#in part fear and in part hoping she would just come back

[futbolfatale]

New Perspectives

Alpha Lucy/Omega Reader/Omega Ona

Beta read by @onaswife My absolute motherfucking GOAT.

Summary: The celebration post-Euros win + rekindling an old flame.

Tags: Omegaverse, Omega x Omega, Breeding kink, Choking, Scenting, Knotting,

Wordcount: 4.2K My longest fic on this account, I think.

You had watched your mate play a hundred times before, and you hoped to be able to see her play a hundred more. But tonight was special, the final of the Euros. A chance for redemption against Spain after the events of the World Cup. Despite being one of the older players, she still holds her own against the youngsters. It is honestly inspiring that she can still get around like this for a whole ninety minutes. Something about seeing her so in her element. Watching her in a final is even better, and the fact that she can make it through overtime. It’s something truly magical. The hard part is watching her play against Ona. You were extremely close with her before Lucy made the trade to Chelsea. She had practically moved into your apartment. You spent every heat together under Lucy’s helpful hand. She enjoyed watching her two favorite omegas together; it lit a fire in her soul, or so she says. Leaving Ona was one of the hardest decisions the two of you ever had to make. But Lucy deserved to be happy, and part of her happiness is being close to her family.

Watching Lucy hold her knee and cry is frightening.   Especially considering she was still recovering from a fractured tibia on her other leg. Your alpha is normally composed. No matter how much pain she is in, she always tries to keep it hidden. Seeing Ona comfort her even though they were supposed to be playing against each other, is reassuring that she still cares about the two of you. Well, at least for Lucy. You watch as she limps off the pitch and onto the bench and sits at your side. (This spot on the bench cost Lucy months of complaining to the league before mates were finally allowed to sit on the bench with players.) Her scent is pungent and filled with frustration and an undercurrent of fear. You open your arms and welcome her close. She slides into your lap, her face tucked under your chin, as you release calming pheromones. It must look ridiculous to everyone else seeing Lucy curled up in her omega's lap, but there is nowhere else she would rather be. You watch Ona rejoin her team, but not before blowing a kiss towards the two of you. You rub the back of Lucy’s neck, occasionally sliding down to add pressure to her scent gland.

England wins the penalty shootout. It’s exciting, confetti and Sweet Caroline blasting through the speakers."I hate finals... I like to see you win, but I don't like to see them face each other and seem to lose everything in that moment..." you murmured more to yourself than to Lucy as you watched Ona's back, where her shirt was sticking to her from the sweat from playing an entire match, almost without rest, just to achieve the ultimate glory of winning the trophy.

Ona stopped walking, halfway to the Spanish locker room, where from your spot you could feel the sad energies gushing out, almost suffocating you, even though you weren't that close to the room. Ona turned slowly, staring into your eyes before you felt her hands tremble, as did her lower lip. 

 It's a real sense of deja vu to be here for the second time, winning. Well, winning by proxy. You watch as the metal ceremony goes on and Lucy enjoys hanging about with her teammates and the trophy… Mostly the trophy. Ona is visible despite her being all the way across the pitch. You can tell she has been crying and is now trying to cover it up. As much as you long to go and comfort her, she needs to be the one to reach out to you. Well, that's what any normal person would say, but you find your feet moving towards her before you have a chance to think better of it, Ona.

When you get within a couple of feet, you can smell the disappointment coming off of her. It turned her normally sweet and calming scent sour. There aren’t any words exchanged, only an opening of your arms, a peace offering of sorts. Ona takes it gladly, wrapping her arms tight around your waist. You rub gently at the back of her neck, trying to calm her down. It seems to be working; her scent is becoming sweeter. "Oh, baby," Being so close and feeling her body move with her sobs. It was heartbreaking to see Ona in that position, so vulnerable and sad. The last time you saw her like this was during the Olympics, when you and Lucy went to support Ona, before the two of you left Barcelona and began a new life in London.

"I wasn't capable... I couldn't help them win, it was my mistake," you sighed against her hair, feeling your neck dampen with her tears. Your other hand caressed her back, letting her unleash everything on you.

"You were capable, Oni, you were able to help your team reach the semi-finals, you were able to play the full 90 minutes of the game... Soccer is a team sport, today's loss can't fall on just one person; you played with 10 other people..." Ona pressed herself against your body, almost as if she were trying to fuse with you, seeking much-needed comfort. You, on the other hand, continued to leave soft caresses, small kisses on her hair or on her cheek, anywhere you could find free."I failed... again."

"Failing would have been playing badly..." You gave one last kiss before pulling her away. "We all have bad days, we all fall when we try difficult things, but it would be failing if you didn't know how to move forward, how to face the problem, and I know you know how to deal with it. You feel bad today, you feel the loss, but tomorrow you must get up and know how to face what's next, because tomorrow is a new day." Ona looked at you with moist eyes, that same look you had seen hundreds of times when Lucy had her on top of you moaning, although this time it was a different situation. "You're a strong person, I'm not saying that tomorrow won't hurt, a loss as important as the one you've had today hurts, I'm just saying that you didn't fail." You placed a kiss on her cheek, followed by one on the tip of her nose, and finally, you dried the tears that were still falling.

"Lucy, I, your teammates, and your family are proud of what you've achieved, Oni. That should be with you every day. The pride of those who love and appreciate you." Your own feeling of failure seems to be eating you up from the inside.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have left you like that.” The apology burns you inside, but it is long overdue. When Lucy got the news about her transfer, she was ecstatic about the prospect of going back to her home country. The two of you couldn’t find a good way to tell Ona, leaving you to wait till the last possible second to finally drop the bomb.

(flashback)

You were eating from a takeaway container on the floor with Lucy. All of your stuff is packed up and already being sent over to England. It is a weird feeling to be in your apartment devoid of all your things and your scents. It was by some act of the devil that Ona let herself in. “What’s going on?”  she questions, standing in the doorway looking like a toddler wandering into their parents' bedroom. She's dressed in shorts that are barely visible over the oversized jersey belonging to Lucy that she is wearing.

 “Baby,” Lucy stands pulling Ona into a hug, her hand adding pressure to her scent gland, forcefully pushing calming hormones through her body. “Are you moving apartments?” She asks you to hear the fear in her voice. You join Lucy in her attempts to calm Ona. Your hands find themselves rubbing subconsciously along her hips and stomach. “We’re leaving Barca,” Lucy mutters the words slowly and deliberately. “What do you mean?” The worlds are broken, and it’s clear she has begun to cry. “I’m being transferred to Chelsea… Our flight leaves in the morning.” 

“How could you keep that from me? What’s wrong with you?” She is nearly screaming as she pushes away from the two of you. “We just couldn’t find the right way to tell you. We didn’t want you to hurt your feelings.” You try to soothe. “Well, they seem pretty hurt now.” She turns on her heel, practically running out the door. You both call after her, but she makes no move to turn around. “What did we just do?”

(End Flashback)

“I’m sorry, too. I should  have tried to talk it out instead of just running away.” She murmurs against your skin. “I love you”. “I love you, too, baby.”

By the time Lucy is done celebrating, she finds you again. Ona has since joined her team and is seeming in somewhat better spirits. “Are you ready to get out of here?” You ask. Lucy doesn’t answer; she just scoops you up and holds you over her shoulder. She really shouldn’t be doing this, especially after hurting her knee earlier and with her tibia still healing. This has to be causing her tremendous pain. “Lucy, put me down, you’ll only hurt your leg worse toting me around like this.” You shout. “Hush, Omega,” she teases, her voice slightly tipsy-sounding.  It’s just like your alpha to push through her pain for better or worse. “We're going back to the hotel,” Lucy tells someone you can’t see from your position. “Don’t have too much fun,” the person whose voice you now recognize to be Leah shouts excitedly. 

“Lucia. Where are you going?” You watch as a figure in red shorts jogs up behind you. In a battle. She catches up to Lucy, her hand brushing over your back and down to where Lucy is grasping your thighs. Her soft touch activates a part of your omega brain that has been shut down for a while. “We're going to the hotel. You're supposed to be with your team?”. “No, can I come with you?” She almost sounds nervous to ask, as if we would ever deny her. It wouldn’t be the first time you hooked up with Ona. It would be enjoyable since you hadn’t been with Ona since the fight following the news of the two of you leaving Barca. You loved Lucy, but sometimes an omega touch was needed. Someone who could anticipate your needs because they were her needs too. “How does that sound, love?” Lucy asks.” Perfect, Lucy,” You hadn’t realised how much you truly missed Ona until she was in your arms again. Her scent is the only one you could make out. 

“C’mon now then.” You feel Lucy Crouch slightly before Ona is slung over her other shoulder. This has to be bad for her poor knees. “Hola,” she laughs as Lucy begins walking out of the stadium. The added weight seems to be of no bother to her. “Hey. Are you feeling better?” You whisper back, you're so aroused that you're sure she can smell it. “As good as I'll be.” She grabs your hand. “That’s good,” you comfort, a soft smile taking over your face. “What are you going on about back there, omegas?” Lucy asks as you stand outside the stadium waiting for a taxi. Maybe it’s the blood rushing to your head or maybe the arousal scent coming off the two of them, but the words that follow are completely fueled by your desire for her. “Bout this ass”. Lucy chuckles, and you soon find yourself set on your feet beside Ona. “Make your big, strong alpha agenda clear there,” You tease Lucy. “But you made your point about my ass.” She smirks as if daring you to push her farther. “You have a nice ass. What can I say?” 

"I missed seeing your ass," Ona said again, her tone playful and provocative as she looked at you. You, on the other hand, kept a big smile on your face. "Although I missed waking up with you, I definitely missed seeing Lucy's ass... or yours." You saw her bite her lower lip, making you blush even more. With an act of bravery, Ona slapped Lucy's ass, while you breathed a little, labored from the arousal that was slowly consuming you.

Lucy grew up with both of you. "Stop playing with fire, you don't want me to punish you," she said while she waited for a taxi to appear in her field of vision. You and Ona exchanged knowing glances, sharing that spark of defiance you used to provoke together in Lucy. You knew exactly what buttons to push, and she knew exactly how to respond.

"What if we do?" you murmured, barely audible, leaning towards Lucy, your eyes shining. Ona let out a soft laugh, as if she'd been waiting for you to say that. "Are you going to punish us here, alpha? Or are you going to wait until we're at the hotel, surrounded by your companions?"

Lucy closed her eyes for a second, clearly breathing deeper, her jaw clenched. The thick scent of her pre-rut grew more palpable with each passing second. When the headlights of a taxi appeared in the distance, she sighed with something that sounded more like a suppressed growl.

"You're both earning a good one... and you know it." You tried to hold back your smile. "A good what, Lucy? Don't leave us wondering." Lucy opened the taxi door as if she were burdened with all the patience in the world. "Get in. We'll see if you're still in that mood when you're tied to the headrest begging for my tongue." Your body temperature rose like a wave. You got into the taxi without saying anything, but when Ona settled in next to you, her hand slid slowly up your thigh, and she whispered mischievously in your ear, “I hope there's no traffic.”

You take the opportunity to pull Ona into a kiss. It is comforting in a way you hadn’t realised you missed. Ona had a softness about her. She always matched your energy. Your kisses soon turn into her mouthing at your neck, hot tongue leaving her scent behind. “You too couldn’t even wait until we were back at the hotel, it’ll be like five minutes.” She complains, though there is no malice behind it. “Luce needs her. Please, alpha,” Your words are whispered as Ona pushes up your shirt to press soft kisses to your breasts. “Not now. You two need to keep it in your pants.” She pushes the two of you apart like fighting pups. You can’t help but pout. Who was she to ruin your fun? On the other hand, you and Ona have both seen what Lucy’s punishments entail, and you would do anything to avoid them.

The walk to the elevator from the taxi was filled with uncontained tension. Lucy had the two omegas by her side. While one seemed to be handling everything normally, the other couldn't seem to stay still.

Ona was fidgeting, unable to keep her hands to herself; she just wanted a little help with all the heat she was feeling and the growing wetness between her legs. Lucy knew what she could do to both omegas, but she really liked seeing how Ona seemed to melt at the thought of one of you two touching her.

You looked over your shoulder, seeing Lucy wearing that cocky smile she wears when she knows you need her. "Is something wrong, my omega?" she murmured, deliriously and completely consciously ignoring Ona, who already had a pout adorning her tender features. You, in turn, gave her a smile, giving her a small kiss, followed by a kiss that you placed on her cheek.

"I think someone's really in need of attention," you whispered as they stopped in front of the elevator. Lucy started to answer, until someone behind her yelled, calling for her attention. She looked at them with a smile, trying to apologize before going to the person who called her. You looked at Ona, who was staring at her feet, waiting for something.

You approached, hugging her from behind, letting your hands run down her abdomen, her arms, and then her hands. "You look so cute when you're desperate to feel Lucia inside you... a spoiled girl in need of an alpha." She leaned her head on your shoulder, letting out a moan at the sound of you. She grabbed your hands and brought them to her breasts, urging you to make some movement on her. "Please cari... I need you, please," she whimpered against your neck, while you left a light caress against her already hard nipples, waiting for some kind of attention, while a wolfish smile slowly formed on your lips.

You stayed in that position for a few more minutes until you felt the scent of your alpha approaching, making you distance yourself from Ona and press the button to call the elevator.

"I see you're already preparing our girl, aren't you, love?" the alpha spoke, lightly slapping your butt, making you jump and look at her with your lower lip pressed between your teeth. Lucy then turned to look at Ona, who was blushing, looking expectant and dreamy.

The three of you boarded the empty elevator. Lucia pulled Ona by her hips, leaving her pressed between her and the elevator wall, while you watched what was happening.

Lucia leaned down and placed kisses along Ona's jaw, then moved down to her neck, leaving small bites. You felt the smaller omega moan and search for something to hold on to as her knees began to buckle under the pleasure. You sighed, trying to ignore the pleasure you felt watching the two girls you liked. You saw Lucy murmur something directly into Ona's ear, making it impossible for you to hear what it was, but then you saw Ona turn to where you were and launch herself into a kiss with overwhelming passion. Pure passion, wildness, and lust dominated the kiss. You brought your hands to the Spanish girl's backside, pulling her closer and grinding her hips against yours, making you feel even more pleasure.

You pulled away from Ona, and she began kissing your neck, revealing your gaze to Lucy, who was resting her back against the opposite wall in the elevator, one hand hovering over her prominent erection, watching as Ona seemed desperate for you and your touch. You smiled at her, raising a hand in her direction. She understood the invitation and leaned against Ona's butt, rubbing her erection against it, making her moan even louder. "Come on, Oni," you whispered as the elevator reached the floor. Lucia had the door held open for you to get off, her teasing smile never leaving her face, knowing it would make both of you moan equally as soon as you reached your room.

Getting to Lucy's room is difficult since Ona can’t seem to stop kissing you, making it hard to see. You stumble as Lucy pushes the door open, and you almost fall, but Ona steadies you. “Missed being close to you,” You whine in a voice nearly unrecognizable to your own ears. “Missed you too,” Her voice whispered against your neck. “Ona, get on the bed.” Lucy's harsh shock of the two of you, who are away from each other. “What?”  Ona sounds shocked, and you can’t blame her. Lucy's been calm since telling the two of you off early. There was no reason to suspect any form of punishment. “You heard your alpha get on the bed?” She is all but growling now. “ Lucy, be nice to Oni,” you whisper, rubbing a hand down her chest. “Don’t worry, princess, your next” Lucy moves past you. She tries both on Ona’s hands to the headboard. “Go sit,” she sends a pointed look towards the couch, and you quietly take a seat.

It’s hard to be this far from Ona while being able to scent her Arousal. It’s all you can smell. It's even covering Lucy’s annoyance.  You watch as Lucy crawls over Ona, one hand coming up to cup her face softly. Lucy whispers something, but you're too far to make it out. Ona lets out a high-pitched whine. A shiver runs down your spine as you watch Lucy push up Ona’s shirt and press soft kisses to her chest.  Ona mewls in response, trying to pull her arms from the headboard. Lucy shushes her softly and slides a hand down into her shorts. You let out a whine of your own. It doesn't even realize it was you until both their heads turn to you. Lucy whispers something into Ona’s ear that causes her to moan. Her head falls back against the pillows, and Lucy tucks herself into Ona’s neck.

It’s torturous to watch Lucy press kisses to Ona’s neck, knowing that her fingers are working inside of the omega. Not being able to have your hands on her soft skin. You wanted to be the one kissing her and listening to her moans while Lucy fucks her. You don’t realise Lucy's movements have slowed until Ona lets out a pitiful moan. “Need more, please, Alpha.” Lucy shushes her softly, hand cupping her face. “Don’t worry, love. Your alpha is going to fuck a pup into you, is that what you want?” It’s a rhetorical question; Lucy knows that both you and Ona crave to be pregnant. Whether from your omega instincts or your own desire is hard to say. “Princess, come here.” Your legs are moving before you can fully process Lucy’s words. When you reach the edge of the bed, Lucy grabs your wrists in one hand, her other still working inside of Ona. “You are going to give some kisses while I give her the pup she deserves. If you're good, maybe I will fuck a pup into you too.” Lucy helps you up onto the bed and moves your legs to straddle Ona’s stomach.

Lucy pushes you down until your face is inches from Ona’s. “You're so pretty,” you whisper. Her eyes are glistening with unshed tears. She looks more stunning than you could have ever imagined during your time apart. You let out a gasp of surprise as Ona pushes forward, her lips pressing against yours. Her tongue slips into your mouth, softly exploring. “My pretty girls,” Lucy growls, hand coming to squeeze the back of your neck.. You pull away from Ona, sitting up, tilting your head back into Lucy.  Her hand slides around to squeeze your throat tight enough to feel good but not tight enough to be overly painful. You find yourself grinding against Ona’s abs, looking for any source of relief. “You dirty girl. You missed Oni so badly, didn’t you?” You nod, mouth falling open as Lucy squeezes your throat tightly, forcing the air from your lungs for a moment. “Be a good little omega and help Oni.” Lucy's words are whispered to keep them between the two of you

You press kisses against Ona’s thighs as Lucy continues to thrust in and out of Ona. You begin to suck on her clit. “Alpha, please let me cum.”  Ona whines. “You can cum. You’ve been such a good omega for me.” Lucy’s voice is broken and harsh. Being this close to the two of them has your omega brain reeling. “Do you want my knot, Oni?” Lucy asks, thrusting into her more aggressively. “Need it. Please, Alpha. Her cries break your heart. The omega part of your brain just wants to make her happy, but this is something you can’t give her. “Sh,h you're getting it, love.” You suck more harshly at her clit, nipping gently the way you know drives her crazy. She lets out a keening cry, you recognize as the scent of her cum fills the air around you. Lucy soon follows, pushing herself all the way past her knot. “Such good omegas for me,” Lucy coos at her hand knotting in your hair as she pulls you from Ona’s clit. “You’ve been such a good princess.” She's inches from you now, nearly nose to nose. “Thank you, alpha.” You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She leans into it, her hand coming around to the back of your neck. “It’s too much. Please, alpha,” Ona whimpers from beneath you. Lucy leans back quickly.. “Oh, love, I’m sorry… You poor baby,” Lucy murmurs, picking up Ona’s ankle in one hand, she turns and presses a gentle kiss up to her knee. “I missed you so much.” Ona’s words come out tearfully, and you turn around to crawl up to her. You gently untie her hands, rubbing her wrists softly to help stimulate blood flow. “Missed you, baby,” You whisper, tucking your face close to her scent gland. “Don’t leave me again.”Her words are pitiful like a rabbit that knows it's about to be eaten. “Never,” Lucy growls softly. “We're never going to leave you again, Oni,” You whisper, biting into her scent gland, marking her as yours to the world.                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

[ojsimpsondidit]

Beasts and Burnouts- Megan Skiendel (Part 2)

Fluffy Version

“You’re her anchor.”

The silence between Sophia’s last words and your own breath stretched too long.

Your throat closed. “That’s not possible,” you whispered.

But Megan was already backing up.

You didn’t even have to say it aloud. She’d heard.

Her eyes were wide now- not glowing, not sharp. Just… startled. Like a deer that’d wandered too far into town.

“Megan-”

“I didn’t mean to,” she blurted, hands up, voice too high, too human. “I didn’t mean to do anything.”

You lowered the phone slowly, not even registering that Sophia was still talking.

Megan took another step back.

“I didn’t even know if you’d see me,” she said, voice shaking now. “I was going to say something. I- I tried to say something. But you- you kissed me back.”

“You kissed me,” you said, eyes narrowing.

“I panicked!” she cried, running both hands through her hair. “I was trying to be suave! And spooky! And cool!”

“You were none of those things!”

“I know!!”

She sounded like she was going to cry. Or combust. Or both.

You blinked, suddenly more confused than angry.

She was supposed to be ancient. Dangerous. Mysterious.

Instead she was clutching her slushy cup like a lifeline and pacing in frantic little half-circles on the sidewalk.

“I didn’t think it would bind,” she muttered. “It’s so rare. It’s always been rare. The last time it happened I was in France, and there were like five comets and a sacred tree involved-”

“Megan.”

“-and she didn’t kiss me back. So it didn’t count. I checked.”

“Megan.”

She froze.

You stepped closer.

Her ears flicked into visibility for a split second before she forced them down again.

“What does it mean,” you spoke quietly. “To be your anchor?”

Megan swallowed.

You could see it now- underneath the ancient, underneath the posturing. The fear.

“It means,” she murmured shamefully, “that I… stay.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I don’t usually,” she continued. “I go. I appear, I haunt, I… collect things. Energy. Memory. All that.” She made a vague swirl gesture. “But if I anchor… if someone sees me, really sees me, and lets me… in, even just for a moment…”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“I don’t get to leave.”

You stared at her.

“Ever?” you asked incredulously.

She shook her head, once.

Your chest tightened.

Megan tried to laugh. “So congratulations. You broke the fox. You glitched the ghost. You domesticated a chaos spirit who once made a 13th century monk swear off soup.”

You didn’t smile.

Neither did she.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” she said again. “But I can feel it. I’m tethered. To you.”

Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

“Does that… hurt?”

Megan hesitated.

Then:

“No.”

She looked up at you, terrified and hopeful all at once.

“It’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt… real. Like I don’t have to fade when the sun comes up. Like I don’t have to hide under coats and fog and dramatic lighting.”

You looked down at your hands.

The cup she gave you was still warm.

“I don’t know what to do,” you murmured.

“That makes two of us.”

You stood in silence for a beat.

Then, because your legs were moving before your brain could stop them, you stepped forward and handed the iced coffee back to her.

“Okay,” you said. “Then let’s figure it out.”

Megan blinked.

Her tails flickered into half-visibility again- like sunlight caught in a prism. She looked down at the coffee. Then up at you.

“You’re not scared?” she asked.

“I’m terrified.”

She smiled softly. “Me too.”

You weren’t sure who leaned in first.

But this time, when she kissed you, it wasn’t a blackout or a vision or a hunger-fueled cosmic mistake.

It was soft.

Warm.

A little awkward- her nose bumped yours- and her hands were trembling when she cupped your face.

But it was real.

You were real.

And somewhere, deep inside the strange glowing root system of her being, the bond pulsed gently in return.

Your lips barely parted.

You were still holding Megan’s coat sleeve, her hands warm against your jaw, the iced coffee in danger of falling to its doom between your feet.

And then-

Your phone, still in your other hand, screeched.

“ARE YOU STILL WITH HER?! I SWEAR TO GOD, [Y/N]-”

You flinched so hard the coffee lid popped off.

Megan yelped and leapt back like she’d been tased.

“Oh my GOD,” you hissed, fumbling to hit the mute button.

“IS THAT HER?! IS THAT HER BREATHING??” Sophia’s voice kept going, full banshee. “Don’t lie. I heard a yelp. That was a fox yelp.”

Megan blinked at you, stunned. “You kept the call on?”

“I forgot!”

“You let me confess my immortal bond to you with the phone still on?!”

“I was distracted by your tragic glowing eyes and emotional honesty!”

“I WAS BEING VULNERABLE!!”

“SHE’S EMOTIONALLY COMPROMISING YOU IN REAL TIME,” Sophia shrieked. “I’M COMING TO GET YOU.”

You mashed the speaker button by accident.

Sophia’s voice exploded between you again.

“I ALREADY CALLED A CAR. STAY WHERE YOU ARE. DON’T EAT ANYTHING SHE GIVES YOU. DON’T AGREE TO NAME YOUR CHILDREN AFTER MOONS.”

Megan stared at your phone, scandalized. “I wasn’t even going to bring up children.”

You winced. “Soph, can we maybe circle back to the mystical binding contract after I-”

“Nope. Not letting you get soul-bonded to a bimbo cryptid just because she brought you oat milk and did sad eyes.”

Megan gasped. “Bimbo?! I am mysterious! I have depths! I’ve seen volcanoes birth islands and I understand the human condition-”

Sophia gasped right back through the phone. “SHE SPEAKS.”

Megan puffed up like a cursed Pomeranian. “I have a personality, thank you.”

“You have a crime scene,” Sophia snapped. “You kissed my best friend and now she glows when she talks about you. This is supernatural fraud.”

You turned in a circle and sighed to the heavens. “Gods. I’m literally standing here with a fox witch and a lukewarm coffee and this is what breaks the vibe?”

Sophia continued, merciless. “Have you eaten anything? Have you crossed any thresholds? Did she make you write your name in a different language?”

“She touched my forehead,” you said, wry. “Is that illegal?”

Megan raised a hand. “It wasn’t a spell. It was… gay.”

You elbowed her gently. “Not helping.”

Sophia paused dramatically over the speaker. Then, very dry:

“Fine. You have ten minutes. Finish your cursed little kiss. Then I’m picking you up and we are talking about this in a safe, non-haunted, non-hot-girl-infested space.”

You cleared your throat. “Ten minutes?”

“I’m being generous,” she snapped. “Don’t you dare do anything else magical. I swear if you disappear into a moonbeam or float into the woods holding hands, I will spiritually disown you.”

Then the call cut off.

Silence returned.

You stood very still.

Megan blinked.

“…I liked her better when she didn’t know I existed,” she muttered.

You smirked, still red-faced. “She’s only like that because she loves me.”

“I could love you quieter,” Megan offered, lifting her hands.

“That’s not even remotely true.”

She grinned. “Okay. Yeah. No. But I could try.”

You picked up the iced coffee again, now mostly melted.

“She gave us ten minutes,” you said, nudging her shoulder. “Want to use them wisely?”

Megan’s ears flicked back into visibility. This time, she didn’t hide them.

“Yes,” she said. “Absolutely. Let’s recklessly enjoy the next nine and a half minutes.”

You laughed.

And pulled her close again.

Megan kissed like someone who hadn’t been allowed to for a long, long time. Like someone who’d forgotten what it felt like to be chosen. Her lips were soft, a little cold still, but they warmed fast. Her hand slipped around the back of your neck, tentative at first- and when you didn’t pull away, she deepened the kiss.

You melted. Right there. In the middle of the sidewalk under a flickering streetlamp like some sort of emotionally compromised raccoon whisperer.

She kissed you like she remembered the shape of you before she met you. Like you were already hers in every way but name.

You tugged her closer.

Her tail twitched into visibility. Then another. Then-

“Oh my god,” you whispered between kisses. “I forgot you have ears.”

Megan froze.

“Don’t,” she laughed immediately, breathless. “Don’t touch them, I swear-”

You reached up and brushed your fingers over one pointed white-and-pink ear.

Megan short-circuited.

Her whole body shivered. Her knees buckled a little.

She made a noise you’d absolutely be thinking about later.

“I SAID DON’T-”

“I didn’t know you were ticklish!”

“I’m not ticklish!” she protested, eyes wide and traitorously glossy. “I’m… I’m sensitive. It’s a biological vulnerability!”

“Oh really?” you teased, thumb brushing behind the curve of her ear again.

She made a strangled sound. “I’m gonna bite you.”

“Do it, coward.”

“I will.”

You kissed her again before she could threaten anything else- fast and laughing and dizzy with the ridiculousness of all of it. Her tails coiled around you unconsciously now, featherlight and warm.

The moment stretched, golden and fizzy.

Until-

A blast of cold mist smacked you both in the face.

Megan yelped and flailed backwards, nearly falling over a bike rack.

You whipped around, blinking through a cloud of floral-scented chaos.

Sophia stood six feet away in a fuzzy jacket, a face mask half-ripped off, holding a travel-sized Evian spray bottle like it was a holy weapon.

She was panting.

Holding a backup bottle in her purse.

“I told you ten minutes,” she snapped.

Megan wiped her face, soaked and blinking. “Is this-is this toner??”

“It’s jasmine and rosewater, bitch.”

You wiped your own face with your sleeve. “Sophia.”

“Do not Sophia me,” she barked, storming up between you. “You were making sounds. Emotional, metaphysical sounds. I heard the bond strengthening from the Uber.”

Megan tried to hide behind you. “This is harassment.”

“YOU’RE A FOX.”

“And you’re mean!!”

“STOP BEING HOT ABOUT MY BEST FRIEND AND I’LL STOP!!”

You threw your hands up. “Oh my god, this is- this is my life now, huh?”

Sophia whipped out her phone. “No. Because you’re coming home with me, and Megan can go back to whatever forest, cave, or cursed IKEA showroom she spawned from.”

Megan peeked over your shoulder.

“…Can I come?”

“Yes,” you answer, without thinking.

“NO!” Sophia snapped, at the exact same time.

There was a beat of silence. Megan’s ears flicked upright like an alert little German shepherd.

You slowly turned to Sophia. “I literally live with you three nights a week.”

“And I am retracting that offer until the cryptid stops trying to mate-bond you on the sidewalk like some kind of shapeshifting Victorian suitor.”

Megan bristled. “That’s extremely judgmental and also kind of hot when you say it like that-”

“Shut up.”

“I was being romantic!”

“You were purring.”

“I do not purr!”

“She purrs,” you confirm.

Megan smiled at you like you’d just given her a Nobel Peace Prize and maybe a baby name.

Sophia held up the spray bottle again.

Megan ducked behind a trash bin.

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Soph, she’s harmless.”

“She literally feeds on loneliness,” Sophia snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “You think I don’t have a right to be worried?! You have crushes on haunted dolls. This is the natural next step.”

Megan popped her head up. “Technically I vibe off loneliness. Feed is a little extreme. Unless you want to talk metaphorically in which case-”

Sophia turned and sprayed her again.

Megan hissed like a possum and ducked back down. “Why are you like this?”

You groaned. “Can we not do this in front of a bakery? People are watching.”

Across the street, someone actually clapped.

Megan waved. Sophia flipped them off.

You stepped in between the two of them, holding up your hands. “Okay. Listen. We’re all tired. We’re all emotionally compromised. And Megan’s wearing a sweatshirt from 1989 that may or may not be haunted.”

“It’s vintage,” Megan mumbled.

“I’m just saying,” you continued, “we can either stand here arguing about whether or not fox spirits can catch feelings, or we can all go back to Sophia’s, drink hot chocolate, and act like functional people.”

