So With The Scene Of Caitlyn Looking At The Hexgate Schematics And The Final Shot Of The Airship That

It was an average Monday morning when you, Nanami Kento's wife, were turned into a cat.

"An unusual Curse," Shoko had said, "not longer than a week, surely--"

"Not--not longer than a week?!" Kento spluttered, his glasses lopsided, and, dangled in front of him beneath the arms (legs-- legs, he reminded himself)...you.

You, with two pointed ears, a long whippy tail, your many toe-beans and a perturbed little head-tilt. On the doctors' office couch, a neatly folded (if a little furry) pile of your clothes.

"Meow," you had said.

"Don't 'meow' me," Kento spluttered again, fixing you with a stern look that barely overlaid his concern. You simply stared up at him, long, and feline, and unblinking...and reached out one little paw, pressing it onto the end of his nose.

Kento sighed; a bone-deep, weary sigh. Shoko put out her cigarette, speaking through a haze of smoke.

"Like I said. Give it a week, and Mrs.Nyanyami will be back to nor--"

"What did you just call her?'

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Mrs.Nyanyami, the cat formerly known as Nanami Kento's wife, wanted for nothing.

"I think that tuna's more expensive than anything I've ever eaten," whispered Yuuji to Gojo. On the other side of the conference room, you sat upon the desk before Kento, waiting patiently for the next lump of tuna (meticulously cut into cat-appropriate cubes) to be delivered in his chopsticks.

As Kento's hand approached, you held it close with paw and claws, to steal the pink fish from him. He looked like a surgeon performing heart surgery.

"I just...dont know how he can look so serious while he's doing that," Gojo whispered back, to Yuuji's frantic nods. Still, they watched this freakish nature documentary with quiet obsession.

A higher-up sat down beside Kento, waiting for the meeting to begin. Jolting back, and grumbling, he did a double take.

"Young man-- you can't bring a cat to a Sorcerer's meeting--"

"That's not a cat," Kento snapped, frosty, "that's my wife."

And so began the rumour amongst the higher-ups, that Nanami Kento had gone mad.

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"You should leave her at home--"

"--absolutely not--"

"--really, Nanami...just put the television on, she'll be fine--"

"--unequivocally, no--"

"--why not?!"

Silence. An awkward shuffle on Kento's thick chest. You peeked your head out of the pocket of the cat-carrying hoodie that Kento wore over his shirt and tie, and turned to Gojo with narrowed eyes.

"Meow," you had said, batting at Kento's strings, and hooking his tie out with your paw, to kick it to death with your legs.

"I agree," said Kento, whispering and scratching you beneath the chin until you purred, "he's wrong, isn't he? Stupid Gojo. You'd get lonely. You'd get bored. Yes you would..."

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"Oh my god...he's gorgeous...you should get his number--"

"--I'm not brave enough...you go. I'll get our coffees."

"--okay, okay..." The woman cleared her throat, sweeping her hair behind one ear with her best smile. Kento looked up from his coffee, with one finely raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" He lied, unwilling to help anyone at all before he'd finished his croissant.

"Hi, yeah, I just...can't help but notice you're sitting alone, and my friend-- well she-- she just wondered if she can have your number, and--"

The woman broke off into shrieks. Climbing up her leg, all claws and furry vengeance, was you. She shook her leg, shrieking. You hissed. Your cup of steamed milk clattered over the table, slopping everywhere.

"--o-oh my god-- oh my god, what the hell is this cat doi--"

"I'm sorry," Kento sighed, not sorry at all and dabbing his mouth with a napkin and doing absolutely nothing to help, "it's my cat. She doesn't like company--"

Hisses. Claws. Dirty feral yowls.

"Get this fucking thing off me--"

"I can't take you anywhere. No more steamed milk for you."

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At times, you seemed so human. At others, undeniably cat.

Kento would wake to clattering from the kitchen, bleary and feeling around for you, only to remember, and trace his hand up to the furry, round little patch you'd leave behind on your pillow. He allowed himself just a moment of misery, before getting up.

He followed the sounds of cups and kettle and coffee machine, and leaned against the doorway with sleep-mussed hair and a squinting, teenagerish glare.

You were up on the counter, all four paws and determination. You had gotten as far as switching the kettle and coffee machine on, and heaving the cupboard open with your tiny limbs. Kento watched as you tipped your head sideways, managing to drag two mugs out in your teeth. He winced as they almost smashed upon the counter.

"Come on," Kento rumbled, his voice rusty with sleep, "let me do that."

You meowed at him, batting at the air with one angry paw when he stepped closer. Kento huffed, raising his hands in surrender.

"Fine," he tutted, "but I'll pour the water."

"Meow."

"Why? Because you don't have opposable thumbs, darling."

The fur stood up along your spine. You turned around, and around, in a circle, then sat upright. You turned your back on him while you waited for the kettle to boil. Your tail flicked from side to side, irritable. Kento waited, too, reaching out one hand to stroke your ears.

You nudged your back paw out, and pushed his mug off the side to smash on the floor.

Silence.

"...what is wrong with y--"

"Meow."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Skitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

Kento groaned, rubbing down his face. He checked the clock, frog-blinking; two in the morning. He groaned harder.

Skitterskitterskitter.

Thunk.

More distant meows.

"Please just come back to bed," Kento moaned into the hands pressed over his face.

SkitterskitterskitterSKITTERSKITTER-- rustlllleerussstle--

Directly over his face.

"Meow--"

"I am begging you--"

RustlerustleTHNKskitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"I miss you."

You raised your head to look at him. Your purring hitched. Your ears tilted.

Kento had murmured, his low voice barely audible. The only light in the living room was the ever-changing light of the television screen. Laid on his back on the sofa, with you curled on his chest, Kento stroked down your back with longing.

You crept up his chest, pressing your cold wet nose to his, and purred. Nose to nose, and cross-eyed, Kento could have cried.

"I really miss you," he repeated, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Your claws dug into his chest, just a little. You rub, rub, rubbed your warm furry head along his jaw until he sniffled, and gave a choked little chuckle.

He fell asleep with you on his chest that night. In so many ways, it was familiar; home. In so many others, you were gone forever.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Meow."

Kento shuffled. His chest felt heavy...warm. His belly felt warm, too. And his lap, and--

Kento's eyes shot open, his head lifting up from the couch.

You bit your lip, naked on top of him, and smiling. Human. An angel.

"Oh, my love," Kento moaned, crushing you to him in a bear hug from shoulder to toes, "you're back-- I missed you, I was so worrie--"

You batted an arm out, swiping last night's wine glass from the coffee table beside you, to shatter on the floor.

Silence. Kento blinked slowly, looking from the wine glass, to you. You felt your cheeks grow hot, swallowing hard.

"God, I...sorry, Kento. Force-- force of habit--"

A 7/11 full of weed?

(Jesse x f!reader)

Word count: 7815

Summary: You and Jesse end up seeking shelter from the snow storm in a 7/11.

