and his presence alone is enough to make even the most hardened gems uneasy. he is neither cruel nor kind, neither merciful nor sadistic, he is simply exists in the quiet. by the time you realize he’s there, it’s already too late

Weapon: darts + hidden blades. The darts he carries, are launched with the precise accuracy of a huntsman. And when the distance closes, the hidden blades beneath his wrists strike with the speed of an assassin, no hesitation, no excess force, just cold, calculated efficiency

Rainbow Quartz (kind of takes the place of Stevonnie) they are a ball of both energy and strategy, they lay between calculated precision and impulsive enthusiasm. They are loyal, affectionate and very clumsy. They often feel insecure and constantly have the need to prove themselves. but beneath their playful personality lies a sharp mind, constantly adjusting, and planning their next move, even if their feet sometimes move faster than their brain

They follows orders with lots of enthusiasm, sometimes a little too much, leading to moments of clumsiness. they’ll execute a plan flawlessly then right up trip over their own momentum, sending themselves (and sometimes their enemies) tumbling in a chaotic mess. but give them a goal, and they’ll chase it with relentless determination, never backing down until the job is done.

Weapon: the Flying Guillotine, its fast, unpredictable, and devastating in the right hands. just like them, it can be unpredictable, but when it hits, it hits hard

[smiteswrites]

A Different Kind of Pain - Blueberry Pancakes

Description: After losing a gem of a next door neighbor, Jack worries what the new resident will be like. Instead of a young obnoxious college kid, he meets you. Instantly struck by your warm nature (and good looks but he won't admit to that), Jack finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn't experienced in years.

A/N: hi all! I’ve been having a rough week and writing the second part to this series has been uhm- not happening. I really want to do it justice, so I’m taking my time and waiting for when I have the capacity to do well. But! I don’t want to abandon this series because I love it, so have this little blurb/idea I had for these two a while back. I imagine this takes place maybe a month or so after when the first part ends. I hope you all enjoy!

You can tell Jack has been having a bad week. After your first walk together you take advantage of the ice being broken and start texting him on occasion. Just to check in, be friendly. How was your day off? He tells you about getting drinks with Robby, or his never ending list of chores and errands.

Or if it was nice out, and his truck was still in the drive when you got home: Going for a walk in 10 if you want to join.

Sometimes you’d make too much food, or bake cookies and don’t want to eat all of them alone. So you drop containers off by his door on your way out the door for when he gets home: Had extra pasta from last night, left you some.

Jack asks about you too of course, checking in about how research is going, making sure you’re taking proper care of yourself. You’re always quick to reassure him that things are going well. Even if research often leaves you frustrated to the point of tears, and you come home exhausted and then can’t sleep, and you can’t find the time to cook, so you live off whatever you can whip up for less than $5 dollars in under 10 minutes.

But this week is different. Jack rarely texts you back, not unusual, he is a busy man and your schedules are far from similar. What is unusual is that Jack has not once asked about your week, and instead of answering your queries has been sending one word responses. At first you think you must have done something to upset him, but after a few days of his truck being gone well before he needs to leave for shift you start putting things together.

It’s Saturday morning when you finally catch him coming home, close to 9. When you hear his truck pull in you’re quick to throw on some slippers and wander outside. You watch him come up the front steps, standing in your snoopy slippers and sweats, coffee mug in hand.

“Mornin’ Jack.”

He looks like he’s been hit by a truck. You can tell his leg and back are killing him just by the way he stands. His eyes crinkle when he gives you a tired smile, dark circles bordering on purple. “Hey kid.”

“When was your last day off?”

“I have the next two nights off, courtesy of Robby fucking with the schedule.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

He shrugs in response.

A beat passes, and you’re desperate to do something, anything, to show him that you care. That he isn’t on his own, or at least he doesn’t have to be.

“Well, if you’re gonna be up for a bit I was about to make pancakes.” You weren’t, but he looks like he could use some. And you doubt he has any food in his fridge by this point. “I could bring you some?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up for a bit.” He nods, hands shoved in his scrub pockets. “Only if you’ve got extra though, don’t wanna put you out sweetheart.”

“Don’t be silly, always got extra for you, Jack.”

You let him wander into his unit, presumably to shower off the grime of the ER. Shit, now you have to make pancakes.

Luckily, you have the basics: eggs, milk, butter, pancake mix. You also rummage through your freezer and find a ziplock bag with potato pancakes, a few stray breakfast sausages, and some frozen blueberries. Perfect.

Half an hour later you have a fully loaded plate, covered in foil, and a thermos of freshly brewed coffee (decaf, that you’d bought just in case you ever caught him for coffee in the morning).

You knock on his door, waiting only a few moments before he opens it.

As you suspected, he had showered and changed into sweatpants to match your own. A black worn t-shirt covers his chest, and his prosthetic had been switched for crutches.

“Made you breakfast,” you say, lifting the plate slightly in indication. “Also, coffee. It’s decaf.”

“Thanks.” You can tell his brain is slow to process, eyes locked on yours, but not making any move to take the plate. With how burnt out he must be, you aren’t shocked. You invite yourself in to put the plate and thermos on his coffee table, guessing it might be a challenge to carry both with the crutches. He doesn’t protest, watching blankly as you enter his living room.

You push down the part of you that feels giddy at being in his space, refusing to look around beyond what you need to to put the food down. You won’t take advantage of his vulnerability and overstep more than is necessary to make sure he eats.

Seeing you stand awkwardly by his couch, Jack’s brain finally catches up. “You uh- didn’t need to do all this, but thank you.”

His face betrays how touched he is, a mix of shock and gratitude. Maybe relief. This must be the first time in a long time that someone has taken care of him, rather than the other way around.

“It was nothing,” you smile. Taking a deep breath, you begin to show yourself out.

“Let me know how everything is, and then get some rest, okay?” You touch his shoulder lightly as you speak, walking past him again to stand in his doorway. “I’m here if you need anything, anything at all.”

“I will, go eat your food, kid.” And if Jack has a lump in his throat from how good it feels to be checked in on, no he doesn’t.

You leave him be, returning to your own plate of cheesy eggs, sausage, and blueberry pancakes drenched in syrup. You’ve only just tucked in when your phone vibrates.

Jack: Blueberry?

You: Yes.

Jack: How’d you know?

You: Lucky guess.

[edenarchives]

♯┆𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑 .ᐟ — 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Nanami betrayed you. Toji blackmailed you. Now you’re done playing nice. You’re not the girl who falls apart anymore—you’re the one pulling the strings. And if getting even means letting Toji ruin you? Then so be it. You’re not here to be saved. You’re here to win.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Blackmail, professor/student dynamic, emotional manipulation, power imbalance, dubcon, rough sex, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare, toxic relationship themes, revenge, infidelity mention, Megumi humiliation, emotional fallout. MINORS DNI.

𝐖𝐂: 𝟗,𝟓𝟎𝟎

It’s been three days.

Three long, aching, breathless days since you walked into Toji Fushiguro’s office thinking you could win—thinking that if you just stood your ground, said the right words, made him see reason, it would be enough to save Nanami. Enough to save yourself.

You thought you could hold your own.

That he’d listen.

That somehow, he’d care.

You should’ve known better.

Because the second that door shut behind you, it all slipped away.

Toji didn’t even look up at first. He was sitting at his desk like he’d been waiting there all morning, legs spread, coffee in hand, sleeves rolled up, collar open. He glanced at you from under thick lashes and smirked.

“This is blackmail.”

You stood in front of his desk with your arms crossed and your chest burning, trying not to let the tremble in your hands show.

His smile widened, lazy and amused. “Is it?”

“You can’t just manipulate people like this. You can’t hold this over our heads.”

Toji leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered. “I think you’ll find I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

“We’re not doing anything else,” you snapped. “Nothing. It’s over. There’s no story here. You don’t have a case. It was a mistake. We won’t be together again. On campus, off campus—ever.”

He chuckled, low in his throat. “God, you’re adorable when you’re righteous.”

You pressed your tongue to the roof of your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. “I’m serious. If someone’s going to take the blame, let it be me. Just leave Nanami the hell alone.”

“Why would I do that?” he said, cocking his head.

Your heart kicked, but you didn’t back down. “It was my fault too.”

“No,” Toji said, dragging the word out, savoring it. “You were just convenient. Cute, sure. But not the first.”

The blood drained from your face. “What?”

“You’re the latest,” he said casually, like he was listing the weather. “Not the first.”

You stared at him. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” His smile stretched wider. “You really thought you were the first student Nanami’s ever fucked?”

Your stomach turned.

“He didn’t even know who I was,” you argued, voice rising. “We met through that site. It wasn’t… it wasn’t planned.”

Toji raised a brow, then leaned forward slowly, folding his arms over the edge of the desk. “That’s cute. But you know what’s funny about that?”

“Professors get the student lists before the semester starts. All of them. Names. Majors. Contact info. Photos. You think Nanami didn’t know who you were when he saw your profile?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

“You’re not some hidden gem,” he says. “You were on his desk months before he ever sent you that first message.”

“No,” you whispered. “That’s not true.”

Toji shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But it wouldn’t be the first time.”

You blinked.

“What?”

A cruel glint flickered in his eyes.

“It’s his thing. Every semester—he picks someone. Some sweet little thing with straight A’s and something to lose. And then he waits. Times it right. Makes it look like fate. Makes you think you’re the one who started it. And when it happens, when you’re all wrapped up in it? He pretends to pull away. Pretends he’s ashamed. But really?”

He smirked.

“He’s watching you fall apart for him. Watching you crawl back. Every time he disappears, every time he tells you it’s wrong—he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Your chest felt too tight to breathe.

“He gets off on it,” Toji said softly. “Watching you risk your future for his cock. Watching you beg. Watching you think it’s love when really, he just likes watching you squirm.”

You shook your head. “No. That’s not—he—he doesn’t…”

“He doesn’t love you,” Toji finished for you, leaning back again. “He loves what you’ll do to feel like he might.”

The words sat heavy between you.

He sipped his coffee like he hadn’t just cracked your entire world open.

And you stood there. Frozen. Because some part of you, even as you denied it, even as you fought it, was already starting to believe him.

Toji exhaled slowly, shaking his head like he was genuinely impressed. “He was careful. I’ll give him that. Never brought it onto campus. Always met them off-site. Never got caught.”