“I am functional,” Megan said.

“You tried to somersault through the store ceiling last night.”

“I landed.”

“You bruised your own tail.”

Sophia crossed her arms. “If I find one enchanted hair in my conditioner, I’m filing a restraining order with the Fae.”

You turned to Megan. “Can you promise to behave?”

“I can promise to try.”

Sophia glared.

“I can also promise to bring snacks.”

There was a long pause.

Sophia gritted her teeth. “Fine. But if you put one toe out of line, I will trap you in a salt circle and make you binge-watch The Bachelor until you beg for death.”

“Joke’s on you,” Megan said. “I love emotionally unstable human courtship rituals.”

Sophia’s eye twitched.

You clapped once, fast. “Great! Bonding! Let’s go before someone calls animal control or an exorcist.”

Megan leaned close as you walked toward the curb. “Do you think she’ll let me braid her hair?”

“She’s already planning to put your shampoo in the fridge.”

Megan gasped. “Cruel.”

Sophia, walking ahead, shouted back, “I heard that. And I’m texting Lara. If I have to suffer, she’s suffering too.”

Megan beamed. “Yay! Sleepover!”

You smiled, biting back a laugh.

Sophia’s apartment smelled like eucalyptus, lavender, and the barely-contained rage of a woman who had planned to spend the night alone with a sheet mask and her Anatomy of Grief essay.

Instead, she had a fox spirit drying her tails on her furniture.

Megan sat cross-legged on the couch in borrowed sweatpants and an oversized hoodie that read Team Edward Was Right. Her ears twitched periodically beneath the hood, still visible when she wasn’t paying attention. One tail was coiled neatly around her legs. The other two were splayed dramatically like she was recreating a Renaissance painting in protest.

You were curled up beside her, mug of cocoa in hand. Your knee brushed hers. She hadn’t moved away.

Across from you, Sophia glared over the rim of her mug like a therapist about to throw her notes.

And beside her, Lara had finally arrived, fully made-up and completely uninterested in anyone’s immortal bonding issues.

She popped a chocolate-covered strawberry into her mouth and chewed loudly.

“So,” Lara said, gesturing at Megan. “You’re the emotionally repressed were-possum.”

“I’m a fox spirit,” Megan corrected, tail twitching indignantly. “Possums don’t have this many tails.”

“Fair,” Lara said. “Still a red flag.”

Megan opened her mouth.

Sophia beat her to it. “So is flirting by telepathic blackout.”

“I didn’t mean to blackout anyone!”

“You bit her aura,” Sophia said, pointing with her mug. “I read that in the book. That’s what the glow means.”

“It was a gentle bite,” Megan muttered. “A consensual aura nibble.”

You buried your face in your hands. “Please never say aura nibble.”

Lara tilted her head. “Honestly I’m kind of impressed. I thought you were just imagining her to cope with midterm stress.”

Sophia nodded. “Same.”

“I can hear you both,” Megan said flatly.

Lara winked. “Good.”

Sophia crossed her arms again. “Look, I’m not saying I hate her. I’m saying that if she even thinks about doing weird spirit bonding stuff again, I will personally reenact The Exorcist with a water bottle and a Bluetooth speaker.”

“I brought snacks,” Megan offered weakly, gesturing to the box of Pocky and sour peach rings beside her.

“That doesn’t make you trustworthy,” Sophia said.

“It makes me polite.”

Sophia sipped her drink in judgment.

Megan leaned into you. “She’s terrifying,” she whispered.

“I know,” you whispered back. “She made a guy cry in debate club once without saying a word.”

“She should rule a small kingdom.”

“She already does. It’s called this apartment.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes at both of you. “I can still hear you.”

Lara stood up, stretching like a cat. “Okay, this is cute. I’m gonna go take a shower, steal your purple robe, and pretend none of this is my problem.”

Megan blinked. “She’s your roommate.”

“She’s your soulmate,” Lara said, pointing between you and Megan like she was connecting IKEA furniture. “And I’ve done my time.”

And then she disappeared into the hallway, humming a Donna Summer song.

Sophia stood.

You flinched instinctively.

But she just sighed and walked to the kitchen.

“You,” she said, pointing at Megan. “Stay. Quietly. No purring. No tail-shedding. No weird spirit cooking.”

Megan saluted.

You smiled, trying to fight the flutter in your chest.

And then you were alone again- just you and Megan, sitting in the warm buzz of late-night kitchen light, cocoa, and bad vibes managed for now.

Megan looked at you shyly.

“Hey,” she said, like she hadn’t already body-snatched your soul and maybe a small corner of your heart.

“Hey,” you said back, feeling it- soft, slow, impossible.

Her ears twitched again.

You reached out, brushing one behind your hand without thinking.

She squeaked.

And you smiled.

“Stop that,” she whispered, voice wobbly. “You can’t just- this is illegal. There are rules.”

“I think you made those rules up.”

“I’m serious,” she whined. “That’s like… a deeply private spot. I don’t even let ghosts touch those.”

You laughed quietly. “You hang out with ghosts?”

She pulled her mug closer to her face. “Of course I’m friends with ghosts. I’m not a monster.”

You scooted a little closer on the couch. The space between you was warm now, not electric. Familiar, even if still laced with something new.

She peeked at you from under her lashes, and for a second you could see it- how vulnerable she actually was beneath the drama and old magic. A girl, still trying to play a part she didn’t write. Still surprised that someone stayed.

“I meant what I said,” Megan murmured, setting her mug down. “I don’t know how to do this. Any of this. I’ve never… anchored like this before. And I don’t want to screw it up.”

You shrugged gently. “Good news is, you already have.”

Her eyes went wide.

You smiled. “But I kind of like that about you.”

She stared at you.

And then- slowly, nervously- she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek. Just one.

Her tail looped softly around your ankle, tentative and featherlight.

You felt like your bones had turned to sunlight.

You turned your head toward her- just slightly.

She mirrored you.

And then you kissed again- deeper this time. Still gentle. But braver. Her hands found your waist, resting lightly. Your fingers curled into the collar of her sweatshirt. The kiss was soft, slow, exploratory. Like testing the edges of a new reality.

When you pulled back, Megan’s pupils were blown wide. Her ears had popped fully up, unbothered now.

“I like you,” she said, a little dazed.

You touched the tip of one ear again. “I know.”

She melted into the cushions, tail fluffing like a marshmallow left too long in cocoa.

Then-

“AHEM.”

Both of you jolted so hard the couch squeaked.

Sophia stood in the kitchen doorway, backlit like an avenging angel in fuzzy socks. She was holding a spoon. And what might’ve been a tub of peanut butter.

She raised the spoon. “I swear to god, if I hear so much as a single supernatural mating call, I will bless this apartment with Catholic rage and purified coconut oil.”

Megan whimpered.

You tried not to laugh and failed completely.

Sophia stormed back into the kitchen, muttering under her breath about “horny spirits” and “trauma-bound girlfriends” and “recasting protection spells with the moon in Aries.”

Megan leaned her forehead against yours, sighing.

“She really is terrifying.”

You grinned. “Told you.”

She nestled closer. “Still worth it.”

You sipped your cocoa and let her rest her head against your shoulder, her tails twitching in sleepy rhythm.

And for the first time since the night she walked into your store, the quiet felt… safe.

Until Lara burst back into the room-

Wearing Sophia’s purple robe and her towel turban like a crown, holding an electric toothbrush in one hand and a bag of Doritos in the other.

She paused dramatically in the doorway.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve given you exactly thirty-seven minutes of ‘soft spooky girlfriend bonding’ and I need to know- has anyone here done anything illegal yet?”

You blinked. “Define illegal.”

“Supernaturally binding. Accidentally soul-marking. Cursed object sharing. Emotional nudity. Tongue.”

Megan raised a hand. “There might have been some ear-touching.”

Lara clicked her tongue. “Scandalous. But not criminal.”

She flopped onto the recliner, Doritos crinkling. The toothbrush was still buzzing in her other hand.

“You gonna turn that off?” you asked, glancing at the brush.

Lara shrugged. “This is ambiance.”

You glanced at Megan. She was stiff again, shoulders pulled taut under Sophia’s hoodie, tails tucked in tightly like she was trying to occupy less space. Her gaze kept darting- between Lara’s smug grin, Sophia’s pointed stare, and you, the only person in the room she wasn’t bracing for impact from.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t try to defend herself. Didn’t make a joke.

She just watched.

Careful.

Like she was waiting for one of them to change their minds.

Lara crossed her legs and leaned back into the recliner. “So. What do you actually want with her?”

Megan blinked.

You could see it- the flicker of an instinct older than speech. The urge to vanish. Disappear into mist, or light, or silence.

But she didn’t.

“I don’t know,” Megan said finally, voice quiet. “I didn’t plan this.”

Lara tilted her head. “You always just haunt people by accident?”

Sophia shot her a look.

Megan’s tail twitched. “No.”

You touched her wrist gently.

Megan glanced at you, then back to Lara. “I saw her. That’s all. I don’t… connect like that. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything.”

“And now you’re anchored,” Sophia finished, folding her arms.

Megan nodded once. Her ears twitched beneath the hood, visible for just a second before she forced them down again.

Sophia’s voice was cool. “That’s a lot of weight to put on someone who didn’t ask for it.”

“I know.”

“And you didn’t think to warn her?”

Megan looked down at her hands. “I didn’t think I could.”

Silence.

Lara finally broke it.

“Well,” she chirped. “Points for not pretending to be harmless.”

Megan looked up. Surprised.

“You’re obviously not normal,” Lara went on. “You blacked out the store, hijacked her brain, and showed up in a coat like you were doing a live reading of a forbidden romance novel.”

Megan blinked. “Is that… bad?”

Lara shrugged. “It’s a choice.”

Sophia sighed. “You’re not helping.”

“I am helping,” Lara said, popping a Dorito in her mouth. “I’m establishing that I know she’s weird, I see that she’s weird, and I’m not gonna pretend she’s not- which, by the way, is probably the first normal reaction anyone’s had to her in centuries.”

Megan’s eyes narrowed slightly. Suspicious.

You gently nudged her knee. “She’s being mean. But not cruel.”

Megan tilted her head at you. “…How do you tell the difference?”

“Lara still shares her food with people she hates,” you said, picking up a stray Pocky from the coffee table. “That’s practically a blood oath.”

Lara smirked. “I also don’t flirt with things I want to kill.”

“Debatable,” Sophia muttered.

But even she sounded slightly softer now.

Megan nodded slowly, like she was trying to follow a language she’d only half-learned. She sat straighter but didn’t speak again. Just let her hands rest still in her lap, like they might give something away.

You leaned a little closer, just enough that your warmth touched hers.

Not pulling her in. Just making space.

Eventually, Sophia stood. “I’m going to bed,” she announced. “There’s tea in the cupboard. Blankets in the linen closet. No spirit summoning in the bathroom.”

Megan blinked. “You think I summon spirits?”

Sophia glanced back. “I think you are a spirit. And you don’t seem to know where you end and your magic begins.”

Then she was gone- hallway light snapping off behind her.

Megan sat still for a long time.

Then, so quietly it barely registered:

“…I liked her robe.”

You snorted.

Lara smirked.

And the air in the room shifted again- not softer, not exactly. But quieter.

Less threatening.

Like maybe the ghost of trust was willing to hover near the windowsill.

[sweetgothpeach]

headcanons for HUNTRIX x pregnant wife (separated please)

Baby on board

Headcannons for Huntrix x pregnant wife !Reader

I hope you like it 💜💓💚

Please dont repost my work @sweetgothpeach

⋆ 𐙚RUMI

⋆ 𐙚 Rumi tries to pretend she's cool all the time, she feels like she needs to be a wall so you and the baby are always safe.

⋆ 𐙚 Always acting like she has no problems, but when you pull her into your lap and let her put her ear to your belly she melts instantly, finding comfort in her family.

⋆ 𐙚 Rumi has had to cover herself her entire life, so she will make sure you don't feel ashamed of yourself during and after pregnancy, and will raise the baby to be proud of who they are.

⋆ 𐙚 Rumi likes to sing to the baby, always lying on your lap or with one of her hands on your belly, feeling the baby kick or move always brings a smile to her face.

⋆ 𐙚 She has no self-control when it comes to baby clothes, no matter the price, if she looks at the clothes, she will imagine the baby wearing them and will end up buying them.

⋆ 𐙚very protective, always alert for fear that something might happen to you and the baby, she changed the sharp dishes in the kitchen, took things down from high places and always helps you go up and down the stairs

⋆ 𐙚 probably a boy's mother, a little boy identical to her, hair, eyes, patterns, a mirror of her in her male version, Rumi would cry when you decided to match the baby's initial with hers, so the two chose the name Rowoon.

⋆ 𐙚 She doesn't say it, but she feels like you get more and more beautiful during pregnancy.

⋆ 𐙚 She hates leaving you alone for fear that you'll go into labor and she won't be there to help you, so she finds a way to take you most places with her.

~

Rumi was standing in front of a microphone recording a part of a new song, focused on her work. She was more relaxed because you were sitting on the sofa there in the recording studio, so she could keep an eye on you.

Rumi, I think we should re-record this part - The producer said after finishing listening to the excerpt again.

Rumi looked at you with worried and passionate eyes, soon turning to the producer again.

You said this recording wouldn't take long - Rumi just wanted to go home and fold baby clothes with her beloved wife.

Hey Ru, it's okay, you can keep recording - You gave her a smile and thumbs up.

Rumi gave you a light laugh, turning back to the front and getting back to work when the record light came on.

Okay star, that sounds good, you deserve a break and I deserve a coffee - The producer got up and left.

Rumi threw herself beside you on the sofa, placing one of her hands on your belly, looking at you with tender, loving eyes.

You look like melted butter - You said placing your hand over hers.

Rumi laughed, shaking her head in denial and looking down at your belly.

Do you think Rowoon will like me? - Rumi asked looking lightly at you.

Rowoon already loves you Rumi- You said squeezing her hand lightly.

You rested your head on her shoulder, and she laid her head on yours, enjoying the silence and affection of the moment.

_____

⋆ 𐙚Mira

⋆ 𐙚 Mira was always the cool, nonchalant person before you got pregnant, but now she's the biggest softie in the world.

⋆ 𐙚 Mira always finds a way to relieve your stress, massages where it hurts, cold drinks in the heat, hot drinks in the cold, chamomile baths, kisses and hugs.

⋆ 𐙚 Mira has no contact with her family, but she will do everything she can to make sure the baby always knows she is there for them.

⋆ 𐙚 buy a bunch of music-related stuff for the baby's room and call they a mini dancer

⋆ 𐙚 buy the craziest outfits possible for the baby and a mini sleeping bag

⋆ 𐙚 would carry the baby in her arm like a purse at the next Met Gala

⋆ 𐙚 probably a mother of a girl, the baby would be your carbon copy, and that is perfect for her, seeing her love in a miniature version always comfort her heart, the name would be Mire, chosen by you, and Blossom chosen by her.

⋆ 𐙚 Mira loves to praise you, saying how lucky she is to have the most beautiful pregnant wife ever.

⋆ 𐙚 Mira has a habit of hugging you from behind and lifting your belly to take the weight off you, at times she even puts on slow music and dances with you.

~

You were sitting at the kitchen counter watching Mira make you a cold juice. The weather wasn't that hot, but she still insisted on making something to please you.

There it goes Pretty girl - Mira handed you a mixed berry mix with some ice cubes in a pink mug with "best wife" written on it.

Thank you love - You took a sip of the juice, feeling a happy smile grow on your face, but it was soon drained by a sharp pain in your spine.

Here, I'll help you - Mira dropped her cell phone on the counter, helping you down from the high stool and hugged you from behind, lifting your belly and taking the weight off your spine.

All that weight on your spine was gone, all that was left was the comfort in the arms of your beloved, your ears recognized the beginning of Glue song, while Mira guided you in slow steps to dance along with her, even with your back to her, you knew she was smiling, you were too.

I hope Mire has your eyes - Mira said in a kind tone

you rested your head on Mira, placing your hands over hers

You know... the weight isn't so big when it's shared between two people... - Mira said, leaving a soft kiss on the top of your head.

And the two of you continued like that, dancing slowly while sharing the comfort of each other's bodies.

_____

⋆ 𐙚Zoey

⋆ 𐙚Zoey has always been the most energetic one in the relationship, always excited and full of motivation, and that didn't change after you got pregnant, now Zoey uses all her energy to keep you and the baby well.

⋆ 𐙚Since Zoey was raised in California, she would teach the culture and things from her childhood to the babies, including them in an important part of her life.

⋆ 𐙚 would buy matching things for the two of you and the babies to wear.

⋆ 𐙚Zoey always wants to be close to you and the babies, so she will even be present in your personal tasks. When will you be taking a shower? She will be sitting on the bathroom counter. When will you wash your hair? She will dry it for you. If you have difficulty changing your clothes, she will help you.

⋆ 𐙚Zoey always makes a point of reminding you that you have always been and always will be important to her.

⋆ 𐙚 would buy a mini DJ table for the twins, even though they weren't even born yet.

⋆ 𐙚Zoey is always giving you gifts, and bringing gifts for the babies too.

⋆ 𐙚would be a mother of twins, a boy and a girl, the babies would be a mix of both of you but different at the same time, the boy would be called Zael, chosen by you, and Zoey would choose the girl's name with the same initial as yours.

⋆ 𐙚As Huntrix's lyricist, Zoey is always thinking of lyrics for new albums, so Zoey would like to prop the notebook on your thighs while she writes the lyrics to a song.

~

You were lying in bed with a baby book that Zoey had bought to help you understand more about your tiny humans when Zoey came into the room and threw herself down next to you on the bed.

Hey Babe, what are you reading? - Zoey gave you a loud kiss on the lips before you could answer.

Something about baby colic and how to get rid of it - You looked back at the book.

Zoey had her notebook and pen in her hand, the girl got down on the bed placing the notebook on your thighs and lay down on the mattress leaving her feet slightly out.

Are you comfortable there? - you gave a light laugh, touching Zoey's hair.

Yes, your thighs are soft, and I'm closer to your belly and the babies - Zoey started writing something in the notebook while shaking her head a little side to side

You watched Zoey calmly write the lyrics to the song while she drew hearts with her fingers on your thigh.

What's in this song, Zoh? - You dropped the book beside you.

Happiness, this is what I feel when I think about you and our babies- Zoey looked up at you.

The two of you shared a loving look and Zoey reached out to hold your hand, happy to have her family.

_____

[spencerreidsprincess]

The Vulture| Arthur Morgan x reader

summary: you were a quiet young girl who was destined for something greater.

warning: mentions of rape, tough topics, blood, violence, outlaws, sweet Arthur, soft Dutch, mentions of murder, anything to do with outlaws, do not interact if you do experience something uncomfortable with these. this is the first part and I will be continuing this series.

The vulture. The name spilled off the tongue. That’s what you were. Waiting in the dark for the bad men, once you had them, your teeth sank in their throats and it was over for them. You weren’t a bad person, no you were much worse than that. You were your own little devil.

You weren’t always like this. Dutch had found you, outside your farm house covered in blood. Your parents had been slaughtered by an O’Driscoll. You had bite his throat our right after. You sat there on your knees staring at the body infront of you.

“What do we have here?” Dutch spoke as he looked down at you. They had planned on just looting the farm house but something stung in his cold heart looking at you. You couldn’t be older than 12. Your big sad eyes looking up at him. “You did this, sweetheart?” He had asked you. The only thing you did was nod your head. “Get on, I’m taking you home”.

You didn’t even argue. You got on the back of his horse holding on to him tight. Normally you wouldn’t even bother to talk to strangers but he felt more than just a stranger. He felt familiar. Like a sense of hope. Something you couldn’t let go off. You rode back in silence. He didn’t bother to ask you questions he knew you would not get an answer from.

When he had dropped you back at the camp you were greeted with boys around your age. You had got off from the help of Dutch. He had sat you down on the ground and ruffled your hair. “You ours now, and we protect family. My little bird”. You hadn’t spoke. You were covered in blood and looked up at him like he hung the moon. Because in your eyes he just did that.

“Dutch! Who’s that?” A boy around your age said as he looked at you. “Why is she covered in blood? Is she a vampire?” The boy asked as he pointed at you. He took a step back hiding behind Dutch’s leg. Dutch had chuckle and put his hand on your back pushing you forward.

“No, son. This right here John, this is our new member. You treat her like she is family. And what do you to with family?” Dutch asked as he looked at John and the other boy. You felt a little more comfortable almost. Even though looking like you were a strange creature.

“Protect family” The other boy spoke up as he looked right at you. With something else, almost like amazement. Something strong. Something you never felt before. Almost compelling you in a sort of way. Something you later learned to find out was love.

“That’s right, Arthur! Now take her to see Miss Grimshaw to go get cleaned up” Dutch said as he stepped away, you almost wanted to run after him. You held out your hands to grab at him but stopped. He turned back around at you and sighed. “You’re okay, sweetheart. No one’s gonna hurt you” It wasn’t like he was just saying that. He was telling you that. Because that was the truth.

“Come on!” John said as he went to grab your hand and you backed away almost in fear. He sat there and looked at you. You shook your head no. You didn’t want to go farther. Because you were afraid of what was gonna happen. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt you” John said. You nodded your head and slowly went along.

Over the years, you had grown up with the gang. Dutch made sure he treated you like one of the others. You turned out to be a pretty good shot. But you didn’t rely on guns. You relied on your teeth. Even to the point where that was your signature move. All Dutch had to tell you was; “Go get him, little bird”. And you had done just that. No questions asked.

Years have passed and there was unspoken trust and bond built between you and Arthur. You didn’t talk, and he valued that. After Mary had left for the first time he had been heartbroken. And you were there to pick up every piece of his broken heart. You loved him for him, not some version of him that wasn’t true. You wanted him pure, every unspoken thought, every sin, his past and his future.

The night she had left, you sat on his cot while he cried. Arthur wasn’t the one to cry, he didn’t want people to see his weakness. But he let you sit there. You rubbed his back and you didn’t say anything. And Arthur appreciated that. He didn’t want words, he wanted comfort in the silence you provided for him.

Over time you guys had grown closer. You were able to open up, in your own way. Arthur and you were inseparable. You went on bounties together, rode together, ate, and slept near eachother. You had sat outside on the top of the mountain watching the sun set together. Just together was enough.

Slowly you had built a bound. You started to talk more. To others around and even to Arthur. Mostly Arthur. He brought out a side of you that was like nothing before. And once you got to talking you didn’t stop. Arthur loved it. When you guys would ride together all you did was talk.

“One time, I saw a deer and it looked like me like I was its mother” You said as you were riding with Arthur. You guys didn’t really have a destination. All you knew was that Dutch said to go and check the area.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Arthur asked as he rode slightly infront of you. This was his favorite. Usually you rode alone but now he had a sidekick to talk his ear off and he didn’t hate it.

“Yeah. It let me touch it. Then it ran off when John came along. I was so angry. I kept putting pieces of dirt in his soup for weeks” You said with a small giggle as you thought back to the memory. You remember John talking to Pearson about the soup being off.

“That was you. I thought that was Micah being Micah” Arthur grunted as he let out a tiny chuckle. You smiled as you looked at him. He rode a little faster to catch up with him. You loved nights like this. You felt more like yourself when it was like this.

You two had grown to be married. You didn’t need to have a wedding because you had eachother. One day, Lenny just said you guys acted like a married couple and since then you guys just were. And everyone treated you like that.

Until one day, you had ridden off on your own to go and look out. Search the area like normal. But then things were different. You heard someone behind you. You had turned around and you saw someone with a mask. You didn’t get time to even process what was happening before you heard a gunshot and your horse had run off.

You fell to the ground on your back. You groaned and rolled over. The sun was rolling down on your eyes and you felt the wind knocked out of you. You coughed as you tried to bring yourself up but you felt someone’s boot hit your stomach.

“Well who lets this pretty little thing out here all alone?” The man asked as he kept his gun trained on you. You wanted to cry. You didn’t know how you were going to get out of this. You were deeply afraid and scared what was going to happen next.

Hours later you felt violated and used. You couldn’t bring the tears to stop. You had slowly gotten up from hours of just laying there doing nothing. You had whistled for your horse to come back. You wanted to fight back but you couldn’t. You were frozen. And you hated yourself for that.

Right there you had made your decision. You couldn’t go back to the gang. After what happened you were weak and you didn’t deserve to go back. You couldn’t even look Arthur in the eye. You wanted to be gone. And that’s what you did. That night you were gone. Without a goodbye or anything.

Over the years you grown up to be one of the most feared outlaws in the land. They called you The Vulture. You lured bad men into the moods and bite their neck off. In pay back for what was done for you. Do bring yourself back. Woman would come and pay you, beg for you to take care of everything. Their hurt.

You had missed your life before but you were too far gone. You had changed and that was it. You traveled from town to town. Not staying too long but long enough to clean up the mess. You left when people started to point things out. Most people thought you were a myth because no one made it out alive to tell your story.

You had made it to a small town. Valentine. Something different. You were able to scoop out the saloons and watch. Watch the way the men talked, who they went with. Staying in the same almost. Weighting for your next prey. And once that has happened you didn’t take long to strike.

But something changed. When you went into the bar and saw a familiar face. Javier. The gang. The memories and moments wandered back to you so quick you needed to get out. Do gets that you had ripped over a glass and there was a loud crash on the ground. Everyone was staring, you felt small. To small.

“Y/n?”

to be continued…

[jellyprower]

Wedding Gone Wrong Pt 1

PLZ let me know if I should add any tags! This can be read as a platonic relationship or romantic! Still no fancy borders, just my squiggles.

This is just part one since I know Tumblr isn’t great for long wordy posts.

Also @goobstars is the person who pushed me to post this. The original idea was one that wouldn’t leave my brain, so I just whipped it together while on my break. This is the actual extended version lol I hope yall like it.

GN reader, but you’re wearing a tux. If you don't like it, then just imagine it’s a dress. It doesn’t come into play other than for the context of you are to be wedded! Married? Whatever that word is.

Also y’all are hiding behind some bushes at the beginning if that wasn’t obvious.

It’s sort of xRagatha and xJax just FYI (starts with marrying Ragatha, turns into marrying Jax)

I did my best to try and make it platonic for those of you who aren't head over heels for the redhead or the rabbit.

EAT YOUR HEART OUT ( lol  i love my fellow circus enjoyers)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I look over at Ragatha, adorned in a stunning wedding dress next to me, complete with a white bow attached to a veil. Looking down at my own white tux, I start to question just why this was Caine’s idea of a good adventure? Was it silly? Sure. Fun? Maybe. But sneaking into a different kingdom to steal a candy gem? Where the hell did he even get the idea? And why did he choose a wedding of all things?

He even came up with a silly backstory that this whatever kingdom only lets strangers in if they’re getting married? Like who would set up a wedding in a place they’ve never been? Not unless Princess Loolilalu gave the recommendation? But then we were trying to steal the candy gem back for the princess.

Not much about this made a whole lot of sense.

Jax was wearing a colorful tux, not far from the usual pink overalls he wears. Kinger had his usual robe, but this time a little flower attached to his chest. Zooble was given a flower and a tie, and Gangle was given winged eyeliner at the edges of her face. Clearly Caine got lazy, but whatever.

Really, I didn’t know how to feel. Caine had decided to use a random generator to decide who was going to be married. Of course, at first it landed on Zooble and Jax, to which Zooble heavily complained about. It took some convincing, but Caine did change it. That’s how you found yourself in this situation. Realistically, you and Pomni were probably the only ones who wouldn’t absolutely hate the idea of fake-marrying him of all people, but what you gunna do?

Pomni became the self-appointed getaway driver, so she was sitting in the pick-up truck with music that sounded like it came from the SIMS games. At least it was something.

“I vote we just bust through the doors.” Jax’s voice came from behind me. 

“That’s the second dumbest idea I’ve heard all day.” Zooble quipped, clearly still irritated that they were forced to not only come on this adventure, but that they were so close to nearly having to be married to the dude. Fake married, but married none the less. “Besides, we don’t have any weapons besides the hammer.”

I forgot Caine gave Ragatha a hammer.

“Well then why don't we just use you and Gangle to ram the door, huh?”

Zooble’s antenna twitched, but they didn’t get a word out.

“How about we just tell them about the wedding? I know its not the most spectacular.” You glance at Jax before looking at the ragdoll next to you, “But I mean it is the distraction he gave us.”

Of course Jax just huffed as Ragatha agreed. “Yeah, but, how do we approach them? They’re carrying spears...” Turning my gaze back to the guards, an idea came up, complete with a little lightbulb appearing above my head. “Follow my lead.” 

Leaving the bushes, I put my hand out to hold hers. I could feel her shaking slightly from fear, but I stayed steadfast in my stride. Of course, as I approached the easter-island-headed guards, they put up their spears to block the path, making Ragatha jump a little.

“Excuse me, but me and my lovely wife- or- soon to be wife- need to be let in with our wedding party! You see, we’re getting married in the garden center of the kingdom! And we don’t want to be late for the officiant!”

The guards look down at you two before one huffed. “Do you have the invite?”

Invite? What invite? Did Caine give us something to let us in?

Jax snickered behind me, “Oh yeah, I knew I left something behind! Oops.” Of course he was smiling. This was a very Jax thing to do.

Far away, far out of your vision, Pomni picks up a piece of paper from the dashboard that she hadn’t noticed before. It was a wedding invitation to the very wedding that was being celebrated. “I hope this wasn’t important.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Honestly didn't intend to make the first bit so short, but I need to go to sleep. Might just post small chunks like this if the formatting works better for reading.

Peace out Y'all! 👩‍🦰🐰🃏🎭📐♟️

Part 2

[ravenclaws-stuff]

Hi babes!!! Congrats on 300!

Can I get one with our baby James with insecurity?? Maybe soulmates if it works but if not that’s fine!

Congrats and I hope you’re having a good day, my love 💖

Tags: soulmate, insecurity, the first words your soulmate says to you is on your arm, frat house, sorority house, modern au, hurt/comfort

A/n: First off, hi!! I swear I almost had a heart attack when I saw you pop up in my notifications. I mean, you wanted a story from me. Siriusly fan girling lol. Since we got that out of the way, thank you so much. I love soulmate stories so much and I am so glad you requested that. I really hope you like it. Thank you again. Ilysm🩵

# Soulmate

Fixing his collar, James sighs. The words on his arm taunts him, an endless reminder that he still hasn't found his soulmate. His soul craves to find its other half but a small part of them fears it. Wow you really are an arse James Potter. Why would his soulmate call him that the first time they met? Was he really that bad?

A knock on his door pulls him from his downward spiral. “Prongs hurry up. Everyone is arriving.” James scans himself over in the mirror, nodding and approval. “Prongs!” Yanking his sleeve down, James throws open the door with an easy smile. “Calm down Pads, I'm right here.”