Warnings: fluff, dangerous temperatures, mentions of scars, friends to lovers, weed, mention of sexual abuse/trauma, yearning, smut 18+, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, happy ending, angel baby!jesse, golden boy!jesse

A/n: I need more Jesse fics and appreciation so I decided to type this up to sooth myself until I find more LOL also sorry for the spacing, tumblr format always messes my stuff up. Enjoy :)

"I thought you said the storm was gonna pass right over us?" You groaned from your horse as she trotted beside Jesse's. What started as a light snow fall turned into a blizzard in the matter of a couple hours as the two of traveled further on the patrol.

"I was being optimistic" He calls back, tucking his face further into his coat in an effort to shield himself from the weather.

"Yeah well your optimism is gonna cost me my fingers"

You weren't lying. Your fingers were completely numb. The gloves you had stood no match against the negative temperatures after being wet with snow.

Jesse looked over at you then and you tried to make out his expression, but you could hardly see him in the white out even being this close next to him.

He pulled his radio from his thick coat and spoke into it. You were struggling to hear him over the wind but knew he was calling back to Jackson.

"I know a place we can hold up" He yelled over, this time turning his reigns off the main path where the patrol usually stayed. "Follow me"

You didn't have to be told twice. After a couple more minutes of riding you saw buildings in the distance. One that looked to be a brick building under all the snow with faded green and what looked like a 7 on the roof. The other some sort of garage, just across the way.

You watched as Jesse slid off his horse and moved toward what looked like a garage door. You followed suit, feeling like needles were shooting through your body as you landed on the ground. Fuck.

You stood next you him, watching as he brushed the fresh fallen snow away to expose the handle. You gripped the cold metal next to his hands and attempted to open it with your combined strength.

"Fuck" He groaned, standing at full height after you both tugged on it. "It's frozen shut"

You looked at the horses, knowing they were just as cold and feeling pity for the animals, "Jesse, what are we gonna do?"

The snow whipped around between to the two of you, swirling white dust clouding your line of sight.

He thought quickly, kicking hard at the latch of the door before moving to the left side of the long door and doing the same. It seemed to be working, you could hear the ice cracking.

You copied him on the opposite side of the door, trying to kick hard despite your feet throbbing. When he tried the door again, it slid up with ease, exposing an old, small garage with concrete floors and bales of straw in the corner.

You grabbed the reigns of both horses and ushered them inside as Jesse ripped at a square bale and tossing chunks in front of the animals.

"Follow me" He called again, pulling you away from the horses and back out into the snow. He pulled the door down, closing it tightly to protect them from the elements. You followed close behind him, straight for the old 7/11. Once at the door he moved a piece of wood before opening the door and pushing you inside.

You could've never prepared for the sight before you, Marijuana plants lined the inside. To the right of the door hung dried leaves and jars on shelves. There was supplies everywhere for the plants and just pass them in the back of the building was a wood burner that Jesse was already squatted in front of, trying to get it up and running.

All of the once clear windows were spray painted black but was long since faded, however it still prevented anyone from looking in.

"Am I fuckin' hallucinating?"

"Maybe–" Jesse was rushing around the room, moving past you to the door you'd come in and locking it a piece of wood that was sat off to the side. He set it in place and pushed on the door insuring it was locked before walking passed you again, "Do you see a 7/11 full of weed?"

"Uh huh" You mumbled, nodding your head while looking around the building.

"Then no" He said simply.

"Are we safe in here?" You asked suddenly the wind pushed an overgrown tree against one of the windows. He moved back in front of the wood burner, fiddling with the knob before it ignited.

"Never had an issue with raiders or infected, no one knows this place," He explained, sighed when he felt the small amount of warmth radiating from the box. He glanced over his shoulder at you, "So yeah, it's safe"

You shivered in your spot still by the door, feeling like you shouldn't be in here.

"Get over here before you freeze to death" He added, holding his hands out in front of him, absorbing the heat, "It's not a lot, but it'll do"

You did as he said, moving into the back of the room and sitting in front of the heat source on the ground where he had been sitting before getting up and moving. He was right, unless you were sat on top of the box it wasn't gonna do much to warm you.

Jesse had stripped his coat, hat and gloves off, hanging them to dry much like the weed near the front.

After a moment he came back and stood in front of you. When you looked up at him from the ground you noticed he held his hand out expectantly, "Give me your stuff"

"No way, I'm freezing" You argued crossing your arms over the wet coat.

"Yeah, well if you keep them on you'll definitely freeze to death" He argued, taking it upon himself to pull your knit hat off. "They're soaked. If we hang them they'll be dry by the time we leave here"

You huffed, knowing he was right. He always seemed to be. You stood in front of him unzipping the coat and shrugging it off before peeling off your gloves. You hissed at the numbness.

You turned just enough so Jesse couldn't see them as he hung your things up next to his. When he was done he pulled the small couch over in front of the heater and shook out the old blankets that were thrown onto it.

Your hair was damp from where the snow that had gathered during the ride was melting. Underneath your long coat all you had been wearing was a thin blue long sleeved shirt and jeans.

"You know in case of emergencies, such as this, you should be wearing more layers" He teased behind you, seeing you holding yourself in an effort to get warm.

"Thanks captain obvious" You tried to stop the chattering of your teeth to prove a point but you couldn't. He instructed you to sit down on the couch and when you did he placed one of the blankets over your shoulders. It was thin, but provided a way to lock in the heat you were slowly getting back. "I-I'll r-remember that if we survive this-s"

"We'll be fine" He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and blew hot hair into them. He paced for a minute as if he were thinking, "As long as this heater does its job"

"Is this your place?" You asked, changing the subject as you watched him walk to a box on a shelf on the other side of the room, "Your little hide out?"

"Something like that" He said, digging around. You could see his back muscles flex under his black long sleeve shirt. When he found what he was looking for he turned back to face you and you snapped your attention back to the fire inside of the burner, as if you weren't just staring at him. "It was Eugene's place, he'd found it a couple years back, decided to keep the plants going and harvest them. He showed me once while we were on patrol and swore me to secrecy. Now that Eugene is gone, I come by and harvest what I can"

"Jesse the stoner" You quipped, watching the orange flames dance in the box. He walked back toward you with a package, small enough that it fit in just one of his hands. He was fiddling with the wrapping when you laughed, "Never pegged you as that guy"

"Not a stoner" He defended, finally opening the package that said Hostess on the front. "Just occasional, when I need to take the edge off or something"

"I knew it" You breathed, legs bouncing up and down as you sat, "Your sunny disposition makes so much sense now"

"Shut up" He laughed as he held out one of the cakes, waiting for you to take it. When you quirked an eyebrow at it, he added, "Whoever set this place up had a stash of these under the floor board. Eugene said they were popular back before, said could last through a nuclear apocalypse and still be edible. They're called Twinkie's"

"Oh I've heard of those. Kevin had a whole speech about them a little while back, talking about things he missed from before," You moved the blanket so you could reach out and grab it from him, "—and something called Oreos"

The second he saw your left hand he cursed under his breath. The skin was red and swollen, spreading up to your wrist with a waxy like sheen over the skin.

"Fuck, let me see your other hand" He revoked the Twinkie, sitting it back down in the plastic and moving to sit beside you on the couch.