Then, a grin. “Until you.”

Your throat burned.

“You’re the one he fucked in his office,” he said, gesturing toward the walls around you. “You’re the one who made him forget to be careful. You’re the mistake.”

You looked down. Your hands were shaking again.

Toji tilted his head. “And now I get to use that. Or maybe I just let the old bastard hang himself with guilt. Watch his perfect career crumble while I sip my whiskey.”

He didn’t look angry.

He looked satisfied.

Like he’d already won.

Like he wasn’t threatening you—just explaining how this would go.

You stood there, staring at the floor, breath shallow in your lungs.

You blink.

The memory slips away, but not the feeling.

You can still hear his voice. Still see the smirk on his lips. You can still feel the way the floor dropped out beneath you when he said you weren’t the first. That Nanami had known. That maybe it was never real.

And now, three days later, the ache hasn’t dulled. But it’s changed. Hardened. You’re not shaking anymore. You’re not crying. You’re not sitting in your bed with your phone in your hand waiting for a message that isn’t coming.

You’re getting dressed.

Not soft. Not sweet.

You wear black. Something tight. Something that hugs your hips and bares your skin and makes you look like someone you don’t recognize anymore. You smear eyeliner over your lashes. You wear gloss that shines like a weapon.

You grab your bag.

And you walk to the admin building like your heart isn’t broken—like it’s been replaced by something sharp and dangerous and willing to bite back.

Because if this is the game?

You won’t be a piece.

You’ll be the fucking player.

Even if it means using the devil to destroy the man who broke you.

———

The admin building is quiet. Too quiet.

It’s the kind of stillness that makes you feel like you’re being watched, like the walls themselves know what you’re about to do. But your steps don’t falter. Your heels click across the floor, steady, sharp. You don’t hesitate when you reach the office door with his name printed in clean black lettering.

Vice Chancellor Fushiguro.

You knock once. Firm. Not out of politeness—but so he knows you’re coming.

The door swings open like he’d been waiting right behind it.

Of course he had.

He doesn’t look surprised to see you. Not even a little. He leans against the doorframe with his sleeves rolled up and his black shirt half-unbuttoned like it’s just another Wednesday. Like he didn’t spend the last few days tearing your entire sense of reality apart.

His eyes drag down the length of you—slow, heavy. Like he’s tasting the sight of you with every blink.

“Figured you’d come crawling back,” he says.

“I’m not crawling,” you bite.

You walk in without waiting for permission. Close the door behind you.

And this time—you lock it.

That makes him pause. His smile twists just slightly. Amused. Curious. Dangerous.

“Well well,” he murmurs. “Kinky.”

He pushes off the doorframe and moves closer, slow like he’s circling prey. “What are you here for, sweetheart?”

You stand tall. Your heart’s racing, but your voice stays level.

“I want to make a deal.”

He laughs—short and quiet, like he doesn’t take you seriously yet. “We already made one.”

“No,” you say. “You made a threat. I’m giving you an offer.”

That stops him.

He tilts his head. Says nothing.

You take a breath and keep going.

“You want leverage? Fine. You can have me. On your terms. However you want. But if you want me, then you don’t touch Nanami. You bury the recording. You never say his name again.”

The silence stretches.

He looks at you—really looks at you—like he’s trying to figure out what game you’re playing.

And then, slowly, a grin spreads across his face.

You don’t blink when he steps closer. When the space between you tightens. When the air turns heavy, electric, laced with something sharp and sour that sinks into your bloodstream.

Toji looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second he doesn’t smile. He just studies you—like he’s trying to decide whether you’re brave or stupid. Whether you’re bluffing or broken.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“After everything,” he murmurs, “you still wanna save him?”

His voice is low. Not mocking. Not amused. Just curious. And that’s worse.

You swallow. Don’t answer.

Toji hums like he already knows. Like he can see right through you.

“You think he’d do the same?” he asks, slower this time. “You think Nanami would lock a door for you? Offer himself up just to keep your name clean?”

Your jaw tightens.

He leans in closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “Do you think he’d beg for you, sweetheart?”

You want to say yes.

You want to scream it.

But the words get stuck somewhere between your ribs.

Because you don’t know anymore.

You don’t know.

And Toji sees it. Sees the flicker of hesitation. The second of silence that splits your chest in half.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, stepping back, smile curling again. “You’re smart. But you’re not special.”

Your fingers curl into fists.

But you don’t run.

You don’t crumble.

You lift your chin again, sharp and angry.

“Then take it,” you spit. “Take me. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted this whole time?”

His smile is slow, eyes gleaming like a blade catching light.

He doesn’t answer. Not with words.

He steps forward—closer, closer—until there’s barely an inch between you, until your back is nearly brushing the edge of his desk and you can smell the coffee and smoke on his breath. His hand lifts, slow and deliberate, and for a second, you think he’s going to touch you.

But he doesn’t.

His fingers hover just beneath your chin, never making contact. His voice is low when it comes.

“You say that like you’re offering me something I haven’t already taken.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in slightly, mouth near your ear now, his lips just barely grazing the shell of it.

“Every time you walk around this campus with your thighs clenched and your mouth shut and your eyes all glassy like you’ve got something to confess—” His voice drops, dark and amused. “—that’s me. That’s mine.”

His breath is hot. Heavy. You don’t move.

“I don’t need to take you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You already gave yourself to me the second you locked that fucking door.”

His hand finally touches your jaw—just a graze of knuckles—and it’s humiliating how fast your body reacts. Heat blooms between your legs like it never left, like it’s been simmering under your skin since the first time he smiled at you with that knowing look. Your spine straightens, but your knees threaten to give out.

Toji watches the shift happen in real time.

“That’s more like it,” he mutters. “Go ahead. Be honest.”

His thumb traces your lower lip.

“You want to be ruined, don’t you?”

You hate that you can’t lie. Not here. Not now. Not when your body is already betraying you, your chest rising too fast, your mouth parting like you’re waiting for him to fill it.

You don’t answer.

You don’t need to.

Because he already knows.

And when his hand curls into the back of your neck and pulls your mouth to his—when he finally kisses you—it’s not sweet. It’s not comforting. It’s not anything you’ve ever had before.

It’s ownership.

It’s the start of something irreversible.

And you let it happen.

The kiss isn’t kind.

It’s rough—hot, consuming, all tongue and teeth and dominance. You gasp into it, and he swallows the sound whole, one hand fisted in your hair, the other already sliding down your waist like he owns the blueprint of your body. His grip is unrelenting, possessive, like he’s waited just long enough to enjoy the moment your spine gives in.

You barely register the low thunk of your bag hitting the floor before your back slams against the edge of his desk. He presses into you, chest to chest, cock already hard against your stomach through the fabric of his pants, and fuck—he’s big. You knew it. You felt it in the way he carried himself. And now there’s no more guessing.

“On the desk,” he growls, voice gravel under heat. “Now.”

You don’t move fast enough.

He flips you himself.

Hands on your hips, spinning you, pushing you forward until your chest hits the cold wood and your elbows slide across its polished surface. You feel his hand on the small of your back, flat and firm, holding you down like he’s staking a claim. The other slips beneath your skirt.

“Bet you’re already wet for me,” he mutters.

And when his fingers slide against the soaked lace between your legs, he groans—low, guttural, dark.

“Fuck. You are.”

You try to bite your lip, try to stay silent, but your body twitches under him—hips rocking back just barely, without thinking.

That’s all it takes.

Then his fingers are sliding through your folds, two of them sinking into you at once like he has something to prove.

He shoves your panties to the side. Doesn’t pull them down, doesn’t bother with anything careful or sweet—just tugs enough to get access.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, pumping slow, deliberate. “You like this, huh?”

You choke on your own moan, nails digging into the desk.

“Like being traded for a secret? Like being used to cover his ass?”

His fingers curl.

You cry out.

“Say it,” he snarls. “Say you like it.”

You bite it back.

He withdraws instantly—hand gone, heat gone, and your body clenches around nothing.

“No—please,” you gasp before you can stop yourself.

Toji chuckles darkly behind you.

“There she is.”

You hear the rustle of a belt. The clink of a zipper. The sound of fabric shifting.

And then—

The blunt, heavy press of his cock dragging through your soaked folds, head catching right where you’re aching the most.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asks, mocking.

You nod, frantic. “Yes. Just—fuck, please.”

He doesn’t wait.

One hard thrust.

He buries himself inside you to the hilt—so thick it knocks the breath from your lungs, the stretch brutal, delicious, overwhelming. You cry out, nails scraping across the desk as he grinds in deeper, holding your hips like you might try to run.

“You feel that?” he breathes, lips close to your ear. “That’s mine now.”

Then he starts to move.

Brutal pace. No mercy. Just the sound of skin on skin, the slap of his hips against your ass, the wet drag of your cunt gripping every inch of him like it’s never been this full before. Your moans turn helpless, high and ruined, echoing in the room like a confession.

His hand slides up your back, catches the collar of your shirt, and yanks. You hear the fabric tear, feel the scrape of buttons popping open. Cold air hits your skin.

“You like this better,” he grits. “You want it filthy?”

You nod. Desperate. Sweat slicking your back, tears threatening to spill from how deep he is, from the way he hits that spot over and over and over—

His hand slides down.

Finds your clit.

Rubs tight, punishing circles while he slams into you.

“That’s it,” he growls. “Give it to me.”

And you do.

Your orgasm rips through you like a wave of fire—violent, blinding. You scream, body locking up, legs shaking as you clamp down around him and nearly collapse over the desk.

Toji groans, low and ragged. “Fucking tight.”

You feel him lose rhythm. Hear the change in his breath.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Gonna make sure you remember who owns you now.”

You moan, still trembling, completely at his mercy.

“Please—” your voice is cracked, ruined. “Please, cum inside me—”

“Yes, Beg for it,” he hisses.

He curses hard.

One last thrust, deep and rough and final—and then he’s spilling into you, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep as he empties himself with a guttural sound that shakes the bones in your spine.

The silence after is thick. Hot. Drenched in sweat and power. You’re still bent over his desk, breathing hard, your hands pressed flat to the wood, your body slick with heat and shame and satisfaction.