The living room was filled with friends yet Remus bounced on his toes becoming the butt of most jokes. “Moony is in love.” Marlene teases, enjoying the flash of envy in Sirius's eyes. “I am not, Marls.” Remus says exasperated. “She is just a friend.” A small ping draws Remus's attention back to his phone, his brown eyes light up reading the notification. “She's here.” James and Sirius follows him to the door, nearly colliding into Remus as he stops abruptly in front of the door. “Now remember do not crowd her. I had to beg her on my knees for her to come. So do not ruin this for me.” Remiss growls, eyeing his two best mates. He loves these two, but he also knows how they can be. Sirius huffs, mumbling how Remus never gets on his knees for him. James simply claps Remus on the arm, swearing he will behave.

Remus swings open the door, be me as a person swing nervously on their wooden front porch. The quiet girl from Slytherin, the pretentious sorority full girls who come from Rich families. In other words, a house full of spoiled brats. How did Moony become friends with someone like this? “Oh it's you.” James sighs, shoulders dropping as disappointment etches across his features. Your eyes light up with fury, your jaw clenches. “Wow you really are an arse, James Potter.” You look back at Remus, apologizing quietly with spinning on your heel and leaving. Time slows as Remus turn, a razor sharp glare piercing straight through James’s head. “Seriously jeans I asked you for one thing.” He snaps, storming back inside the house. “Wow mate.” Sirius claps him on his shoulder. “Deal with Moony. Don't worry about the snake. Not like you'll be seeing her again.”

James’s eyes flutter open as his alarms under his pillow. His lips as he puts on his glasses. Blinking, his eyes follow their usual routine as a trail over his car. The words flash in his mind, this time voice over by your voice instead of his own. James sits up, glasses flying off of his face from the speed, the blanket cooling around his bare waist. “Fucking hell.” He whispers, dragging his hand along his face. “I really done it this time.”

A week passed before your paths crossed again. Bodies collide as James reach out steadying the other person’s shoulders. “Sorry lo-.” His voice cuts off, realizing it was you who he ran into. “Um hi.” You roll your eyes. “You can let go of me now.” His palms sweat under your distasteful tone as his hands slide down your arms. “S-sorry. Ho-how are you?” You shake your head, taking a step back. “No need for pleasantries, Potter. I know how you feel about me and my house. You are quite open about it.” James gulps, keep creeping up the back of his neck. “Can we- could we possibly go get coffee and talk?” You scoff as rolling your eyes. James was certain if you kept doing that they would get stuck that way. “We have absolutely nothing to talk about.” You spat and just like before you walk away. James runs his hands through his thick curls. “Fuck.”

The following month is spit chasing you, but it seems as hard as James tries, you try just as hard to evade him. If not, even harder. Flowers were sent to your sorority house every morning. Different bouquets with little notes, begging pleading for a chance. Finally Jameson gets you to talk to him. Sure he stole your number from remus's phone when he left it unlocked, but you were his soulmate. He needs to talk to you.

James: Can we talk?

You: Potter?

James: if I say yes will you block me?

You: Speak.

James: I really am sorry. I just wasn't expecting you when Remus was talking about his new friend he made in culinary. I shouldn't have so quick to judge.

A few minutes pass before his phone lights up, a new message appearing

You: I guess I can understand. But do you know how much it hurt that would be the first words my... You would say to me. That ever since I turn eighteen, that my soulmate would be disappointed that it was me.

James: I know and I am sorry. But I also understand cuz my soulmate calls me an arse the first time we met.

You: Oh

You: I guess that's fair.

James: So...

You: What?

James: Coffee?

Thirty minutes pass as James anxiously paces from one side of his room to another.

You: Meet me at the coffee shop on 2nd and Silcoft Rd at 10am.

James: What if I have a class?

You: Do you?

James: Well no.

You: Then 10 am

You: Unless you don't want to.

James smiles, shaking his head. He did not expect this to go as well as it is.

James: I'll be the devilishly handsome guy, waiting outside the door probably talking to a freaking plant cuz he's so nervous. What's your order?

You: I will get my own drink.

James: Yeah sure. We'll see about that. Goodnight.

You: 🙄 Goodnight Potter

[cobaltperun]

Love Song Requiem (4 - Finale) - Wait for You

Mabel x Female Reader

Chapter summary: How far would you go to change someone's life? Further than you ever could have guessed. But every action has consequences, and perhaps you weren't as ready for the consequences of your actions as you thought you would be.

Masterlist / First Part / Previous Part

Word Count: 3.4k

-So baby, I will wait for you 'cause I don't know what else I can do. Don't tell me, I ran out of time if it takes the rest of my life-

The morning after you called Mark came way too soon, your heart pounding in your chest as you forced your brain not to question this decision, not to reconsider it. “I know you’ve been awake,” you whispered, glancing at Mabel just in time to see her wiping her eyes.

She turned to face you, and you’ve never seen such a solemn expression on anyone’s face. “You’re really going to do it?” she asked and there was no need to clarify what she meant. You looked down at her lip, at the small bruise forming next to it and Mabel must have caught on as she grabbed your collar and made you look her in the eyes. “Y/N, no. That’s not what I want from you,” her voice shook and her lips trembled as she looked at you, her eyes filled with panic and fear.

“Mabel, this is bigger than what either of us wants,” you told her, hugging her and pulling her gently until she was straddling your lap. It was almost ironic, seeing how long you’ve been taunting each other with getting together, and then this ended up being the situation in which your feelings were laid bare.

She placed her hands on your shoulders, one of her hands slowly moving to the back of your neck. “And your,” she paused, swallowing hard. “Ultimatum?”

You sighed, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders. “It’s just a bonus, just a way to keep you out of this and finally do the right thing at the same time,” you should have done this way sooner, should have stopped this madness the moment you took over. “Countless people got caught up in these crimes and I let it keep going. That’s on me.”

She looked at you, her thumb brushing along your jaw, tilting your head up.

“I have to pay for that. And I have to stop it before people die,” you said and Mabel’s fingers trembled as she leaned down, kissing you on the lips softly, though you didn’t kiss her back.

“Don’t deny this,” she whispered when she pulled away and you just smiled slightly. There was no point in denying this, any of this, your feelings for her, her feelings for you, they’ve been clear to both of you for a while now, long before what happened yesterday.

“I can’t,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not going to expect you to wait for me,” you told her seriously. She didn’t deserve that, she deserved to take control over her life, to live it fully. To fall in love and chase her dreams, not to wait for someone who was about to basically turn herself in.

Mabel cupped your cheek and made you look at her. “I’ll still wait.”

“I’m not doing this to earn your unconditional love,” you told her, wanting to hold on to her, yet wanting desperately to let her be free, whether that included you or not.

“And I’m not going to wait for you to repay you,” yet she was stubborn, and all you could do was surrender to her, clinging to the hope that you’d come out and really find her waiting for you. She kissed you again, desperately, deeply, like you were running out of time because that was exactly what was happening, and you kissed her back, running your fingers through her hair as you kissed her back with the same fervor.

~X~

Six hours later you’ve finished giving your first statement, giving the police all the information you had, from the most minor ones to the things that would beat any defense your parents might try to come up with. By the end of the first of many days that would follow you leaned back in the uncomfortable chair as Mark brought you a cup of coffee from the coffee machine. “What’s the plan?” you asked him, closing your eyes and finally feeling the exhaustion catching up to you.

“It’ll take us a month, probably two if I’m being honest, to gather everything, after that we’ll arrest you, mostly for show, just so they don’t immediately know you’re working with us,” so far it sounded like a reasonable plan, and you’d get some time to cherish your freedom, which was more than you expected when you made the call last night.

“You think we can fool them?” you asked and he nodded.

“We did arrest you a few times before this,” he smiled, those looked like good times compared to what you were heading toward. “It’ll give us a couple of days before they figure out it’s serious, while keeping you safe from them as well. There will be a trial, you’ll get a sentence, and probably be released on a parole,” he actually believed that was the end result for you.

You weren’t that naïve. Sure, you’d get a much lighter sentence, but you wouldn’t walk in and out of courtroom essentially free. Not that it mattered. “And what about Mabel?”

“We need a bit of time to set that up too. She’ll be moved to a secure location and given a new identity a month from now,” he told you and you nodded, thankful.

“Well, I’m going home, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said as you got up, grinning at him and leaving the interrogation room.

“You’re doing the right thing, kid!” you heard his voice from the room and smiled slightly. You knew that already. Besides, there was no other choice.

~X~

Between interrogations and spending as much time with Mabel and Charcoal as possible the following month passed by in a blur and before you knew it everything was ready for Mabel to leave. So, without a word being spoken about it, the two of you just took your time, making love all night long, not talking about the future, not worrying about it, instead just living in the moment, lost in one another, consumed by passion.

And then, with the first rays of morning sunlight, that was gone too, leaving you with nothing but the realization that you were counting down the last hour you’d spend together in a long time. Neither of you said a word, though there was so much left to say, the words ‘I love you’ at the tips of your tongues remained unspoken.

You remained silent, fearing they would shackle Mabel to you,

And she remained silent knowing hearing them would only make the separation more difficult to both of you, so it was better to keep them unspoken, glued to your tongues, unable to escape.

In less than an hour she’d be gone, and Charcoal would be gone too, leaving you alone in this apartment to handle what was left to do.

~X~ A month and a half later ~X~

You didn’t expect any visitors, since Mabel was explicitly ordered not to come to see you, especially now. It could put her in danger so when an officer came to take you, saying you had visitors you weren’t sure what to expect.

You certainly didn’t expect to see your parents sitting there, your father looked furious, your mother looked resigned as you sat down, not avoiding their gaze. You had nothing to say, and nothing they could say would change your mind now. Frankly, you were surprised they were allowed to see you, all things considered, but perhaps one of the officers turned a blind eye in exchange for a bit of extra payment.

Your father slammed his hands on the table and your mother flinched, but you didn’t even blink, it’s been years since your father’s outbursts affected you. “Do you have any idea what you did?” he hissed. “How much work you’ve just ruined!”

“And how many lives did that work ruin?” you challenged.

“We didn’t force anyone into anything!” that wasn’t entirely true. Sure, at least since your father took over and then you took over after him, no one was forced to work for you, but the organization certainly took advantage of desperation and poverty, dragging people in and then keeping them there.

“If this is about that girl, you can still stop,” your mother tried to convince you.

“A girl,” your father looked like he was about to laugh ironically. “If you wanted that girl you could have had her. You had her, you paid Weeks enough to-“ you stood up abruptly, glaring at him.

“Try to finish that sentence, I dare you,” you whispered, the tone of your voice dangerously low, carrying the threat better than any shout could. “Get out,” you said.

“We’ve given you everything,” your mother spoke, and it almost sounded like she was in pain. “And this is how you repay us.”

“You haven’t raised me to have mercy,” you said and got up, knocking on the doors. “We’re done here,” you said and stepped out of the room the moment the doors were open. The next time you’d see your parents would be when your father was getting forty years in prison with no possibility of parole, meaning he would almost certainly die there.

Your mother was simply left with nothing, which might as well be a life sentence for someone used to expensive lifestyle and everything her status brought her.

~X~

Mabel watched the news from her new apartment with Charcoal purring on her lap. The trial was almost over, the cat was out of the bag, you turned on the organization, you basically sent your own parents to jail, and the organized crime in the city she used to live in crumbled under the weight of all the evidence you had.

“Just a year, two at most, and then she’ll come bac home,” she told Charcoal. Sure, the black cat was purring right now, but she caught him looking everywhere for you, meowing at the doors like he used to do when you wouldn’t be home. How she wished she could explain this to him, but she couldn’t. The cat simply knew you weren’t home, and nothing could explain to him why or for how long that would last.

She looked around the apartment, looked at her new ID, legally obtained, she was given a new life, but it felt like the price was too high.

~X~

This was it, this was the moment you’ve been expecting for the past four months. You could hear the crowd of reporters outside the courtroom, wanting to get the information immediately, not that you could blame them. With everything revealed this whole thing turned into one of the biggest trials in this town’s history.

So, you sat there, head held high as your name was called, you knew what was going to happen. No amount of evidence or help provided would let you walk free. Letting the head of the organization walk free just because she changed her mind wasn’t something that could be allowed or afforded.

Mark was very clear how it would go though. You’d be given a sentence, but would probably spend significantly less time in prison, and instead you’d be quietly released and given a new identity once the dust settled.

“Y/N L/N, the court hereby sentences you to 7 years without the possibility of parole,” you were told, and you nodded, head still held high. This would all be worth it in the end.

~X~ 6 years later ~X~

Six years, four months, two weeks and five days, that’s how long it’s been since you’ve been locked up, kept in solitary for your own safety. Each day felt dragged out, like a never-ending torture. The first two years you managed to focus on self-improvement, reading books and just learning in general, but for the last four years you felt like you were going insane.

You’d be quietly released. Sure, that happened. The way things were going you were going to serve the entire sentence. They got what they wanted, and you didn’t even feel like you had the right to complain.

Little to no interaction with guards, no visitors, no conversations with other inmates, not even Mabel could come to visit because that was a part of the deal. You just couldn’t risk her coming here and someone recognizing her. So, excluding weekly calls with Mabel you were basically left to your own thoughts, and over the past years they became a very dangerous company.

You had to keep repeating to yourself that this was worth it, otherwise you feared you’d go insane.

What time was it anyway? You used to be able to tell the time, at least roughly, by remembering when each meal was, but lately even that became unreliable. Sometimes, in the dimmed cell, with nothing but a bit of sky hidden behind barred window to look at, you just lost the sense of time. Did five minutes pass? Or was it actually three hours? You could no longer tell. You couldn’t even tell how long ago you stopped being able to tell. It could be half a year ago, or two years ago, or somewhere in between. Or maybe it’s been going on for longer than that? Or has it been less than six months?

Did it even matter anymore?

The doors of your cell suddenly opened and a man walked in. A man… He looked familiar… You blinked a few times, mind blank, so numbed by solitude that it took actual effort to remember anything. “Mark?” you half-asked, half-guessed, and he nodded.

“Come on kid, you’re free to go,” he said, and you weren’t sure where to, you haven’t really left this cell. “It’s time to go home,” home, that was a nice word, but you weren’t sure you had one. Where was your home?

~X~

Mabel stood by her car, her arms folded and unable to calm her foot down as she impatiently waited for Mark to come back. By this point she was counting down minutes until she could finally see you again and yet they still felt too long. She lost track of how many times she barged into Mark’s office or called him on his phone, demanding your release, demanding that they honor the deal they made with you. Each time his reply was the same, that his hands were tied, that he didn’t decide when someone would be released.

Shortening the sentence by a bit over half a year felt more like an insult in her mind, and she was sure you were angry too.

She repeated your conversations over the phone in her mind over and over again, even recorded some, you sounded fine, or at least as fine as she guessed you could sound given how you’ve lived for almost six years and five months.

Finally, after what felt like forever she saw Mark opening the gates and began running toward him, but then she slowed down before halting completely. Who was he with? Because there was no way that was you, right? The woman with Mark looked broken, eyes fixated on the concrete, body slumped forward, defeated in every sense of that word, and easily a decade older than you were, but something in her heart shattered as she realized the horrifying truth.

She was looking at you. The woman she had fallen in love with all those years ago was a shell of her former self, broken by the isolation. Tears filled her eyes and she rushed toward you. “Y/N!” she cried out, pulling you down to hug you tightly.

You felt frail in her arms, nothing like the woman who pointed a gun at Weeks and carried her out in her arms all those years ago. What hurt even more was how stiff you became at her touch, how long it took you to even lean a bit into her touch. She knew she should have told Mark to go fuck himself and come to see you. “I’m with you now,” she sobbed, but six years of solitude couldn’t be overcome with one simple hug.

“Yeah,” even your voice, that she heard every week over the phone now sounded foreign, as if finally coming out, as if finally being free broke you even more instead of starting to heal you.

Mabel held you tighter, wondering, and not for the first time, if it was really necessary to keep you in solitary confinement, but then again, you did topple a whole criminal empire. “Come on, let’s go home,” she whispered softly, and your breath hitched at that word. “With Charcoal and me,” she tried to stop her tears, but ended up burying her face in the crook of your neck, as she quietly sobbed.

~X~ One month later ~X~

You left the prison but it didn’t leave you that easily.

Mabel came back home from work, tired from a long day of working with people and just wanting to relax with you and Charcoal, hoping today would be one of the better days. It’s been rough the past few weeks, sometimes you’d get so lost in thoughts she could barely snap you out of it, and she still had to let you get used to her touch.

You were trying, she saw it, and she knew it would be a slow progress, but she wished she could get a glimpse of how things were before everything fell apart. At least you no longer looked like you were in your forties, healthier food, fresh air and overall freedom made the physical recovery fairly quick and now you once again looked like someone soon to turn thirty should look like. Six and a half years of your youth lost in solitary confinement. No one could blame you for needing time.

The sound of sizzling made her eyes widen as she walked down the hall and though she wasn’t sure what she was worried about she rushed into the kitchen and froze, seeing you there, wearing an apron saying ‘Accepting payment in kisses’ standing over the stove and making chicken schnitzel. Her jaw dropped and for a moment she saw you the way you were back when you met, throwing in a quick joke as you turned to greet her with a wide, goofy grin on your face. It only lasted for a moment though, and the illusion was broken the moment you turned.

“Welcome home,” your voice was gentle, albeit a bit strained, betraying just how much effort you were putting into this. There weren’t any jokes, or annoying remarks she used to adore, and the wide goofy grin was still gone, but in its place was a small smile radiating warmth, and that was all Mabel wanted.

“I’m back,” she rushed into your arms, kissing your cheek and for the first time since you reunited you hugged her within seconds.

“I figured I should thank you for being patient with me,” you whispered as you pulled back a bit and Mabel touched your cheek, cupped it gently as she leaned in.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d come back to her similar to the way you used to be. Even if you didn’t, Mabel would take anything as long as you could be free from the prison you still kept dragging after you. She hesitated for a moment, and then, as if declaring your resolve to get through this, you leaned in, kissing her on the lips. “I love you,” you finally said those words, seven years and three months after you met, six years and eleven months after you decided to work with the police, six years and ten months after you last made love and those words remained at the tip of your tongue, six years and seven months after you were sentenced to jail, one month after you were released and reunited with her, you finally kissed her and said those three words.

Mabel looked at you, her eyes wide and filling with happy tears. “I love you too,” she whispered, pulling you down for another kiss, expressing through actions what her words couldn’t convey, letting you know that she’d be by your side and that the worst was behind you.

A/N: Well, there was supposed to be one more chapter, but I merged them so I can continue WOTS next week

Taglist: @nwestra @imnotsocool @tejakabuttons

Masterlist / First Part / Previous Part

[inkie-does-whump]

Dodge Bullets and Fire Spray (My Blood’s Forever on Your Hands) Part 2

A Lab AU Martyn itlw fic

Content warning: puppyfied Ren, mention of previous SA, PG YouTubers swearing (gasp!)

Words: 2300

Aka: Martyn brags of Ren’s escape and is painfully corrected, meanwhile Lizzie learns how to train a dog.

Authors note: YAY! IT GOT DONE! who knew all I needed to actually finish my fic was a case of the 'rona :(

Martyn has lost a lot.

But there is one thing the Watchers can not take from him. Not without prying it from his dead hands at least. Martyn has a chokehold on Hope.

He will never let go of Hope.

Not when he knows he’s on his way out soon. Not when freedom is so close. The sunshine. The taste of the rain. Any day now.

Martyn hadn’t expected his rescue to be immediate. Only inevitable. And as long as it’s inevitable, Martyn cannot lose Hope.And it is inevitable, because Ren is out there.

Ren is out there, sunshine and optimism and preparing to break them out. He’s getting police or the government or literally anyone. He’ll come back for Martyn, he’ll come save him.

He will.

This hope wavers when the Watchers shift them all to a new lab, Last Life, and Ren still hasn’t appeared. Martyn has no fear that Ren has given up on them, but he does worry that with the change in location, Ren will struggle to find them again. They could be miles away from the lab Ren had escaped from. Martyn has no way of knowing where they are, and neither does Ren.

A new lab always means a fresh chance to meet new people. But Martyn finds himself still lurking around his oldest friends, Jimmy and Grian. He’s not ready to make new friends again. All he needs is Ren. And Ren is coming back. He is.

This new lab is too busy for new friends anyways. The Boogeyman curse could be carried by any of the subjects, and Martyn is not eager to be betrayed by anyone. No, it’s better to wait alone. Just get through his rentals and stick with people he knows will never betray him.

He doesn’t notice the concerningly height frequency that one subject is being requested for experiments. She’s one of the few new subjects, and Martyn is trying to ignore her, so it’s reasonable for him to miss how she’s gone every afternoon for an hour like clockwork. Martyn only knows her name from his conversations with Jimmy.

This is his sister, Lizzie, and she’s also Joel’s wife. Martyn tries to smother his bitterness. Joel gets to reunite with his wife. It’s okay. Good for him. Martyn should be happy.

Joel is there with Martyn when they are both called in for a meeting. Meeting? Weird, okay, but Martyn can handle this. As long as he doesn’t have to deal with another insufferable renter.

It's not just Martyn and Joel in the meeting. Etho, Bigb, Tango, Skizz- Oh. This is Dogwarts. They’ve called Dogwarts together. This can’t be good.

There is a chair for each of them, lined up neat almost like a small classroom. Two doors stand at opposite ends, one that they had just come through, and the other leading deeper into the lab, locked.

Etho is the first to take a seat, then Tango and Skizz on their side of him. Martyn and Bigb join them. Joel just scowls and eyes the door.

His sour expression immediately drops when the door opens, and Lizzie steps out. She is clutching a few note cards to her chest, and closes her door behind her too quickly.

Joel steps towards her, “hi babe-“

“Please sit, Joel.” Lizzie mumbles. Joel pauses, confused, before easing backwards into the only remaining chair.

“what’s this about?” he asks tentatively.

Lizzie glances back at the door then down at her notes before letting out a breath, “we need to talk about the escape attempts.”

Etho goes very still. Tango bristles, as though the timid, overwhelmed fairy in front of him would attack.

Martyn, equally, remains very still, very silent.

Lizzie glances at her cards again, “uh, surely you all know this isn’t possible. You’ll just get hurt in the process and we don’t want to see anyone get hurt-“

“you expect us to just accept it?!” Tango asks, “common, we outnumber them. If we all cooperated, who knows what we could do!”

Lizzie shakes her head, opening her mouth to say something but Etho cuts her off, “Tango, the cameras.”

The whole room gets quiet, and Etho nods to the blinking red camera in the corner of the room.

Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t give away anything.

Tango closes his mouth, frowning at the floor.

Lizzie sighs, “boys, please. Joel-“ she sniffles.

Joel runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, “baby, I love you-“

“It’s not possible.” Lizzie repeats, like she’s begging him, “I can’t watch you get punished for your attempts.”

Martyn scoffs, grinning, “you say it’s impossible. That we should give up. But it’s NOT impossible. It’s been done before.”

“yeah…” Tango says slowly, beginning to light up, “yeah! Ren got out!”

“Exactly! What the fire hazard said. Ren DID get out, proving that escape is possible.” Martyn says, “I bet you anything that he’s out there organizing some way to break us out! We all remember how he talked. Just one! We just need one of us to escape, and then they can go get police!”

Lizzie seems to be withering, shrinking more with each word Martyn says. Joel is frowning at her, concerned, but the others have their eyes on Martyn.

Bigb is nodding, “yeah! Ren would never just leave us. He’s definitely getting the police.”

“so it’s, what? A waiting game?” Tango huffs

Skizz shakes his head, “Dudes, we can’t just wait! You expect us to sit here, Lizzie?!Just let the Watchers moves us around like pawns? That’s bonkers man!”

Lizzie doesn't answer. She’s backed away against the wall, right next to the door she’d entered through, while fumbling at her note cards.

Joel steps between her and the rest of the room, and Martyn can hear him whispering with her, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Martyn turns back to the remainder of Dogwarts, “I think it comes down to this. We know Ren is contacting police and stuff, but should we be doing anything while we wait?”

“This isn’t the time to discuss.” Etho mumbles.

“Yeah man, we gotta break more folks outta here!” Skizz exclaims, as though he hadn’t even heard Etho.

“You can’t.” Lizzie shaking her head, “no one ever made it out! You can’t try, Joel, PLEASE.”

“Ren made it.” Martyn corrects.

Lizzie fumbles for the door, as if that could prove her point. A few of her note cards flutter to the floor.

When the door swings open, Martyn can feel his stomach drop.

Lizzie is immediately tackled to the ground by a creature twice her size, screaming. Martyn considers wrestling the thing off of her, before he realizes that most of her shrieking is laughter.

“StAHHPAH- please that tickles!” she pushes herself upright, “bad dog! Stop it!”

The creature- dog? Martyn thinks it’s a little large for a dog, but he can’t really get a good look with it crouching over Lizzie like that -eases off her, and there is the neat sound of a bell ringing when it moves.

Joel, meanwhile, is frozen is absolute terror, like he has been personally mauled by this dog before. His hands grip at his collar, figures shakily tracing the broken skin from where he’d been muzzled too tight- a measure the Watchers has resorted to when Joel has bitten several people. Martyn doesn’t know why exactly Joel has had this reaction, until he takes a second look at the dog.

As Lizzie stands up again. “sit.” She commands, and the dog does. As she brushes herself off, the dog looks up at her, hair falling out of its eyes.

And Martyn knows those eyes anywhere.

Oh.

No.

Oh no.

“Boys.” Lizzie addresses. She clears her throat, “This is my emotional support dog. For the. The trauma.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.” Martyn bursts out, heat rising in his face, “That’s Ren! He’s NOBODY’S emotional support dog.” He doesn’t know if the heat is from rage, or if he’s about to start crying. Maybe both.

Joel bumps against the back wall- apparently he’d been shuffling away. Martyn hadn’t noticed -and shakes his head, mumbling, “The hell? The hell?”

Etho is narrowing his eyes at the dog distrustfully, while Skizz and Tango both seem to still be processing this. Tango’s mouth is hanging open. Bigb has stood up so quickly his chair was knocked over, but hasn’t moved from his place.

But Martyn isn’t paying attention to any of that.

Lizzie has her eyes on Joel, “I thought you would be happier?” she says quietly, “you requested this.”

And all the rage Martyn is processing suddenly has a target. Blazing eyes set on the fairy across the room.

Joel is still pressing himself away from the dog, “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about- I don’t-“

“you told the Watchers,” Lizzie says, confused, slowly approaching him. The dog follows at her heels. “that I needed- comfort. Uh, ‘motional support and stuff, cause of the-“

She cuts her self off, like she can’t bare to utter the words “assault” or “rape” like saying it might make it real. Instead she swallows once.

“I didn’t mean this- frickin- TWISTED! You. Stop your glaring, I DIDN’T. You know this is sick just like I do.” Joel spits, turning his attention to Martyn.

Martyn narrows his eyes, and glances back at the dog.

It looks no different from Ren. Well not really, but it makes Martyn feel less angry if he tells himself that. He feels less like tearing Joel in half. Ren looks totally different. They took away that look in his eyes, the one that was always calculating what to do next. The one that gives Martyn that warm smile.

This isn’t Ren.

Behind the curtain of hair, Martyn can see a distinct scar at the base of the dog’s neck. He folds his hands together to stop them from shaking.

“what happened to him?” Bigb asks.

Lizzie just shrugs, “the Watchers made me train him. He doesn’t bite anymore, don’t worry.”

Joel looks like he’s about to throw up.

Tango kneels in front of the dog, “Ren?” and when it does nothing but lick his hand, Tango turns to Lizzie, “what did you do?! It’s like you- puppyificated him or something? Can he still talk?

“He must be drugged.” Etho says, to no one in particular. “This. Changes things.”

“still talk?” Lizzie echoes, “he could talk? He’s never spoken during our training”

“YES?” Martyn snaps, “are you SO-“ he grumbles to himself, “Yeah! Ren is a subject like you or me. Can frickin. Talk. …Could.”

Lizzie considers the dog for a moment, who was actively being pet by Tango, “I don’t know. I just did what they told me to. I said the stuff on the note cards and gave him treats.”

The dog immediately abandoneds the attention Tango had been giving it and turns both of its big eyes up to Lizzie.

She sighs, “sorry boy, no treat right now.” She says in a voice way too sweet for Martyn to stomach. She treats. It whines pathetically and lays down at her feet like the world has ended. Over a treat.

Martyn has to measure his anger again.

Lizzie continues, “I didn’t know you’ll knew him.”

“Knew him.” Martyn scoffs and rolls his eyes, trying to force down the conflict in his gut, “we more than knew him. Ren was our leader! He gave us hope!”

There is a moment of silence, before Skizz sighs, “pretty pathetic hope, I guess.”

Lizzie picks up her dropped note cards silently. Joel is practically hyperventilating against the wall, still staring at the dog.

Martyn slowly slinks over to where it’s laying, and knees at it’s head.

“Hey Ren.” He tries, even though he just watched Tango try this exact thing. He doesn’t know why but maybe. Maybe it would be different for Martyn to say it. Maybe Martyn is special to Ren.

The dog’s ears prick up at the sound of its name.

“Did you like the sun?” Martyn asks weakly.

The dog barks, and Joel flinches violently in the background. Martyn stares at the creature for a moment, it’s wide brown eyes almost uncomprehending of the question. Almost.

“Hush.” Lizzie scolds, then looks guilty like it was a command she’d given out of habit.

Either way, the dog bends it’s head apologetically.

Martyn resists the urge to glare at her. It had answered his question. They were getting somewhere. Ren was in there, Martyn knew it.

“Did you make it to the police?” Martyn tries, “before they caught you again?”

The dog barks twice, standing up and circling him, and Martyn doesn't know what that means but it’s definitely a response! His previous heat is forgotten, replaced by this renewal of hope. Lizzie looks uncomfortable, but doesn’t reprimanded it again

“Okay Ren, uh, once or yes, twice for no. Okay?” Martyn says.

The dog barks again.

“Good! Good! So were you able to tell the police about the rentals and experiments and stuff? Before the Watchers found you again?”

The dog barks once, and Martyn feels that hope swelling. Then it barks again, and the feeling is quickly cut. When the dog barks a third and fourth time, Martyn us just confused. Surely that meant something. Maybe It's more complicated than just yes or no. Maybe-

Another bark, and Joel snaps, “MARTYN IT CANT UNDERSTAND YOU. IT’S A F*CKING DOG.”

The dog whimpers and ducks between Lizzie’s legs for safety. Martyn looks to Joel, who appears on the verge of tears.

“It can’t understand you.” Joel repeats, “hell, you’re just getting it worked up! You need to stop.”

Martyn slowly slides his gaze back to the dog.

His king, his hope.

Ren.

He pulls his Hope into an embrace, burying his face in the fur and hair. Please. Please.

I will never let you go.

[milykins]

Mutant Speakeasy AU

This is an AU set with the Bayverse turtles that some friends of mine had been discussing for a few weeks. It is set in modern times years after a mutagen bomb had gone off, mutating a good percentage of humanity. I decided to write a little one-shot about what things would look like.