You held your right hand out; it was just as red and irritated. Jesse immediately enveloped your hands cupping them with his own. "Can you feel this?"

"Kinda" You shook your head slowly, teeth still chattering, "They're pretty numb"

You really weren't worried until you saw the look on Jesse's face. He brought the mess of hands to his mouth, blowing hot air directly into them and rubbing his hands over them, creating friction.

He could see that you were still shivering, legs bouncing rapidly against the concrete floor. He dropped one of his hands, pushing the blanket to the side and touching your arm through the fabric.

"We need to get your warm quick" He sighed, suddenly dropping your hands and moving to grab more blankets. He draped another blanket over your shoulders and motioned for you to lie down.

You looked at him, face now against the couch cushion with the blanket pulled up to your chin. You were still shivering as he put two more logs into the burner and closed the grate door again.

"This sucks" You said in an attempt to joke about the situation, but you stuttered on the words. Jesse snapped his head to you, seeing your lips were tinged purple.

He was standing again and you watched him kick his snowy boots off before moving the end of the couch. You could feel him lift your feet and tug carefully before your boots and socks were removed, leaving them bare.

"Even your socks are soaked" He muttered pulling the blanket back down over your feet and hanging your socks up next to the gloves and coats. "You really should get some new boots if you're gonna keep patrolling out here"

You laughed quietly, "I don't think I'm fond of patrols anyway, maybe I'll try again in the s-summer"

"Scoot over" He instructed, standing back in your field of vision.

If you could feel your cheeks, you're sure they would blushing, "W-what?"

"Relax, I just want to share some of my body heat with you" He explained, watching your wide eyes before adding, "You're going to become hypothermic if we don't bring up your body temperature"

Before you could refuse he was reaching down and physically moving you over, not taking no for an answer. Luckily the couch was long and wide, enough for you both to fix pretty comfortably.

He laid back with his head against the arm of the couch and moved your blankets, so he was also covered. He was close enough now that you could literally feel heat radiating off him.

"I don't bite" He chuckled when he noticed how far you were pressed into the back of the couch trying not to touch him. When you didn't laugh, he cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm just trying to help you"

"I know" You responded quietly, body involuntarily shaking from the cold or from the fact that he was laying so close next you, you honestly weren't sure.

He'd heard about your time on the outside before you were taken into Jackson. You'd told him you were a drifter between different groups as you traveled from the Cleveland QZ. You never went into detail about your time on the outside but he knew that it placed you in less-than-ideal situations. He also knew you didn't like to be touched; that much he'd learned watching you recoil from hugs or any physical contact from others in Jackson.

"Just try to relax. You should warm up soon" He suddenly said, adjusting against the worn-out cushions before yawning and closing his eyes. He knew even just being under the blanket would help with evening out your body temperature. "I'm going to rest my eyes for a little"

You hated the fact that you could feel the space under the blanket become like an oven. You watched him for a while, until his breathing evened out and you were sure he was sleeping.

Over the course of the last thirty minutes, you had moved closer to him, making sure he was still asleep as you did. You were starting to get the feeling in your hands and feet back, the numbness slowly dissipating.

Before you knew it you were tucking your hands around his bicep under the blankets and resting your head against his shoulder. After about an hour you were asleep too, feeling content as the shivering subsided.

*

When you opened your eyes the light through the painted windows was completely gone. The only light was the orange glow from the burner, lighting up the room.

For a moment you forgot where you were, feeling hazy from sleep until you felt hot breath against your hair. You could feel the weight of an arm wrapped around your shoulder and the hard plane of Jesse's chest as he breathed.

At some point he must've adjusted his arm because you were now nestled into his side with your cheek resting on the fabric of his shirt. You wanted to recoil at the feeling of him holding you in place but you didn't. You felt warm down to your feet that had managed to find their way under his legs for warmth.

The wind whistled outside of the thin windows telling you the storm was still raging outside of the building. You briefly thought about the horses but knew the garage across the way was the safest place for them. You were pulled from your thoughts as you felt Jesse shift beside you, turning ever so slightly in your direction and tightening his hold on you. You knew it had to have been a reflex but it still made your stomach jump.

With him facing you more now you could see his peaceful expression and lips parted just enough for his breaths to escape and fan over your forehead.

It'd been a while since you had let a person get this physically close to you and it surprised you that you didn't mind it. Instead, you moved closer to him, if it were even possible.

"How do you feel?" His voice came out groggy and thick, eyes still closed.

"Uh–better"

"That's good" He said lazily, moving to yawn before realizing his arms were around you. It was his turn to go stiff and panic, "Shit, I-I didn-"

"It's okay, really, I don't mind" You interrupted stopping him from removing himself from you, "It's nice. You're like a heater"

A deep chuckle erupted from his chest as he relaxed at your words, sinking back into the cushions. "I'm glad I could offer the service"

A silence fell over the two of you now that you were both awake. Neither of you moved from your spots, just listened to the wind howling outside and watching the flames dance in the burner.

"Guess we won't be back in Jackson tonight"

"Guess not" You replied, trying to ignore the way his biceps felt under the fabric of his shirt.

"How does your hands feel?" He asked, remembering that they were on the borderline of frostbite earlier.

You removed them from his arm and out from under the blanket knowing it would be easier for him to look at them and see if they should still be concerned or not.

He took his free hand and grabbed your palm moving it around in the lowlight and examining it. His calloused fingers brushing your skin. "They look a lot better, might make it back with all your fingers and toes after all"

"You thought I was gonna lose my fingers?" You asked, biting at the inside of your cheek as he continued to play with your fingers even after he'd examined them. When he realized what he was doing he dropped your hand and cleared his throat.

"It crossed my mind" He teased, moving his legs under the blanket before turning to look over at you. Your gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips, before flickering back to meet his gaze. You hadn't realized how close he was until you heard his breath hitch in his throat. He sat up suddenly, knocking you off of him in the process.

"You hungry?" He asked, standing from the couch completely and walking over to grab the Twinkie from the counter. You hated that you immediately missed the warmth of his body next to you. "We can heat these over the burner"

"Uh- yeah sure, thanks" You mumbled, sitting up and bringing the blanket with you. The air in the garage was warmer than before but nothing compared to the heat you were just feeling.

He removed the pastry from the plastic again, this time setting them on an old glass plate and positioning them right in front of the heat.

"Is there anything to drink here?" You asked, not really thirsty but attempting to fill the awkward silence.

"Yeah, over in the file cabinet there" He instructed using his free hand to point over to the corner of the room. You lifted yourself off the couch immediately regretting it as your bare feet made contact with the cold concrete. When you opened the file cabinet you found a dusty bottle of brown liquor.

"Oh fancy" You hummed, grabbing the bottle and moving back over to the couch. "Some whiskey should keep the cold away"

After a minute he moved the plate away from the heater and sat next to you on the couch.

You twisted the cap off the bottle of whiskey and taking a small sip. The liquor burned your throat as you swallowed but it was good, well good in your standards.