He’s still inside you—deep, heavy, pulsing slow as he drags out the moment. And when he finally pulls out, you whimper at the loss. Not because you want him again—yet—but because the emptiness makes you feel it all over again.

His cum spills down your thighs in slow, hot drips.

You shift, trying to stand, but your legs are too shaky.

He hums behind you, amused. “Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you lower yourself slowly onto the edge of the desk, your bare thighs sticking to the cool wood. You can feel everything—the mess, the stretch, the ruin between your legs—and it should feel degrading.

But it doesn’t.

It feels like a win.

Toji grabs a few tissues from the box on the desk.

You expect him to hand them to you.

He doesn’t.

He kneels instead.

And fuck—you almost flinch.

Because when his thumb drags through your folds, slow and lazy, smearing his cum back inside you, your whole body shudders. He watches your cunt flutter, watches your thighs tremble, watches the way your hips twitch helplessly beneath his hand.

“Don’t waste it,” he murmurs.

You gasp when he presses two fingers into you again, spreading the mess deeper.

“That’s mine now,” he adds, soft but sharp. “You gave it to me.”

He wipes what’s left with a lazy, practiced touch. But it’s not kindness. It’s ownership.

You slide off the desk on shaking legs and grab your bag. You smooth your skirt. Fix your top. Pretend you’re in control again.

Even though your panties are soaked.

Even though his cum is still dripping out of you.

Even though he’s watching you like this was only the beginning.

You make it two steps toward the door before his voice stops you cold.

“You think this was a one-time favor?”

You pause. Don’t turn around.

“I keep my mouth shut,” he says, “you keep showing up.”

You glance back at him—hair a mess, shirt undone, cock still out.

And you smile.

“Who says I won’t?”

Toji leans back in his chair like he’s already planning the next time. Like he knows you’ll come crawling back. But this time, it won’t be because you’re scared. It’ll be because you want to.

You step into the hallway, raw and sore and glowing.

Because you’re done playing fair.

You don’t feel ashamed.

You feel powerful.

And Nanami?

He has no idea what’s coming.

You return to class like nothing happened.

It’s been a full day since you locked that office door behind you—since Toji’s hands were on your skin, his voice in your ear, his cum dripping down your thighs.

A full day since you stopped pretending you didn’t like the fire.

You’ve been quiet since. Not hiding.

Just waiting.

Letting it settle into your bones, letting the world shift just enough to feel like you’re the one in control now.

And when you walk into the lecture hall, it’s like you’ve been reborn.

Same seat. Same desk. Same room.

But not the same girl.

You’re not pretending to be soft anymore.

There’s a new weight behind your gaze. A new sharpness to your smile.

You feel it in the way people look at you now—like they’re seeing you for the first time.

You’re here to be seen.

And Megumi notices first.

He’s already in your row, lounging back in the chair beside yours with his legs stretched out and that smug little smirk that says he still thinks he has the upper hand.

“You’re back,” he says, like it’s funny.

You drop your bag on the desk and sit beside him, slow and graceful and just a little too pleased with yourself.

“Miss me?” you hum.

His smile grows. “Didn’t think you’d have the nerve.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you say sweetly, turning to face him, your voice low and rich. “You snitched on me. Thought you were pulling strings. But all you did was hand me your father on a silver platter.”

He blinks. The smile falters.

“What?”

You lean in, close enough that only he can hear. Your lips barely move. Your tone is dripping in syrup and acid.

“I should be thanking you,” you whisper. “Because thanks to you… I got to fuck your dad.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Megumi goes still. His mouth parts—just slightly—but no sound comes out.

And then, without another word, he stands up and leaves. Fast. Wide-eyed. Like he’s running from something that just snapped loose in his chest.

You don’t even flinch.

You just sit back. Cross your legs. Flip open your notebook like nothing happened.

Like you didn’t just shatter someone.

Like you’re already thinking about what’s next.

You hear the door open behind you a moment later.

Footsteps—slow, even, familiar.

Nanami.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t look up.

You feel it in your chest when he passes—like a ghost brushing through you.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t acknowledge you. But you feel his gaze linger for a fraction too long as he moves past you.

He stands at the front of the room, briefcase already open, tie perfect, expression calm.

But when he glances at you again, it’s different.

He knows.

It’s burning in the cool way you hold your pen, the way your lips curl just slightly at the corner like you’re keeping a secret.

It’s shining in your skin.

And he doesn’t know what, not exactly—but something in you has changed, and it’s loud.

And Nanami feels it.

He feels it in the pit of his stomach.

And for the first time since he told you it was over—he wonders if maybe you finally believed him.

And moved the fuck on.

The lecture drags.

But something’s off.

His voice is steady, his notes are clean, and his explanations are as polished as always. Not because Nanami falters—he doesn’t.

You are off.

And it’s throwing him.

He tells himself it’s nothing. That you’re just back—finally—and maybe he should be relieved.

He tries not to stare. He tries not to think about the way your lips shine under the fluorescents or how your legs are crossed just a little too tight.

He’s unsettled.

Because the girl sitting in the front row, notebook open, pen between her fingers?

That’s not the girl he left standing in his office three days ago, shaking and tearful and betrayed.

This version of you is cold.

Beautiful.

Sharp-edged and glowing with something dangerous.

You smile at him once—just once—and it wrecks him.

Because it doesn’t reach your eyes.

And he realizes, too late, that he’s the only one in the room who knows how far you’ve fallen.

Because he’s the one who dropped you.

Class ends.

You pack slowly. Deliberately. Your fingers move with a calm he doesn’t believe. You can feel him watching you as the room empties out—his stare heavy, desperate, burning a hole into the back of your head.

And when the last student leaves, and it’s just the two of you again?

He says your name.

Soft. Tentative. Not like a professor. Not like a lover.

You turn around slowly. Raise your brows, calm as anything.

“Yes, Professor?”

He flinches at the title.

His jaw tightens. “Can we talk?”

You tilt your head. “About what?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

And you almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Because this is what he wanted, right?

Separation.

Silence.

Distance.

And now that you’ve finally given it to him, he looks like he’s choking on it.

You step closer. Not enough to be inappropriate. Just enough to make him sweat.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk,” you murmur. “You made it very clear.”

His eyes drop to your mouth, then back up again. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes,” you interrupt, sharp but not unkind. “You did.”

You watch him struggle for a second longer—jaw clenched, eyes flicking across your face like he’s looking for a way back in.

And then, just before you turn to go—

“Oh,” you say, like it just occurred to you. “And you don’t have to worry about Toji sending the recording.”

His breath catches.

“I’ve got it under control.”

You give him a sweet smile.

One that’s all lipstick and fire and secrets.

Then you walk out.

Calm. Collected. Glowing.

And Nanami?

He doesn’t sit down. He just stares at the door like it might open again. Like he’s hoping you’ll walk back in and take the weight off his chest.

But you won’t.

You already did your part.

And now it’s his turn to fall apart alone.

You don’t go home after class.

Not now. Not since you stopped pretending to be the kind of girl who lets other people decide what she’s worth.

You should. You could. But your body doesn’t move that way anymore.

You don’t text Toji.

You don’t have to.

He doesn’t say anything when he sees you. Just gives you a once-over—eyes dragging down your legs, your hips, the smug little smirk still clinging to your mouth.

Arms crossed, sleeves rolled to the elbow, a cigarette tucked behind his ear like the picture of careless sin.

By the time you reach the admin building, he’s already leaning against the doorframe of his office, like he knew you’d be back.

Then he steps aside.

Door open.

Invitation clear.

You walk in.

Don’t speak.

Just wait.

Toji shuts the door behind you, slow and easy. Doesn’t bother locking it this time—like he knows you’re not here to play shy anymore.

When he turns around, you’re already by the desk, fingers grazing the edge.

“You were late today,” he says, voice low, teasing. “Was starting to think you were over me already.”

You glance back at him, expression flat. “I was busy ruining a man’s day.”

That earns you a grin. “Let me guess—Nanami?”

You hum. “Told him I had the recording under control.”

Toji chuckles, steps closer. “You’re really getting the hang of this whole revenge thing.”

You shrug. “Figured I’d learn from the best.”

There’s a beat of silence—heavy, pulsing.

Then he moves.

One hand comes up, cradles your jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip like he’s remembering exactly how it felt when you moaned around him.

Crosses the room, slow and deliberate, until his chest brushes yours.

“You’re dangerous now,” he murmurs, almost admiring. “You taste it yet?”

You don’t answer.

Just tilt your chin up. Just enough.

An invitation.

His mouth crashes into yours like a promise—messy, brutal, already desperate.

It’s different this time.

Not because it’s softer. Not because he’s gentle.

But because you want it now.

Not to prove something.

Not to survive.

But because this is yours.

You want all of it—his mouth, his cock, his voice in your ear saying filthy things that make you feel alive again.

Your thighs tighten around his hips. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

Let him peel your top off, kiss down your chest, bite at the soft underside of your breast.

You let him back you up against the desk again.

And Toji?

Toji gives it to you.

Every fucking second of it.

His mouth is already on your neck, hands up your shirt, hips between your thighs like he’s got no plans to stop. He groans into your skin, breathing heavy, like he’s barely holding himself back.

You’re gasping before you can stop it, fingers tangling in his hair, legs tightening around his hips. You feel his belt press into your thigh, the thick line of his cock hard against you through the fabric of his pants.

“Toji—” you start, already breathless.

He kisses you hard—deep and rough, like he’s staking a claim. You feel him reach for your skirt, about to drag it up, when suddenly he pulls back. Just a little. Just enough.

You blink at him, chest rising and falling fast. “What?”

“Not here,” he mutters, voice low and gravelly.

Your brows knit. “Why not?”

He steps back, adjusts your top for you, then fixes his own shirt like it’s no big deal. But his jaw’s tight. His eyes are darker now. “I’m not fucking you on a desk again.”

You just stare at him.

Then he grabs your hand and pulls you toward the door without another word.

When you step out into the cool air, you pause. It’s still campus. Still public. And you glance around instinctively, nerves prickling at the back of your neck.

“Toji—” you tug at his arm, lowering your voice.

He stops walking. Turns to you slowly.

Then smirks. “Baby, relax.”

You blink.

His eyes gleam with something sharp, wicked. “You’re gonna have to trust me.”

You swallow.