Disclaimer: I do have permission to use these OCs from @sophiacloud28 @thelaundrybitch @adebauchedsloth @the-cauldron-witch @redsrooftopprincess and @iridescentflamingo. Thank you for letting me borrow your characters! I very much enjoyed writing them in.

Possible TW: Contains some coarse language and mild sexual harassment.

I hope you enjoy, full text under the cut.

The streets of New York City looked very different these days. Over five years had passed since humans and newly turned mutants had banded together to fight back against a genuine threat to the world. The Kraang had thought that mutating the humans would weaken them, make them more susceptible to a takeover. Oh, how wrong they were. The last thing they expected was a carefully planned counter-strike. Humans, after all were quite the resilient species, able to change and adapt no matter the situation. Perhaps it was desperation or fear driving the decision to ally themselves with the mutants, but it had the power to tip the scales and ultimately win the war. The fighting had been intense, and although panic and uncertainty remained at an all-time high, the unlikely partnership drove the invaders away, thereby saving the world.

With that in mind, humans and mutants should have gotten along well. The mutant-turned residents were fed the comforting lie that they would work together with humans to build a new society where everyone could live and work in peace. Many years later, however, relations remained tense. Mutants were continually treated as if they were the lowest of society, and most had congregated together in areas of the city with the highest mutation rates. Some of these areas were blocked off and barricaded, keeping the ‘mutant threat’ contained and furthering the divide between humans and mutants. Progress towards acceptance was slow, with few humans taking up residence in ‘mutant-inhabited areas’.

On this particular day, Mira, a non-mutated and completely ordinary human, navigated her way through Mutant Town, as it had come to be called. It was one of the areas in the city now occupied mainly by mutant citizens of New York, and covered a significant part of the borough. It also happened to be the place where she worked in a charming little Italian bakery, serving up freshly made gelato and Italian desserts.

Back home in Canada, her parents had run a wood-fired pizza place, so she was very excited to see a wood-burning oven in which to do the same when she first arrived at the unassuming building that housed the bakery. It needed some work, including new tiles and a few repairs, but she had plans to make delicious wood-fired pizzas eventually—just like her parents and grandmother had taught her. Unfortunately, they had made the list of casualties resulting from the mutagen bombing a few years back. It was Mira’s dream to work in the service industry and use her family’s recipes to bring joy to others. She wanted to do her best to honour their memory. She’d been more than thrilled to get a callback since she’d been struggling for a while to find work.

She had been hired by Steph, a lovely young woman mutated from a tiny twite bird. She often twittered away happily as she worked, often chirping excitedly as a response before reminding herself to use the actual word in English. She was an absolute delight to work with, teaching Mira a lot of new tips and tricks that she’d learned since becoming a mutant.

Mira was fascinated by the different types of mutated humans. She felt very ordinary being one of the few humans in the area. Even though she had been working there for a few months, she still felt like she was still getting her bearings. She knew the reason not many had applied for this job was due to the lingering stigma against mutants. Public relations were strained, but Mira was more than happy to be a positive force in the cause, befriending as many mutants as she could.

It was going to be easier than anticipated. She had no idea the bakery housed a secret, and she was about to find out.

The bakery’s secret was that it served as a front for a mutant-run speakeasy. Since the mutagen bomb, it had been difficult for the newly mutated citizens to find places where they felt like they belonged.

Ever a resourceful bunch, mutants had created homes and businesses for themselves, including restaurants and bars. Regular alcohol was quickly discovered to be too ‘weak’ for those with mutant blood. They needed huge amounts to feel any effects, and that was far too costly for business. Stronger alternatives had to be developed, but before they could be sold to the public, they were banned. Mutant-grade alcohol was deemed too dangerous for human consumption after an incident where several humans broke into a distillery, resulting in their deaths. The ban was considered ‘unfair’ and fueled much of the discord between humans and mutants.

Legislation was put forth that would help regulate and legalize mutant-grade alcohol, but for some reason, they could not get the motion to be passed. In order for one to partake, Speakeasy secret bars had been popping up all over the place.

Mira had no idea, of course. She was more than happy to focus on her work and get the pizza oven up and running. It had taken weeks of working after hours, but she’d finally restored it to its former glory. What better way to celebrate than to make a pizza using her family’s recipe?

After kneading, tossing, and stretching the dough into the pan, she left it covered while she worked on the sauce, busily chopping fresh ingredients and grating some locally sourced mozzarella cheese. She decided to go with pepperoni, a classic, if she did say so herself. In no time at all, she had the pizza in the oven and set the timer.

Unbeknownst to her, the delicious smell of freshly-baked pizza had caught the attention of one very enthusiastic turtleman. Mikey had been setting up the bar for the night when that irresistible scent hit him like a sucker-punch to his senses. He had to find out what it was and where it was coming from.

He'd been vaguely aware of the fully functioning bakery that was above the underground bar but hadn’t had a chance to go in during work hours. Steph was in on everything and had assured him and his brothers that their secret was safe. He’d heard about the new hire but had never seen her. No time like the present, he thought, heading up the stairs to the secret entrance.

The creak of something opening and the sudden appearance of a visitor were enough to make Mira gasp as she emerged from the kitchen in a cloud of flour and surprise. At first, she was frightened, wielding a pizza pan as a makeshift shield as she demanded to know who he was.

Making himself as small and non-threatening as possible, Mikey calmly explained that the bakery was only a part of the building, and if she promised not to hit him with that pan, he’d show her the secret bar beneath. Then he flipped it and told her that even if she did hit him, he would show her because someone who could make such a delicious-smelling pizza could hit him anytime. His flirty wink at the end had her giggling and lowering her weapon as she brushed flour from her red-and-white candy-striped apron.

After he showed her the wonder of the hidden bar, he explained how it came to be, talked about his job as a bartender, and told her she was welcome down there anytime. Mira felt comfortable enough to consider taking him up on that seriously, and the two shared the homemade pizza she’d made. 

Mikey, with much enthusiasm, had declared it to be the best pizza he’d ever had.

-----

The following day, after telling Steph about her adventure with Mikey, she was surprised to discover that Steph not only knew about the bar the entire time, but was also friends with the owners. To quell whatever negative feelings Mira might have had about withholding this information, Steph offered to take her down there herself, and would even make her a 1920s-inspired outfit to fit the vibe. She was instantly forgiven with an enthusiastic ‘yes, please’!

It had taken weeks, but the outfits were finished, pressed and ready to try on. It was a 1920s dropped-waist, flapper-style dress in a soft shade of pink and dotted with tiny sparkling rhinestones. Mira had never felt so pretty in her life, wearing this dress. She was unable to stop herself from thanking Steph profusely, over and over while her friend twittered with laughter. Mira’s look was complete with matching kitten heels, with her hair and makeup done to fit the theme.

Steph’s dress was quite different, but no less beautiful—floor-length with lacy ruffles, a dark brown sash, and elegant pleats running down the sides of the skirt. The light blue fabric complemented her brown and tan feathers well, and she finished her look with a matching hat featuring a dark blue band and a lovely blue feather.

The two ladies, dressed to the nines, were greeted by Mikey’s brother Raphael and an imposing-looking bird mutant with a large, bespectacled bill. Both wore white button-down shirts with black slacks held up by matching suspenders. The bouncers, Steph explained, as Mira had stepped back a little in fear. The birdman, named Lance, received a gentle nudge from Raph to ‘chill’. He needed a few reminders that his gaze was ‘freaky’ and scaring the poor women away. Immediately, his demeanour shifted, and he apologized with a bow. Mira was pleasantly surprised that he was incredibly soft-spoken and quite well-mannered. She and Steph were granted access and even bypassed the line, much to the dismay of those still waiting to get in.

The bar was unlike anything Mira had ever seen. She felt the atmosphere was warm and inviting, with gentle lighting and people and mutants enjoying themselves. On stage, a stunning woman, human, with long, dark brown hair and captivating blue eyes, performed a smooth jazz number. She wore a slinky little black dress and sang alongside a live band composed of both humans and mutants. Her sultry voice and the soft sway of her hips had many of the male patrons, as well as some women, captivated from their tables.

Looking around more, Mira’s attention was drawn to the actual bar that was crowded with people. It was gorgeous, with smooth, lacquered dark wood with a gold filigree inlay. The bar had two sides, each with one or two bartenders on duty. Each side was lined with colourful liquor bottles and several beers on tap.

A flustered but attractive woman with her soft brown hair piled up on her head was scolding someone for spilling alcohol all over the counter. She was dressed much like the men there with a cream-coloured knit, button-down shirt with suspenders and brown, high-waisted slacks. She finished the look with a brown cap and her apron tied around her waist. Mira could already tell she had an important role here just from her demeanour and the way she carried herself.

Mikey was the one who made the mess. He’d been gazing at the vision of loveliness that was Mira and accidentally overfilled the drink he was pouring. He also left to find a cloth to clean it up, but before he did, he briefly caught her gaze and grinned reassuringly at her with a nod, pleased she was able to come.

Two more turtlemen were serving as bartenders, one with a yellow bandana and the other with a navy blue one. Both worked on opposite sides of the bar. The one in yellow appeared so friendly and charismatic, with a kind of comforting warmth radiating from him. He winked at her flirtatiously while skillfully mixing his drinks and sliding them over to his customers. It was enough to make her blush.

The one in navy was trying to work, but seemed easily distracted by a woman with sleek, brown fur and a mischievous glint in her eyes. She appeared to be a weasel mutant, perhaps? Maybe a ferret or a mongoose — Mira wasn’t sure. She giggled softly at the way the woman leaned forward on the counter and stroked her hand up and down his arm while whispering something she was sure to be only for him to hear. She faintly heard him reply, ‘Patience Ma Reine, I’m working.’

Another turtleman, black with striking yellow markings around his eyes, was gliding from table to table, delivering drink orders and tempting-looking pub fare. To her fascination, he seemed to be Australian, and she wondered how he ended up in New York City.

Before her attention could be divided further, Steph had gotten drinks for the two of them. It seemed the turtle in yellow, Jehannet, as he was called, and Mikey had entered into a bit of a competition over who would make Mira’s drink. Both were doing their best to impress her with gravity-defying tricks and sleight-of-hand motions. In the end, both drinks were delicious, but Mira declared Mikey the winner. The flavours danced along her tongue as she took a sip, nodding in approval at the turtle in orange, who did a triumphant fist pump in the air.

By now, the beautiful singer was stepping down from the stage, and the next act was being set up. Mira let her gaze wander once more to see a short, but fiery young woman engaged in an arm wrestling competition with a much taller, brilliantly coloured snake mutant with a bit of a pudge in her belly. It seemed unlikely that this ordinary human with curly brown hair and hazel eyes would win, yet she appeared to be much stronger than she looked. She managed to overpower the snake woman by slamming her fist down onto the table with a triumphant “hell yeah!”. The snake woman seemed to take it all in stride, laughing as she nodded over at the mongoose woman with “you were right!”.

As the drinks flowed, Mira became delightfully tipsy, laughing and chatting with Steph and being introduced to the other brothers who operated this establishment. Even the elusive Leonardo decided to join them. She was stunned to learn that he and his brothers had been the ones to unite everyone in that historic fight all those years ago. They had been mutated years before the bombs fell and were regarded as the unsung leaders of the mutant movement. Running the bar was a conscious choice by all of them to help everyone find a place where they felt at home.

Setting up the bar had taken years, and they even operated an active farm that supplied the necessities to keep it running. Lacey, the one who’d arm-wrestled her way to victory, was in charge on that end. She seemed fully capable of managing the business side of things as well.

Elise, who had just scolded Mikey earlier, was the bar manager. It was amusing to realize that this average-sized woman was in charge of all these turtlemen who absolutely towered over her. Mira had never seen anyone taller than Jehannet and Donatello. She could understand why Elise was drawn to Donatello in particular. He was responsible for brewing different types of alcohol with her assisting him. The two seemed to share a special connection, one that was shy and unassuming yet deep and genuine. Mira could only hope to have a relationship like that. As she looked at Mikey, she couldn’t help but think maybe it was within her reach after all.

“Is this seat taken?” a man’s voice asked, and Mira quickly turned around in her seat. Where had this guy come from? Where had Steph gone? Stumbling over her words, Mira must have taken too long to answer, for the male sat down anyway, placing a drink in front of her. “It’s on me. You new around here? You must be, I definitely wouldn’t forget a pretty face like yours.”

Oh, he was trying to flirt with her. Oh dear, what should she do? She wasn’t interested in this dog-like mutant guy who had sat himself at her table without invitation.

“I… I’m Mira, I work…” Shit, don’t tell him you work upstairs! “Around here, and yeah, fairly new in town.” She laughed nervously while craning her neck to see where Steph had gone.

“I’d be happy to show you around. Here’s my number.” He wrote it down on a napkin and slid it over to her with what he thought was a perfectly charming grin. “It ain’t easy meeting girls these days, harder now since all the crazy shit went down.”

 He kept talking while Mira just stared at the numbers scrawled on the napkin in blue ink without grabbing it. Her mind was whirling, fuzzy with alcohol but still coherent enough to try to think of how she could get away from this guy. “Um, yeah, thanks… I’m sorry, I have to go find my friend.”

His face twisted with disappointment as he watched her stand without accepting the number he’d so graciously bestowed upon her. Trying to slip it into her purse while doing his best to stall her, he said, “She probably left. I saw her talking to a fox guy earlier, probably gonna go home with him. Don’t worry, I can take care of you.”

His persistence caused Mira’s anxiety to spike as she took an unsteady step back. “Oh, no thank you, I’ll be fine, I promise. It was nice talking to you, but I gotta go.”

She must have struck a nerve, because when she decided to turn away from him, he saw it as the perfect moment to firmly slap her rear. “Something to remember me by, bitch.”

Mira gasped, her face flushing with embarrassment as she felt everyone staring at her. To make things worse, the slap had been quite loud and stung a little. Did he really just slap her ass?! She suddenly wished she could disappear. The ground could open up and swallow her, and she’d be perfectly fine with that.

Before she could form another coherent thought, she heard the sound of boots hitting the floor. Mikey had hurled himself over the bar like an Olympic hurdler going for gold, except he was aiming for the dog mutant, and he looked furious.

No one had time to react as Mikey threw a well-placed punch at the dog mutant’s jaw, then grabbed him by his scruff and threw him out of the bar. “We don’t serve pieces of shit like you, get the fuck out of here!”

Whoa, Mikey just defended her honour, and it was both scary and incredibly brave of him. Mira watched as he single-handedly passed the guy off to Raph and Lance before returning to her. His expression was a mix of worry and regret as he hurriedly checked her over. 

“Are you alright?! Is your... I mean, sorry for... that. We don’t tolerate that kind of behavior. Are you okay?” His tone was softer now, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

Mira had been too stunned to cry; she was simply relieved that guy was gone. “I’m okay, thanks for that.”

“I couldn’t just stand there and let him treat you like that.” Mikey replied with a huff. “Not on my watch.” Mira smiled in relief, quietly thanking him with a gentle squeeze back.

By now, Steph had returned, accompanied by a fox mutant and an older gentleman with a fatherly presence. She hurried over, looking genuinely regretful, alternating between worried chirps and apologies while hugging her friend.

“I’m really okay.” Mira told them both softly as she returned the embrace.

She told her their cab was now waiting. The initial reason Steph disappeared was to find somewhere quiet to make the call.

“Oh, I guess… it’s time for me to go.” Releasing Steph from the hug, Mira was hesitant to leave. She’d finally gotten to spend some time with Mikey and wasn’t ready for the night to end just yet.

Mikey, also unwilling to be parted from her so soon, took it upon himself to escort her home. “Hey, Steph, you go ahead with Alastair and James, I’ll get Mira back home.”

Steph chirped her response after Mira had nodded her approval at the idea. “See you at work!”

The atmosphere at the bar had settled back to normal. The patrons were enjoying themselves, the music was playing, and Mikey had offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted. Unlike the man from her awful experience earlier, she knew Mikey was someone she could trust. He would do more than just ensure her safe return; he would protect her with his life if necessary. She felt truly blessed to have gained such wonderful friends, and perhaps something more where Mikey was concerned. One thing was certain: she was part of something bigger now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

End

Taglist

@thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus @the-cauldron-witch

@thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28 @definitely-canon

@scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs @fyreball66 @yorshie @jenuinelycurious

@chadobi

[ttheggrimrreaper]

Cats Out of the Bag

Chapter one

if you would like to be tagged in future posts for this fic, let me know!

Divider made by:huraxy

Art credit: feenwege on twt or X

word count:2,031

Tag list:

masterlist next chapter

The door to your clinic slammed open. You flinched, no one else was around, and it was 10 minutes till closing. Your eyes wide as a man dressed in all black held a orange cat against his chest. “Hey, hey help me out. Shes really hurt and I dont know what to do but she needs help.” He panicked, taking big and quick steps towards you. “Alright, Ive got her calm down” You tried to deescalate situations, as animals thrive on their owners reactions. When their owner is worried, they worry. So by calming that cats owner, she should calm down. You guided them to the first available room and had the man set the cat on the exam table as you pulled on your gloves. “You did good bringing her in so fast.” You praised him as you looked started to take her vitals. Her breathing was fine just a little quick, temperature was normal, no broken bones. What you were worried about was how this was going to affect her pregnancy. “Is she gonna be okay?” He asked quietly, like he was scared to know the answer. “Yeah, Shes gonna be alright. Looks like she got cut up by another animal and burnt out of energy.” You sighed, poor thing. Her fur was all matted and bloody, but no stitches needed.  You moved efficiently, cleaning her wounds and fur, making sure the growing kits were doing fine. The cat was falling asleep, eyes slowly blinking closed and tail coming to a stop. “Shes dehydrated, but well keep her overnight and pump some fluids into her.”

Ino fidgeted, just nodded. You settled her down in a blanket. She should be knocked out for the whole night, and with the iv line attached to her, she should be bouncing back in the morning with nothing but soreness. You turned off the light and walked out of the exam room, still seeing the man pressing his fingers together. “Hey, cats are pretty resilient. Shes gonna be fine. Oh, whats her name?” You figured you would try to start a conversation to lighten the situation for the poor man.

“I dunno, I just found her and I.. I couldnt just walk away.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. Your eyes widened, okay then…

“Oh.. well.. Well that sure causes a problem.” You winced, would it? No. No its fine. “Well.. maybe not. I will just submit her to the TNR program.” You sighed, talking yourself through it.

“TNR?”

“Trap-Neuter-Return. They take the cat, neuter it and then return it.. Although in her case they will just skip the neuter part.” You nodded, you havent ever been asked to neuter a already pregnant cat, so that part you were unsure of.

“She cant go back out there! Cant you keep her here!?” It was a stupid question but Ino was genuinely only wanting whats best for the cat. “I can take her!”

“You dont have to do that, shes not helpless.” You crossed your arms.

“Yes, but I want too. I-Ive been meaning to get a cat anyway” he lied through his teeth, not his best lie, but he hoped it was enough that you would take pity and let him keep her.

“Fine. But I need to see her every 2 weeks alright? Shes feral, she is going to fuck you up if you so much as look at her wrong.” You said, and you meant it. As much as you loved orange cats, they seemed to have a temper like no other, and combining that with a feral cat, well.. Wasnt the best house pet. He just nodded along, like he had any clue how to handle it. 

“Well I guess I am gonna just have to figure it out.”

You groaned, you feared that both the man himself, and the cat, were screwed. “Here, take my personal number. Text me if you need anything or if she starts acting weird.” You waited for him to pull out his phone before you typed in your number. “My names Y/n L/n” “Ino Takuma, thanks for the help.” “Well it is my job.” You nodded, and he did too, chuckling softly. He seemed to relax, and truly take in the situation. Everything was going to be fine, perfectly fine. “So umm… shes kinda fat huh?” He spoke, clearly trying to be humorous, you paused. So he didnt know? Great. Now he gonna take back his offer. You groaned. “No, shes 5 weeks pregnant, and in 4 weeks, shes going into labor, or around that.” You watched as Inos eyes widened. Just blinking and processing the information. “.....well… what a surprise.” He seemed to be just trying to talk to keep the conversation going, less so because he actually knew how to react. “Welp, I should probably get a couple of beds huh?” “Your not taking back your offer?” “Nope! Plus you can sell the kittens cant you?” he tilted his head, brightening up with each passing second. “Yeah, alright fair enough Ino.” You nodded, hand to give it to him, he did seem prepared to take on this challenge. “I will text you the care instructions. Its late and I gotta get home, so do you I would assume? Pick her up in the morning alright?” Ino nodded. “Yeah, morning I got it. Any suggestions for stuff I should buy?” “Well basic cat stuff yeah? Bed, food, bowls, litter box, litter, toys, I would suggest getting some of the catnip, ya know,.. To drug her up and make her more manageable." You gave your advice, while catnip did sometimes make cats go crazy, they usually crashed soon and are super easy to handle. “Never thought I would be told to actively drug something up” “First time for everything bud. Take care of yourself.” You patted his back as you walked out of the practice, locking up after he walked out. “Good night.” “Night y/n!” He smiled, before turning to go the opposite direction you were. What a fun dude, a little silly yeah, but fun never the less.

Ino was at the door before you were, carrier in hand and waiting. You paused as you got out of the car.. Damn, he really was serious. You were borderline convinced he would not be coming back for the poor thing. “ You brought a carrier? Nice move”

“Yeah, the lady at the store said I was gonna need one. I did alot of reading last night, and I didn't know what kind of toy shed like so I panicked and bought alot.” He lifted a large bag.. He wasnt kidding. That was alot of damned cat toys.

You snorted. “Thats a good start.” You unlocked the door to your practice, holding it open for Ino and his army of cat toys. “Lets go get her yeah?” he nodded and followed you to the cats resting space.. And it was a war to get her inside the damned carrier, hissing and clawing. Lots of yelling from both of you. But eventually it happened, and he walked out with a shaking carrier box, the she-cat yowling to be let out.

Youd been texting Ino non stop. Hes been asking why she does this, why that, what to do to fix it, and thankfully you knew. And it was cute to see how worried he was about this poor thing. Hed sent you photos and videos of her messing around with the cat toys, she seemed to enjoy them, purring softly. Some of the videos were of her lazing around in the sun, just enjoying life and what it had to offer. Lots of hissing whenever ino got a little to close though. She was quick to let him know that while they live together, she owns the space.

He was just so sweet, on and offline. In person he was so attentive on what you said, and then he would hang out with you on your breaks if they were after his appointment. Hes a little bit of a mess, and flirt no doubt. But hes driven, and really fucking cute.

You love how he tilts his head so dramatically when confused, eyes wide and filled with wonder and waiting for you to just explain the damned thing to him.

Hes such a sweet talker too. Whenever you got mad at him for saying some dumb as fuck stupid shit, he always made a comment to make it go away. “Yes, keep getting mad, you look so pretty when you do” “Aww dont pout, you know I cant handle your cute little face when you do that” He was getting touchy too, hugging you, he even kissed your cheek at some point. Not that you minded. But your favorite part was how you would talk for hours on the phone at night… There was a video where at one point you thought you were about to be flashed by a naked ino, as all you heard for a moment was a gasp and then the shower curtain, it was just the cat trying to fight it. Clawing at the curtain. “Hey! Hey stop that!” He shouted, then chuckled as she ran off a few steps, then looked over her shoulder and glared at him. “Glare all you want mama, you got cat toys to fuck up instead of my curtain.” He pet her back, and then she launched herself at him. “HEY MY BAD! OH MY GOD-HELP!” The video continued with the sound of clattering and the cat hissing, Ino telling her to stop and that hes sorry. The video finally ended when he dropped the phone. You saved the video. It was way too cute not too! Poor Ino though, you had some confidence that the cat won the battle. You just needed the evidence about his cat dad adventures. God. how was going to handle a few more of her!? Even if he plans to sell them, hes gotta keep them for a few week minimum. You lie in bed, smiling as you thought. And to no ones surprise,atleast not your own, your thoughts were all about him. Dare say you might be getting a small crush on the crazy guy. Hes so funny, stupid but silly. Oblivious yet somehow insightful at times. But most of all, hes just so damned carrying. He asked about your day, what you had for breakfast, if you had any animals, He asked every question you would think of.  Your phone went off next to you, you hesitated to check it, not wanting to leave your thoughts. But you did a couple moments later, to be polite. You wanted it to be Ino, and thankfully, it was. His stupid little profile picture of him trying to tear open a package of candy. It was one of the harder ones, that you need scissors for. His mouth was tearing the corner, hands clawing at the other. He says he looks horrible, you think hes never looked cuter.

Tabby cat: (yes thats your contact for him, he just seems like he would be an orange tabby to you) SHE WONT FUCKING STOP EATING MY CURTIAN! Dr. Cat Whisperer 😼: (No hes not sorry at all about it) Spray it down with citrus perfume, she wont like the smell and leave it alone Tabby cat: She better if she wants to keep getting catnip every meal Dr. Cat Whisperer 😼: EVERY MEAL!? Ino I said drug her up, not turn her into a stoner! Tabby cat: My bad! Maybe that should be her name; Stoner Dr. Cat Whisperer 😼: Dont you fucking dare. But.. you really should give her name It only just occurred to you, that after 2 week of talking and having this cat.. She still didnt have a name. Tabby cat: fine, how about….

[ojsimpsondidit]

Beasts and Burnouts- Megan Skiendel (Part 2)

Angsty Version

"You're her anchor."

The silence between Sophia's last words and your own breath stretched too long.

Your throat closed. "That's not possible," you whispered.

But Megan was already backing up.

You didn't even have to say it aloud. She'd heard.

Her eyes were wide now- not glowing, not sharp.

Just... startled. Like a deer that'd wandered too far into town.

"Megan-"

"I didn't mean to," she blurted, hands up, voice too high, too human. "I didn't mean to do anything."

You lowered the phone slowly, not even registering that Sophia was still talking.

Megan took another step back.

"I didn't even know if you'd see me," she said, voice shaking now. "I was going to say something. I- I tried to say something. But you- you kissed me back."

"You kissed me," you said, eyes narrowing.

"I panicked!" she cried, running both hands through her hair. "I was trying to be suave! And spooky! And cool!"

"You were none of those things!"

"I know!!"

She sounded like she was going to cry. Or combust.

Or both.

You blinked, suddenly more confused than angry.

She was supposed to be ancient. Dangerous.

Mysterious.

Instead she was clutching her slushy cup like a lifeline and pacing in frantic little half-circles on the sidewalk.

"I didn't think it would bind," she muttered. "It's so rare. It's always been rare. The last time it happened I was in France, and there were like five comets and a sacred tree involved-"

"Megan."

"-and she didn't kiss me back. So it didn't count. I checked."

"Megan."

She froze.

You stepped closer.

Her ears flicked into visibility for a split second before she forced them down again.

"What does it mean," you spoke quietly. "To be youranchor?"

Megan swallowed.

You could see it now- underneath the ancient, underneath the posturing. The fear.

"It means," she murmured shamefully, "that I... stay."

You blinked. "What?"

"I don't usually," she continued. "I go. I appear, I haunt, l... collect things. Energy. Memory. All that." She made a vague swirl gesture. "But if I anchor... if someone sees me, really sees me, and lets me... in, even just for a moment..."

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I don't get to leave."

You stared at her.

"Ever?" you asked incredulously.

She shook her head, once.

Your chest tightened.

Megan tried to laugh. "So congratulations. You broke the fox. You glitched the ghost. You domesticated a chaos spirit who once made a 13th century monk swear off soup."

You didn't smile.

Neither did she.

"I didn't do it on purpose," she said again. "But I can feel it. I'm tethered. To you."

Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. "Does that... hurt?"

Megan hesitated.

Then:

"No."

She looked up at you, terrified and hopeful all at once.

"It's the first time in a long time l've felt... real. Like I don't have to fade when the sun comes up. Like I don't have to hide under coats and fog and dramatic lighting."

You looked down at your hands.

The silence was cavernous.

Megan stood in it, barely breathing, like any sudden movement would snap whatever thread remained between you.

But you didn’t move.

You didn’t say anything.

Your hands had gone cold. Your pulse was echoing somewhere behind your teeth, but the rest of you felt… blank. Like the blood had drained out of the moment. Like your thoughts were trapped underwater.

She was tethered.

To you.

She didn’t want to go.

She couldn’t go.

And you-

You didn’t know what that made you.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to hug her.

You wanted to run until your legs gave out.

You did none of those things.

You just stood there, trembling slightly, the weight of everything settling in like a second skin. The night air was warm, but it felt cold now. Her words kept replaying on loop:

“I don’t get to leave.”

“It’s the first time in a long time I’ve felt real.”

And then- faint, tinny, distant- Sophia’s voice crackled from the phone still clutched in your hand.

“Hello?? Are you okay? Babe, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You blinked.

The world snapped back into focus.

Streetlight. Cracked pavement. Megan’s hand still gripping the edge of her sleeve like she wasn’t sure if she’d been allowed to stay.

You lifted the phone to your ear.

“Can you…” Your voice cracked.

Sophia’s tone sharpened immediately. “Where are you?”

You didn’t answer.

Just said:

“Can you come pick me up?”

There was a pause. “I’m already in the car.”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

Then you hung up.

You didn’t look at Megan.

You couldn’t.

She made a sound- a small exhale. Maybe relief. Maybe dread.

You took a step back, not even registering it.

Megan’s gaze dropped to the sidewalk. She didn’t follow.

Didn’t beg. Didn’t plead.

Just said, very quietly, “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

You said nothing.

Because there was nothing to say.

Not yet.

You turned and walked to the curb.

Megan didn’t stop you.

She stayed there, under the streetlamp, slushy forgotten in her hand, her hoodie too big and her shadow too small.

When Sophia’s car pulled up, you got in wordlessly. She didn’t ask anything at first.

Just drove.

Only after a few blocks did she glance over at you, eyes softer now.

“I brought snacks,” she spoke softly, nudging you gently.

You didn’t laugh.

Just sat there- seeing Megan’s heartbroken eyes in the reflection of the window over and over again.

………………………………………………………………………………….

The lecture hall was too bright.

Too full. Too loud. Too alive.

You sat somewhere in the middle row, pen tapping absently against your notebook as your anthropology professor droned on about ancient burial rituals. Something about clay jars. Spirit coins. The boundary between this world and the next.

You were not thinking about her.

Not about the way her voice cracked when she said “I don’t get to leave.”

Not about how she looked under that flickering streetlamp- caught somewhere between human and not, like a secret trying to curl back in on itself.

Not about her eyes.

God.

Those eyes.

You stared down at your notes. Your handwriting had started to slant. It looked unfamiliar, like someone else had taken over your hand.

A flicker of movement caught your eye at the edge of your vision.

You turned. Nothing.

No Megan. No glowing streak of hair. No long coat trailing behind a corner.

No breath on the back of your neck that wasn’t your own.

But you still felt it.

The tether.

Like an ache in your chest that no one else could see.