"Those things look gross" You admitted watching him flip them over as they cooled down. You set the bottle between the two of you on the couch.

"Ye of little faith" He retorted, shaking his head at you and handing you one of the cakes. You took it in your hand and watched as he picked his up. It was golden in color, thick and spongey. "Trust me, you'll like it"

You weren't sure when you started this habit of trusting people, especially men. You assumed when you got to Jackson that it would be the same as everywhere else. You weren't to keen on trusting anyone again. But here you were.

You mirrored his movements as he brought the cake to his mouth and took a bite. The texture confused you at first until you tasted the creamy filling inside. It was sweet and heavy yet light, like a whipped cream.

He watched your eyes go wide and you cover your mouth as you spoke, "I've never tasted anything like this"

"It's good right?" He urged, swallowing his bite before taking another.

You did the same and after just a couple of bites it was gone. You cursed yourself for not savoring every bite.

"No wonder the dude had these stockpiled" You squealed, tucking your legs up on the couch and turning to face Jesse. "I'm not lying- I think that just changed my life"

He took a swig of the whiskey, offering you another sip, which you took before closing it back up. He nodded, amused at your reaction, "And think about how they would taste fresh and not expired"

"Why would you do this to me?" You whined throwing your head back before smacking his arm, "You are a sick man"

"Hey" He held his hands up in surrender on the other side of the couch. "You can just say thank you Jesse for introducing my palate to this delicious old world delicacy"

You rolled your eyes at him, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and taking another swig, feeling the liquid settle in your stomach.

"How about thank you Jesse for keeping me warm"

That caught his attention, something in the way you said it. He shifted on the couch, taking the bottle and sitting it on the table near the couch.

He stood up from his spot and moved to the doors where the two of you had come in. He moved the board and opened the door just enough to look outside. A gust of wind and snow came barreling through the opening, feeling like it slapped you in the face. He closed it again, putting the board back in a locking position.

"I think we should try to head back at first light, I have a feeling this storm is only going to get worse"

You nodded, standing from the couch, this time not caring how cold the floor was. You kept the blanket around your shoulders and let it drag across the ground behind you as you walked. "We've got a couple hours to kill"

He caught you looking at him and moved his attention to the leaves hanging up. He was tall enough that he could reach them easily. "I think I'm going to do up some jars, maybe take some back to town with us"

You moved to the part of the building where the plants were, a lot of them looked dried up and dead, most likely from the cold months and the loss of sun.

"I still can't believe you are Jacksons weed dealer" You laughed, watching him work. You opted for sitting on the counter to the left of him to get your feet of the concrete. Once up you tightened the blanket around your shoulders.

"Why is it so hard to believe?" He ponders, meticulously handling the buds.

"I dunno" You sighed, picking at the loose threads of the blanket and kicking your feet back and forth. "I guess because you're the golden boy of Jackson"

He made a sound, looking over to you. "I am not the golden boy"

You bit your lip to stifle your laugh, but you couldn't contain it. He definitely was. Everyone in town knew they could depend on Jesse. He always kept his word and was nice, sometimes too nice, getting himself roped into helping the elderly in the community or playing with the kids. But was also strong and well versed in combat. Tommy and Joel trusted him like a son.

"What's so funny?" He asked, incredulously. He closed the lid on the jar before turning to look at you.

"Oh nothing" You smiled, clearing your throat to cover from laughing again, "I just think it's funny that you can't see how much of a golden boy you are"

He rolled his eyes at you, crossing him arms over his chest and leaning against the counter that you were sat on. "Has anyone ever told you how infuriating you can be?"

"Hm- infuriating? No" You made a motion in the air while you thought, "Hilarious, yes"

"Now that I think of it annoying would be a better description" He teased, his eyes fixed on you.

You rolled your eyes back at him, glancing around the large room. You weren't sure if it was the liquid courage talking or the silence of the room but you felt the need to speak again.

"You know you're like the only guy around our age who didn't come onto me when I first got to Jackson," The smirk he wore faltered as he pressed him lips in a straight line. He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't say anything at all. When you were meant with silence you pressed, leaning forward on the counter, "Why is that?"

When he realized you were waiting for an answer he shrugged, moving back to his workstation and filling another jar.

You were intrigued by his change in demeanor, so again you pressed, "Was I just that repulsive?"

"Jesus, Y/N—come on now" He sighed, not finding the conversation amusing in the way you did. He had remembered how broken you looked when Tommy introduced him to you and the way you flinched when he held his hand out to you. "Of course, not"

You'd been found by a patrol from Jackson during the warmer months after you had been traveling with a group of four guys. Over the years you'd learned to steer clear of men in general, but they had managed to earn your trust when they saved you from a heard of infected.  They took care of you for a couple of days as you passed through the mountains. They were nice enough until you refused to give them the one thing they wanted. The one thing they saved you for. When you wouldn't put out they decided they would take you by force.

They had beat you half to death and left you for dead.

You distinctly remembered the first time you had seen yourself in the mirror of the infirmary once inside the walls of Jackson. You barely even recognized the woman who looked back at you. Swollen and mangled face with cuts and bruises scattered down your neck. When you were healed enough, with just subtle bruising and healing cuts you were introduced to the town. In the first couple of days, you were approached by many of the bachelors, except the one that had caught your eye.

When you opened your mouth ready to make another sarcastic comment, he spoke again. "You were so different back then, like if the wind blew too hard you would fall over or something"

That wiped the smirk right off your face.

He screwed the lid onto another jar before turning to face you again, seeing the expression on your features, before continuing, "The last thing you needed was some assholes trying to get with you"

You nodded, puffing your cheeks awkwardly and tapping your fingers on the surface of the counter beside your thighs. He was right. It was the last thing you needed or wanted at the time, which is why you avoided and turned down anyone who pursued you in the weeks that followed. Instead, you took the time to get stronger, never wanting to be in a situation where you couldn't defend yourself again.

That's how you became closer with Jesse. He would spend time sparing in the barn with you, teaching you different techniques for hand-to-hand combat and self defense. Soon enough you came out of your shell, especially around him.

You always wondered why he never made a move on you, even after months of training together every day.

He moved beside you to grab another jar down from the shelf behind your head, "Well-uh what about now?"

He froze at the question, arm lingering close your head before he set the jar next you on the counter, turning slowly to look at you. His gaze lingered on your eyes a little too long before he made himself look at the hand that you had moved to fiddle with the jar. "Yeah, things are different now"

"Different how?"

"You ask a lot of questions" He spoke in a low voice, one that he reserved for when the two of you entered abandoned buildings or there were infected around.

"I'm a curious person" You quipped back, meeting his eyes again. This time he didn't look away.

"I've noticed that" He said again, quiet enough that you could hear the wind just outside of the window howling again. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You didn't speak again, instead reaching out and grabbing his sleeve, tugging it ever so slightly toward you. From your spot on the counter top you were easily his same height, something you only experienced on horseback.

Your finger hooked into his belt loop before glancing at his lips again. He's so close now that you feel the heat radiating from him again. Before you let yourself overthink, you lean forward and press your lips against his.