He leans in, brushing his mouth against your ear. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You stare at him for a second longer—until he opens the passenger door of his car like it’s nothing. Like this isn’t insane.

“Get in.”

You hesitate just a second. Then slide into the seat, heart hammering.

The ride starts quiet.

Not awkward—just heavy. Thick with everything you didn’t get to finish back in that office. Toji’s hand is steady on the wheel, rings glinting in the sunlight, jaw sharp in profile as he drives like he’s not in any rush. Like he’s trying to savor this part, too.

You shift in your seat, thighs pressed tight together, still aching with the want he didn’t satisfy.

He glances over, one brow raised, smirking. “You always this squirmy, or is it just me?”

You roll your eyes, but your face burns. “You literally dragged me out mid—”

“Mid what?” he interrupts, voice low and smug. “Mid whimper? Mid grind?”

You punch his arm lightly, but he just laughs, a quiet, throaty sound that settles low in your stomach.

Then, softer—more real—he says, “Didn’t wanna rush it.”

Your chest tightens a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks over at you again, slower this time. “You looked too pretty to fuck quick against a desk. Wanted to take my time. Make you cry a little.”

That shuts you up.

He smirks like he knows it. Like he’s proud of himself. Then he adds, “You worried someone was gonna see you, back there.”

You glance out the window. “…Maybe.”

He scoffs, like it’s the dumbest thing he’s heard. “I own that fucking school.”

You blink. “What?”

Toji shrugs, casual as hell. “Board loves me. Faculty can’t touch me. You think someone’s gonna open their mouth? Let ‘em try. I’ll make ‘em wish they didn’t.”

You swallow. “You’re insane.”

He grins. “Only for you, sweetheart.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You cross your legs slowly. “So… where are we going?”

He looks at you, eyes dark and amused. “Home.”

“Yours?”

“Unless you wanna get wrecked in a parking lot.”

Your heart stutters. Your thighs squeeze tighter.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Gonna take my time. Wanna ruin you properly.”

And with that, he shifts gears—and your breath catches.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Gonna take my time. Wanna ruin you properly.”

And with that, he shifts gears—and your breath catches.

His hand stays on the wheel, knuckles tight, thumb tapping slowly against the leather. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, but there’s something about the way his jaw flexes that makes your stomach twist. That lazy, dangerous calm he wears like second skin—it’s thicker now. Louder. It’s in the way he turns onto the main road like he’s not thinking about anything else but what he’s gonna do to you when you get there.

You sit back, legs crossed, pulse ticking under your skin. You try not to shift in your seat. Try not to let your thighs press together. But you can feel the tension building, slow and sticky, winding through the air between you.

Toji doesn’t speak. Not at first. He just drives—slow enough to tease, fast enough to make your heart race.

“You always this quiet?” he finally asks, glancing at you sideways.

You shrug, voice soft. “You’re the one who said you wanted to take your time.”

That earns you a crooked smile. “Yeah. But not in silence.”

You hum, letting your head tilt slightly, lips curling. “What do you wanna talk about?”

He huffs a laugh. “Nothing. Just like hearing your voice when you’re not moaning.”

You look away, trying not to smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re wet,” he says easily.

You shoot him a look, but he’s already grinning. One hand still steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift like he’s not in any rush to touch you again. Like he’s making you wait on purpose.

“Cocky,” you murmur.

He glances over. “Only when I’m right.”

The silence stretches again—longer this time. Thicker.

You can feel it creeping back in, curling between your legs, heating your cheeks. It’s not the kind of quiet you fill with small talk. It’s the kind that builds pressure. The kind that makes you squirm in your seat and pretend like you’re not imagining what his hands will feel like all over you the second you step inside his house.

And then finally, his voice cuts through it, lower now. Rougher.

“You nervous?”

You pause, just long enough for him to notice. “No.”

He doesn’t call you out on the lie. Doesn’t smirk, doesn’t tease. Just nods once—quiet, settled. But the way his hand tightens on the wheel says something else entirely.

“Good,” he says. “’Cause I’m not gonna stop this time.”

The rest of the drive blurs. Not because it’s fast, but because the air is thick with things unspoken. Your heart’s pounding. Your thighs ache. Every time he shifts gears, the movement sends another jolt of heat through you.

And then he’s pulling into a driveway.

It’s not what you expected.

Not a flashy house. No giant gates or pretentious signs. It’s clean. Neat. A quiet, modern two-story tucked behind tall hedges, windows dark. Private. The kind of place where secrets are safe.

He kills the engine, and the sudden silence makes your breath hitch.

“You coming?” he asks, already opening his door.

You follow, legs a little shaky as your heels hit the concrete. The air is cooler now, sharp against your skin, but you barely notice it. Not with the way he’s watching you from the front step, keys dangling from his fingers, that same lazy confidence in every inch of his posture.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t wait for you to walk in first—he just steps aside, lets you move past him, lets his hand brush low over your back like a warning.

It’s warm inside.

Dim lights. Clean floors. A dark hallway stretching out ahead of you. You hear the door shut behind you with a quiet click, and then his voice—low, close to your ear.

“Upstairs,” he says, already moving past you. “Second door on the left.”

You don’t hesitate.

You walk.

And you feel him watching every step.

You reach the top of the stairs, your fingers trailing lightly along the wall like you need something to steady yourself. Each step feels heavier, hotter, like the air’s thickening with every breath.

Second door on the left.

You stop in front of it, hand hovering over the knob, pulse drumming at the base of your throat. And then you feel it—him. Toji right behind you, not touching, but close enough that his presence drapes over your shoulders like heat.

He leans in, voice low. “Open it.”

You do.

The room is… minimal. Clean lines, dark wood, soft lighting that throws long shadows across the floor. A massive bed in the center—black sheets, unmade. Like he hadn’t expected company, but didn’t mind the idea of it.

You step inside, heart climbing into your mouth.

Toji shuts the door behind you, and this time, he does lock it.

Then silence. Heavy. Almost too much.

Until—

“Take off your shoes.”

His voice is soft. Gentle. But it leaves no room for argument.

You kick them off slowly, feeling the shift in the atmosphere as your heels hit the floor with a dull thud.

“Come here.”

You don’t walk.

You drift.

Like your body already knows the way to him.

And the second you’re close enough—he touches you. One hand on your waist, the other sliding up your spine, fingers dragging the heat of the night right through your clothes.

“You sure about this?” he asks, voice gruff, almost strained. Like if you say no, he might actually stop.

But you look up at him—lips parted, breathing uneven, already undone.

“Don’t you dare,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

And Toji smiles like he’s been waiting his whole fucking life to hear you say that.

He pulls you in slowly, like he wants to savor it—your skin, your breath, the way your fingers curl into his shirt like you’re already bracing for the fall. His lips brush yours once—barely there—before he tilts his head and kisses you for real.

And fuck—it’s everything.

Hot and messy, all tongue and teeth and want. You gasp, and he swallows it. His hands are everywhere, greedy, slow, dragging up your back and into your hair, tugging until your head tips back and he can get to your throat.

“Been thinking about this,” he mutters against your skin. “All goddamn day.”

You arch into him, hands fumbling at the hem of his shirt, needing more, needing him, but he catches your wrists and holds them still.

“Let me,” he says, low and steady.

And then he peels you open like a secret.

Top off. Tossed somewhere across the room. His eyes darken when he sees you—no bra, no hesitation. Just you, standing there like you’ve already given yourself over to him and you’re not taking it back.

��Fucking beautiful,” he says, like it hurts.

He runs his hands down your sides, slow, thumbs grazing just under your ribs. You shiver.

“Lay down.”

You do.

The sheets are cool, but your skin is already burning, and when Toji crawls over you—knee between your legs, hand cupping your jaw—your whole body arches like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment since the first time he looked at you.

“Still nervous?” he asks, lips brushing your ear.

You nod. Barely.

And he smiles.

“Good.”

Then he kisses you again—deeper, slower.

Like he plans to ruin you piece by piece.

His mouth moves lower, unhurried. Down your neck, across your collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. He palms your breast, thumbing over your nipple until it stiffens, then replaces his hand with his mouth—hot, wet, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

You writhe under him, fingers clawing at the sheets.

“Toji—” you breathe, and it sounds wrecked already.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, lips dragging across your chest. “Say it again.”

“Toji,” you whisper, softer this time, like it’s not just his name—it’s permission.

And he takes it.

One hand slips between your thighs, pushing them open with practiced ease. He groans when he sees the soaked fabric sticking to your core.

“Fuck. You’re soaked for me already?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “That for me, or were you just thinking about how I said I was gonna ruin you?”

You don’t say anything—but your hips roll toward his hand without thinking.

That’s enough.

He hooks a finger into your panties, dragging them down slowly, deliberately, until they’re off. Tossed aside. Gone.

And then he just looks at you—like you’re art. Like you’re dangerous. Like he’s already addicted.

He spreads your legs with his hands, slow and steady, settling between them with a low, hungry groan. “Gonna take my time with this,” he says again. “Wanna learn how you fall apart.”

And then his mouth is on you.

Hot, slow, sinful.

And it starts all over again.

His tongue drags through your folds like he’s savoring it—every slick, messy second. He groans against you, hands locking around your thighs to keep you open, to keep you exactly where he wants you. The sound alone makes your stomach flip, your back arch.

“Toji—fuck—”

You grab at the sheets, at his hair, at anything you can reach because the way he’s eating you out is obscene. Slow at first, lazy licks like he’s just warming up—but then he starts to focus. Starts to learn you. Where you twitch, where you cry out, where your thighs try to snap shut because it’s too much.

And he doesn’t stop.

He flattens his tongue, flicks it fast, then sucks—hard—right over your clit until you jerk up off the bed.

“Oh my god—”

He grins into you. “There she is.”

You’re already shaking, breath ragged, heat coiling so deep in your belly it hurts. He doesn’t need you to come yet. He’s just playing. Just getting you used to the way he devours.

Then he adds a finger.

And another.

Curled just right.

It punches a moan straight out of your chest.

“Fuck—Toji—please—”

“You close already?” he murmurs, lips brushing your clit. “You gonna come just from this?”

You nod—desperate, shameless. “Yes. Yes, please.”

He chuckles against you. “Go ahead then. Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

And you do.

Hard.

Loud.