Not pain. Not exactly.

More like pressure.

Presence.

The memory of a weight you’d only just realized was keeping you from floating off the earth.

You turned back to your notebook.

Wrote down the words soul vessels in the margin for no reason.

Then crossed them out.

“Still haunted?”

Sophia’s whisper came from beside you.

You hadn’t even noticed her sit down.

You blinked at her. “Not haunted. Just… confused.”

Sophia raised an eyebrow. “You look like someone stole your ghost and didn’t leave a note.”

You rubbed your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Maybe you’re not supposed to do anything. Maybe you’re just supposed to feel it.”

You sighed at your paper. “That sounds like something she’d say.”

Sophia sighed. “Look. I’m not gonna pretend I trust her. I’m still convinced she keeps soul crumbs under her coat like some kind of eldritch trail mix. But… she looked at you like-”

“Don’t,” you muttered.

Sophia shut up.

Because she’d seen it too.

That moment. Those eyes.

Not glowing. Not hungry.

Just… hurt.

Like she hadn’t expected you to leave. Like it had never even occurred to her you could.

The worst part?

You hadn’t even said goodbye.

You just walked away.

Like she was nothing.

You pressed the heel of your hand to your chest. It didn’t help. The ache was still there

The ache stayed with you all day.

Through two lectures, a seminar, and an awkward lunch in the courtyard where Lara tried to joke about it, and Sophia kept looking at you like she was trying to do psychic surgery with her eyeballs.

You smiled. You nodded. You even laughed when Lara mimed Megan’s ears popping up like a cartoon.

But none of it stuck.

Because you couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not the fox.

Not the spirit.

Her.

You hated how soft she’d looked when you walked away. Like someone had pulled all the magic out of her and left just the girl behind.

Fuck. You’re an awful person.

You barely said two words to Sophia when you got home. Just enough to get past the threshold, avoid the “are you okay” trap, and escape to your room.

She didn’t follow. She knew better.

The door clicked shut. You tossed your bag down, turned the lock, and grabbed your laptop like it owed you answers.

Because maybe Megan couldn’t explain this.

But someone could.

You typed: Huli Jing folklore

Then: Chinese fox spirit myths

Then: what happens when a huli jing is anchored

The search results were a mess.

Mythology pages. Reddit threads. Academic papers. Fanfic forums that went way too hard.

But you read everything.

Tales of trickery. Of shape-shifting. Of nine-tailed foxes who stole kings’ hearts and swallowed dreams whole.

But also:

They bond when seen.

Not physically, not even spiritually. Emotionally. Intimately.

To truly see a Huli Jing is to name her truth- and to invite her to stay.

Your fingers paused.

You scrolled further.

The anchor is rare. Dangerous. Intimate.

It tethers the fox to this world. It forces her to exist. Not as legend- but as woman.

It is not always mutual. It is not always safe. But when it is… the fox will burn for her anchor until her soul dims.

You sat back.

The air in your room suddenly felt thinner.

You remembered how she said you burn.

How she trembled when you didn’t run.

How she kissed you like it hurt her to hold back.

You scrubbed a hand down your face.

Then you clicked on a deeper link.

This one was older- more obscure. It mentioned the idea of mirroring.

If the fox is bound to the anchor, the anchor begins to reflect the fox.

A shared bond. Sensory echoes. Emotional bleed.

The closer they get, the more the anchor begins to dream in fox.

You blinked.

Because you’d had a dream last night.

You’d forgotten it until now- but-

A forest.

A silver sky.

You were running barefoot, leaves underfoot, laughter in your throat that didn’t sound like your own.

Something soft had brushed your cheek.

A tail? A kiss?

You weren’t sure.

But when you woke up, your heart had felt too big for your chest.

You sat in the quiet now, laptop glowing in the dark.

The ache was still there.

But it wasn’t emptiness anymore.

It was the pull.

You didn’t know what you wanted from her.

Or what she wanted from you.

But you knew this:

She was still out there.

Watching.

Hoping.

And she was terrified.

Because for once, Megan didn’t get to vanish with the moonlight.

She had to stay.

And maybe- just maybe- you didn’t want her to do that alone.

………………………………………………………………………………….

You lit the cinnamon stick three different times before admitting it smelled more like expired oatmeal than ancient magic. “Okay,” you muttered, wafting smoke toward your window. “Candle: check. Moonlight: check. Possible psychic trauma: check.”

Your laptop sat open to a suspiciously vague Tumblr post titled ‘how to summon ur local fox gf (ethically)’.

Sophia would kill you.

You were already dead inside.

You reread the post again:

“Step 1: light incense. Or something that smells nostalgic.”

“Step 2: Sit cross-legged under the moon. Feel the vibes. Become the vibes.”

“Step 3: Think really hard about what you want.”

“Step 4: Say her true name (if you know it). If not, try calling her by a nickname that makes your heart clench a little.”

You stared at your bedroom ceiling, aggressively trying not to cringe. “I’m in hell,” you whispered. “This is hell. I’m casting spells from bisexual Tumblr and I haven’t even eaten dinner.”

Your phone buzzed.

Sophz [8:11PM]:

if I hear one chant or find a single pentagram in the bathroom, I swear to god

You turned your phone face-down. She didn’t understand. No one understood.

You tried again.

Cross-legged. Deep breath. One hand over your chest.

“Megan Skiendel,” you murmured to the ceiling. “I summon thee, chaotic spirit of passive-aggressive flirting and awkward tail management.”

Nothing.

“…Please appear before me in a form that is hot and emotionally available.”

The candle flickered.

You flinched.

Nothing else happened.

“…I didn’t mean naked,” you added hastily, on principle.

Still nothing.

You sighed and flopped onto your rug, arms sprawled out dramatically. “I am so unwell,” you muttered into the floorboards. “This is the emotional equivalent of texting your ex ‘hey’ and hoping they respond with soul-binding affection.”

Outside, a dog barked.

Inside, the candle sputtered again- and promptly died.

You didn’t cry.

You just laid there. Eyes open. Heart aching. Face down on the rug like a deeply cursed teen witch whose spell had failed because she forgot to emotionally ground herself.

And then-

The tiniest sound. A thump.

Like a shoe hitting your balcony railing.

You froze.

Turned your head slowly.

There, standing in the shadows- soaked in moonlight, hood up, and holding a single iced coffee like it was an olive branch-

Was Megan.

She looked nervous as hell.

“…You summoned me,” she spoke weakly.

You stared.

And said the only thing that came to mind:

“…Is that for me?”

Megan nodded. “Peach green tea, two sugars, one existential crisis.”

You sat up. “I thought you couldn’t come back unless I invited you.”

She shuffled awkwardly, ears flicking out from under the hood. “I couldn’t. So I kind of loitered on your fire escape until you whispered my name.”

You blinked. “You were already there?!”

She looked sheepish. “For like an hour. I didn’t want to seem clingy.”

You stared at her.

Then took the drink.

And closed your bedroom window.

Hard.

“Hey- !” she called, face pressed to the glass.

You opened it again. “…Five minutes. Then you explain everything.”

She beamed. “Okay.”

“…And I’m keeping the drink.”

“Fair.”

You sighed, stepped aside, and muttered, “Get in here before Sophia hexes you with vegan wrath.”

She climbed inside- tail knocking over your candle- and promptly tripped over your spellbook.

“Graceful,” you drawl.

“I came back for you,” she muttered, clutching her shoe like it was a bouquet.

Your chest fluttered.

Megan settled herself on the floor, knees pulled up like she was bracing for impact. Her three tails flicked nervously, knocking over a stack of textbooks.

“So,” she began, rubbing the back of her neck, “about all this anchor stuff… it’s not just some romantic metaphysical thing.” She winced. “Well, okay, it kind of is. But it’s also… complicated. Like, cosmic rulebook complicated.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Cosmic rulebook?”

“Yeah. Imagine the universe is this huge, boring paperwork nightmare. And fox spirits like me? We’re… basically freelance contractors who’ve lost the contract and don’t want to pay the late fees.”

You laughed. “So you’re breaking cosmic laws now?”

“Shh, not so loud.” She gave you a faux-shushing finger with a grin. “But yeah, bonding with a human, especially someone like you- it’s like signing a lease without reading the fine print.”

You bit your lip. “And what happens if one of us breaks the lease?”

Megan’s golden eyes darkened for a moment. “Chaos. Bad chaos. Not like ‘oops I forgot to pay rent’ chaos, more like ‘shattered reality and probably some emotional trauma’ chaos.”

You leaned back, considering. “So, what’s the upside?”

She smiled a little, quieter now. “You get me. The real me. Not the scary legend. Not the fox spirit everyone fears. Just… me. And I get you. The real you. All the messy, glowing parts.”

You swallowed, feeling heat creep up your neck.

“So,” you said, voice soft, “this lease?”

Megan looked at you like you’d just asked her to explain taxes.

“It’s long-term. Probably with weird clauses about emotional availability and midnight snacks.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Great,” you said. “I guess I’m stuck with a magical fox disaster.”

“Yeah,” Megan agreed, with a small smile. “But at-least I’m cute?”

You reached out, brushing a strand of pink-streaked hair from her face.

“Cute is a good start.”

She blinked, caught off-guard, and then her ears twitched upward.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

You nod, holding back a sigh. “How long is this…lease?”

Megan’s eyes flicked up to the ceiling like she was scanning a contract she couldn’t quite find.“Indefinite,” she answered, voice low. “Basically forever unless one of us-” she waved a hand vaguely, “-vanishes, dies, or decides to invoke the cosmic break-up clause.”

You snorted. “There’s a cosmic break-up clause?”

“Of course,” she said seriously, then immediately cracked a grin. “But it’s as hard to activate as a rotary phone in a digital age.”

You studied her for a moment, realizing the weird little fox spirit had been trying to sound casual about something that clearly terrified her.

You shifted where you sat, fingers curling into the hem of your hoodie. The room suddenly felt too small. Too quiet. The overhead light flickered once-just a little- and it made the shadows stretch longer than they should have.

“Forever,” you echoed, heart beginning to thump uncomfortably hard against your ribs. “Like… all the time? You and me?”

Megan tilted her head. “Well… not like, surgically attached.” She gave you a crooked smile, trying to lighten it. “I don’t live in your pocket. Unless you want me to. I mean- do humans still wear cargo pants?”

“That’s not the problem,” you shot back quickly. Too quickly.

Megan didn’t move.

Not at first.

She just looked at you- like she couldn’t believe you were real. Like someone had handed her the last page of a book she thought was lost. Like the words had never meant something so much.

Then- slowly- she reached forward and took your hand.

No magic. No glowing eyes. No thunderclap of cosmic destiny.

Just… fingers. Warm, soft. Nervous. Real.

“I’m still probably gonna mess this up,” she said quietly, her thumb brushing your knuckles. “I’m… a mess. I get weird when I’m nervous. I forget how to stand like a normal person. And sometimes my tails knock over furniture.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And I tried to kiss you in a blackout vision thing, which is not cool, in retrospect-”

You cut her off by squeezing her hand. “Megan.”

She shut up instantly, eyes wide.

“You’re not perfect. I’m not perfect. That’s not what this is about.”

You shifted forward a little. Close enough that you could see the faint shimmer of magic under her skin-not glowing, just resting. Like a sea creature at low tide. Breathing slow. Breathing safe.

“I’m still figuring things out,” you admitted. “Still learning how to be… okay with being seen.”

Megan blinked. “But I always saw you.”

“And that’s what scares me,” you said softly. “But also- what makes me want to try.”

A pause.

Then Megan leaned her forehead against yours, just gently.

You could feel her breathe.

Not in the “ethereal fox spirit existing between dimensions” way.

Just in the Megan way.

The “sits cross-legged on your rug in stolen sweatpants” way.

The “panics at emotional intimacy and brings snacks to make up for it” way.

The “you kissed me and I haven’t been the same since” way.

“I promise I won’t poof out of existence the second you turn your back,” she whispered. “Unless, like, it’s a literal emergency. Or Sophia is holding another bottle of toner.”

You smiled despite yourself.

And then, before you could overthink it, you nudged her with your shoulder.

“Come on,” you said. “I have leftover pizza in the fridge and a cursed Netflix algorithm that thinks I love Victorian baking shows. Wanna help me emotionally repress for a few hours?”

Megan blinked at you like you’d just proposed marriage.

“Absolutely.”

You stood and tugged her up with you. She nearly tripped over one of her own tails, muttering something about “grace being a social construct,” but followed anyway, her hand still in yours.

As you pulled open the door to your tiny shared kitchen, Megan hesitated.

You looked back.

“Do you… think Sophia will kill me if she comes home and I’m here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Only if you mess with her sourdough starter.”

Megan grimaced. “Oh god. Not again.”

You stared.

“Nothing! Nothing,” she said quickly. “Let’s just… go eat cold pizza and pretend I’m normal.”

And that- somehow- felt exactly right.

Because maybe you were still scared. Still figuring it out.

But you weren’t alone.

Not anymore.

[kartana]

I have such a problem letting people go. I really don't want people to go.

[alxclaremont]

took a nap to give me the energy to clean my room and pack. woke up feeling every single emotion known to mankind and with a feeling of loneliness so crushing i almost went back to sleep just to ignore it (all of my roommates have left to go home before me and i have been left to my own devices for less than 24 hours). scrolled through twitter and had a moment about landoscar. played roblox a bit. decided to scroll through tumblr. had a brief moment about norstappen where i have now decided i am doing my annual presentation night over BOTH the landoscar and norstappen thesis. this has all happened in the span of 4 hours. i have not moved more than an inch. it is 2 am. i have to leave my apartment at 11 to get to my 12 o'clock class. i'm leaving directly after and have no time to do anything. fuck it we ball i guess

[nezuscribe]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

part two

summary: gojo satoru was the most notorious man across the land. he was the strongest soldier the north had ever produced, the most brilliant of minds, and somebody who slept his way through the noble ranks. his parents set him up in a marriage agreement with you, hoping that a tie with a ring would help save his image. you know gojo never wanted this, and you try to act as if that was normal. but soon, without you or even him realizing it, he comes to the conclusion that while he never wanted this marriage - he's beginning to want you.

warnings: 18+ mdni: arranged marriage, angst, slight no comfort, gojo is emotionally constipated for a bit, heavy making out, eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, (naoya)

word count: 19.7k (sorry)

note: inspired by this drabble. i'm so happy this behemoth of a fic is done!! art credit: _3aem

jjk masterlist + series masterlist

Gojo Satoru was the most powerful man alive. 

Not only physically, though some people chalked him up to being half god, but his name held even more control. The Gojo family of the North was as old as the gods themselves, and they’ve been making sure it’s been kept that way. They owned so much land that you would walk to the ends of the earth and circle back around and it would probably still be theirs. They had armies of unfathomable sizes under their command, so much riches that they could probably buy an entire nation and still have plenty to spend. 

His presence was just as large as his name created him to be. Any ball he went to, all eyes would fall on him. On the battlefield, men feared to see the flash of white hair, knowing that his strength was unbridled. 

And his physical beauty? Most people assumed he was blessed by the gods himself. Gojo had a certain look that just made your knees weak, your heart palpitate, and your cheeks heated up. The handful of times you’ve seen him from afar you’ve been able to understand why all the girls (and some of the guys) yearned for his attention. His eyes were a piercing blue as if somebody had held a mirror to the sky when creating them. His hair had grown whiter with the years, as white as the snow that sunk deep into the grounds of the north. Gojo had the build of a soldier, and he towered over most people. His bulky build was intimidating, but you heard some girls whisper behind their hands about how he must look underneath all those ceremonial garments. 

The lord of the North was power itself. 

Which would make you, by martial association, the North's most powerful lady.

And for somebody who grew up with the same respect as a stable boy, it was all too much too soon. 

And yes, while on paper you still had your father's last name and legacy tied to it, you weren’t really a daughter to your parents. Your mother, though you had to call her by her name whenever you weren’t in public, seeing how she wasn’t really your mother, made sure it was kept that way. Your other three half-sisters should have been in your spot, either one of them more true to the family name than you. But seeing how they’re already married, you were the final resort. 

Gojo Satoru, though you’ve seen him countless times (something common because of how close in ranks your families were), had only acknowledged you a couple of times. You didn’t care much, never did, because that's what you were used to. After all, it was a common fact that you were what they nicknamed “the bastard daughter” of the West.

But it didn’t seem to matter much to his parents, as they offered their son up to you in a marriage arrangement. 

And who were you to turn that down? 

They, his parents, assured you that their son was looking forward to this union. He was the one to offer it, they said, which you were skeptical of but weren’t stupid enough to question. You knew how much Gojo Satoru was tarnishing their reputation with his promiscuous ways, but as long as he was okay with this arrangement you couldn’t find any part of you that would disagree with it. 

After all, you knew that this marriage wasn’t out of love, fascination, or even a mutual understanding, but because of the strength your own family (more so your father) held, and how you were the only feasible option for a bride. 

So, after weeks of rocking back and forth on agreements, paperwork, dress rehearsals, and grueling dancing lessons (and still no sight of the man himself), you found yourself standing at the end of the aisle, your arm linked around your fathers as a large smile plasters itself on your face. 

Ever since you were young you had convinced yourself that the only man who would want to taint his name enough to marry you would have to be either a troll or an ogre, so that fact that your future spouse was human was better than anything you could have asked for. 

And you’re not daft. As your heart hammered loudly against the limited space of your chest, waiting for your cue to start walking, you reminded yourself that this was just a mutual agreement. It’s hard for people at your level to marry for love, but even then, you can’t help but hope that you can make a decent friendship out of this. 

You glanced at your father next to you, catching his eyes as he nodded once, staring ahead of him into the small crowd of just your two families, and patted your arm. 

You still remember the music playing, the instruments harmonizing together as you took a tentative step forward, feeling warm under the eyes of people you didn’t know, but you kept reminding yourself that this was the best thing that could’ve happened to you. Either you died as an old maid in the little room you had near the kitchens at your old home or got married to some warlord who wanted an entire village as family. 

The orchids that surrounded the venue still infiltrate your nose as you think about it, the way the silk of your dress felt against your skin that had been scrubbed raw earlier that morning. 

And there you saw him, standing at the end of the aisle. At that moment you realized how much of a mistake this was,

Because the man that stood there, the man who you were about to marry, seemed like he’d rather be dead than be your husband. 

—

You blink out of your trance, sitting up straighter in your seat as you mindlessly stop tearing up pieces of your bread, rubbing your fingers together to get rid of the remnants of flour. 

The dining hall was huge, far bigger than the one back home. Though you rarely ate there, you could still remember it, and it definitely wasn’t as big as this. Yet, despite its size, you felt like you were a little grain of rice in its vastness. 

The Gojo estate itself was humongous. His parents resided in a smaller house near the ocean now that you’ve moved in, but you would bet that the word humble they used to describe it was anything but humbling. You’ve been here for weeks and yet you feel like you’ve only discovered half of what this place has to offer.

There were guards at every corner, but at this point, you’re convinced they're just for decoration. If your husband is as decorated a warrior as they say he is, he could protect this entire estate with no help necessary. 

You stare at your plate, at the array of food prepared just for you, different sorts of cured meats, loaves of bread, cheeses, fruits, and juices from all over, and still, you feel no hunger. 

Months ago you’d be ecstatic to see how much your life has changed. You get new clothes that fit you, food whenever you desire, people at your beck and call. Your room is no longer that cramped space you’d been given to hide you away from the rest of your family, but twice the size of your father's old bedroom. You wake up earlier and sleep later, do whatever you want, but none of it feels deserved.

The only thing you can bring yourself to think about is how the last time you saw your husband was the night of the wedding. The look on his face when you made your empty vows to one another, his faint lingering kiss on your cheek. You can blink your eyes and still see the way he left, his jaw clenched as he ignored the calls from his parents. How, even here, rumors seemed to follow you. 

Safe to say, you spent your meals alone. 

Not only that, but your rooms were entirely separate as well. You were told that you had to consummate the night of your marriage, but from what you’ve heard, your husband sleeps in an entirely different wing of the estate, with walls and corridors between the two of you. 

You tried taking your mind off of things, pretending as if this was normal. 

Most days you’d walk around, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout of the grounds. You’d walk the gardens a couple times each week, try to memorize the way back to different places, and stay in the library the other half of the time. 

A part of you was happy to at least be away from that miserable home, but it felt like swapping one prison for a slightly better one. Your maids were kind, of course, but you didn’t know anybody here. They treat you like a lady of noble ranking, as expected from being the wife of the Lord in the North, but you’d rather be given an apron and start working around instead of this mind-numbing boredom of just sitting around. 

You stare at your plate, chewing on a grape slowly. 

Looking up you see the sun filtering in through the large windows, illuminating the long table that sits like an empty grave. Clicking your tongue you pick up another grape, slumping in your seat as you look up. 

This is just the way things will be.

—

“Alina?”

You call out from your vanity, staring at your maid as she’s picking out different earrings for you to pick from for dinner. 

It’s a couple of days later, and still no word from Gojo. But that doesn’t mean that you haven’t stopped for a single second to not think about your supposed husband. 

You try not to care, pretend that you’re lucky that he’s not bothering you or going out of his way to remind you of this unfortunate situation, but above anything you just feel alone. 

The maid looks up, a curl falling from her tight bun as she smiles at you in the mirror. 

“Yes, my lady?” She stands up straighter, flattening out the wrinkles from her apron tied around her waist as she begins walking towards you with the jewelry. 

“Is this…is this normal?” You crane your neck around to look at the different pairs she’s holding up, nudging your head to the red ones that shine bright, and watch as she sets them down on your desk, resting her hand on your hip as she stares at you quizzically. 

“What do you mean?” She asks as you begin taking your earrings off, putting the new ones on yourself. In the beginning, she protested, saying that a woman of your caliber shouldn’t have to do such measly tasks. But the more you protested, she eventually gave up. 

“Do husbands and wives usually sleep separately?” you say, feeling your chest contract in embarrassment at the stupidness of your question. 

You watch as she swallows thickly, avoiding eye contact as she sets on fixing some parts of your hair. 

Staring patiently through the vanity mirror as you watch her work, Alina wets her lips, her eyes downcast as if not wanting to answer. 

“Was there somebody else he preferred to marry?” You decide to ask, twisting that knife that you knew was lodged in her side, one that was stopping her from talking, and watch as her eyes widen slightly in shock. 

“If you don’t answer I’m just going to keep asking more uncomfortable questions,” you warn and Alina snorts softly, shoving your shoulder a little bit as you crack a smile. 

She moves around, picking up a necklace, and begins clasping it behind your neck. 

“I…I don’t know. He’s always been pretty secretive and,” she looks at you briefly, “Selective. I don’t mean to speak ill of my lord but it would be stupid not to acknowledge his old ways. But we never heard of a specific girl.”

Alina places a gentle hand on your shoulder, a sad smile on her face. 

“You’re lucky my lady,” she says, her voice hushed, “Most wives don’t have the freedom to say their husbands don’t care what they do. Had you married that Zenin, you’d be pregnant by now.”

You shudder out a breath, nodding once more. 

“I’ll see you after dinner, my lady,” she says, moving out of the way as you stare quietly at the floor before leaving silently. 

—-

Tonight for dinner the cooks made you a wide array of different dishes, all from the Northern shore. There are different types of fish, each cooked in various ways. It looks delectable, a feast fit for a king. 

You feel awful, though, seeing that you can’t eat any of it. 

The last time you had fish your face swelled up and couldn’t breathe properly, so that family physician told you to steer away from it. But you’re here now, and it somehow slipped your mind to ever mention this little fact to them, so you’re awkwardly poking around some of the vegetables under the fish, looking for something to eat. 

You pile some potatoes and carrots on your plate, scraping off any bits of fish on them as you hold this wasn’t your last meal. 

The only sound that fills the room is your fork and knife sometimes hitting the porcelain plate, and you look up every now and then as you chew, looking at the paintings on the wall. 

You’re so focused on a portrait of an old man that you don’t even notice the figure standing at the entrance of the dining hall, not until you hear a muted curse. 

You look up instantly, your fork and knife dropping to the plate as you stare at the man in front of you, eyes wide at the sight of your husband. 

He stands there, blinking slowly as you stare back. 

You could swear time has never moved so slowly before. 

You can hear him mutter a quiet shit under his breath, not knowing if he should make this worse by turning around and leaving or if he should join you. 

He’s wearing a simple tunic, his face a little flushed, hairline beaded with sweat. Did he just come out of training? He must often do that, you decide, seeing how he must’ve felt comfortable enough walking in here without any clothing of import. 

His eyes seem to track your little movements; the way your chest rises and falls in a slow movement, the way your fingers have frozen in mid-air, lips slightly parting. Your eyes dart around the room, everybody seeming to have tensed up.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’ve never been so moved to silence. It seemed as if years of learned vocabulary slipped your mind within an instant, and no matter how hard you tried, nothing was coming back.

Gojo looks behind his shoulder, at the large double doors he entered through, deep in thought. This would be the first time the two of you had seen each other in weeks, and his tirade of avoiding you has come to an end. It looks like an entire battle is being fought in his mind, and you don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, you watch as he shakes his head, deciding to give in and join you for dinner. 

The seconds go by like hours as he walks up to the seat at the other end of the table, staring at his seat for a brief second before he pushes it out and sits there. 

You don’t know what to do. 

Servants and maids quickly swarm the room, setting up his plate, cutlery, food, and drinks. It was all so hectic and rushed, but you were glad that it offered some sort of noise in the drowning silence.

A part of you wants to say something about the fish but you know this isn’t the right time. 

In the flurry of movements you allow yourself to discretely look at him a little better, seeing how the last time you saw him was so brief and hurried. 

The man radiates a different sort of aura you’ve never experienced before. While your father was one of the most powerful men in the West, Gojo was the strongest throughout the majority of the North and East. His frame took up the entire chair, his muscular shoulders and arms visible even through the loose fabric that was draped over him. You feel a little disappointed, knowing that if you were a different girl you’d probably be able to enjoy all of this. 

You try to make yourself seem indifferent, moving some of the vegetables in your plate around, but secretly just trying to shovel them down as fast as humanly possible to get out of this thick atmosphere. 

One of the men who was setting up some of the plates in front of Gojo takes notice of this, a smile overtaking his face as you briefly look up from your plate, startled to see the man walking closer to you.

“My lady, I’m so happy to see you enjoying our Northern delicacy!” He claps his hands together as you stare at him with wide eyes, your mouth still full of potatoes as you try chewing faster to get it all down before he gets closer to you. 

His eyes wrinkle around the edges, his graying mustache trimmed ever so carefully, and you can tell he’s trying to loosen up the tension, but you stare in abject horror as he stands at your foot of the table. 

“Would you like some more?” He motions to the fish that lay untouched in front of you, and you glance over to Gojo, hoping that maybe he is focused on his meal, only for your heart to sink at the fact that he is staring at you. 

“...y-yes,” you croak out, wiping some of the carrot remnants from the corners of your lips as you give him a wobbly smile, “It’s alright, I can serve myself,” you exclaim, trying to thwart him off as he quickly waves this aside, shaking his head as he grabs the tray, beginning to portion some hefty pieces of fish onto your plate.

You don’t have the heart to tell this jolly man that this amount of fish would kill you within an instant, or even that he was wasting this all on you, so you just sit there, giving him a tight-lipped smile as you try not to breathe it in too much. 

“Is that enough, my lady?” He asks, setting the tray down as you look at your plate now full of different sorts of sea creatures you swallow slowly, looking back up at him as you give a wobbly smile. 

“This is great,” you muster up and watch as an even larger smile takes over his face, and you feel awful for it, “Thank you so much,” you tell him, watching as he bows lowly, excusing himself as he, and the other servants, leave the room,

Leaving you and Gojo alone. 

You’re grateful that he’s already dug into his meal, not looking at a struggling you that’s moving the fish around with your fork as you try to find the last bits of vegetables you had saved up for yourself. 

The smell itself is enough to make your stomach turn, and you wince, reaching for your cup of wine to wash some of the nausea down.

“You have very good wine,” you say suddenly, against your will, and have an out-of-body experience as you realize what you just did. 

Gojo looks up from his plate, a little startled as he looks at you and the goblet in your hand, his white brows furrowed. 

He nods once, not saying anything, and you feel the strange need to continue, somehow enjoying the feeling of stabbing yourself in the foot.

“Our wine back home tasted like cow piss,” your eyes widened at your slip of crass language, “Er - not piss, um, urine…?” You wince even more, feeling as if a ghost with awful intentions had taken control over your body, “Not that I’ve had cow piss - urine!” You correct yourself, “But I imagine that if I had…that, um, it would taste like o-our wine back home...”

He’s staring at you, unblinking, and you smile awkwardly, raising the cup to him as a sort of cheers gesture. 

You count twenty seconds of silence in your head as you set the cup down, playing with your fork as you glance back up at him. Gojo looks as if he is regretting his decision to stay, his fingers tapping on his knife in a hurried sort of way. 

“I don’t really like wine,” you continue, feeling like the only thing that could stop you now was if somebody were to bludgeon you to death, “I like juice more. Oh, well, but I guess…wine is juice…?” you mutter to yourself, contradicting your own words mid-sentence, “Back home we had this mulberry juice and it tasted nice. Kind of like your wine,” he’s not even looking at you and so your words die, quieting down as you sink back into your seat, hoping it could eat you entirely. 

“Do you like wine?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, smiling faintly, awkwardly, “Or juice? Or… mulberries…?” 

He shakes his head, still not staring at you. 

“Did you have a good-”

“I prefer eating in silence.” Gojo finally said, raising his head slightly as he stared directly at you, watching as your mouth clamped shut. 

Your smile grows small, eyes falling to the table to hide the embarrassment in them. You give him a brief nod, mumbling a quiet apology under your breath as you begin moving some pieces of carrot around on your plate. 

You can hear the clinking of his utensils against his plate, wishing you could somehow fit an entire fish down your esophagus to escape this moment. 

You give it a couple of seconds, counting the groves in the wood of the table, and rise, stomach empty, heart churning as you finally excuse yourself. 

It only takes you minutes to find your room, quicker than last night, and allow yourself to sink against your bed, rubbing your skin raw of the rouge Alina had applied an hour earlier. 

—-

You don’t tell anybody of the awful encounter with the man that’s legally your husband, but you’re sure that those there to observe have already begun talking about it. You try to pretend nothing happened, but Alina could pick up on your closed-off demeanor that night, her hands gentler than usual when helping you take off your garments, her eyes filled with concern. 

“How was dinner, my lady?” She asked, staring at you as you waved off her worries, mustering up a lame excuse of a smile as you took off your silk shrug, avoiding any sort of eye contact as you slipped into your nightly garments. 

“It was good,” your words are void of emotion, “I had fish.” 

The following days are empty of any sight of your husband, but you’ve grown to find that normal. It doesn’t help that you can’t stop thinking about how idiotic you acted, your big mouth never knowing when to stop, tossing and turning in your bed at your excuse of an interaction. 