His lips part ever so slightly, but he doesn't reciprocate, instead pulling away after a couple of seconds and blinking at you.

"What's wrong?" This time you were whispering, feeling your cheeks heat up at the thought of him not wanting this, "I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—"

"No, fuck no that's not it. I–well I don't want to pressure you or anything just because we are sorta trapped here for the night and–"

"Damn," You giggle at him, now moving your hands up his arms and intertwining them behind his neck. "You're such a respectful, golden boy you won't even kiss me after all this time"

"I'm serious" He whispers but still places his hands on either side of the of you, trapping you against the counter.

"So am I" You whisper back, using your leverage on his neck to pull him closer to you. As you do a strand of his black hair falls into his face and you tuck it back behind his ear, catching a glimpse of his stressed expression, "Do you see anyone holding a gun to my head? Holding me against my will?"

As you leaned closer, your eyes closing as you anticipated the touch of his lips against yours again, a rush of excitement and desire coursed through your entire being. His breath was hot, his lips gently touching your own, a soft and teasing caress.

Jesse checked over your expression once more before he was leaning into you. And as your lips met again he melted against you, hands moving to hold your waist. His kisses were slow and sensual, as if he was testing the waters, still hesitant and holding back. Instead of letting him overthink you moved your thumb against the nape of his neck soothingly and smiled against his lips, shrugging the blanket from around your shoulders.

He pulled back briefly, searching your face again before capturing your lips once more in a deeper, more passionate kiss. His hands moved to cradle your face as you deepened the kiss, thumbs tracing soothingly across your skin. Slowly, he parted your lips, his tongue running along the soft skin of your bottom lip, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, drawing you closer to him. The kiss deepened, his tongue exploring your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, consuming you. It was a slow and sensual kiss, filled with a passion so intense it took your breath away.

He angled your head back giving him better access to explore with his tongue as you let a low moan escape your lips. He made a sound in response and you opened your legs to him.

He settled between your legs and you pulled back just enough to mutter, "You smell like marijuana"

His laugh vibrates your lips making butterflies erupt in your stomach. Those butterflies only got worse when you felt him nip at your bottom lip.

You smirked, pulling away and pushing his head back, exposing his neck to you as your lips trailed down the skin. You heard his breath catch in his throat as his hands gripped at your thighs, "Fuck," he muttered.

Before you let him kiss you again you were reaching for the hem of his shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked into the waistband of his pants. He got the idea and reached for it, pulling it all the way off leaving his chest bare and exposed to your touch. He shivered slightly as the cool air hit his skin, eyes locking onto yours as you took in the sight of him.

You'd seen him shirtless before, in the hotter months working or building around town when it was entirely too hot to wear a shirt, but never like this. Never this close. He pulled you closer once again, his chest pressed against you as his mouth sought out yours.

As you wrapped your legs around his waist, you could feel the strength and solidity of his body beneath your thighs. His arms encircled you, pulling you close as he lifted you effortlessly off the counter, carrying you as if you weighed nothing. His grip was firm, secure, and you felt a sense of safety and security as he held you tight against him. You found it extremely attractive that he was able to walk and kiss you at the same time.

His footsteps faltered slightly as he continued to kiss you, his attention fully focused on the taste of your lips and the feel of your body in his arms. He was wrapped up in the moment, intoxicated by your touch and the way your body responded to his. Unaware of his surroundings, he stumbled slightly, almost tripping over a box of tools on the floor.

Startled by your sudden gasp, Jesse quickly steadied himself, holding you tightly against him. He could feel your face buried in his shoulder, your body trembling slightly from the near fall.

"Please don't drop me" You whined, peppering light kisses along his collarbone.

"Don't worry, I've got you" He let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing against your ear, amused at your reaction and grip on him.

He focused on walking now, moving his thumb against your thigh as he did. You had to bite your lip at the sheer strength he had. You knew he was strong and, well jacked, but you were prepared for this.

Jesse carefully lowered himself onto the couch, positioning himself so that you were straddling his lap, your legs still wrapped around his waist. His hands moved back to your thighs, his grip firm yet gentle as he held you close to him.

Now safely settled, you kissed him again, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and hips moving against him. Your tongues fought for dominance against each other and he kept his hands on your waist, like the golden boy he was.

You rolled your hips lightly against him and smirked when his body jerked. You moved one of your hands from their place, blindly reaching for his hand on your waist. When you did you captured it, dragging it up and under your shirt on your back.

You hissed at how cold his fingers were but quickly recovered when you felt his calloused touch against your skin. You felt the corners of his mouth turn upward as he spread his fingers, moving them carefully.

His under hand found its way under the shirt and on your back soon after, moving up toward your shoulder blades to bring you closer to him.

You pulled back, grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head in a quick motion, tossing it somewhere near the wood burner.

He gaped at you, not for what was under shirt like a normal guy, but for the scar that ran from your collarbone straight in a diagonal line and stopping at the top of your left breast. 

He'd seen you in low cut tops in the warmer months but he'd only ever gotten glances when it peeked through, it never occurred to him that it continued on.

You moved your hair to the side, fingers falling to fiddle with the button of his pants, hoping it would move the moment along, it didn't.

Instead he took his index finger and traced the scar, leaving goosebumps in his wake, "What's this from?"

"Knife" You said simply, leaning in and capturing his lips with your own; a plea to shut him up.

He kissed you back but only for a minute before he turned his head to the side, breaking the seal, "What happened?"

You rolled your eyes, turning your attention to his neck, sucking and kissing at the skin. He seemed to stiffen, so you huffed, "Remember the story I told you about the group I was with before Jackson?" You didn't wait for him to answer, "They did it"

"It was deep" He said, examining it again before looking up at you when you let out a dry laugh. "You never said what happened"

You moved your hands from his pants because it clearly wasn't helping you change the subject, and instead settled them on his shoulders.

When you thought about being half naked with Jesse this is not what you had in mind.

You looked at the space behind him, where you two had started this whole thing, biting at your cheek. You didn't want to sugar coat it for him, the way you did the others who had the nerve to ask. You liked Jesse, you really liked him. You wanted to be honest. "I—uh, thought they were good men– they got me out of a sticky situation with some infected,"

While you spoke he played with your hair, twisting the ends gently between his fingers. "I didn't plan on staying with them, I preferred to be alone out there. But they told me they had families; wives and daughters– said they were about a four day trek away. About a day later they came on to me around the fire after they set up camp—"

You hated that you had his full attention, feeling nervous under his gaze suddenly while you spoke, "I thought it was a joke at first, told them I wasn't interested but they–uh didn't like that"

"So when George and the others found you, that was–" He trailed off, Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed.

You nodded, finger nails absentmindedly pressing into his skin, "After they well, you know, they beat me— left me for dead"

You felt like you were floating outside of your body, seeing yourself on Jesses lap from the side, shirts missing and an uncomfortable silence.

"I didn't know" Jesse said, hands on your thighs, rubbing them soothingly, bringing you back to your body.