Like your whole body gives out under the weight of him.

But he doesn’t stop.

Your hips jerk—too sensitive, too raw—but he holds you down, mouth still working you through it like he’s not satisfied yet. Like he wants more. Wants you twitching. Squirming. Whimpering under his tongue.

You whine, thighs trembling around his head. “Toji—please—s’too much—”

He lifts his head just enough to speak, lips shiny with you. “Nah, baby. Not even close.”

And before you can catch your breath, he’s moving again—fingers still deep, curling up, stroking that spot that makes you wail. His mouth finds your clit again, sucks so hard you feel your spine try to escape your body.

It’s overwhelming. You’re drenched, ruined, a fucking mess and he’s still eating you like he hasn’t had a proper meal in days.

“That’s it,” he mutters, voice low and wrecked. “So fuckin’ sweet for me.”

You try to grab his wrist, try to push him back—but he doesn’t budge. Just groans like the taste of you is enough to make him lose it. Like he needs this. Needs you.

And when your second orgasm crashes over you—louder, hotter, blinding—you scream his name like a prayer. Like a curse. Like it’s the only thing holding you to the earth.

He lets you ride it out this time. Slower. Gentler. Still inside you, still licking soft and slow while your body trembles beneath him.

You’re not even sure when the tears started.

But he notices. He always does.

“Too much?” he whispers, leaning up, dragging his lips across your thigh.

You nod, dazed. “Y-Yeah. Just… fuck.”

And he grins, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and says, “Good.”

And before you can even fully breathe, he’s crawling up the bed—slow, like he’s giving you a second to run. Like he’d enjoy it if you did. But you don’t move. Can’t. You’re still trying to process the way his mouth felt on you, the way your body’s still shaking from how easily he pulled you apart.

His hands find your knees. Spreads them again. You gasp, sensitive, and he just hums low in his throat like that’s exactly what he wants to hear.

“You’re not done,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Not even close.”

Then he leans down—one forearm beside your head, the other sliding up your thigh—and kisses you. Deep. Messy. Like he wants you to taste yourself on his tongue. Like he’s already drunk on it. You moan into it, arms coming up around his neck, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

You can feel him now. Hard, hot, pressed right against where you need him. But he doesn’t rush. Doesn’t grind. Just teases. Keeps kissing you like he’s got nowhere else to be.

And fuck—you’re already gone for him.

You arch into him, whimpering softly against his mouth, and that’s when he finally presses down—just enough for you to feel how hard he is through his sweats. Just enough to make you twitch under him.

“Feel that?” he mumbles against your lips. “Been like that since you stepped in my office.”

You nod, dazed, breath catching in your throat as you try to rock your hips against him for more. But his hand shoots to your waist, holding you still.

“Uh-uh,” he breathes, voice low and thick. “I said I was gonna take my time.”

He leans back, just far enough to look at you. Really look at you.

Hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, skin flushed and glowing under his weight.

“Look at you,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hands smooth down your sides, slow and reverent, like he’s grounding himself. Like if he doesn’t touch you right now—if he doesn’t feel your skin, warm and soft under his palms—he might lose it completely.

“You’ve been driving me fucking insane,” he says, almost like it’s your fault. Like you knew what you were doing every time you looked at him like that in class, every time you bit your lip and played innocent.

You open your mouth to speak, but his thumb brushes over your bottom lip again, silencing you before a word can slip out.

“Shh,” he says, gentle but firm. “Just let me look at you.”

And he does. Lets his gaze trail down your neck, your chest, the curve of your waist like he’s seeing all of you for the first time. Like he’s not just undressing you—he’s unwrapping something sacred.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Then he leans in again, presses his lips to your jaw, your throat, the hollow of your collarbone—soft, lingering kisses that make your whole body shiver.

“You feel safe here?” he whispers, mouth brushing over your skin.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, and you feel the heat in it—the promise. “’Cause I’m not letting you go tonight.”

Then he finally shifts. One hand slides under your thigh, the other steady at your waist, guiding your leg up around his hip as he settles between them. You suck in a breath, body already burning again, every nerve raw and humming. You feel him—bare, hard, pressed against your entrance—and your whole body aches for it.

But he still doesn’t move.

Not yet.

He just stays there, forehead resting against yours, eyes locked on yours like he’s searching for something in your face—something honest. Something real.

“You sure?” he murmurs, voice low and steady, like it’s costing him to ask.

You nod, already breathless. “I want you.”

“Yeah?” His eyes drop to your lips, then back up. “Say it.”

You swallow hard. “I want you, Toji. Please.”

And that’s all he needs.

He pushes in slow. Thick. Deep. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he sinks all the way in with one long, devastating stroke. He groans, head dropping to the curve of your neck, breath hot against your collarbone.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel… fuck, you feel so good.”

You whimper beneath him, back arching as he starts to move—slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your body from the inside out.

It’s not fast. It’s not rough.

It’s worship.

Like he meant it—when he said he was gonna take his time.

Your hands slide up his arms, his shoulders, his back—grabbing at anything you can reach as the pressure builds all over again. His name slips from your lips in a broken whisper, and he lifts his head to kiss you hard, tongue sliding against yours like he needs to feel every part of you at once.

“You’re mine,” he growls against your mouth, hips rocking into you slow and steady. “All mine.”

You nod, dizzy. “Yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours,” you gasp. “Fuck—Toji, I’m yours.”

And something in him snaps.

He picks up the pace—still not harsh, but heavier now. Deeper. His hand finds yours and pins it above your head, fingers threaded tight as he fucks you slow and possessive, like he wants you to remember this forever.

You will.

You already know.

Every drag of his cock, every breathless sound he pulls from your throat, every graze of his teeth on your skin—he’s burning it into you.

Branding you.

And you let him.

You want to.

Because this time, it’s not about power or revenge or survival.

This time?

It’s about giving in.

It’s about the way his mouth finds your throat again, tongue dragging slow over your pulse like he’s tasting every beat of your heart. It’s about the way your legs lock around his waist and stay there, shaking and tight, like you need him to stay inside you or you’ll come undone completely.

“Toji,” you whisper—barely a sound, more breath than word.

His name doesn’t even sound like a name anymore. It sounds like a need. Like a prayer.

He groans at the sound of it, hips stuttering just slightly, and that’s when he presses his forehead to yours again, eyes dark and raw and open in a way you’ve never seen.

“Fuck, you’re everything,” he mutters, voice breaking on the edge of it. “You feel—Jesus, baby, you feel like fucking heaven.”

And it should feel dirty. Should feel like something you’re not supposed to want—this man, this situation, this entire tangled mess. But it doesn’t. Not when he says it like that. Not when he looks at you like you’re something sacred.

You cling to him, gasping, shivering, blinking past tears you didn’t know were building. You can feel it building again, hot and sharp, curling low in your belly like a storm about to break.

“I’m close,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Toji—please—”

“I know,” he pants, hips grinding deeper, slower. “I’ve got you.”

And he does.

His hand slides between you again, thumb finding your clit with practiced ease. He circles once—twice—and that’s all it takes.

You come apart with a cry, body convulsing, legs tightening around him as the wave hits. It’s messy. Loud. Your hands scramble for purchase, fingernails dragging down his back as he fucks you through it, mouth on your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—anywhere he can reach.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my girl.”

And when you’re still trembling, still trying to breathe, he lets go—finally, fully.

You feel him pulse inside you, feel him spill deep, feel his whole body shudder as he buries himself to the hilt with a ragged, broken moan that sounds like it’s being ripped from his chest.

He stays there. For a second. Two.

Breathing hard. Holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

And when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just enough to see your face.

Eyes soft. Lips swollen. Skin damp and glowing.

“Still good?” he asks, voice quiet.

You nod, dazed. “Better than good.”

Toji smiles. Really smiles. And for the first time, it’s not cocky. It’s not smug. It’s just soft. Real.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Then don’t move.”

And he leans down again.

Kisses you like you’re his to keep.

And for a second—just one—you let yourself believe it.

His breath is warm against your cheek, slower now, steadier. His hand doesn’t leave your skin, just shifts slightly, from your thigh to your hip to the curve of your waist, like he’s mapping it all again now that the storm’s passed. Like he wants to memorize the softness that came after the ruin.

You blink slowly, lashes brushing his collarbone, and realize your legs are still tangled around his. That you’re still holding him. Still clinging.

And that he hasn’t let go either.

“You good?” he murmurs, voice hoarse and quiet, lips brushing your hair.

You nod. A little too fast.

His fingers lift, trace the edge of your jaw, and tilt your face just enough so he can see you. His thumb strokes under your eye, down to your cheek. “You sure?”

You nod again. Then, softer, “Yeah. Just… overwhelmed.”

A pause.

Then Toji sighs—deep, from the chest—and rolls, pulling you with him until you’re draped over his body. One of his hands spreads across your back, the other tugs a blanket up over your shoulders. It’s instinctive. Casual. Natural. Like he’s done this before. Like he wants to.

“Good overwhelmed or bad?” he asks.

You blink again. Your throat feels thick. “Good,” you whisper. “I think.”

He doesn’t push. Just holds you closer.

Lets you breathe.

Lets you think.

Lets you exist here, on top of him, your heart still racing a little too fast for what’s supposed to be the calm after. Lets your fingers curl into his chest like you’re scared of what it means that you don’t want to move. That you’re not thinking about Nanami. That you’re not thinking about the mess. That you’re just… here.

With him.

And then—to your own horror—you feel it.

That flutter in your chest.

Small.

Annoying.

Warm.

Toji hums, lazy, lips brushing your hairline. “What’s goin’ on in that head?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mouth’s too dry. Your thoughts are too loud.

Because he’s warm. And solid. And still tracing circles into your back like it’s second nature. Like he wants you to fall asleep on top of him.

And something about that hits you like a fucking freight train.

Shit.

Shit.

You shift slightly—just enough to hide your face again. To press your nose into the space beneath his jaw. To ground yourself in his scent before your heart does something even stupider.

Toji doesn’t question it. Doesn’t tease.

He just wraps both arms around you.

Holds you like you’ve got nowhere else to be.

And that’s when it hits you hardest.

You don’t want to leave.

Not yet.

His chest is warm against your cheek. Steady. Real. You curl in closer, one of your legs tangling with his, breath syncing up without even trying. His fingers move slowly up and down your spine, gentle like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

Neither of you says anything.