You continue with your old routine of walking around the estate, sometimes trying to track down Alina and your other maids, seeing if maybe they had some free time to spend with you. You know there’s a town nearby, the girls often talk about how they go there sometimes at night, but you’re too afraid of going out alone, not used to that sort of thing. 

Sometimes you sit out near the fields with a book, twisting the ring that’s searing into your finger, mindlessly taking in the words on the page. Other days you walk around the gardens, picking out some flowers for the vase in your room. On the days when you’re feeling really adventurous, you’d go near the east wing, where you’ve heard Gojo’s room is, and look at what sort of things lie there. But most times you chicken out, going back near your side just as quickly as you went.

You never see him at dinner again, knowing he wasn’t about to put himself through that torture again, so you go back to eating in silence, sometimes pretending that the chairs were full of people and that you were in one of those balls you longed to go to as a kid.

They seem to keep bringing fish out for you, and it’s in so many days deep that you’re in this sort of limbo where you can’t tell them you’re deathly allergic to it without feeling awful for all the work they’ve put in just to realize it’s gone to waste, so those nights, tonight, for example, you try finding as many vegetables as you can. 

The roasted asparagus and beets are lovely, but there was only so much of it. And you find yourself getting a little bit sick of it too, your stomach-churning as you try to chug as much water as you can to get rid of the dirt after-taste that the beets have.

You thank the cooks and the servants as you leave for the night, your stomach still relatively empty as you get to your room, telling Alina to leave early for the night as you get ready for bed by yourself, wanting to be with yourself just for a little bit. 

You lay on your bed, staring emptily at the ceiling, one hand on your stomach as if gurgling, still hungry for more. You try to sleep, trying to pretend like you were at your old home, those nights when this would be normal, but it’s no use. You’ve been too spoiled at the Gojo estate, and no matter how much you try to ignore the pang of hunger, it continues to bite you back. 

So you find yourself twisting off of the warm comfort of your bed, sitting in silence as you contemplate what you’re about to do, but give in, lighting a candle as you slide into some slippers, leaving your room as you try to find your way down to the kitchens. 

Thankfully, it’s well into the night when everybody is asleep, so this embarrassing walk of shame is only seen by the guards on duty. You walk down the testing staircase, careful to look around the corners for anybody there, but you’re alone. 

You make your way to the kitchens, not hard to find seeing that they’re near the dining hall, and you peep your head inside, a sigh of relief escaping your lips to find that it’s completely deserted. 

At your old home, your room was behind the kitchens. You grew up in a small room, nearly the size of a broom cupboard, but you made do with what you had. One benefit of this situation was that you were raised by the smell of different sorts of food, by people who specialized in the art of cooking. You knew how to make meals that nobody else in your family could even imagine, which you’re grateful for right now as you fumble around the kitchen, trying to find where they put different ingredients. 

You rummage through the cupboards, finding some eggs, bread, cheeses, and seasonings. You’re able to find the pots and pans a few feet away and start assembling everything for a little omelet.  

In your hurry of trying to be quiet and careful, you somehow manage to miss the large shadow figure that’s standing near the doorway, observing you. 

You crack the eggs into a bowl, beating them together with a fork you found, too tired to look for an actual whisk, turning around to throw the eggshells away when a cry of surprise escapes your lips. 

“Oh!” Your heart nearly falls right out of your ribcage, your hands flying to your chest as you find yourself staring at him, cheeks heating the way they seem to do whenever you’re looking at your husband. 

His blue eyes are tracking you, watching what you do, brows furrowed slightly as the two of you can’t do anything but stare at each other. 

“I…” You can’t find anything to say, looking at him and then behind your shoulder, to the things you have found, and swallow thickly, wetting your lips as you straighten your back up, suddenly aware of just how flimsy and bedroom-worthy your outfit is.

You can only stare at the ways his arms are crossed over his chest, biceps bulging, and lips pressed into a thin line. It seems like he wasn’t planning on seeing you here, yet another moment in which he’s probably going to regret somehow finding you in such a large estate.

“I’m making an omelet,” you finally say, your words falling like a whisper from your lips as you point to the eggshells now discarded in the trash, “I tried to be quiet…” you shake your head, eyes dropping from his heavy gaze for a second as you glance back up at him, lips upturned in an apologetic smile, “...sorry.” 

Gojo doesn’t say much, you’ve noticed that, but now you’re wondering if he has some sort of impediment that stops him from speaking to specific people. 

His chest rises briefly as he inhales, his white hair a little tussled as if he were sleeping. It doesn’t make sense why he’d be awoken, though. The kitchens are a far walk from the east wing…?

“I wasn’t asleep,” he finally says as if reading your mind, his voice deep as you feel it rattle your bones.

You nod once, not knowing what to do with the information. 

“Well…um,” you fidget with your fingers, “good, that’s good.” You nod once, as if that was all you were going to say, and look at the slight wrinkles in his clothes, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling naked with the way you’re not wearing any undergarments under your little nightly dress. 

“I’ll call for a cook,” Gojo murmurs, looking you up and down one final time as he turns to leave, seemingly done with this conversation. 

You sputter, shaking your head as you watch him turn to look at you through a confused stare. 

“No! Sorry…no, no need,” you say quickly, taking one step forward as if to stop him, “Please, it’s alright. I can cook myself,” you motion once more to your eggs and little station, noting the way he’s looking at you strangely, and so you feel the need to continue talking, perhaps one of your worst flaws.

Gojo looks at you finally, his fingers tapping on his arm. 

You notice that he’s not wearing his wedding ring, your chest filling with a strange feeling as you try to hide your ring-clad finger. “Do you not like their cooking?” He asks, and it takes a second for you to blink out of your stupor, a weird sensation in your throat as you shake your head slowly, trying to pull your eyes away from his hand. 

“I do,” you assure him, the words falling thickly from your lips, a lump in your chest, “I just feel bad waking them up right now,” you shrug as if you weren’t feeling any of these strange emotions, “And as I said, I can cook…so…” 

He nods, seemingly not believing you, not picking up on the storm that happening inside your head at the fact that he’s not wearing his wedding ring. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t an actual marriage, the ring was only for show. 

“Did you not eat dinner?” He continues, pressing, and your eyes widen slightly. 

You’ve always been terrible at lying, never able to do so. Even when your father's wife continued to drill you on who ate the candies from a party when you were younger, showing her your chocolate-stained fingers that you had hidden behind your back, not even a minute into the interrogation. 

“I did,” you say slowly, rubbing up and down your arms to warm them up from the chill breeze that seems to have picked up from the open windows, “The beets and asparagus were very nice,” you agree, not knowing what else to say without blowing this weird secret you’ve been holding onto. 

His brow raised slightly, lips pursing slightly. 

“And the fish?” 

You swallow once again, fidgeting with the fabric of your slip, your hands, your ring, and you don’t notice the way his eyes fall to the gold on your finger, darting back to your face when he notices you staring at him. 

“I…” you feel your face heating up beyond human measures, laughing awkwardly as you tug at your necklace chain, wishing that you hadn’t made that stupid decision to leave your comfortable bed, should’ve listened to your gut instead of your stomach, cursing your past self for being so rash, “I, um, I can’t…eat…fish.” 

Gojo’s stoic face, so sure and confident, seems to falter for a brief second.

His arms tighten over his chest. 

“...what?” He eventually asks after a couple of seconds of mind-bending silence, his head tipping in utter confusion as you sway from side to side on your feet, chewing your lips raw as you wish the ground could open up and never spit you back out. 

“The fish always looks great, don’t get me wrong,” you say quickly as if that’s going to do anything, “But I can’t eat fish. Otherwise I’ll swell right up and um, die…probably,” you wince at how bad you are at talking to people, your husband especially.

He lets out a little puff of air that sounds like a shocked scoff, eyes falling to the floor as he shakes his head, not understanding what you are saying. 

“But they’ve been cooking fish almost…four times a week?” 

You nod, smiling awkwardly, looking at the painting of a fish on the wall as you look back at him. 

“They have,” you affirm, leaning against a counter as he stays frozen in his spot at the door. 

“And you…you can’t have fish?” Gojo questions incredulously. 

“I’ll swell right up,” you repeat with a little smile that he doesn’t mirror, clearly not a man of humor, and you drop your hands to your side, “...kind of like a pufferfish.” You add quietly, looking at the ground as you say it. 

He coughs, his hand covering his mouth as you glance up at him, only to see him trying to hide the shocked laugh that had escaped him.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” He finally continues, and you hate the way all your hard work of just saying quiet isn’t working and is in fact, coming back to bite you in the ass. 

You shrug once more, shoving a grain of rice that was on the floor with the tip of your shoe.

“The first time it happened I figured I’d just tell them next time, but then that man kept on giving me more fish so I felt bad and I just never said anything.” 

Gojo stares at you, his eyes squinting together as if he were figuring out an enigma, a war strategy that even his best generals couldn’t get a grasp of. 

You look away, feeling like a fire was being lit under your skin. 

“Alright,” you say, clapping your hands together as your stomach grumbles once again, reminding you that it is still in desperate need of food, “I’ll be done soon. And I’ll clean up,” you promise, but you doubt he even cares as you begin to inch away from him. 

You watch as a strand of hair falls into his face, watch as he goes to move, never breaking his eye contact with you, until he looks behind you at the eggs and bread, and then to the window behind you, the moon as bright as ever.

He nods a final time, looking over you a final time before he exits. 

You make sure he’s far gone, letting out a heavy breath as you hold yourself up by the table, eyes wide at the fact that you had spoken more than two words to the man who seemed to despise your entire existence. 

You go back to your eggs, whisking them in silence as your mind reels. 

—

Gojo is there, for dinner, the following night. 

You enter the dining room to see him at the end of the table, already eating, and glances up briefly when he sees you walk in. 

Trying to hide the shock on your face you quickly look away, finding the way to your side of the table as you look around to see what they’ve given you tonight. A sigh of fleeting relief escapes your lips at the lack of fish, glad you’ll be going to sleep full of food tonight. 

You serve yourself, piling roasted meats and potatoes onto your plate as you fill your cup with water, not trusting wine after the last time you had it in his presence, and pretend that everything is normal as you pick up your knife and fork. 

His words rang in your mind from the last time, the fact that he ate in silence, so you forced yourself to clam up, knowing that it was probably from the best and save you from any more mortification. 

Your eyes fleet up now and then, grateful that he’s never looking up when you do, and give yourself some time to really take him in. Maybe in another universe where everything was normal, this could’ve just been another regular thing, and you try pretending that it is.

He’s probably only here because of a timing issue, you tell yourself, maybe this was the only time in the middle of training, state affairs, or other things that he was able to have dinner tonight. Yes, yes, that has to be it. 

You look back down at your plate, chewing as quietly as possible, missing the way he lifted his head to look up at you. 

—

Dinner with Gojo becomes a strange weekly occurrence.

The two of you eat in silence a couple of times a week, and every time it happens you’re so sure it’s going to be the last. 

On one of the nights you find yourself accompanied by the man you decide that the silence is more choking than whatever it is you find yourself saying. 

“Have you been notified about this…gathering in a couple of weeks?” 

This gathering was something you were told about that morning by Alina. One of the smaller families allied to the North, the Tokoshi’s, had invited you and your husband to join. 

“Yes,” Gojo says, and you’re a little surprised that he didn’t just give you a faint nod, “It shouldn’t be too big.” 

He cuts off a piece of his lamb, dipping it in some of the gravy as he glances up at you. 

You try to hide your excitement, not only from the fact that he’s spoken to you but also from the fact that this was an actual ball you would be able to go to. You knew that marrying him meant attending more of these sorts of events, but seeing how this was your first one, it was hard to not act a little giddy. 

“You have a lovely library,” you speak after carefully chewing through some of your food, your pointer finger resting on your fork as your legs crossed. 

Gojo glances up at you, those mesmerizing blue eyes finding yours from across the long table. 

“At my old home,” you pause briefly, wondering how he feels when you refer to his estate as your other home, “I wasn’t allowed to go into our library unless my tutors asked to have some of our sessions there. So I just wanted to say thank you for letting me - um, go there,” your words quiet down at the end, looking at the roasted pig in front of you momentarily as you wonder what you were even trying to get. 

He takes a sip of his wine. 

“The grounds are as much mine as they are yours,” he says, but his words sound rehearsed as if he were told to say this. 

“Even the east wing?” 

You regretted it the moment you asked it. 

Shit. 

Gojo opens his mouth and then shuts it. You chew on the inside of your cheek, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything, but it reverts to that same silence that floods your senses and makes you aware of every other sound in the room.

Your burst of what you attempted at comedy seemed to keep coming back instantly in your face, a form of punishment for somebody who never knew how to make uncomfortable situations better.

Suddenly, all of your appetite is lost. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you can only chide yourself, the food in front of you, no matter how good it looked, felt like it would taste like ash on your tongue. You kept feeding this burning fire that was your marriage, expecting your hay-like words to act like water.

There’s a thick tension in the room, and you look around, blinking slowly as you fidget with your fingers. 

You try to go back to eating. 

You were wrong,

That initial silence was better. 

—-

That night you found yourself back in the kitchens. 

You’re wiping at your cheeks, hoping that the therapeutic motions of baking can help alleviate some of your many turmoils. 

When you were younger, you were used to silence. People normally avoided you, and those who didn’t weren’t ever your age. The cooks at your old estate were kind, but they were usually too busy to entertain a little girl. You would usually help the maids out with their washing and folding, rather doing something than nothing. You would listen in on their gossip and stories, always happy to be included. 

You assumed that it would be the same here. 

But the maids assured you that a lady of such high rank shouldn’t be meddling in such lowly tasks, and the cooks here were cooking for such a larger number of people that you knew you couldn’t bother them the way you used to. 

So you find yourself with a lot to say but nobody to say it to. The jokes and ideas that pop into your head fall flat because the old ladies who helped clean the bedsheets and used to laugh hearing them are no longer here. In those moments you’re with Alina or your other maids are sparse, and so you sometimes imagine that if you speak more when Gojo is around, he might warm up to you. 

You also had to remind yourself that your track record with men wasn’t the best either. Those fleeting crushes on some of the other boys who you’d see at balls always ended with them scurrying away from you as if you were the plague. The only other marriage offer you’d gotten was from a man who had struggled with finding a woman who could keep up with his awful ways. So the fact that Gojo Satoru, the most well-known man in the realm, didn’t want much to do with you wasn’t shocking. 

And Alina was right. A lot of wives aren’t as lucky to say their husbands don’t care, but you wondered how it would’ve been if he did. You exclaimed to her a couple of nights ago that you should’ve just married Naoya, but deep inside you knew that’s not what you wanted. A part of you knew ever since you agreed to this arrangement that you wouldn’t be getting an actual husband out of it. 

You sniffle, your eyes blurry. You don’t like crying in front of people, and so you allow yourself to do so in the pale moonlight of the kitchen, the only sound other than your ragged breathing being the repeated sound of flour falling softly in your mixing bowl. 

Baking was something that nobody ever could judge you about. You were good at it, and you knew you could do it with no error. Your cakes and pastries always turned out well, save for the minor problems you ran into as a kid, but you sometimes act like you’re baking for a group of people, about to take it out to see a sea of smiling faces who are happy to see you and your deserts.

“I thought you only cooked when they served fish for dinner.” 

A voice, one that’s seared into your memory, says from behind you. 

It takes everything in you not to jump from surprise, and it takes even more willpower not to turn around. 

You quickly wipe at your cheeks, breathing in to make sure your voice won’t come out in bits and pieces. You keep your back to your husband, continuing to sift your flour in the bowl, a continual motion like waves hitting against the dock.

“I’m baking,” you specify, cringing at the way you sound like you’re fighting a nasty cold. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a beat and does nothing to move. You’re glad he doesn’t, too scared that if he saw your puffy eyes or your tear-stained cheeks he’d begin to think that you have no backbone at all. It felt almost pathetic to have the world's strongest warrior see you recover from crying alone. 

He hums in the back of his throat at your words, and you wonder what he looks like right now. 

“I doubt these walls have seen a lady of such high rank before,” he comments, and you look up briefly from the mountain of white building up in the bowl, “They must whisper to themselves once you leave.” 

You let out a little puff of air, something resembling a soulless laugh. 

“Everyone whispers to themselves after I leave,” you say, reaching for a whisk, “I’ve heard more whispers than my own name.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you quickly try to wipe at the corners of your eyes.

“You come down here a lot,” it’s posed as a question, but Gojo says it like a statement. He must have eyes everywhere, reporting to him what you’re doing. You wouldn’t be shocked, but you just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you begin to whisk your dry ingredients together. 

“I hope it’s okay,” you throw in a pinch of salt as you mix, “I like the kitchen.” 

He let out a little breath as if he was about to chuckle, but then he got confused. You decide to spare him the endless questions that must be going on in his head, wondering why somebody in your position would prefer the kitchens rather than anywhere else. 

“My bedroom used to be behind a kitchen. I’d have to go through the pantry just to reach it,” you turn briefly to grab your bowl with the wet ingredients, pouring it slowly into your flour and sugar mixture, mixing it in slowly and carefully. 

“My father’s wife wanted me out of sight. That estate had never used one of its actual bedrooms to sleep the daughter of a whore,” you can hear him inhale sharply, “I woke up to the sounds of people shouting for different ingredients, to pots and pans clanging against each other. I learned how to cook and bake when I was young, and I usually helped them cook the food my family would eat for dinner.” 

When your batter is all mixed through you go to find the pan you have buttered and dusted with sugar, pouring it in as you wipe off the side of the bowl that had some remnants of batter dripping from it.

“They never asked me to, but I liked it. I liked feeling useful,” you peek over to your side, seeing him leaning against the wall adjacent to you, silent as a mouse. 

You walk over to the other side of the kitchen with your pan, careful with the lid to the brick oven, heated with the fire you had lit an hour ago, and slide your cake pan into it, closing it shut as you stand up straight. 

Finally, you look over at him. 

His eyes rake over your face, lingering on the circles underneath your eyes, the redness that stained the whites of them. He’s clad in the simple tunic and breeches he had worn to dinner hours ago, his large shoulders leaning on the wall as his arms lay crossed over his chest. 

“I won’t go to the east wing,” you say in a whisper, your voice quiet but heavy as it falls from your lips as a promise, trying to muster up a smile but it comes out wobbly, “I was just trying to make you laugh.” 

His lips looked pinker than usual as if he had been chewing on them, something you often did when you were deep in thought. His white hair had been messily pushed back as if his fingers had been combing through them continuously. 

“These grounds are yours,” Gojo says, his words thick from his throat. His exhale and inhale mirror the way you breathe, your two chests rising as though living with the same lungs.

You shrug, a melancholy look on your face as you shake your head. 

“Maybe if I was your wife,” your words are said without any malice, “But I’m just another person who sleeps here.” 

Gojo tilts his head slightly as if your statement had somehow wrenched itself into his mind, weighing it down. Even in the limited light, you could see the way he looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I know I took away your chance to marry somebody you actually wanted, but my father told me you were okay with the arrangement. I wouldn’t have agreed to it otherwise,” you twist your wedding ring around your finger mindlessly, a little habit you’ve grown over the weeks here, “I never wanted to be selfish, and I truthfully never wanted a husband. I just wanted a friend.”

—

Ever since that night, you eat your meals in your room. 

Alina protested, saying it’s not right to eat alone, but you told her not to think about it, saying how you liked the silence. 

You mustered up the courage to ask some of the coachmen to take you to the nearby town, starting by looking around at the little shops, keeping a hood over your head in case somebody saw a new stranger.

Sometimes you’d go inside the shops, finding little trinkets that you thought your maids might like, or ornaments that might help fill up the empty spots around your room. You’ve never been able to decorate before with how small your old room was, so you decided to take advantage of its space.

When you’re walking around you sometimes see Gojo, either in the training yard or walking around with one of his advisors. There have been moments when the two of you catch each other's stares from across the room, but you’re always the first to look away, making sure you’re going in a different direction than him. 

You knew that you’d have to talk to him eventually, especially with the gathering that was coming up at the Tokoshi manor, but each night you pretended it was another day away, instead of one day closer. 

Your maids came bustling in and out of your room more often than usual with preparations for the night that was closing in, shoving you into different dresses, not satisfied until they found the right one.

Alina noticed your shift in demeanor, never picking and prodding at it, but silently observing. You could tell she knew something was wrong, but you didn’t know how to put exactly what you were feeling in words. 

It didn’t help that the closer you got to the night of the event Gojo seemed to be everywhere you were. The gardens, the library, the field, the stables. He probably just had business to attend to, but it didn’t help that whenever he saw you it looked like he wanted to say something. It also didn’t help that you’d scurry away when you saw him open his mouth. 

The weeks turned into days, the days into a day, and that day into hours and you found yourself perched uncomfortably on a chair as three different women attended to your face, hair, and accessories. 

You watch them work silently, taking in all the jewelry and makeup that you’ve been looking forward to wearing. It’s nothing too drastic, but that 

girl who longed to wear pretty things inside of you is gleaming right now. 

“…Lord Gojo requested for her to wear another pair of earrings,” one of your maids says, looking at the earrings Alina had picked out for you. 

Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, watching Alina as she perks an eyebrow up. 

“When did he request that?” 

The older lady looks at you in the mirror and then at Alina. 

“A couple of nights ago,” she shows Alina another pair, a sapphire one that seems to gleam brightly, “he dropped them off when she was…away…” the maid trails off, noticing the fact that you were eavesdropping.

Your eyes dart away as if that would help, but she quickly changes the topic, and you huff in annoyance as Alina sends you a knowing look.  

“Your husband is a strange man,” Alina mutters in your ear as you giggle quietly, rolling your eyes as she playfully shoves your shoulder. 

You don’t say anything in retaliation, and sit back as you put in your new earrings, grateful that they still complimented the color of your dress, and try to pretend you are going down for dinner rather than a gathering with people you didn’t know. 

You’ve been learning this entire week how to properly hold a spoon and fork, and how to cut your food appropriately. You’ve been taking dancing lessons, discovered how to properly greet people, and even learned how to gracefully enter and exit a horse-drawn carriage. All things you should’ve probably learned earlier, but were never able to. 

Alina helps you out of the chair when they are all done, giving you a second to look into the mirror. The dress they had wrangled you into was beautiful, your hair done in the way you liked. You thanked them all, expressing your endless gratitude for their hard work. 

You take a deep breath as you exit the room and go out into the hall, leading yourself down the stairs and through multiple corridors, trying to calm down your palpitating heart. 

It takes a few minutes but you find yourself at the front of the manor, standing alone and looking around, trying to see if you were at the wrong place. But in the distance, you can see the coachmen and the carriage, the door shut, still waiting for you. 

You take a tentative step forward, nearing the entranceway that leads outside, but feel a soft touch hovering above your elbow. 

It’s strange how he usually finds you before you find him, but as somebody who’s trained to know and find things before others do, you suppose it makes sense. You glance to your side, already expecting to see those cerulean eyes as you look up. 

Gojo looks good, somehow better than usual. 

He’s clad in dark blue garments, intricate with Northern design, and your eyes look up and down his entire body. His usual muscular build seems to be outlined by the stretch of his overcoat, the way the fabric is sitting snugly over his chest. 

He seems to be doing the same, though. You can feel his gaze drop to your dress, to the way your lips are a little redder than usual, your hair done in a way that suits your face. His eyes linger on your ears, and there’s a small, barely noticeable tug to the corners of his lips. 

“Ready?” Gojo asks, the first time he’s spoken in a couple of weeks, and you hum. 

He takes his hand away from your elbow as he rests it on the small of your back, and you feel heat travel from his fingertips through the fabric, through your corset, your undergarments, and straight to your skin. 

They bring the carriage out a little closer, a coachman opening the door for you. You brace yourself, heaving your dress upwards as you go to grasp the rail on the side.

But Gojo moves swiftly, offering you his glove-clad hand as you look over at him in surprise, taking it after a moment of hesitation, and haul yourself inside. 

It’s far bigger than the one you usually take to town, and you settle for a corner on the left-hand side near the window. The walls of the carriage are lined with this sort of fabric that feels like it’s lighter than a cloud, colored the traditional blue of the Gojo family. You’d guess it could fit at least an entire family comfortably, so you’re not too worried about the underskirt of your dress taking up too much space.

You watch Gojo follow you in. He looks around, having to duck his head (and a lot of his back) as he sits in front of you, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

The two of you sit in awkward silence, your gaze settled on the door that they shut after Gojo entered, and your eyes quickly fall to your hands resting in your lap, neatly folded.

The carriage starts a little bit later, the wheels humming to life as the coachmen yip at the horses to start. The sudden rocking movement that you’ve become familiar with sways you side to side, and suddenly you're totally aware of the fact that you’re alone in a limited space with the man you’ve been avoiding for the better half of two weeks. 

You can feel his stare boring into the side of your head, can hear the way his breathing is coming out strangely as if he wanted to talk, but kept stopping himself off before he could say a word. 

“Did you like the earrings?” Gojo finally asks, and you glance up, eyes narrowing for a second in confusion as realization suddenly comes rushing in. 

“Hm? O-oh, yes!” You quickly stutter out, your hands flying to your ears as if you forgot they were there, “Yes, thank you. They were beautiful. They kind of looked like the inside of a belly button,” you say.

Your husband blinks, brows furrowed slightly as you think about what you had just said, eyes wide in shock.  

“Er…well, gods, no, not bellybuttons,” your head falls to your hands as you shake your head profusely, “Sorry, they don’t look like belly buttons-” 

But you stop when you hear a small laugh from him, quiet as he looks away for a second, a tiny slightly visible grin on his face as he looks back at you. 

“Did you know that sometimes,” his eyes are a little upturned as if he fighting back an actual smile, “I make a bet with myself about what you’re going to say?” 

You smile slightly, your head cocking to the side. 

“Have you ever won?” 

Gojo chuckles, and your eyes suddenly fall to his hand, at the way he’s fidgeting with his ring, his wedding ring, the same way you seem to do whenever you’re thinking about everything and anything all at once. 

“Not once.” 

You grin, and though you still feel this heavy weight of unspoken things resting in the middle of you two, you decide not to acknowledge it at the moment. Things unsaid, unheard, weaved through the air, tying you and him together like a tapestry. 

You fidget with your skirt, looking out the window at the moving scenery. 

Gojo breathes deeply through his nose, his pointed finger tapping on his thigh. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he finally says, and your eyes dart away from the trees and the sky to look over at him. 

His bottom lip is caught underneath his teeth, his blue eyes shining with a different hue. He takes up a lot of room with just his size alone, but it looks like he’s trying to make himself seem less intimidating, less of a warrior, and more of a…person.

You don’t say anything, opting to stay quiet to see what it is that he is trying to formulate into words. 

“That night,” Gojo twists his ring back and forth with his thumb, “I…” It’s weird to see somebody so sure of themself struggle to speak, and your brows crease in the middle, not knowing what it was he was trying to get at. 

“I wanted to tell you that you too had a right to a good husband. Somebody who didn't rush you into a marriage because of his own mistakes…somebody you wanted.”

Where is he going with this?

You suddenly feel your throat dry up, swallowing thickly as Gojo looks out the window momentarily before looking back at you. 

“My parents never told me who I’d be marrying,” Gojo explains, his voice hoarse, “I figured out the day of the wedding,” he twisted his wedding ring, looking at the way it shined, “And I wanted to hate you,” 

His words punch you square in the gut, but you can only bring yourself to keep on looking at him.

“I wanted to hate you so much because it would be easier to act like this wasn’t my fault if I could…but,” he sighs, his chest rising and falling, “I don’t think it’s possible to hate you.” 

Your lip trembles slgihtly, a sheen over your eyes. What is he doing?

“I’ve been raised in a way most people our age aren’t. My parents wanted me to be the strongest so was put into training since I was four, and I think this entire time I’ve been trying to approach you like a…military strategy. You were this map in my head that no matter how I approached it nothing made sense. But that night, in the kitchen, everything finally did.” 

Your eyes flitter downwards so that he couldn’t see the waver in them

“You didn’t deserve how you were treated in your old life, nor this new one,” his hand covers his chest, and you feel lightheaded, “And I promise to you I’ll do everything in my power to make this one better. If you don’t want me as a husband, than as a friend.

“I’d like to be your friend, if you’d allow me,” he whispers thickly, his voice heavy. He fidgets with his fingers, moving them together and back out again, and you notice how he does this a lot whenever you’re near.

Your heart is beating so quickly that you feel like it's going to stop, and your mind is working so hectically that you don’t know what to think. This is the same man who looked at you as if you had torn down the moon and stars when he saw you the first time, the man who never seemed to be that interested in what it is you had to say. The very same person who would’ve rather married a broomstick than you. 

…right? 

And yet he’s here, asking to be your friend. Something that nobody has ever asked before, something that people wouldn’t ever dare to murmur out loud to you. He had no beneficial gain from doing this, no ally that he would please if he offered to be your friend.

Your heart twists because why does he look like he cares about what you say? His eyes are creased slightly around the edges, his lips pressed together as if he were preparing for whatever outcome it was to what you said.

Nobody has ever told you those things, the things that made years of pain and hurt strummed into one beat that your heart never wanted to drum to. This man, your husband, Gojo, was supposed to be another cog in that old machine, one that hummed and spurred like it was about to eat you alive. 

But the more you look at him, the more you let your unspoken words speak in silence for you, you realise that he isn’t lying.

You open your mouth to speak but are cut off when the carriage comes to a sudden halt. 

The two of you look at each other and then to the door, watching as it opens up, greeted to the sight of a large manor with multiple people walking in hand in hand. You swallow your bile, not knowing what to say, deciding to flee instead of face him like you should’ve. 

—

The gathering itself was far more boring than you imagined it to be. 

You and Gojo had the mutual understanding to act more…well, like a couple, than you actually were. You didn’t comment on the way his arm circled around your waist a couple of minutes into making your rounds talking with people or the endearing way he referred to you as my wife. 

You’re glad that he doesn’t do anything to talk about what he had told you in the carriage whenever the two of you were alone, acting like nothing was wrong and everything was normal as he inquired about your day. 

You told him brief things, still trying to shove his words out of your mind, but it was no use. I’d like to be your friend, your mind kept repeating, and you were too scared of brining it up in case he had changed his mind in between those minutes of quiet.

People you had never seen before congratulated you on your new marriage, their brows raised in that excited way as they motioned to your stomach, hinting at a special little someone who might be joining your lives soon. 

“Soon!” You said with a curt laugh, glancing momentarily at Gojo only to see him already looking at you, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

He made sure not to stay with people who were strangers to you for too long, not wanting to bore you to death, and allowed you to take in more of the well-lit and vastly decorated manor. 

Though its size was incomparable to the Gojo estate, it was still massive. The Tokoshi family had been a family with the Gojo one for centuries, so there was no question that the riches they had amassed over the years by being trading partners with them had culminated in this. 

Gojo told you earlier in the carriage, before everything else, how the young Tokoshi couple were good people. They liked to throw parties a couple of times a year, inviting only a select few. He liked them far more than a lot of the other people he had been forced to grow up with over the years. 