"It's not exactly something I tell a lot of people—or well anyone" You were the most vulnerable you'd been right there in that moment and you hated it, "At least I got a cool scar from it"

Jesse didn't laugh, instead he moved his hand up to your face, cupping your cheek. The gesture and expression on his features instantly made you feel the same way you'd felt the day you were saved. Broken.

And he must've realized because before you knew it he had moved his hand to the back of your neck and was pulling you against him. You let him, body curling slightly into him and face burying into his neck. His hands moved to rub your back soothingly.

You hadn't hugged someone for longer than you'd like to admit, and after that incident you avoided being touched all together. But in that moment you felt your walls coming down.

"Jesse" You mumbled, voice muffled against his skin. When he hummed you continued, "Does all that—uh bother you? I know it's a lot and the—"

He didn't let you finish, moving his head and catching your lips in a soft kiss. He pulled back then kissed you again before pressing his forehead to yours "Does that answer your question?"

You couldn't hide the way the corners of your mouth twitched as you nudged his nose against yours.

You moved from his lap, throwing yourself to the other side of the couch and lying on your back. He watched you amused at the sudden movement.

"C'here" You demanded quietly, propping yourself up on your elbows.

He raised an eyebrow at you, intrigued by your request. He obeyed, moving on the couch before crawling toward you, stopping when he could hover above you. One of his legs found its spot between your legs and your hands moved over his biceps.

You leaned up slowly desperate for him. He met you halfway, tongues tangling together almost immediately. His hand held your face before dragging down to your bra, where it stopped momentarily on the scar again, before massaging your breast, squeezing it gently.

You shifted under neath him so you could reach for his button and zipper again but he stopped you, grabbing your hand, "Are you sure?"

You nodded, biting your lip at the sight of him above you.

"Use your words" He instructed, "I need to know"

"Jesse" You groaned, throwing your head back against the cushion, "I've been sure for a long time"

He smiled at that, leaning down and kissing you before sitting up on the couch, hands finding your zipper and tugging your jeans down your legs.

You sat up, eager to take his pants off for him, unzipping them and pulling them down his thighs. His bulge was prominent and when no longer restricted it sprung under his boxers.

You reached around your back, contorting slightly to un-zap the clasp of your bra before tossing it.

You threw yourself back down, eager to have him back on-top of you. Luckily he didn't want to waste time either because you were barely able to shimmy off your panties before he was coming back above you.

His mouth came to your neck, nipping at the skin there as he moved down. His lips found your scar and he took his time pressing gentle kisses along the length of it. That gesture alone could have made you ascend from your body. Just the idea of him taking care of you, the feeling of respect that you had been denied the last time a man was on top of you. He moved further down to your breasts, sucking at your nipples.

At some point he had moved his hand down between your thighs and when his calloused fingers grazed your folds you nearly fell apart. You held your breath as his fingers found your clit and his mouth came back to you, kissing you sloppy.

"Jesse" You moaned, feeling him against your thigh, "Please"

"Listen" He whispered in your ear, fingers halting between your folds, "You say the word and I'll stop —I won't ask any questions"

Yep. That was the hottest thing you'd heard.

"I know" You breathed, unable to hide how desperate you were, "I trust you"

That was all the reassurance he needed as he lined himself up with your entrance. As he pushed into you he caught your lips, kissing you hard.

You gasped into his mouth at the sudden sensation as he gave you moment to adjust to his size before grinding into you.

He developed his rhythm as you moved your hands from his neck, spreading them across the plane of his back and dragging your nails against his skin. He moaned, making you feel weak, "You okay?"

You couldn't speak, not when you were this close, so instead you hummed, nodding and gripping him harder. He picked up his speed, using the back of the couch as a brace as he moved in and out of you, faster and faster. He was biting into your shoulder, trying to control himself.

"I'm close–" You whined, squeezing your eyes shut.

"I know, babygirl, hold on for me" His voice alone nearly pushed you over the edge. You felt him lift one of your thighs, the position unlocking a whole new pleasure as you reached the edge clutching onto his arm and biting slightly to muffle your screams.

The sight of you desperately clinging onto him and riding the wave of your orgasm is what sent him over the edge as he pulled out of you turning to the side and releasing his seed on an old cloth. Neither of you had anything close to birth control or condoms, so the pull out method was the only option.

When he came back to you, he laid his head on your chest, his hand finding yours on your stomach. The two of you lie there, breathing rapidly with sheen of sweat across your foreheads.

"You're shaking again" He whispered, reaching for the blanket from earlier. "Are you cold?"

"N-not cold" You muttered, moving to face him, brushing the hair that stuck to his forehead back, "Just happy"

"You're sure?" He asked, still pulling the blanket up and over the both of your bodies.

You nodded, feeling content and nuzzling into his side, "Was that uh–good for you?"

Jesse nodded, his breath coming in ragged breaths as he laughed against your skin. "Are you kiddin'," He lifted his head and kissed you again, feeling dazed. "I've never been so thankful for snow storm"

You smiled against him, feeling pure bliss. You sat up slightly, trying to untangle the mess of limbs under the blanket before cuddling into his side, your leg thrown over his legs.

"Are your feet always this cold?" He muttered against your hair, fingers tracing your naked arm, leaving goosebumps.

"You'll get used to it" You teased tracing his chest, eyes flickering closed to the sound of his heartbeat, not even a small part of you worried that you insinuated this happening again.

You wanted it to. You wanted him like this, forever. 

"We'll see about that" He quipped, using both his arms around you to keep you tight against him as your breath began to even out, "Just wait til I get you those new boots, you'll have the warmest feet in Wyoming"

For the first time in a long time you felt loved. You wouldn't be letting this feeling go anytime soon.

NSFW CAITVI FANART

warning: 18+ only twitter/tumblr links below. if any of these links are stolen art lmk and i’ll link the original creator! enjoy<3

͙͘͡★ prison scene w/ caitlyn topless

͙͘͡★ vi covered in caitlyn’s hickies

͙͘͡★ janitor caitlyn!! (who is naked) and janitor vi

͙͘͡★ caitlyn tying vi up

͙͘͡★ just vi naked in water

͙͘͡★ caitlyn’s christmas present to vi

͙͘͡★ with the hex-strap?