The silence isn’t awkward.

It’s full.

You don’t know how long you stay like that. Long enough for your eyes to start closing. Long enough for his grip to tighten a little—like he feels it too.

And then, just when your mind starts to drift—when you think maybe, maybe this doesn’t have to mean anything—

He whispers your name. Soft. Barely there.

Your heart skips.

You tilt your head up, blinking at him.

His eyes are already on you.

And then he says it. Quiet. Careful.

“Don’t go back to him.”

You freeze.

Toji doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t clarify. He just stares at the ceiling for a second, like he’s working something out in real time. Like he’s already said too much but won’t pretend he didn’t mean it.

And then, quietly—gruffly—he says,

“I know you’re using me.”

Your stomach twists.

“Hell, I was using you too.”

You blink. Stay still.

“To fuck with Nanami,” he says. “That’s what it was, at the start.”

You don’t say anything.

“But then you showed up,” he murmurs. “Locked that door. Looked at me like you weren’t scared of what I’d do—and suddenly it wasn’t just about him anymore.”

There’s a pause.

“To be honest, I don’t know what the fuck this is,” he admits. “But it’s not a game now. Not for me.”

You glance up at him, heart climbing a little too high in your throat.

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps tracing lazy circles along your hip with his thumb.

“I don’t do soft,” he mutters. “I don’t do feelings. But… I don’t want to go back to whatever the hell I was doing before this.”

Another pause.

Then, finally—

“Nanami had you in his game,” he says, voice low. “But I don’t want that with you.”

His fingers tighten a little on your side.

“I want something that’s fucking real.”

—

@rjreins @jeankirschteinsimp @nanamiscsleeve @rissaaaaaa @mikrh-lizzie @tnaiis

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 3)

You reunite with your crow friend! But it seems to need your help with… a man?

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of blood and death, descriptions of a panic attack, bossman is here yay

“Congratulations! You’ve just won the loyal customer raffle at Linkon Supermarket!”

“But I shop at Bloomshore Mart.”

“Yup, congratulations!”

You furrow your brows, eyeing the paper the delivery driver is enthusiastically waving in your face. Sure enough, it announces the conclusion of the famous supermarket’s year-end raffle, and there it is: your full government name printed neatly under “winner.”

Beyond his shoulder, you notice the other worker unloading boxes from the delivery truck. He’s dressed in the same uniform, with identical dark curls and also sporting a black face mask. He catches your gaze and gives a lazy thumbs-up.

There must be something wrong with your memory, because you could swear you haven’t stepped foot in Linkon Supermarket in years—let alone registered for their raffle. That place isn’t exactly known for catering to the humbler economic classes.

And it’s still 5:30 a.m. Have supermarkets always done graveyard shift deliveries?

“Thanks…” You squint at the driver’s name tag. “…Lukas.”

“No problem!”

Once the two workers finish unloading and stacking boxes of who-knows-what in your living room, they wave cheerfully before speeding off down the street. Half-asleep, you manage only a bemused wave in return.

You think you might’ve been cursed. Or blessed. It’s hard to say. Because ever since your crow friend escaped a week ago, it feels like you’ve already blown through a lifetime’s worth of luck.

In the span of days, you’ve gotten a raise and better employee benefits (odd, considering you’re still just an assistant manager), won lifetime vouchers for three of your favorite food spots, and now, apparently, won a supermarket raffle—complete with at least three months’ worth of groceries.

Rummaging through the boxes, you find they’re stocked with all your usual brands. Snacks, non-perishables, beauty products, household items—everything. Even fresh produce.

For the first time in a while, you won’t have to worry about going hungry.

—

You’re not sure why you’ve come back to the park tonight.

It’s late, and you’ve already visited the crows earlier, spoiling them with extra bags of peanuts thanks to your recent streak of good fortune.

The crows seem to wonder the same thing. While they peck enthusiastically at the peanuts, their beady eyes occasionally flick toward you, as if to silently judge your lack of anything resembling a social life.

Admittedly, you’ve been hoping to see your crow friend again.

You think you’re starting to come to terms with its disappearance. Life goes on, right? It’s just an animal, after all. It probably doesn’t feel the same complex emotions humans do—the kind that have you so affected by its absence after only a few days of sharing a space. (Maybe it was a one-sided friendship all along...) It probably just followed its instincts, leaving to do whatever it is that lone crows do.

Still, a petulant part of you feels bitter. Sure, it left behind a hoard of treasures—trinkets, gems, and gold so polished they must be real (though you’re not ready to think about where it might have stolen them)—but it could’ve at least waited for you to come home before flying off.

In hindsight, maybe it’s a good thing you never had pets. Your apparent abandonment issues would be a nightmare to deal with if they got lost, ran away, or died.

Suddenly, a familiar series of shrill caws pierces the air. Before you can process what’s happening, something crashes into your lap, a blur of loose black feathers hitting your face.

Could it be…?

The unmistakable garnet glint in the midnight-feathered avian’s eyes confirms it. Without hesitation, you scoop the bird into your arms, pulling it tightly to your chest, and press a rough, enthusiastic kiss to its head.

“Where have you been?” you exclaim, laughing as you nuzzle the void-like creature against your cheek, smothering it in an embrace. “I’ve been so worried about you!”

Its muffled caws are drowned out by your babbling. “Oh gosh—your wing! How is it?” you say, quickly pulling back to inspect it.

Its feathers look good—healthy, even. In fact, they almost seem brand new, gleaming like a freshly unboxed gadget. Its once-injured left wing no longer looks broken—or as you’d thought before, no longer resembling a mechanical part with a loose screw.

Before you can start fussing over it again, the bird suddenly wriggles free from your grasp and lands steadily on your lap. It caws again, but something’s different. It’s louder, more piercing—frantic. It paces across your lap, continuing to practically scream at you, as if trying to tell you something.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, your heart squeezing at the sight of its feathers puffing up with each stressed caw.

You try to pat its head, hoping to calm it down, but it jumps off your lap and lands on the ground, still cawing. The other crows, clearly spooked by its urgent cries, start to scatter. Bewildered, you bend down, attempting to scoop it into your arms again, but it evades you by hopping a few feet away, still cawing—loudly.

“What is it?” you say, exasperated. I can’t speak crow!

You step closer, bending down once more, but it hops away—again.

You stare up at the heavens. This has to be some cosmic joke. You can’t believe you’re playing this strange version of tag with a bird.

You don’t even realize how far you’ve walked, now a good distance from the bench you were sitting on. You’ve reached the darker area of the park, still desperate to grab the cawing bird and figure out what’s wrong. Then, without warning, your foot catches on a tree root. You stumble, and before you can recover, you hit the cold, wet ground with an unceremonious thud.

“Well, there goes my good luck streak,” you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Good thing nobody’s around to witness your embarrassing lack of coordination.

“Tell me about it.”

The sudden presence of a deep, unfamiliar voice makes you freeze. Heart pounding wildly, you scramble to sit up, eyes darting toward the source.

It wasn’t a tree root you tripped over. It was a leg—a stretched-out leg attached to a man slumped against one of the park’s statues. A huge, beautiful man, with silver hair and a pair of breathtaking garnet eyes, half-lidded and filled with amusement. He’s clutching his abdomen, the fabric there soaked in dark, ominous red.

Blood.

A field of red datura blooms. A starry night sky with the clouds beneath you. Mountains of gold against jagged walls. A burning plaza. A bloodied claymore.

You don’t register the ringing in your ears or the flash of blurry, unfamiliar images racing through your mind. Your gaze remains locked on the man’s injury. Before you know it, you’re shrugging off your puffer jacket and sweater. Now clad in just your turtleneck, you drop to your knees and press your sweater firmly against his wound.

You, waiting for your turn to walk on stage to receive your diploma. A university staff member rushing toward you. You, running out of the graduation venue. Two totaled SUVs. Three dead bodies.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you work methodically. Stop the bleeding. Stop the blood. Apply pressure. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Just keep pressing. Don’t think about how much there is. Don’t panic. You fold the sweater tighter against the wound. Okay, stop the bleeding first. That’s all you know. Just keep the pressure steady. He’s losing too much. Is this enough? Should I tie it off? No, just keep pressing. Keep him alive.

The edges of your vision begin to blur. You have to save them. You have to save him. They can’t leave you. He can’t leave you. Not again.

“Sweetheart.”

The word, softly spoken, snaps you out of your trance. Your eyes lift to meet his, and the world seems to still. You’ve never met this man in your life, but the way he looks at you—it hurts. It feels like an ancient grief has surfaced from the depths of your soul.

You finally notice the state you’re in. You’re shaking. Badly. The cold winter air bites into your skin, sharp and unforgiving. Your palms are scraped from your earlier fall, but you hardly register the sting. The man’s hands—large and warm—enclose your trembling ones, grounding you.

And it’s like you’ve never known peace until this very moment.

note: can u tell the extent of my yearning to be spoiled with groceries LMAO

nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Soft Astarion Jealousy

Now with part 2!

I love Ascended Astarion because he's horrible but the sweetness of the other end of the spectrum is impossible to deny. He's just so in love and grateful I can't 🥺🥺

So here's some jealousy that isn't psychotic. Well it is but not as bad:

Astarion never expected to be the jealous type. He always thought...well. In all honesty he never thought about the reality of having a relationship. He didn't even think it was possible for him, let alone the idea that he would actually want it. Even with you, even after he admitted a fraction of his own feelings to himself, he never thought that he would be so... possessive. Though admittedly, he had very good cause for it.

Because you were frustrating. So, so frustrating. For some idiotic reason, you simply didn't understand how alluring to others you really were. You were a pretty little thing, yes but that wasn't the problem. It was so much more than that. And he knew that the others wanted you. Every last one of them. Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Halsin. All of them like moths to a flame. And that wasn't even counting all of the strangers you had met on your journey, the extras that thought they had a shot with your greatness. They all wanted you in ways that made Astarion seethe. And the desire from others wasn't even the kind that he was used to, the kind he understood like the back of his hand. Because you didn't need to seduce to cultivate desire. All you needed to stoke the flames was merely your presence. Experiencing you was all that was required for people to know they wanted more.