You look at the dining hall, at the corridors with openings that allow you to look outside without the glare of glass. His arm never left your body, holding you close to him as he let you walk around, your mouth hanging open slightly as you craned your neck to look at everything. Candles were lit everywhere, the bouquets of different assortments of flowers decorating the stone flower holders carved into the walls. 

You mentioned to him in the privacy of the carriage, that you hadn’t ever been able to experience a party of this sort of caliber before. You could see how he wanted to ask more questions, but you could see the answers already formulating his head as to why.

“We probably look like one of those couples where the wife’s dying and the husband takes her out to see the stars one last time,” you whisper to him, still looking around in a stunned sort of way at the beauty of it all. 

Gojo’s head ducks down a bit, trying to hide the chuckle that had broken out and made its way onto his face. He coughs into his fist as if that was the issue, but you look over at him to see the humor in his eyes. 

“Did you lose your bet again?” You ask, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he looks like he’s fighting the grin that’s threatening to take over. 

“I’m always losing that bet,” he tells you.

Though he doesn’t do anything to bring up his conversation, you can see it in the way he looks at you, as if he’s still teetering on an edge, wanting to know what you were thinking in that frazzled mind of yours. 

You decide to push past it.

“Can I get in on it?” You ask, turning slightly so that you face him, very aware of the fact that his hand hasn’t moved from its spot on your waist.

You try not to think about it, reminding yourself that it’s just for show, but you can’t stop the feeling of heat that travels wherever it is he seems to touch you. His hand is larger than an average one, his fingers moving mindlessly up and down on your corseted stomach. 

“Do you need the extra coin?” His voice is carrying a strange tone…is he teasing you? 

But again, you try not to think about it, it’s all for show, (you also try not to think too much of the fact that you’re pretty separated from everybody else).

“No, I just need coin,” you explain, fixing one of the medallions on his chest that had been slightly slanted, “I have nearly nothing left.” 

Gojo moves barely away from you, his eyes searching yours as if to find the joke. 

“Have you run through my family gold already?” His voice is still toying, but now it’s filled with a little confusion. 

“No, of course not,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you tilt your chin up to look at him better, “I haven’t touched any of your gold. I just ran through mine.” 

His brows quirks upward, mouth parting slightly. 

“You’ve emptied the gold your family sent up?” 

It’s your turn to be confused. 

“What gold?” You ask, moving away from him, his hand falling to his side, and you suddenly miss his warmth. 

You remember your father talking about how the Gojo family had rejected your initial dowry, saying something along the lines of outlandish practices, but aside from that, you weren’t told about any other sort of money that was supposed to be sent with you. 

He pinches the bridges of his nose, sighing deeply. 

“The gold that they sent with you? It wasn’t supposed to be a lot but it was supposed to suffice for the journey here.” 

You blink owlishly at him. 

“What gold have you run through?” He specifies, plastering on a fake smile when he catches the eyes of somebody behind you, but then focuses his stare back to you. 

“Well…” you shrug, “My gold.” 

Gojo looks like he’s about to make a new bet, one that’s with every time you’ve almost given him an aneurysm trying to figure out your strange riddles and rhymes that are supposed to be actual words. 

“I used to make some gold at my old home,” you explain, keeping your voice low in case somebody was somewhere that you hadn’t seen, but realizing that Gojo was lost, you continued, “The stable boy gave me some of his salary if I took care of the horses and cleaned the stables. Sometimes he’d give me extra if I could haul in the large bags of hay.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head slightly. 

“Why?” That seems to be a question he’s been asking lately. 

You shrug again, feeling his hand circle back around your waist as some people come near you, 

“I needed new clothes and my shoes had holes in them. My father’s wife didn’t let him give me much, so I tried to fill in the gaps.”

You smile at one of the couples that are coming near you, going back into your other persona as you begin chatting with them. Gojo pulls you in tighter to his side, staying silent. You don’t notice the way he hasn’t stopped staring at you, nor the way his heart seems to have churned so painfully in his chest. 

—

The night progresses and you find yourself inside the dining hall, being shown to your seats by one of the maids, finding your name next to Gojo’s on a name card. 

The two of you sit down, watching the people the file in, the sound of laughter filling the room, the clinking of china against each other filling in the rest of the silence. You take it all in with a smile, looking every and at everyone.

“I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” you whisper as you lean closer to Gojo, an apologetic smile on your face as you sit further into your seat, “This is all just so new to me.” 

You don’t see the ways his eyes soften, his hand inching closer to yours as he shakes his head. 

“You’re not embarrassing me,” he murmurs back, leaning his head closer to yours, wanting his words only to be heard by you, “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” The smile that makes its way onto your face could power the universe, and Gojo feels like the wind had been knocked from his lungs, far worse than in training when somebody's foot slams into his chest. 

“I am!” Your enthusiastic and hurried words are hushed, but he can still hear the way you’re trying to hide your joy. The small talk is horrific,” he laughs a little bit, “but still I love it.” 

He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the sound of a knife hitting glass. 

“Everyone! Give me your time, just for a moment!” Miyo Tokoshi, whom you spoke to briefly, stands up, his chair behind him.

All eyes in the room fall on him, people still smiling, their teeth glimmering in the light. 

“I cannot express my joy to be in a room with you all tonight,” he says, looking around the room, making sure he saw everyone for a split second. “And my wife and I couldn’t be more ecstatic to host the first gathering of the season!”

You look at the woman sitting next to him, Lana, who you had also met momentarily, is gleaming at him, her face full of genuine adoration. She, along with everybody else, claps, laughing joyfully. 

You wonder if this is what a real husband and wife should look like, and you look briefly over to Gojo, your mind reeling with the charade the two of you have been playing this entire night. 

“And we couldn’t be happier to welcome the first couple of the year,” he exclaims, pointing his glass over to you and Gojo, saying your name and then your husbands as he claps his hand softly against his wrist, “May every moment you spend together be better than the last. We wish the two of nothing but a lifetime of happiness and prosperity. 

Gojo raised his glass to him, his hand grasping yours as he lifted it to his lips, planting a kiss on the back of it. 

You feel like you’ve stopped breathing with the linger of his lips on your skin, the last time that happened on the night of your wedding, and watching him grasp it even tighter when he sets it back down, weaving his fingers through yours. 

Stop, you chide, raising your glass as well, a shaky smile on your face, it’s just an act.

He winks at the two of you, nodding once more as he focuses his stare somewhere down the table, obstructed by where you are sitting.

“And to the future couple! Naoya and Freya!” 

Gojo turned his head immediately to look at you, watching the color drain from your face, and before you knew it, the man, Naoya, was standing up, a hand over his chest in faux gratitude as he thanked the host. 

You could never mistake that hair, the feline look in his eyes as he scanned across the room, a slimy smile on his face. You watch as it grows even wider when he finally catches his prey when he finally sees you, and you feel nauseous, like you’re about to throw up all those little crackers they had given you earlier that evening. 

The hand holding yours squeezes, knowing he can’t say anything right now, and you swallow thickly, eyes darting over to his as you feel your head about to sway. 

Naoya’s here. The man you turned down for Gojo. 

The rest of Tokoshi’s speech is muted to you. It feels like your head is being held underwater, and you feel sweat dotting your forehead, your chest, and your palms. You can feel Gojo’s eyes on the side of your head and can tell he’s trying to tell you something silently. 

The clinking of glass brings you out of your haze, looking up mindlessly as you haphazardly clink yours against Gojo’s, rubbing a hand down your face as if that would help. 

You're grateful for the flurry of movements and noises, everybody talking to somebody, the people beginning to serve themselves the wide array of food places in front of them. 

Gojo squeezes your hand one more time, and you finally look over at him, trying to muster up a smile but with how queasy you feel and the way your head spinning, it probably looks like you’re about to be sick all over him. 

“I’ll be okay,” you say through clenched teeth. 

Gojo nods, his thumb rubbing up and down your hand in a soothing way. It’s just for show. 

“I’m sorry my palms are sweating,” you laugh mirthlessly, and he squeezes it again, you’re sure he’s only doing this because of the extra attention of the two of you ever since they realized you and Naoya were in the same room, “you don’t have to keep holding it.” 

“Do you want me to let go?” He asks, and you stop poking around at the turnips on your plate. 

No. 

“N-no,” you croak out, desperate for his touch that’s grounding you, “No, please.” 

Gojo nods, his thumb not stopping its comforting motion of moving up and down. 

“Don’t worry,” he mutters, leaning closer to you as you duck your head so that your ears are near his lips, “My hands get sweaty too.” 

You laugh quietly and it sounds like wind chimes. You look at Gojo and watch as his lips tug upwards into a soft smile, one you had never seen before, and one you thought you never would. 

—

You tried to hide away the rest of the party, but Gojo didn’t seem to mind. 

When it was time to leave you accepted the gracious hug of the hosting couple, promising them that you’d come back for a more private dinner, and let Gojo lead you out into the courtyard where all the carriages were held. 

You slept the entire ride home, not wanting to mess anything up by taking, and you’re happy that Gojo didn’t bother you. You felt groggy when you returned to the estate, grateful for Gojo’s steady hand as he helped you out of the carriage. The two of you looked like you wanted to say something, but couldn’t, so you bid each other good night and went your separate ways.

Separate except for one brief moment. 

You were walking away and up the stairs when you suddenly stopped, remembering what it was that you wanted to tell him. You call out his name, watching as he turns, white brows slightly furrowed. 

“I…” you start but realize you didn’t exactly have a plan for what you wanted to say. He gives you his patience, not looking annoyed or frustrated when you try to think of the right words to string together. 

“I…I would like to be your friend too,” you finally say, and watch as a smile forms on his face, his pink lips tugging upwards in a way that made his eyes shine, the way your earrings did in the candlelight. 

He rakes his hand through his snow-white locks, pushing them away from his face. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast then,” Gojo says, and you dip your head down in a small smile. 

You give him a small wave, disappearing as you round the corner.

And since then, you found him joining you not only for breakfast or the sparse dinners but for any meal he possibly could. 

Gojo talked more, about anything and everything, and you did the same. 

You realized that he was actually an open person the closer you got to him, seeing that he too was capable of laughing and making jokes, his teasing eyes growing more frequent the closer your chairs got to the dinner table until you eventually just sat side-by-side, growing tired of shouting at each other across its length. 

On the days he wasn’t busy with strategizing or talking to other lords, he’d walk around the estate with you, telling you stories from his childhood, the times he’d run amock around the halls. Other times the two of you would go into town, looking at the different stores together. 

You could tell he was trying, could see it in the way he glanced at you from time to time to make sure that you were doing well. 

He’d accompany you to the library if you asked him to, and you’d go down sometimes to the training yard just to see him. Gojo would never tell you how much he tried to show off when you were there and knew he never had to. You could see the way he tried to appear even stronger when fighting with one of the other men, the poor soldier coming out with bruises and cuts all over his body.

Over many weeks, you find yourself looking forward to spending time with him, and a part of your cracked self begins mending itself again. 

It felt like after years of searching for somebody, somebody found you. 

On one of the nights when his sparring had gone on for far longer than it usually does, you decided to head down to the training yard after your night bath, tugging on a large robe over yourself as you walked the familiar stone steps down to where you knew he was. 

You could hear them before you saw them, a cacophony of fists hitting skin, groans, shouts from one another. There was a little perch from where you could watch what was happening below, and you usually hid yourself in a corner so that they wouldn’t see you. 

You’d rest on a pillar, arms crossed over your shoulder as you looked at the men below. Gojo was always easy to find, the flurry of white hair a tall-tale sign of where he was. You had watched him before, but you never got tired of it. You found it almost inhuman the way his movements seemed to flow like water, the way his hits were precise and direct. 

Gojo truly was the best warrior the North had ever seen, and sometimes you forget that you’re married to a man who brought down entire armies with just his bare fists. 

You watch as he jests with one of his friends, his chest rising a little bit at an irregular pace, slightly out of breath, but happy to be there. He turns to one of the guys behind him to say something, but his eyes immediately track upwards to the figure trying to stay hidden, you and a wide smile break out on his face. 

He waves at you, and it gets the attention of the other men there. They all turn to see where you are, their boyish grins and calls making you roll your eyes at their antics, your face heating up slightly as you wave back at them. 

Gojo says something to the person next to him, and you hear the man shout at the other ones to wrap it up for the night. Some of them wave goodbye to you as they begin exiting, going back to their common rooms. 

You make a move to lean slightly over the railing, your arms crossed over the wood as you peer down at the ground where Gojo remained alone, finding him to already be looking up at you. 

“Care to come down?” He juts his chin at the staircase to your left, the one that leads down to the courtyard, and you nod, disappearing behind the stone pillars as you take the steps leading downwards. 

You’ve been here a couple of times, as per your own request. You wanted to see what they did during training, what the training yard actually looked like from the ground. You lift the ends of your dress up slightly as you near the bottom, rounding the corner to see Gojo standing in the middle. 

He’s waiting for you, his eyes tracking your movements as you come near to him. 

His nose twitches slightly, his eyes squinting as he lifts his head in the air, suddenly picking up the scent of something unusual. 

“What’s that smell?” Gojo asks as you come to him, his eyes looking over your body as if it were emitting from you. 

You scoff, appalled, and then suddenly remember that Alina had applied some lavender oil to you after your bath. 

“If it’s a good smell then me,” you cross your arms over your chest, nose wrinkling in disgust as you take in his smell of sweat and grime, “If bad then you.”

Gojo snorts, coming closer to you as he continues sniffing, exaggerating the sound. You step away from him slightly, the smell of sweat overpowering, and he takes notice of this. 

“What?” He inquires, annoyed that you are moving away from him, and he takes a step closer. 

“What do you mean what?” You tease, moving again as he tries to smell the air, “You smell like an army of unshowered men. I just took a bath.” 

Gojo seems offended at this, trying to move back closer to you but you side-step him, apparently serious about this. 

“You really won’t let me come near you?” He sounds like you’ve kicked him down, his cheeks stained pink from earlier, and you laugh slightly, shaking your head. 

“I really won’t,” you affirm, shoving the back of your wrist to him to show him that what he was smelling was in fact you, “See? Lavender oil.” 

Gojo just seems to be getting more annoyed the more you try to evade him, his blue eyes swirling with an idea as you look at him in worry. 

“No, the smell is coming from somewhere else.” He argues, changing his footing so that he stands right in front of you and you let out a shocked laugh, not expecting this as you take a step back. 

You don’t know where else he can smell the lavender oil. Alina dotted it to your wrists and your neck, but surely can’t differentiate the difference in location…right? 

“Come here,” he almost whines, “I’m not going to rub off my smell onto you.” 

You laugh again out loud, picking up the skirt of your dress as you try to outrun him slightly. 

“You will!” You insist, motioning to the sheen of sweat on his body, “You reek of sweat. I swear it’s just lavender oil!” 

He groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at this inconvenience. 

“You’re killing me right now,” Gojo dramatically grabs his chest, “You won’t let me smell this strange aroma and it’s killing me,” his face breaking into a little pout as you laugh even louder, shocked at how petulant he was being. Your laughing seemed to spur him on even more, running towards you as you ran backward, hoping you didn’t trip on the fabric of your dress. 

“You have a plethora of bottles of lavender oil in your own room,” you argue, “this isn’t something innovative that you’ve never smelled before.” 

Gojo shakes his head, and your heart flutters at the way his smile is so playful and teasing, the way some of his hair falls into his face in that messy way when he’s usually training and not caring about his appearance. 

“It’ll only take a second,” he reasons and you shake your head no, your eyes both shining with playful laughter. 

The courtyards lead out into the large fields of the Gojo estate, and you look behind yourself at the opening. It’s night, there’s nobody around. Nobody would judge you for running away from your sweaty husband. 

You look back at him, see the gleam in his eyes, and know that he’s not going to back down. 

He can see the thoughts forming in your head, can assume them before they’re even created, and so he’s straight on your heels as you sprint away from him, a large smile on your face as you squeal out loud. 

“Please!” You shout over your shoulder, running down the little hill as the moon lights the way for you, “I just took a bath! Leave me alone!” 

You can hear the grass rustling beneath your feet, your screams of laughter contagious as you try to outrun the fastest person ever, and try not to slow yourself down by looking over your shoulder to see where he is. 

But after a couple of seconds of running you realize that the only footsteps you hear are your own, and you pause momentarily to look behind you and are surprised to see that he’s not there. 

Did he not come after you? 

You look around the field, the large blades of grass looking like waves that move with the wind, and whip your head around every time you hear a twig snap. 

You're a little bit further away from the manor itself, and the only thing you can see besides its large stone walls are the torches lit outside. You can make out the guards who are standing outside, but no sign of Gojo. 

You try to catch your breath, confused as to where he could’ve gone when a force stronger than a horse running at full speed slams into your side. 

The scream you let out echoes around the field, and you brace yourself for the harsh impact of hitting the ground. With your eyes squeezed shut you wait for the flash of pain, but peek them open to see Gojo framing your head with one of his hands, his body shielding you from the impact as he lays on top of you. 

“How…?” You scream, your chest moving up and down with your fit of giggles, trying to push him off of you, “You’re a beast!” You cry out, moving your head to the side as he laughs along with you, his chest rumbling with the movement. 

You shove his face away with the palm of your hands, shoving your wrist into his nose as if that would satiate him. 

“I took a bath you behemoth!” You whine, thinking about the dirt and mud that must be staining your skin and dress right now, “Are you so void of any good fragrance in your life that you must hunt me down for it?” 

Gojo tsks, shaking his head as he swats your wrist aside. 

He’s also slightly out of breath, most likely because he ran across and entire field from another entranceway that you weren’t aware of to catch you off guard, and you’re suddenly very aware of just how close to two of you are together. 

His hand is still cradling your head, the other one holding your hips. Truthfully he doesn’t even smell bad, which is frustrating that it’s just another one of his many talents. 

He judges your jaw up with his nose, and you helplessly comply, your heart hammering wildly as he leans in closer to the skin of your neck, taking in a whiff as he looks back up to you, his eyes gleaming. 

Gojo’s hand on your hip moves up slightly to hold your waist, not hard, but to stop you from squirming around. 

“It smells different here,” he nudges your neck with his nose again, and your breathing hitches, “Smells sweeter.” 

You swallow thickly, blinking slowly as you crane your neck slightly upwards to give him more room. It’s like your body is moving on its own, and you’re not to sure how you know what to do, but you just do. 

“That’s not possible,” you try to argue, trying your best to keep your voice from wavering, “You just lack the nose for good oils.” 

Gojo laughs lowly, shaking his head at your antics as he braces his knees on either side of your thighs, caging you in. 

“I have a very keen sense of smell,” he boasts and you snort, looking away as he pinches your hip to which you yelp.

His hand moves away from your head and to your shoulder, to where your nightgown had slightly slipped off and runs a thumb down a patch of your skin where it was slightly raised, a faint scar on your collarbone. 

“Where’d you get this?” His voice is slightly hushed, and you look down from your chin to where he is talking about. 

 “Hm?” You look around, see that he’s pointing to the tiniest little scar, and chuckle slightly, “Oh, that?” Your eyes squint as you try to remember, “I tried to climb up a tree once when I was little and fell.” Gojo huffs out a little laugh, his eyes still focused on your skin as you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“It probably looks far worse compared to anything you have,” you say sarcastically, “The family physician kept saying I wasn’t going to make it through the night.” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at your antics as he raises himself, moving away from you as he sits back down on the grass. You miss his warmth, the way his heat radiated onto you like a furnace. 

“I don’t know how you keep surviving between your inability to consume fish and your near-death occurrences,” Gojo’s voice holds a teasing tone and you smile, moving up so that you’re facing him. 

You rest your weight back on your hands, kicking your legs out in front of you as your skirt flows around the grass. A while ago you would’ve felt improper sitting like this in front of anyone, but you don’t seem to care all that much when it’s Gojo. 

“I showed you my battle would,” you say, putting one leg on top of the other, “What’s your worst one?” You ask, tilting your head to the side in questioning. 

Gojo purses his lip, thinking. 

You imagine that he’d tell you or probably motion to where it was, but a second later you watch, shocked, as he tugs his tunic upwards, your face heating as he rises it slightly so that you can see a part of his stomach. 

You hate how utterly built he is. 

His skin is pulled taught over the smooth stomach of his abs, his chest huge with pure muscle, his arms, bulging through the sleeves. It’s something you thought you’d get used to, something you told yourself to stop ogling at, but never could.

But you shift your focus to a large scar that runs across his chest, from the bottom of his hip under his arm. It still looks relatively new, and the scar itself still pink. You could see the way it was jagged, not one smooth line, and gods, fuck, why do you want to touch it?

“Well,” you try to think of something witty to say, seeing the way he’s looking at you as if waiting for it, “Clearly not as bad as mine, but it comes in as a close second.” 

He throws his head back as he laughs, his muscles contracting as he does so. You feel flushed, not able to look away from the scar, knowing that you were merely compensating for not knowing what to say. 

“I know,” he says eventually with a shrug, looking down as he surveys the scar, “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.” 

You pout slightly, thinking. 

“Does it hurt?” 

He looks up at you, at the way you can’t take your eyes away from it, and shakes his head. 

“Not anymore,” he sits up a little straighter, closer to you as you watch him move, “Sometimes I can feel it sting, but it’s barely noticeable.” 

You beg to differ. 

The two of you don’t say anything and a part of you has decided that silence is bad for you. Because before you can really think about what you’re doing, you push yourself upwards, leaning in closer to him as you try to get a better look at it. 

He doesn’t say anything, but if only you could see the way he could barely use his lungs to breath right now you’d make some sly remark about how the best warrior of the North was growing shy from just a look. 

But suddenly you’re not looking anymore as you shuffle in a little closer, your fingers reaching upwards to touch the skin. 

You can hear the wind move around you, the grass rustiling as your fingers run across the scar. His abs flex at the coldness of your hand, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. You’re studying it intently, wondering what sort of weapon could’ve caused this. 

Gojo’s size dwarfs over yours, but you don’t seem to mind. Your lips as slightly pursed as you take it in. 

“Did you fight a bear?” You finally ask, peeking up to look at him. 

You’re startled by the way the flush on his cheeks has grown even more red, or the way you can’t see the blues in his eyes anymore. Has he always looked like that?

Gojo shakes his head, taking in a shaky breath, looking at the top of your head as you go back to looking at the scar. 

“Nearly,” he tries to joke, but his voice is weak, laced with need, “But I doubt a bear would even want to be compared to the man who gave me the scar.” 

You look up, your brow quirked in curiosity. 

“Who?” You ask, shocked at how quiet your voice came out. 

Gojo smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His tongue clicks against his teeth, his hand rising up to grab yours, pulling it away from his chest. He can’t bear to have you touching him like that anymore, not trusting himself to restrain the pure desire that bubbling inside his veins. 

“Naoya,” he says hushed, watching as your lips part and eyes widen. 

There’s a beat of silence, a moment when you think you can hear your heart beating in the same rhythm his is. 

Your hand curls into itself, shock taking over your features as your eyes drop to his scar and then back up to him. You find yourself wanting to say everything and anything, but can’t somehow find the words that you’re looking for. Gojo beats you to it, thankfully. 

“I’ve been having this recurring dream ever since I fought him of that same moment over and over again when he cut me open. But it’s changed, recently,” He sits up straighter, so close to you that your chests are almost touching, “And I keep seeing him marrying you, what would’ve happened if you had said yes.”

“And gods, fuck,” he ducks his head down, raking an agitated hand through his hair, making it even more messy, “I…” He chokes on his breath, looking back at you, and suddenly you see the glossiness in his eyes, the way that tears brim his waterline. 

And suddenly you see the Gojo Satoru, the Lord in the North, the most powerful man alive, cry. 

“I keep reprimanding Naoya in my head about how awful he is, about how I’d kill nearly every person alive if he ever touched you, b-but I was just as awful. I think about the first time I saw you, about the first weeks you were here. I think about how you must’ve felt, how alone you were. Every day…” he wipes messily at his cheeks, his lips wobbling, “Every day I wake up and think of you. I think about your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, the way your nose scrunches, that line between your brows when you're confused, and every night I go to sleep hoping that this was all an awful dream and I haven’t ruined your life, but then I wake up, and it starts all over again.” 

“I know I’m a selfish man,” Gojo says with a wet chuckle, his cheeks wet with tears, “I know I shouldn’t, but I want you to myself, I want you forever. I want to be your friend, I want to be the person you sleep next to, the person you go to when you want to talk about your little stories. I want to hear your jokes and I want to see you laugh. I want to hold your hand, I want to put that ring on your finger every morning, and I want to propose to you each night.”

He shakes his head, swallowing his cries down, the moon lighting the tear tracks that start from his eyes and end at his chin. 

“But I know you don’t want that. You told me that you wanted a friend, but…” he shrugged, his smile sad, aching, longing, “I think along the way of being your friend I realized I wanted to be your husband too.” 

“I understand if you want to leave. I’ll tell my parents the truth, they’ll understand. I have a house ready for you near the sea, one away from your family, where you can start over.” 

The wind rustles the hills, and you look at the field, watch the way it moves in tandem with the life around it. 

You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, and know that even if you blink them away it’ll do nothing to actually hide them. There’s a burning feeling in your chest, one that you’ve never felt before, one that rings with Gojo’s words. 

You run your fingers through the grass, looking up at him with a certain fire in your eyes.

“What if I don’t want that?”

He blinks slowly. 

“I,” Gojo sniffs, nodding profusely, hoping you don’t see the way he crumbles, “I understand, I promise I do. The house is a couple days-” 

“No,” you cut him off firmly, wiping your palms furisuly across your cheeks, to rid them of the pesky tears, shaking your head, “What if I don’t want that?” You move up to him, reaching your hand down his tunic, your fingers moving against is chest as you dig out the gold chain that’s wrapped around his neck. 

The one that holds his ring, the one he told you about one night that keeps it safe whenever he’s training. 

“What if I want this?” Your voice is cracking, and you tug the chain tighter.

“What if I want all those things? What if I want you to love me?” The ring shines in the moonlight, mirroring her pair thats wrapped around your finger, “I want to be your friend,” you stress, your brows strewn together as tears overflow from your waterline, “And I want to know what things you like. I want to walk with you all around the earth and walk back home again. I want to sleep next to you. I want to make you laugh, and I want you to make me smile. I want you to be my husband so that I can be your wife,” you cry out, your chest heaving up and down as he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into his lap as he tries to quickly wipe your tears away. 

“I want you too, Satoru,” you whisper, broken with your wet sniffles, a wet laugh escaping your lips when you see him crack at the way you said his name with so much care, your thumbs gliding across his cheeks. 

You slide closer into him, your legs splitting across his huge thighs as he hugs you tenderly to him, his head resting on your chest so that he can hear your heartbeat, make sure that this wasn’t just another dream.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs against your bosom, looking up at you with glistening eyes. 

“Then fight for me,” you whisper, your hands on either side of his face, “Give me all those things. Give me more,” you smile when his arms wrap around your waist a little tighter, his hands holding you up, “And I’ll do the same.” 

He nods, holding your hand that was still holding onto his ring to his chest, one hand moving to your back, and in the mess of tears and broken laughs the two of you seem to move together, meeting each other in the middle as your lips find each other in the dark shadows of night. 

You gasp when his lips capture yours, and he moves towards the sound, wanting to hold it, keep it forever. 

Gojo moves slowly, knowing that this is your first time, and cups your jaw, helping you move along with him as you lips slot and lock against each other. It’s messy and with no order, your chin staining with sweat as you moan against him, feeling delirious without the touch of him. 

You know this isn’t the easiest position for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He groans against you, his eyes squeezing shut, trying to memorize your taste in case the world ended tomorrow and this was his last meal. 

“Is this-” You cut him off when you swoop in again, his laughter cut short by your needienss, the way you paw at his chest, your hands winding up to his hair as you tug harshly on the soft strands. 

He moans at this, at the way you grind mindlessly on his thigh, your need for each other bleeding out into the open. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against you, kissing down your chin and then back up to you, his tongue swiping against your lips, savroing your whine, “I love you so much,” he says to everybody, hoping even those on mountains oceans away could hear, “I love you, my wife,” and you giggle, eyes bright when you hear those words. 

“Say it again,” you ask, your nails drawing little shapes on his nape, and you see him break into a smile. 

“My wife,” he repeats with a peck to your cheek, “My beautiful wife,” he kisses the tip of your nose, smiling at the way it scrunhed up slightly, just the way he adored, “My wife,” he kisses your jaw, “My wife,” your giggling nonstop and he hopes to bottle up the sound and hear it on his deathbed.

His hands travel back down to your hips, adusjsting you slightly so that you wouldn’t feelt he embarrassing hardening of his dick just from kissing you, and moves his lips down to your neck, hearing the way there’s a hitch in your laughter. 

“Why’d you stop?” he nudges his nose at that spot pf your neck that still smells like lavender, his favroite scent in the world, “Hm?” Gojo hums against that spot, licking a wet stripe up it, sucking at the skin, feeling the way you arch into his chest. 

“Y-your reeking s-scent infiltrated my nose,” you murmur, biting on your lip as he pinches your waist. 

“Yeah?” Gojo continued to tease you, sliding the sleeve of your dress down, giving you more access to the skin of your collarbone, “Want me to stop?” 

“No!” You cry, totally against your better judgement, moaning when he sucks another mark into the skin, biting it, and then presses a soft kiss to it as an apology, “Please, please, don’t stop.” 

He chuckles darkly, shifting you around so that you are lying back down on the ground, his body framing yours as he continues tugging down your dress, going slow in case you ever wanted him to stop. 

His fingers are quick at untying the string that holds you bodice together, unravelingit all until it falls off and he’s greeted to the sight of your heaving chest, the way your naked breasts rise and fall. 

Gojo blinks for a moment, forgetting how to move. 

“W-what?” You ask, a little self-conscience as he continues to stare at your chest, “Do they look wonky?” You move your hands to cover up but a deep gutteral growl escapes his lips, pinning your hands back. 

“Beautiful,” he bites out, moving his head down, pressing a wet kiss in between the valley of your breasts, “You look like a fuckin’ statue,” he says, “You’re s-so beautiful.” Gojo repeats, and you can’t protest with the way he praises you, nor the way his lips hover over a nipple, finally leaning in fully as he sucks on it. 

“F-fuck!” You cry out at the sensation, your fingers lost in his hair as you keep him there, back arching off the ground, “That, that feels…good,” you can’t speak, not with the way his tongue slides across your nipple, pressing little kisses around you areola. 

His other hand goes to your other one, making sure she’s not feeling lonely, his thumb flicking over your sensitive nipples as you whine even louder. 

Gojo switches and you feel your breath shudder in an embarrassing whimper, your eeys squeezing shut when he bites at you, wanting to mark you up for those wretched gods to see and feel humanly jealous over. 

“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin, almost in awe, “feels like silk.” 