͙͘͡★ don’t have to guess the color of your underwear

͙͘͡★ dictator cait and pitfighter vi reunion

͙͘͡★ caitlyn making vi squirt

͙͘͡★ this isn’t sexual but their underwear

͙͘͡★ caitlyn’s daydreams

͙͘͡★ vi knuckle-deep in caitlyn

͙͘͡★ getting each other off

͙͘͡★ caitlyn knuckle-deep in vi

͙͘͡★ vi fucking caitlyn against a wall

͙͘͡★ not that sexual, but vampire cait feeding on vi

͙͘͡★ IS THAT THE SIMS LMAO

͙͘͡★ vi is obsessed with caitlyn’s tits

͙͘͡★ they missed each other

͙͘͡★ vi loves her strap & cait loves sucking it off

͙͘͡★ vi drawing caitlyn half-naked

͙͘͡★ making love in bed

͙͘͡★ isn’t officially caitvi but it looks like them

all of these ate bro

a masterlist of my unofficial attempt at this year's kinktober event. 25 days of kinky x reader love. all fics are 18+ in nature, so please, mdni. hope you enjoy, please remember to like/reblog your favourites, and I'd love to hear your thoughts :)

Note: almost all the reader characters are afab. their relationships with stolas and angel are qpr within the larger poly!dynamic. husk and blitz serve as the hinge in these dynamics. individual fics will note which ones feature gn!readers.

colour coding: huskerdust | husk | blitz | stolitz

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

day one: breathplay

day two: titty-fucking

day three: mirror sex/body worship

day four: balcony sex

day five: lingerie

day six: phone sex

day seven: sleepy sex

day eight: shibari/sex toys/overstimulation

day nine: handjobs/public

day ten: nipple play/temperature play

day eleven: massage/blowjobs

day twelve: keep quiet/formalwear/semi-public/gags

day thirteen: cream pie/cum eating

day fourteen: heat sex/breeding/touch starved

day fifteen: pegging/anal/praise kink

day sixteen: mutual masturbation/camshows/sex tapes

day seventeen: handcuffs/blindfolds/marking/flogging

day eighteen: free use/authority kink/daddy kink

day nineteen: cockwarming/in the workplace

day twenty: size difference/monster fucking/thigh fucking

day twenty-one: voyeurism/dry humping

day twenty-two: bath sex/thigh riding

day twenty-three: knotting/hand kink

day twenty-four: face-sitting/spanking

day twenty-five: aftercare

okay, but what if

Charlie's entire childhood, Lilith and Lucifer were constantly jokingly being mean to each other, like a lot of little married people banters, so she just assumed being mean to someone is a sign of love. She eventually got smarter and grew out of it, although she still catches herself sometimes mocking Vaggie, not very often, though.

So her first thought when Alastor and Lucifer started fighting was "are they flirting??"

Yes. Yes they were.

A short crossover comic I did to celebrate reaching 1k on another platform (almost 1k on here too omg???) it was posted in two parts hence the “to be continued” but DAMN this took forever! So cool to see it all together!!

“WHERE IS MY WIFE?”

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: curses & curse users have discovered satoru’s greatest weakness, and it’s you, satoru’s sweet, ordinary housewife. after getting kidnapped by gojo’s enemies, he’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ only - mdni - slightly dark content // brief smut, fem reader, feral gojo, canon-typical violence, reader gets kidnapped, reader is wounded/has injuries, angst, fluff/comfort

♡ — 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 5K

♡ —𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I’d count grains of sand if it meant I could spend one minute alone with feral gojo (:

As evening fell, and after a delicious dinner was eaten at the dining table downstairs, Satoru was in the mood for something else now — you.

His pretty housewife would be his dessert.

The apple pie you baked was sitting on the dark marbled counter of the kitchen island, two big slices missing — and the vanilla ice cream tub in the freezer had, of course, two hefty spherical digs in it where the cold treat was scooped out — but, even after his stomach was stuffed after a hard day of fighting curses and teaching his students, Satoru’s head was buried in between your soft thighs, satisfying his other craving.

As your husband moaned softly, his tongue danced around your aching clit. His large hand massaged your thigh. The moonlight pouring in through the big bedroom window shined upon his wedding ring, making it glisten as he rubbed your delicate skin.

“I’ll never get tired of tasting you,” Satoru smiled a bit, his warm breath patting against your wet folds.

“You were made just for me. God, I love it. I love you.”

Two long fingers sunk into your awaiting hole. He attached his soft lips to your clit, sucking on it.

One of your hands gripped at the luxurious pale-cerulean sheets, while your other hand gripped his hair, fingers getting lost in his white locks.

“Satoru!” A sharp moan escaped your dried throat.

Every little noise you made — every moan, every squeak of the thick mattress — it all boasted his desire to please you.

He didn’t stop his licking-sucking-fingering combo until your legs were trembling around his head and he was satisfied with tasting your juices.

Only after devouring your pussy like a starving man feasting on a buffet-style dinner did he rise from his position and make his way across the bed, hovering over you.

With a smile, Satoru leaned down and planted a soft kiss against your lips. But, when he pulled away, he was met with an amused look of disgust.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, furrowing his brows a bit.

“You just kissed me after eating me out,” you said with a little, playful grimace. “That’s nasty.”

“Mrs. Gojo, I mean this in the most respectful way possible, but hush.” Satoru lightly tapped your forehead. “You have swallowed plenty of my-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” shaking your head, you cut off your husband’s naughty sentence, pressing your hand against his lips.

The corners of your mouth burned as you tried to fight off a smile. His latest affectionate nickname was Mrs. Gojo — although it truly wasn’t a nickname due to it technically being your name now — and at every given opportunity, he addressed you that way.

Even after two years of marriage, he was as excited as a freshly wedded man. Your love was a never-ending honeymoon.

You stared into Satoru’s striking blue eyes. He darted his gaze across your gorgeous face, illuminated by the moonlight, and as you ran your fingers through his white hair and he ran his thumb across your cheek, both of you close enough to feel the gentle pats of each other’s breaths on your mesmerizing faces, you both fell in love with each other just a bit more — if that was even possible.

“Can I fuck you now?”

Satoru’s question made a sudden chuckle spilled out from between your lips. He couldn’t help but laugh too.

“You’re a buffoon. I’m trying to admire your beauty and that’s what you open your mouth to say?” You playfully frowned.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a human being call another human being a buffoon out loud before.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes humorously. “We need to do our skincare routine first. We have to do it an hour before we go to bed or else we might just rub all the product off. I read that somewhere.”

“Why didn’t we do it before we got into bed in the first place?” Satoru buried his head in the crook of your neck, pouting, but taking a moment to press a little kiss onto your skin.

“Because you were acting as if you were dying of poison and eating me out was the antidote, so I forgot.” you giggled softly.

“Fine, fine,” your husband slowly rolled off of you in defeat. “Skincare routine, nothing more. Please don’t start trying to organize the bath towels.”

“I’m not making any promises,” you said, getting out of bed and following Satoru into the master bathroom.

There, you and your husband stood in front of the big mirror, cleansing and moisturizing your skin as you both chatted about his students, a movie you watched three days ago, and your breakfast plans in the morning.

And it was those sweet little moments that made Satoru’s heart skip a beat. As he flickered his eyes over to your reflection, watching your smother smooth white cream all over your face as you rambled on about a new egg recipe, he couldn’t help but think about how much he loved you.

—

6:00 A.M.

That night ended with soft sex and gentle kisses.

That morning, Satoru’s white eyelashes fluttered open to the early morning sun starting to rise, casting rays through the drawn window curtains and across his comforter.

He squinted his eyes and yawned.

Typically, he was the sort of man who would never wake up at the ungodly hour if he could help it, but the tantalizing aroma of fresh coffee and sizzling eggs had traveled from the kitchen downstairs to right underneath his nose.

Tossing on his blue houseboat, the grumpy-faced man dragged himself into the kitchen, greeting you with a slightly gruff morning voice and a messy head of hair.