Astarion knew that the others weren't just looking for a bedmate, they wanted you for the same reasons he had grown to. Your empathy, your desire to understand those around you. Your fearlessness, your infuriating habit of always trying to do the right thing. They wanted you for your laugh, the way your eyes would crinkle in the corners when your smile was too wide. Your silly jokes, your endless hopefulness for a future. It felt as though everyone around saw you for the gem that you were and it was... concerning. Extremely concerning.

Astarion hated thinking about things like this. He loathed admitting the truth to himself even more. But he was...terrified of losing you to someone else. Especially since it could so easily be done. He was so very lucky that you weren't the brightest, or at least not when it came to matters of the heart. You could do so much better than him, a fact that was incredibly obvious to everyone around you. Everyone but you, a luck that Astarion did not take lightly. But how much time did he have before it ran out? Would it ever?

Perhaps it was delusional, but he was starting to think when all of this was over, assuming neither of you perished anyway, that...it could just be the two of you. Living together, exploring the world, even if it had to be under the cloak of night. Maybe... maybe the two of you could even find a cure for his unsavory condition. The thought itself was incredibly stupid, but then again, it was just as idiotic to believe that there was a cure to the Mind Flayer parasite. But here they were, closer then ever. And if that was such an impossibility turned into reality, perhaps a vampiric cure wasn't so impossible. Or maybe even finding an alternative method for immortality for you, without the downsides of his own. Anything that could just keep you both together, for as long as possible. It was an unrealistic dream, that would never come into fruition. If anything it was dangerous, so very dangerous to even entertain the thought of forever. Especially when your connection was so tenuous.

Astarion would never be stupid enough to thank Cazador for anything but...he'd be lying if he said he wasn't appreciative for his own lack of subtly when it came to seducing you. Even if it originally was for distasteful reasons, it still got him ahead of the pack. If he had been less calculating, less astute, there was a sincere chance that you would be warming someone else's bed at night. Callousness would never be without it's uses, even if it led to uncomfortable situations like his current infatuation.

What would he do when you inevitably wanted to leave? How could he survive after having something so...good. Someone so caring, someone who for some very horrifying reason liked being around him. And the sex... it was fabulous. He was a massive fan of your intimacy, when he was capable of participating in it. He adored it, he adored you, your beauty, the sweet noises he could coax from your mouth, the europhia of being inside of you. Then there was the fact that you could be intimate without any traces of it devolving into lovemaking. He had never been gifted with the ability to say no before, so often and so freely without a single fear of punishment. If anything, it felt like he was rewarded when he was honest with you, when he would share his sudden fits of discomfort in his own body, the memories that plagued him and doomed him to staying stubbornly soft. You would never get angry, never even disappointed. You would just listen and smile, always adorable when you would ask, "But I can stay for a cuddle, can't I?"

An extremely silly question, considering the two of you hadn't spent a night apart from each other since you'd made it to the Shadowlands. Yet it never failed to make him melt.

It was getting worse, these feelings. He just wanted you around, by his side, constantly. Constant enough for him to get the ridiculous urge to hiss at anyone else who dared to come near you. He felt an intense need to protect the closeness the both of you had cultivated, the kind that he had never been allowed before. He had no interest in sharing you with your own friends when it came down to it, let alone another lover.

Which is precisely why his original, mild distaste for Halsin turned into a full-blown hatred the night he had the gall to proposition you.

It had felt like a shard of ice going through his chest when you bounded over to him, laughing about one of his greatest fears coming much too close to reality, "You won't believe the conversation Halsin and I just had-"

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that," Astarion laughed, purposefully interrupting you. He had no desire to hear the specifics of that conversation. He didn't even want to be having this conversation, where you were inevitably going to ask if it was okay to explore someone else.

The answer was no. Never would he be okay with it, allowing someone else to be close to what should have been his. But he needed to think strategically here. To say no could be disasterous. If it became a game of choice between him and Halsin... he's almost certain he would lose. Halsin was everything he wasn't; caring, giving, sharing in your worldviews in a way that Astarion never could. He couldn't risk it, he wouldn't. Having you at all was better than nothing.

"But I'd never even consider something like that-"

"It's fine," Astarion interrupts again, the fakest smile he can muster plastered on his face. The pain was worth the risk mitigation, he was sure of that. But... he still had to ask, "But is this because we haven't...y'know, in awhile?"

A sick part of him prays that you'll say yes. Because if that's the reason, he could do something about it. He could force himself if need be to always tend to your needs. Especially if it meant keeping you to himself. It was such a small sacrifice in comparison to the rest of his life. He would do it in a heartbeat if you demanded, anything to just make you stay.

But that was not the answer he received. Instead you frowned, looking him up and down, "What? No, I-Astarion no. Please don't think that. What we have together is so special to me. The physical part of it is lovely, perfect even. But...it's not what we are."

It's almost comforting to hear you say that. But then why did that make the situation feel so much worse? If it wasn't sex you were after then that certainly meant you wanted more with Halsin as well, did it not? But it was too late to rescind it now.

Astarion nodded, a confused mixture of hurt and gratefulness swirling through him, "I just needed to know. But if you're satisfied with me and just want to explore, go right ahead. I'll be here when you're done."

You nodded slowly, brow furrowed when you asked, "So...we aren't exclusive then?"

"No, of course not," Astarion confirmed, ignoring everything inside of him that was screaming for him to take it all back, "We can be as open as you'd like."

"I see..." You said, trailing off with a frown. You coughed into your hand, looking up at him sharply. Sharp enough for him to be sincerely confused, "Does this mean that you'll be speaking to me before you explore your other options?"

"I-yes? If you want?" Astarion answered, a new type of unease settling in his chest. You didn't seem very happy with this conversation, despite his best attempts to give you what you wanted. Where had he gone wrong? Was he already working to throw you into the arm's of another man, without even trying?

You were still frowning at him, your look cold in a way that made him feel particularly ill, "Please do. I'd like to know everything. I'm going to speak to Halsin, get this all sorted. We can talk later."

And then you were spinning on your heel and marching away, like Astarion was the offensive party here. It made no sense. He had done it all right, hadn't he? Agreed to it immediately, didn't make you feel guilty, had tried to be what you wanted. How had he failed?

He didn't wait around to see you go to Halsin. Instead he went straight back to his tent, closing the flap as he laid down. Great. Fantastic. Now he would have to be aware, perhaps even hear you being with another, while simultaneously reliving that horrid conversation in his head for the entire night. The hurt and worry was making his mind wander to uncomfortable places. Perhaps...Halsin could be dealt with in another way if things became too serious between the two of you.

Would poisoning the man be too extreme?

But before Astarion had the time to start thinking of a more detailed plan he was interrupted. Suddnely, moonlight was filling his tent, with your silleoute shining in the darkness.

He blinked up at you, confused, "What are you doing here?"

You frowned at him, looking hesitant in the entry way, "Should I not be? I thought-I can go if you'd like."

"No!" Astarion blurted out, loud and desperate enough to make him cringe. He cleared his throat, trying again, his voice still a touch too pitiful for his liking, "No, no, come here darling. Of course you're always welcome. I just assumed you would be busy."

To his relief you listened, crawling into the bedroll next to him. Astarion didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, relieved to humiliating degrees that you had chosen to come back after the deed. Though...you didn't quite smell as he had thought you would. There were no traces of the floral, woodsy smell of the druid on your skin. Just the sweet, pleasant scent that he had grown so fond of.

You sighed as he tucked you against him, the warmth of you enough to make him relax for the first time that night. You laid together in a pleasant quiet, one that Astarion was actually scared to disturb. Despite the fact that he desperately wanted to know what happened between the two of you.

But you broke the silence for him, muttering into his chest after the two of you were settled, "I'm...sorry for being snappish earlier. I shouldn't have been. You didn't do anything wrong, and I know I don't own you. I shouldn't have assumed."

Astarion frowned, pulling back to get a proper look at your face. You looked hurt, sad even. Like you were the one who had gotten their heart broken. He could feel a curl of distaste settling in his stomach, annoyed that this felt as though the situation was being placed back to him. He had played his part, perfectly. What more could you ask for? What was there to assume?

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Astarion carefully said, his eyes fixed on every micro expression on your face, "What did I do that could have been construed as incorrect?"

"Nothing!" You rushed to say, shame coloring your cheeks, "I was being stupid. You never promised me anything. I just...assumed. Wrongly that we were something we aren't."

That didn't-he-what? Astarion frowned at her, his confusion evident on his face, "What did you think we were?"

You looked uncomfortable, avoiding his gaze when you answered, "I thought that we were...together. Alone. Just us. But if that's not what you want I understand. It's fine-"

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Astarion blurted out, his anger and pain bubbling to the surface, "I haven't done a thing. And we were just us before you decided to galivant off with a bear of a man!"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. So much for playing things safely. No, he couldn't even have the self-control to stay quiet. He always had to ruin everything.

But surprisingly, you didn't look angry. If anything you seemed just as confused as he felt, "What? I didn't-we didn't do anything! When did I say I wanted to do anything with Halsin? You were the one saying you didn't care!"

You weren't making any damn sense, "Well why else would you ask me about it?"

"I didn't!" You huffed, glaring at him, "All I was going to say was that he asked me. And I wanted your help on how to best turn him down! And then you jumped at the chance to push me onto someone else-"

"I did nothing of the sort!" Astarion seethed back, "If it was up to me you would never look at another man again! Or woman for that matter!"

It was an odd feeling, to be arguing while holding each other so closely. But Astarion had no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if he could feel you squirming against his ironclad grip when you fumed at him, "Then why would you say it was okay?!"

"Because I don't want you to leave me!" He shouted back, loud enough to snap him out of his own anger. All of his fury was instantly replaced with fear. Gods, why had he felt the need to say that? To lay his biggest insecurity out on the line. Why not just hand you a stake while he was at it, since he was so eager to give you the tools to destroy him.

But you were still seething, hissing back at him, "Why praytell, would I leave the man I've been in love with for months? Hm? Please, explain it to me!"

Astarion couldn't. He was too busy being shell-shocked at the confession, feeling too many emotions at once. Joy, relief, somehow even more fear than before. You so freely said the words that he had done his damndest to bury, to ignore. But now they were out there, filling him with a horrifying joy.