You would’ve had a witty joke about this, you know you did, but you can’t fathom to think about anything other than the way his lips feel on your tits, the way he seems like he’d die had he not been here sooner. 

But he then raises his head, and you whine in protest. Gojo almost break at the way you’re looking up at him, the way yor lips tremble from sheer desire. 

“Want more?” He presses, his hands, warmer than the fire that’s burning in your belly, trailing down, down to where your dress was slightly parting, “Here?” 

“Y-yes, fuck,” you moan, parting your legs to make room for him, not knowing what this feeling was but knowing that he was the only one who could soothe it, “Need it so bad Sa-satoru,” 

His eyes roll back, swallowing his primal groan at the way you plead for him, and nods, pressing a kiss against your stomach before his hitches the fabric upwards, sliding down your body so that his face is closer to that heat. 

You know you should feel more shame, but you feel like you’re going to die if your husband doesn’t do something soon. 

Gojo’s hand travels up your calf, trailing up your thigh, and suddenly stops. 

You go to beg, plead, for him, but cut yourself off when his lips find your inner thighs, pressign wet and messy kisses to them, getting dangerously close to where you felt like you were leaking. 

“You’re divine,” he whispers against your skin, hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulls them apart, “Fuckin’ divine.” 

His lips suddenly find there, you glistening cunt, and you mewl out for him. 

“Satoru,” your chest is heaving like you can’t find any air, “T-there, please, there,” and fuck the way you’re begging him is so sweet that he can’t find it in himself to tease you. 

His fingers seperate your wet lips, groaning when he sees just how much you’re dripping, and licks a tentative stripe upwards, your surprised gasp at how good it felt going straight to his cock.

Gojo carefully slides a finger through your tight walls, feeling the way you tighten around that, and lets his lips travel to your clit, pressing small kisses to it before he begins to suck. You clench around him, and your toes curl at the way he begins to pump it in and out, your essence soaking his skin. 

“So wet sweetheart,” he groans swapping his finger for his thumb at your clit, his tongue diving into your walls as he nearly cums from your saccharine taste alone, “S-shit, fuck, you taste like fucking heaven.” 

Your thighs tighten arund his head, but he craves the feeling, his tongue eating you out at such a fast pace that you begin to wonder if you need this more or him. 

“O-oh gods,” your grips his head tightly, can’t find the sympathy in yourself to feel bad, “‘Toru, oh, oh my, don’t stop! 

That coil in your stomach grows more taunt with each second. 

He alternates, adding in another thick finger, feeling the way you try to stretch for him. He glides in and out of you with ease, but he wonders what you’d look like on his thick cock, how you’d preen as he split you open with his girth. 

“Sweet,” he moans against you, his voice vibrating against your pulsing walls, “You’re so fuckin’ sweet.” 

You nod at something, whatever he just said, not fulling understanding anything around you as he continue to stimulate your clit, sucking on it, his teeth gliding across it with a little bite, and you moan out even louder. 

“I…” you can’t think, can’t breathe, “F-fcuk, ‘Toru, something, something’s happening,” you don’t know what this feeling is, this electric, all-consuming feeling that’s zapping through your body, making it numb yet aware of everything at the same time. 

“I know, I know,” Gojo praised you, one of his hands holding your stomach down, the added pressure making you whine, “You’re doing so good for me, you’re there, come on come for me,” his hand travels up your body, finding yours as he weaves your fingers together. 

“Shit, shit,” you mewl, “I’m coming, fuck, c-coming!” You cry out, your back arching off of the ground as your legs grow slack around his shoulders, your walls pulsing around him as that string tightens for the final time and then finally breaks. 

You can see white as your eyes rolls back into your head, squeezing his hand as tightly as you can, your yes dotting with tears. Your climax was all consuming, making you gush around his fingers and tongue, seeming to be never-ending, your body shaking in his hold. 

Gojo presses one final kiss to your cunt, licking off your release from his fingers, groaning at the taste, and lets you catch your breath. 

When you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, you peek them over to Gojo, seeing the way he tilts his head back, your cum still glistening on his chin and cheek, and whine out in embarrassment. 

“What?” He asks, eyes teasing when you go to hide your face in your hands. 

“I can’t,” your words are muffled, “I can’t believe I just…” 

Gojo kisses your forehead, wiping some of the tears from your eyes away as he kisses your brow bone. 

“How do you feel?” He asks, his eyes scanning over your body, glistening with sweat, and you take in a gulp of air. 

“Good,” you say finally with a soft smile, “Really good.” 

You look from his little grin, one that you peck at, your thumb rubbing up and down his jaw, and then look down, to the obvious bulge that’s hiding behind his training trousers. 

You’ve never seen a cock before but fuck he’s massive.

“What…” you trail off, sitting up slightly, and he helps balance you, “What about you?” you paw at his stomach, right before it leads down, and he lets out a shuddered whine. 

“As much as I-” he bites his tongue, feeling like he’s going to cum if you continue to look at him like that, “As much as I want to…not here,” he looks around at the field, shaking his head as a definite no, “Not here.” 

You go to protest, but he stops you, biting your fingers gently as you yelp, shoving his head away with little force as he chuckles. 

You let him wrap your dress around you again, tying some of the knots so that it doesn’t open up when you’re standing, and let the silence wash over the two of you calm your beating down heart down.

He plays with the ring around your finger, and you watch as the ring around his neck moves with his little breaths. 

“I want to sleep in your bed,” you say, and his blue eyes find yours. 

“You’re crazy if you don’t think I’m letting you sleep anywhere else,” he says in a shocked sort of way and you laugh, looking over to the side for a brief moment, and then look back at him. 

“Do you really love me?” 

Your words as whispered, but it feels like the wind picked them up and scattered them all around the field, around the river, the ancient stones, and right into Gojo’s heart. 

“I really love you,” he whispers back, kissing your eyelids, in between your brows, your forehead, the back of your hand, and murmurs the words, “my wife,” to nobody and to everybody at the same time. 

You smile, pulling him down by that necklace of his so that you can plant a soft kiss against his lips.  

[yumiblaze]

Cursed - Saja Boys X Fem!Reader

Never Tried anything like this but enjoy and let me know if you want anymore! ^.^ (Also feel free to give me tips on things I've never posted on tumblr before!)

NEXT PART

PROLOGUE

Cursed. That was what your mother called you. A girl who had been born with a scent that drew in demons. Rumour had it that it was because you were meant to be a mate for one of them one day; if you lived that long. You’re lucky that Celine found you after your 6th birthday, you remember that day clearly.

You were going through your normal daily routine: drawing in your room alone. Your mother locked you in there all the time, no windows, no way for your cursed scent to escape and draw the demons in. Little did you both know, she was wrong.

Your scribbling stopped at the sound of a bang, the floor beneath you shaking. You breathing caught in your throat and you froze. There was a brief moment of silence before the screaming started, your mothers screams. You reacted on instinct running to your bed and hiding underneath it, hoping that your childish hiding place would be your salvation.

Tears spilled from your (e/c) eyes as the screams came to a sudden stop, followed by footsteps. You clamped your hands over your mouth, hoping it would silence your scared shallow breathes. The door lock clicked and the door slowly swung open, a large red demon standing in the doorway. You watched as his glowing yellow eyes scanned the room, landing directly on you, his grin widening revealing his sharp fangs.

You screamed unable to hold in your fear anymore, your small limbs scrambling, pushing you into the far wall. The demon took a deep breathe, savouring your scent before he began towards you. Your eye closed and you curled into a ball unable to do anything else to defend yourself. You waited for the demon to kill you but it never came, instead your heard a voice.

“Hey, it’s okay sweetheart, you’re okay now.” The voice was a woman’s, soft and comforting.

You slowly uncovered your eyes to see three dark haired woman standing above you. The one closest you to reached out her hand and gently placed it on your shoulder, a wave of relief hitting you.

Shortly after that day the three women took you in, saying that they wanted to protect you. You were something different much like they could see the honmoon they could see your scent. To keep you safe they brought you up alongside one of the hunters daughters Rumi; so that when she took over she would also be able to keep you safe from the demons.

The crowd’s cheers almost deafened you as Huntr/x finished the final song on their set list, Bobby running around making sure everyone was ready for the girls to come backstage. You smirked to yourself as you just waited for the girls to get down to you, you couldn’t wait to go back home and relax. It wasn’t that you hated watching your adopted sister and her friends singing but hearing their performances hundreds of times got tiring after a while.

 You smiled as the girls came towards you surrounded by all their staff, Rumi spotting you first.

“(y/n)!” Zoey greeted you with a smile. “You ready for couch time!”

“Hell yeah!” You replied before her and Mira started their chanting. You give a giggle before joining in also excited to relax and eat a copious amount of snacks.

You were really looking forward to it until Rumi admitted that they were doing the promo later that night.

[a99jazzybean]

HIIIII! I just binge read your date everything fics and I love them! May i ask for yet another Chance fic, where y/n is familiar with g&g and used to play with their friends from time to time - using his dice of course! And... y/n used to kiss the piece for the "lucky shot", doesn't matter if it worked or not. So now, with Skylars help, y/n can speak with him and even play a session or two and it is so much fun! But she is completely oblivious to the fact that he remembers every time y/ns lips touched his dice-y form and each time he silently yearns for her lips to touch him once again... The rest is up to you, lots of love!

I love this prompt so much! Thank you for the request!

With a Taste of Your Lips...

Part 2

synop: You and Chance decide to play another session of G&G. Little do you know, a special tradition of yours has him feeling all sorts of hot and bothered. i.e. You discover Chance can feel when you kiss his die.

words: 4.7K

includes: chancexfem!reader, ttrpg playing, making out, fondling an object?, cumming untouched kinda, smut

a/n: I might make a part 2 to this one, thoughts? Also, its got smut. No minors!

“You feel yourself growing weaker. The spell the lich cast on you drains your life force. All of your comrades are downed. You are their final hope.” Your GM stares you down, brow raised. “What would you like to do?”

Looking around the table you see all of your friends' faces are grim. All eyes are on you. Taking a look at the battlemap before you, your eyes widened. 

“Past the cliff, it’s the Abysmal Pit, correct?” You asked the GM. 

“Correct.”

“And anyone who falls in is erased from existence, right?

“Correct.”

“No!” Sam shouted. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t do it!”

You give her a solemn look, eyes filled with sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” You pick up your red D20. “But you can’t stop me. I’m going for a grapple on the lich, then I’m dragging him over the edge with me.” 

A chorus of gasps erupts from your party members. Some are getting teary-eyed. 

Two years of a campaign filled with adventure, friendship, romance, and tears. This is how it ends. Perhaps it was destined to be. 

“Make your roll.” Your GM feels tears prick in their own eyes. Not knowing whether they want you to succeed on this or not. 

As is tradition on major rolls, you bring your trusty die to your lips. Pecking it softly, you pray that this works. 

“Lucky shot,” you hear Sam say under their breath. 

Cupping the die in your hands, you give a good shake. Then you release it onto the table. Everyone in the room is holding their breath as it rolls. Finally, it stops. Natural 20. 

Normally, the table would erupt with cheers. This time, it wasn’t proper to celebrate. 

“Prim,” your GM took in a shaky breath as he spoke your character’s name. Trying to hold back tears. “You muster up the final dregs of strength within you. Pulling yourself up with a groan. Everything hurts, but your mind has been made up. Pushing through it all, you start to run. Taking one final look at your fallen teammates. This is the last time you will see them. Tell me how this ends.” Their voice wavered. 

“As I run toward the lich, I let out a final ‘goodbye’. I grab it around the waist, then throw both of us off of the ledge. No matter what it does I keep ahold of it. It’s coming with me.” Your own eyes fill with tears. 

“As you fall, the lich tries to get you off of it, but to no avail. For a brief moment you can see a flash of its past humanity. Fear filling its face as it realizes the one thing that it tried to run from has finally arrived. Death in the shape of a half-elf rogue who risked it all to defeat it.”

Chance sighed dreamily, remembering your great sacrifice. Seemed like you frequently played characters that laid their life on the line. No wonder he was absolutely smitten.

While you weren’t able to see his personified form at the moment, he was able to see you. Back hunched over as you typed on Mac. The computer feeling pretty good about themselves as you cranked out your latest self-insert fanfic. What else were you supposed to do when an AI took over your job? 

Chance wasn’t able to see what you were writing, but could see Mac occasionally blush and chuckle at the words you were typing onto them. 

“Care to share?” He asked the computer. 

Mac glanced over at him, then back to one of the screens in front of them. 

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. She’s kind of mortified that I’ve even read this stuff.” Mac turned back to read what you had just typed out, red blooming on their face. “Yeah, no. You don’t need to know about this.” 

Chance grumbled to himself. It didn’t feel fair that Mac got to see the sexiest innermost thoughts of yours. Actually, he was kind of jealous of many of your objects. Betty slept with you every night, witnessing the limited sexual exploits of yours. Johnny, he wouldn’t talk about it, too much of a gentleman. But the massage setting on his shower head? He might have alluded to activities you had accomplished with that. 

It was frustrating to say the least. Seeing how much better the other beings in the home got to know you intimately. All Chance wanted was a taste of that knowledge. 

He hoped you’d put your Dateviators back on again. Now that you had been able to see him, all he wanted was your attention. It didn’t help that you enthusiastically offered to play G&G with him. Only feeding into the ever-growing obsession with you. 

It didn’t start when you put those glasses on, no. It started when you came up with that damned tradition. Kissing the 20 side of his die body. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, really. But he felt it, every single time. It was special, something you only did when making a major roll. And you always picked him. Your “lucky shot” for your “lucky die”. 

The thing was, you hadn’t ended that tradition. When you began playing with Chance, you continued to make your lucky shots. Not realizing that although the personified version was sitting in front of you, Chance was still very much connected to the object he was. He would have you roll on something difficult, and as if it were instinct, you pressed your soft lips right on the20 side. Thankfully, Chance had been able to maintain his composure as you watched the die roll. However, it was beginning to become too much. 

Each press of your lips to the die had him falling for you harder and harder. 

With a sigh, you pushed away from your computer. Eyeing the die beside you with a smirk. Tapping on the desk, your gaze flitted over to your glasses. It had been a few hours since you had them on, couldn’t hurt to say hi to your office. And there might have been a specific object that held your affections.

“You know. I can feel you looking at me, right?” You teased the die before putting on the Dateviators. 

Chance’s face was ruddy when you looked at him, caught red handed. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, he gave you an apologetic look.

“What can I say? You’re nice to look at.” 

Now it was your turn to blush. The damned man always seemed to fluster you in such innocuous ways. Somehow always polite with his flirting. 

There were times he could be fairly forward, but he never pushed. It was sweet. 

Thinking about it, you could go for something sweet now. But nothing that was consumable. 

“Do you have a session prepped?” You asked.

Immediately, he perked up. A bright smile on his face complimented by an enthused flush. 

“Of course! Ever since you’ve come along, I’m like ten sessions ahead!” He leaned toward you, bouncing on his toes. 

“I’m glad that you’ve been so inspired. I love your stories.” You gave him a soft smile. 

His eyes widen, practically sparkling at your words.

“Y-you love my stories?” He held his hand to his heart, feeling the muscle pump faster at your compliment.

“Why do you think I want to play with you so often?” You pulled his die over with a finger, rolling it around. “I have a lot of fun with you.” 

“We could have more fun.” He raised a brow suggestively, looking over his glasses at you.

Red in the face, you waved him off with a giggle.

“Do you have time to play now?”

“I always have time for you.” 

You were sure you heard Timothy scoff somewhere in the distance. That was no matter though, for now you had the full attention of your favorite die. 

“Shall we play, then?” 

Chance nodded enthusiastically, then proceeded to get his GM station set up. When his screen and notes were all in place, he gave an approved nod. Looking up, he beamed at you again. Feeling his heart squeeze at the content smile on your face as you sat on the other end of the table from him. Oh how he wished to always keep you happy. He would play forever with you just to make sure that smile never fell from your lips. 

“Alright, where did we leave off?” He glanced over his notes.

“I managed to talk myself out of being eaten by a giant.” You had your own notes pulled out. 

Chance felt his heart swell again. You took notes! Oh, you truly were the perfect player. 

“That’s right! My charismatic girl!” He chuckled as your face grew red. 

He was glad that he managed to make you as flustered as you made him. Equal opportunity flirting to make the other squirm. Again, perfect. 

“You’ve gotten away from the giant, but you still have yet to find the gilded egg laying hen.” 

“Thankfully, you have quite the wise girl as well!” You let out a satisfied huff. “Can I make a perception check to see where the chicken is?” 

“You may.” He motioned for you to continue.

Shaking the die in your hands you urged it to roll well. 

“C’mon D20, show me what you’re made of!” 

You released the die, it clattered into your dice tray. After a moment of circling, it landed on a 16. 

“Nice! And that’s a plus four to my perception!” 

“Wonderful!” He cleared his throat, continuing his tale. “As you look around the foyer of the giant’s castle, you aren’t finding any indications of where a hen might be roosting. However, after a moment of hearing silence, there’s a new sound filtering down the hallway to the north.”

“What’s the sound?” You ask with a knowing smirk.

“It’s soft harp music, almost dreamlike.” 

After your previous character died valiantly saving a village from a dragon, Chance asked if you would mind experimenting with a fairytale themed game. Of course, you agreed, excited to see what he would come up with. While some of the quests you have been on so far were a bit predictable, he had many twists and turns added in. 

Like Cinderella’s slipper turning out to be a baby mimic. When you had managed to aid the prince in finding his lost love, the mimic revealed itself, chomping down on her foot. However, she didn’t scream. It turned out, Cinderella’s ballgown had already consumed her and was using her head and limbs to blend in. The fairy godmother revealed herself as a demon looking to collect on the souls of the kingdom. All she needed was the prince to disappear so she could take his place. 

It was a lovely twist that ended with a fairly hard battle. Thankfully the prince that accompanied you turned out to be part of the bloodline of very powerful sorcerers, so he was able to aid in the defeat of the fairy godmother. 

The prince tried asking for your hand in marriage, but you had other adventures to go on. Instead, you left with a hefty amount of gold. A token of appreciation for saving the kingdom. The engagement ring hidden amongst the coins didn’t go unnoticed, Chance giving you a cheeky wink when he mentioned it. 

You had noticed the man had been throwing romance options at you throughout each of the fairy tales. Many of them were love stories, sure, but it seemed like he really wanted you to get with someone. Little Red Riding Hood, growing smitten with you after you saved her from the belly of a wolf. A huntsman asking for your hand after you aided him in saving the kingdom from a corrupt king. Snow White practically begged you to marry her after you turned out to be her “true love's kiss”. He was laying it on pretty thick, so to speak.  

Truthfully, the reason why you never accepted was because you wanted Chance to stop hiding his affections behind characters in your game. The two of you had constant flirty banter, but it felt like he could only speak through innuendo when hinting at wanting anything more. While it was endearing, it was starting to become tiring. 

Though admittedly, you were a coward too. It would be hypocritical to judge the man considering you couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything either. Instead, you sat in a flirtatious purgatory. Something that could be viewed as a comfortable platonic relationship, but in reality had very, very heavy overtones of desire. 

Neither you or Chance could be subtle. There were times where you could feel the hunger in his eyes as he ran your game. Usually when you did something quite clever. 

That time when you answered his Latin riddle? The man was very glad he had baggy pants on. 

Then there was you. Easily bending to his dominating whims when he was GMing. Something about him having that kind of authority over you often had you clenching your thighs and squirming in your chair. And don’t even get started on the villain monologues. He pulled one of those out, you left the gaming table with your panties soaked. Giving Betty quite the show when you couldn’t get to sleep. 

Back to your current game, Chance asked for your next move.

“I follow the sound of the harp.”

“You feel almost entranced at the music. Your steps pulling you to the north hallway. After about an hour of walking (remember, this is a GIANT’S castle) you made it to the room the music was coming from. Peering inside, you see a giant sitting on a bed. She appears to be much shorter than the one you first encountered, but still clearly a giant. You can tell she is related to the other giant, both sporting the same nose shape. The giant girl is playing the harp, her fingers delicately plucking at the strings. You look across from her and see what you’ve been looking for. A hen nestled in a nest of straw. Its body swaying side to side with the music. Below it you see a peek of gold. What would you like to do?”

“I’m not going to try and hide.”

Chance looked at you with wide eyes, surprised at your blatant move.

“I handled the other giant with my words, I can easily do the same again.”

Oh, he loved your confidence. Your willingness to dive in despite the consequences. He just hoped that it wouldn’t end with your bones ground up to make bread. Quite the horrific way to depart this mortal realm.

“If you say so. You stride inside with confidence. Hyping yourself up from your previous encounter with a giant.” He rolled a die, giving a grimace. “The giant girl doesn’t appear to see you. She’s looking right at the hen, swaying side to side as she continues to play the harp.”

“I try to catch her attention by clearing my throat loudly.” 

“You clear your throat, and she stops playing. A sour look grows on her face as she looks for the source of the sound. Looking down, she finally spots you. Crossing her arms, she gives you a pout.”

“You know, it’s quite rude to interrupt a performance.” Chance put on the voice of a little girl, making you chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Chance, you know that wasn’t in-game.” You gave him a stern look. 

“I know, I’m just messin. Anyways… she looks at you, waiting for you to respond.”

“I apologize, your music is lovely.” 

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“Well, I have some important matters to discuss.”

“Important matters? What’s important is that Bailey gets her proper rest.” Chance returns to his normal voice. “You follow her gaze to the hen in the nest.”

“Is Bailey your hen?” 

“Obviously!” The character voice returned. “And she won’t lay eggs unless I play for her.” 

“I see.” You ponder on that information for a moment, then ask. “Is the harp huge?”

“It’s giant, so is the hen.”

“Didn’t the asshole who hired me say he had been here before? Why send me up if there’s no way to bring the items down?” You huffed in frustration at the quest-giver.

“Who said there wasn’t a way to bring them down?” He clicked his tongue at you, admonishingly.

“Hmmm. I think I'll talk to the girl some more.” He motioned for you to continue. “I’m sure Bailey loves your music.”

“She does, she always lays an egg when I play! My daddy says I’m gettin just as good as my mama!” Chance goes back to narrating. “After she says that she goes quiet. Her eyes widening as if she’s just realized you were here. There’s a darkness in them that surprises you for a girl so young.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” You bit your lip nervously.

“You’re a human. Humans aren’t allowed here!”

“Um, you’re dad let me go. At least I think it was your dad.” You give Chance a nervous glance.

“Roll on persuasion.”

Shaking the dice, you let it drop. Watching in fear as it lands on a three. Chance’s gaze grows dark.

“You only think you know? How can I know if you’re telling the truth?” Chance narrates again. “The giant girl stands up, towering high over you. A glare on her face as her eyes narrow. But you spot something odd, her eyes are watering.” The little girl voice is put back on. “All humans lie! I bet you’re no different!”

“I decide to stay quiet, letting her speak.” You say to Chance. Again, he’s surprised at your action.

“Your people killed my mom!” He switches back to normal. “You now see tears falling from her eyes. She’s going to reach for you.” He rolls a die, eyeing you expectantly. “Would you like to do anything to stop it?”

“No. I let her.” 

“A large hand grabs you with a crushing squeeze. You feel the air forced out of your body by the strong grip of her hand. She lifts you to her head.” He clears his throat, going back to the girl voice. “I should just eat you, show you how it feels.” He gives you another expectant look. “Are you going to try and do anything?”

“Nope. I’m gonna close my eyes and accept my fate.” 

Impressed, Chance sits back with his arms crossed. Pondering on what to do next. While you had managed to talk your way out of the last giant encounter, he thought you would at least try to fight your way out of this one. The giant child’s stat block was something that you could manage on your own. 

“Okay. I want you to roll persuasion, and I’ll be nice and give you advantage for what you’ve managed to do so far.”

Pumping your fist in the air, you reached for the die. This time, you brought the D20 to your lips, giving it a light peck. This was a roll that was gonna need it. 

“C’mon lucky shot, don’t let me down now.” 

The first roll landed on a 6. Again, you brought the die to your lips. The kiss to the dice slightly lingering, just for good luck. You shook it in your hand and released, crossing your fingers for a good roll. Slowly, it spun to land on a 20.

“Nat 20 babee! Let’s gooooo!” You stood up and cheered, your character saved.

Chance remained seated, face beet red. His breathing had become labored. For some reason, he couldn’t get himself to calm down. Maybe it was the fact that you had kissed the die in succession. Something he could feel burning through his body. 

Coming down from your high, you realized Chance hadn’t continued. Turning, you gave him a concerned look. Walking over, you eyed the state he was in. Face still extremely flushed. 

“Are you okay?” You leaned toward him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I-I’m fine. We can continue!” He rubbed his neck nervously.

“Are you sure? Your face is really red.”

“What did you expect after kissing me like that!” He clamped his hands over his mouth, face turning another shade darker. 

“What? I didn’t kiss…” You looked over to the die, feeling a heat crawl up your neck. “C-can you feel that?”

Hands still over his mouth, he nodded. You realized you had been performing your luck ritual the entire time you had been playing with Chance. He could feel it. Every. Single. Time. 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You felt terrible, doing that to him without asking.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said softly.

“But then I kept making you uncomfortable! Kissing you without your consent, ugh. I’m so sorry, Chance.” You gave him a sad look that pierced his heart. That wasn’t what he meant at all!

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” He composed himself somewhat.

“Huh?” 

“I might have liked it…” He trailed quietly. 

“What was that?” You couldn’t make out what he said.

“I like it!” He blurted. “I really like it when you kiss me.” His face grew red again as he waited for your response.

“Y-you do?” 

He nodded sheepishly. 

“Yeah. It feels… nice. Really nice.” He bit his lip nervously. “You’re always so soft and sweet.” 

“Oh.” Your face was burning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He gave you an apologetic look. 

“Chance…” This time you were nervous.

“Yes?” 

You leaned down toward his face. Arms planted on the headrest of his chair.

“Can I actually kiss you?”

“I-I mean technically you are ‘actually’ kissing me…” He stuttered out, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips.

You gave him an unamused pout.

“You know what I mean. How’s about this? Can I give you a reciprocated kiss? One that you also participate in?”

“Yes. Please.” 

With that, you pressed your lips to his. Chance froze up at first, eyes wide at the fact that this was happening. Leaning into the kiss, his eyes fluttered shut. You let out a content sigh at the feel of his lips against yours. Soft and plush, perfectly meldable with your own. 

With your tongue, you teased at his bottom lip. Gladly, he slightly opened his mouth for your tongues to intertwine. A low groan left him as he tasted you. So fucking perfect.

The man pushed the chair away from the table, letting you sink onto his lap. Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. He moaned against you at the action. His own hands trailed over your body, mapping out your slopes and curves. Ultimately they landed on your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. You giggled against his lips, pulling away to get a good look at him.

Face still flushed with kiss bitten lips and blown out pupils. He stared up at you like you were a goddess that was granting him a blessing. That was sure how this encounter was feeling. Something that he had only dreamed of. 

“You’re so handsome.” You pressed kisses against his jaw and down his throat, making him shiver. 

“And you’re beautiful. So perfect.” He pressed a kiss to your lips. 

Leaning your forehead against his, you smiled. Then an idea came to you. Biting your lip, you wondered if the man beneath you would oblige to your whims. 

“Chance…”

“Hmm?”

“When I kiss your die, where do you feel it?”

“Oh, um, I guess on my face? Like a whisper against my cheeks and the corner of my lips.” He let out an awkward chuckle. 

You shifted off of him to grab the die, then returned to his lap. Holding the die in front of you, you looked over the numbers.

“So what would happen if I kissed the other numbers?” You asked, gaze hungry.

Oh, oh, this was hot. So fucking hot. Chance thought just kissing you was a dream come true. You wanting more from him? That was merely a fantasy.

“I suppose I would feel you kissing me on other parts of my body.” He answered. Truthfully, he had no idea what would happen. You only ever kissed the 20.

“So if I kiss the one.” You brought the dice to your lips, pecking the side.

Chance giggled at the feeling. Right on the bottom of his foot. 

“I take it that was your foot?”

He nodded, excited to see where this was going. Already feeling himself growing semi-hard in his pants as  he watched you in anticipation.

You pressed a kiss to the five, eyeing Chance’s response. He twitched under you with a whimper. 

“Where was that?”

“My left thigh.” 

Okay, so if five was the left thigh then… you pressed a kiss to the six.

“R-right thigh.” He groaned out. Having your lips on him like this was something else. 

It was probably a good thing you never kissed the other numbers. He was sure you would make him cum from just kissing him alone. 

“So if six is your other thigh then that must mean seven or eight is likely your-”

“What if we avoided that area?” He cut you off, a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

“Why’s that?” You leaned in, giving him a deep kiss.

“I-I just…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“Chance, would me kissing the dice equivalent of your crotch make you cum?” Wow, just right out with it. 

“Y-yeah, yeah. It would. I’m gonna be honest. With the way that you’re already going at it, I’d probably cum just from you kissing me.” 

“Really?” You sat upright, eyes sparkling. 

He nodded, blushing furiously. 

“Could we try it?” You bit your lip. 

The thought of having the man fall apart just from you kissing him had you riled up. You could feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. Seeing him squirm from your kisses before coming undone. Oh, that was very appealing. 

“You want to?” He was surprised.

“Yeah, I do. Only if you want to.” 

“You don’t have to ask twice.” He wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled with each other as you moaned. 

Pulling away, you brought the dice back up to your face. Eyeing the numbers, you decided to go for the 19. You gave it a slow kiss, watching Chance as he shivered and moaned. The feeling reached a sweet spot on his neck that had him keening. He was pretty sure he was addicted to your lips now. 

You continued to press kisses to various numbers. Loving every whimper and moan you managed to get out of the man. Occasionally you would lean back in to give him a proper kiss on the lips, only to return to tease him with the die. 

Chance could tell you were avoiding the seven and eight. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“P-please.” He groaned through gritted teeth as he felt your lips on his chest. “I need you…”

“Need me to what?” You teased with a smirk.

“Kiss the seven and eight. Please.” He begged, squirming beneath you.

“Hmm. Good boy.” Oh fuck. That had his dick throbbing. 

Slowly, you brought the die to your lips. You pecked all over it, then finally pressed a kiss to the seven. Chance cried out at the feeling. Your lips right where he needed them. Feeling them press against his throbbing length. He was sure the next one would be the last he needed. You gave another slow kiss to the eight. It was his undoing. Cock twitching in his pants, releasing a sticky load into his boxers. His hands gripped at your hips as he rutted against the feeling of your lips. 

“Oh f-fuck.” He stuttered out. 

You pressed your lips to his, then kissed all over his face. The man melting into your affection. 

“How was that?” You asked softly.

“Amazing. Perfect. Wonderful. Perfect. Did I mention perfect?” He chuckled.

“I’m glad I could give you that.” You picked up the die again, giving it a peck on the 20. 

“Guess I’ll be keeping my lucky shot tradition for our other games.” You gave him a sweet smile. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Chance pulled you back to him, “did you think playtime was over?”