He wanted to say it back. He did. But he couldn't get the wrecthed words out. Instead he was just staring at you like an imbeicle, his mouth hanging opening at the confession.

But his silence didn't make you falter. Instead you looked determined, near fierce as you grasped his face into your warm hands, "I love you Astarion. You don't have to say it back. That's not what this is about. But I want you. And only you. If you want the same of me then you must tell me. Now."

Astarion let his hands flutter over your wrists, humiliating tears prickling at his eyes. But at least his vocal chords allowed him to answer you this time, "I do. So much more than you know. I want us. Just us. No one else."

The words were flowing out of him, too fast and sincere for him to make the appropriate edits in his head. He was saying too much, feeling too much, giving too much. But the way your eyes brightened at his words, the way you grinned at him before pulling him in for a sweet kiss made it suddenly feel like he wasn't giving anything up at all.

As much as he loathed to admit it, Astarion was exceedingly grateful for Halsin's existence after that night. He would never have had the gall to demand you to himself without a trigger, without the anger you both shared at being misunderstood. Because now, you were his. His alone, the proclamation coming from your own lips. And he was free to stop hiding how much he had wanted it. How willing he was to do anything to keep it. He let himself off his own leash after that, leaning completely into the mutual ownership you had of each other. No more would he silently sit back and seethe as a stranger flirted with you. No, now he'd be upfront and center, with a possessive hand around your waist as he glared them down, more than prepared with a confidence-shattering quip on his tongue.

He started to let all of his urges seep through, taking full advantage of your willingness. If Wyll looked at you for too long at the fire, with a touch of something that Astarion didn't like in his eyes, he'd effortlessly pull you into his lap onlookers be damned as breathed you in. If Gale suddenly had a suspect offer to teach you some new magic in a secluded location, Astarion would invite himself, impervious to any glares sent his way. And when he felt as though all of them were being a bit too flirtaious, he was more than happy to put them in their places at night. Spending hours upon hours making you scream his name in bed from pleasure, loud enough for everyone to hear and know exactly who you belonged to.

He couldn't care less if it added to his own unpopularity amongst their merry-band of rejects. Their opinions didn't matter. Not when you were eating all of the sudden attention up.

You let him do it all because you understood him, in ways that no one else had bothered to before. You knew who he was, what he wanted, the extent to how much he craved your attention. And you let it all happened, reveled in it even. The intense shows of affection. Because you loved him. And he loved you. And one of these days he'd allow himself to admit the obvious.

But for now, he had what he wanted. What he needed. And in the first time in his life, even with disgusting tadpoles squirming his his brain, Astarion was actually...happy.

[yandereunsolved]

— ✦ Yandere Targaryens w/ parental reader ✦ —

You do not blame the faults of their foremothers, for they were subjected to prejudice and soul-crushing torment by their forefathers. And for their forefathers you do not weep. You seek to change the damage done to this family—curse from the gods or not. No coin will be flipped. You have it now. 

If you knew the consequences of that, then perhaps you would have changed course. Stopped before you started. Never have stepped foot within the palace. But, alas, the gods have a cruel way of punishing you for your well-intended hubris.

Alicent and Rhaenyra, bless their injured souls, cling to you like molasses on the bark of a tree. They drink in your presence like Arbor red. And get just as intoxicated from it. You keep them together, soothe their woes, and tame the growing division inside the family.

It's exhausting. You don't get paid nearly enough. But bringing comfort to the scared children hidden inside every one of them brings you a nearly indescribable joy. They care for you in their odd way. A bit obsessive, perhaps. That is to be expected.

They are so cute with their queerness.

Aegon and Aemond vie for your attention like quarreling dragons. They shove each other and bicker. They undermine the other's authority. All for your love.

Aegon lays in your lap and sobs about his troubles. You tamp his hair down, tamping down his promiscuous habits. He visits whores less often. He's more attentive to his responsibilities. And he, honest to the gods, smiles. A genuine smile. It nearly made you burst into tears the first time you saw it.

Aemond is less demanding, more broody. He is used to being under Aegon's shadow. The child who listens, acts right, and never asks for anything more than he gets. He prefers reading with and/or to you. He stalks you, as if you can't tell. (You always assume you are being followed or watched at one time or another. It's the nature of the job.) By far his favorite pastime is you tending to him in such a tender manner, almost motherly. 

Brush his hair. Help him choose his clothes. Compliment his face and coo at how pretty he is.

"A missing eye is nothing of shame. You lived through it. You survived. And you have Vhagar. That proves how strong you are. But even without her, you are worthy. You have worth, more than any gold or gem."

To him you are worth more than his own life. His sword is coated in so much blood he can hardly see the metallic shine. Avenging you from people's grievances. It's the one time where Aegon and he agree. Protect you. Love you. Fight each other about you.

All Helaena asks is to have a modicum of your attention. Your praise. Your approval. You don't see her as some strange, otherworldly cook. You see her as her. You allow her to talk about her special interest, bugs. You don't shame her for stimming or getting overstimulated. You make sure the cooks get her food right every time. 

You are truly a godsend. And she does her best to keep you with her at all times. Manipulation, coercion, blackmailing. Those are such vile words. Love is the true word. The only word that describes why and what she does for you.

You, undoubtedly, are the steadfast parental figure Baela and Rhaena have been searching for. Cast out into the seas of life with a ship but no crew, they had not the faintest clue of where to sail. You are their crew, their second mate, their maester. They hang onto your every word as if it is a divine prophecy destined to be true.

You learn how to take care of their hair, similar to Aemond. You show them what little you know about the world. You are their anchor to normalcy. They can brave their storms while you are around. Be themselves. Not nobles or Targaryens, and all the baggage that comes with that.

You do it with Jacaerys and Lucerys. Bastards or not, they are worthy of love and respect. They'll always be Targaryens to you. It runs through their veins. You can tell. As they have the same overprotective and slightly frightening tendencies that the rest of their family has. You watch them spar. You learn the language of their ancestors along with them. You take care of their scrapes and mend their clothes.

You are theirs.

Anyone be damned who tries to take you from them. 

˙ . ꒷ 🔪 . 𖦹˙— ˙ . ꒷ 🔪 . 𖦹˙

tags — @bloodytea

[riskylittleturtle]

Tendencies - Dragon Sylus

Dragons sleep on their treasures, it's a way of guarding it, keeping it safe from other's and being sure no one can get to it without waking them up. Sylus is that way too, has a little box of his favourite gems and such tucked away under his bed. His greatest treasure though, is you. He sleeps best with his head in your lap or pinning you under his weight as he lays over you. His favourite place to nap is on you, head on your stomach and arms wrapped around your back, your laptop settled on his back as you type up reports. Will stay there all day if you'd let him.

Dragons rarely share their hoards and treasures, in fact they're known to be very protective and territorial over them. When a dragon allows someone access to their hoard it can be seen as a sign of respect and acceptance, but it is most often a sign of courtship. Sylus gives you his black card and tells you to go crazy. With bank systems it's strange to have cash and change on hand, gems and jewelry aside, and so giving you his black card is his way of sharing his hoard with you.

Dragons view having territory and hoards as a sign of power. The more treasures a dragon has, the more territory that belongs to them, the stronger and more respect worthy the dragon is. Sylus is filthy rich. He's the leader of Onychinus and by extension he rules the N109 zone. On top of the Onychinus base he has safe houses all around, places that belong just to him (and now to you). When he tells you to go crazy with his black card it is not only his start to court you through offering you his hoard, it is his way of showing you that he has plenty and that he'd be a good mate for you.

Dragons present gifts and offerings to please their mates. Sylus pampers you. He offers you new weapons almost constantly. If you've ever played the claw machines with him you know if he fails to get a plushie he refuses to switch with you until he's gotten you one. When you return from showering after working out he's replaced your clothes with newly bought of the same thing. He has his chef prepare a full course meal for you, and buys you breakfast. The list goes on.

Dragons take promises very seriously, the idea of breaking a promise to them is worse than almost any crime. Words are an extension of their existence. Sylus also takes promises really seriously. You say "I'll be done in five, promise." and he stares at you like you've just sold off all of his gems and thrown his black card back in his face when it takes you six. Promises don't have to include the word, you tell him "I'll text you tonight." and he's spending the entire night waiting for his phone to ring with that silly little ringtone you picked out.

To a dragon, falling for lies is one of the worst things that can happen to them. Sylus doesn't realise you're lying to him once, as you tell him you aren't injured after a mission - you really aren't, the only evidence of your pursuit a single tiny scratch on your arm that barely even draw blood - but as he see's the cut later, fingers ghosting over the scratch and expression absolutely wrecked because you were injured and he didn't know, because you lied that you weren't and he couldn't tell you were lying to him.

Dragons have very different morals than humans. They're more focused on instinct and self interest. Their morals are very important to them, though dragons have been known to change their morals to better fit those of their mates. Sylus has no problem killing when he needs to, and he doesn't believe too much in the ideas of redemption or people changing. You however, as a hunter, have at least some belief that people can change - you also know that this doesn't apply to everyone, that multiple things have to be taken into account if someone is trying to redeem themselves. You also believe that some people are better dead, but that for some murder is too easy of a way out of things. Sylus doesn't change outright, he still firmly believes most people aren't worthy of second changes. But he starts considering which of his business partners to kill and which to give other punishments to, starts to leave people he might have killed to prevent future problems be as long as they don't intervene with his own plans.

Dragons are (violently) protective of their hoards, mates, and young. They will do anything to protect what is theirs. Sylus originally only had his gems and money (hoards), but then he took in Luke and Kieran (young), and finally he had you (mate). Any slight against what's his is absolutely unacceptable to him. Someone makes a comment about Luke and Kieran's masks? They're never seen again. A thief breaks in to try and steal his jewels? No one who enters the Onychinus base with bad intentions makes it out. A hunter from a different team made a bad comment about you during a mission? They apologize profusely the next day and aren't part of any future mission collaborations with your team.

Dragons view their scales very highly, for a dragon to give someone it's scale means they trust them wholeheartedly. It's a sign of respect, that they are acknowledging you as worthy. A dragon giving you it's scale can be a sign that they view you as an equal, or even that they view you as one of theirs and that they will protect you and answer their call. Sylus doesn't have scales now, but he's given MC both a brooch (from the main storyline) and a feather (the gift interaction).