“Good morning, baby,” Satoru walked around the kitchen island and loosely wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind. “How’d you sleep? I had a nightmare.”

With a spatula in one hand, you flipped the omelet in the skillet on the six-burner stove. With the other hand, you rubbed his arm, enjoying the warmth his hovering hug had brought.

“I slept alright,” you said. “Did the smell wake you up?”

“Always does,” he smiled lazily although you couldn’t see it.

“Well, your drink’s ready,” you gave a nod in the general direction of the silver espresso machine, which hummed as it brewed Satoru’s steamy beverage.

“I don’t deserve you,” Satoru’s arms hugged you tighter, and he showered the side of your head with kisses.

“Stop it,” your sweet laughter only egged him on as you clenched the spatula and leaned back against him even more. “No fooling around when we’re this close to the stove.”

Satoru eventually backed away after giving you one final kiss against your forehead temple.

“If all goes well, I should be back home tomorrow before dark, then we can check out that new restaurant. What do you say? I personally think it’s time for a date.”

The image of you and Satoru sipping on wine and as you wore your favorite dress flashed in your mind, and you smiled. A date night was certainly something to look forward to in light of Satoru’s overnight trip.

Sorcering duties had often taken him on distant work trips. Truth be told, you were lucky his departure would only last around twenty-four hours and not twenty-four days. Although you missed him whenever he would leave, you understood his choice of career. He was a hero.

You happened to be an ordinary human being. You couldn’t see curses. You couldn’t use cursed energy or cursed techniques, but you were fine with that.

“A date sounds fun! I’m excited now.” You took the omelet out of the skillet and placed it on a nearby plate. “And we’re making time to try out that new pottery class too. It sounds like such a cute date idea, don’t you think so?”

“I’m with you. I’ll make the reservations for the restaurant, you can schedule us for pottery-making.” This time, he was the one blissfully picturing you and him spinning messy clay with him sitting behind you and reaching around your body for the pottery wheel, your fingers intertwined as you both created a pot. Satoru smiled at the thought. “Anyway, now that you’re done cooking, can I kiss you?”

You nodded with a cheeky grin, and your husband pressed his lips against yours sweetly.

It was as if some part of him was frightened that he would never get the opportunity to kiss you again.

—

8:37 P.M.

The bright light far above your head flickered briefly as you stood in the pasta aisle at your local grocery store, but you hadn’t noticed it, too fixated on the different brands of spaghetti noodles lying on the shelf above you.

Shopping at night wasn’t preferable, but only after tossing together a simmering pan of sauce did you realize you hadn’t started boiling your noodles yet.

And, with your pot of simmering water ready, you opened the cabinet to see no noodles.

So, here you were, making a last-minute, unplanned trip to the grocery store.

By now, the only sort of pasta noodles left were the ones that a person of average height couldn’t reach. Every box was too high.

You turned your head to the left and to the right.

You even bothered to walk down a few aisles to search for an employee or anyone who might have been tall enough to reach your needed item, but the only other person staggering around was an older blonde-haired woman who was shorter than you were.

Frowning in frustration, you returned to the pasta aisle.

If you had to climb the shelves, so be it.

Suddenly, a kind voice spoke over the calming public-friendly background music playing softly in the store.

“Need some help?”

Whipping your head around, you saw a person — a taller person, thank goodness — who had a smile that was just as sweet as his voice.

“Yes, thank you!” You found that his grin was rather contagious, as you ended up smiling as well. “I just need the spaghetti noodles on the top shelf. Any brand will do.”

The beaming man with long, dark hair stepped forward, and you moved to the side, letting the apparent hero save your day.

He pulled down your desired spaghetti noodles with ease.

“Thanks for your help. My spaghetti sauce won’t go to waste now,” you said politely.

Your eyes darted up to the stitched scar across his forehead, then quickly, you glanced away.

“You’re welcome. Have a good night.”

The man walked down the aisle and left.

There was something familiar about him, oddly enough.

That hair . . . that smile . . .

He reminded you of an old, deceased friend of Satoru’s, one that you hadn’t ever met due to his villainous behavior before his death, but you had seen an old picture of him that he and your husband took during their second year at Jujutsu High, years ago.

As you placed the pasta noodles into your cart, making your way around different aisles to collect a few more items since you were already at the store, you decided that you’d take another look at that photograph once you arrived home, just for peace of mind.

The brown paper bag stuffed with groceries felt rather heavy as you walked down the street, which was brightened by light pouring out of the windows of local businesses that hadn’t yet closed.

You sighed softly.

The dark sky was sparkling with stars. The air was cool and comforting. Soon, you’d have pasta, and perhaps, you’d watch a few episodes of your favorite binge-worthy Netflix show.

If only Satoru was with you.

Chatting with him on the phone a few hours ago only made you miss him even more, but, at least his trip would be a quick one, and soon, you could have dinner with him and listen to his hilarious commentary as you watched television together.

After walking for around five minutes, you were no longer close to the local businesses that made you feel a sense of comfort during your evening stroll.

Now, you had to rely on the occasional streetlight to guide you home.

But that cold air was no longer comforting. It was a chilling breeze that made you clench your grocery bag a bit tighter.

Your footsteps suddenly halted — you could hear something moving in the nearby bushes.

Turning around, you were greeted with nothing but darkness and streetlights. No one else was with you. You kept walking.

However, something wasn’t right.

You might not have been a sorcerer, but you weren’t a fool.

And you had a gut-wrenching feeling that right now, as your wobbly legs guided you home, you were being watched.

You heard that noise again.

The grocery bag crinkled against your chest. You were certain that the bread you purchased was squished by now. If someone was following you, did you really want to unintentionally lead them to your home?

Where should you go? What should you do?

A tear rolled down your cheek from fear.

You were scared. You only wanted to go home, finish your pasta, and watch television.

You didn’t want to deal with such a potentially terrifying situation.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your dial screen.

Your trembling thumb hovered over the buttons, but before you could press anything, a black, disfigured curse appeared in front of you, screeching loudly enough to make you drop everything in your hands and cover your ears, more tears falling as the horrifying monster started to charge at you.

You tried to run in the other direction, but it was too late.

The last thing you saw before you were engulfed by darkness was that man from the grocery store standing on the sidewalk, that same sweet smile on his familiar face.

—

12:27 A.M.

Satoru’s eyes snapped open. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, as he had spent most of the night tossing and turning because you weren’t lying next to him. But, apparently, he did manage to catch a couple of hours of shut-eye.

When he awakened, there was a terrible ache in his heart. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach, and beads of sweat decorated his forehead. His throat was dried to a crisp.

He was all alone in his dark hotel room.

He couldn’t hear you.

He couldn’t see you.

And yet, somehow, someway, thanks to his great power, he knew that his wife was calling for him.

—

The overwhelming scent of old, wet, musky wood and dust would never be forgotten by your memory. A lifetime of therapy would never be able to erase the paralyzing fear you felt, sitting on the cold, hard ground of an abandoned cabin with your hands bound behind your back.

Maybe the fear wasn’t completely paralyzing, though. Your body seemed to tremble with terror just fine.

The sight of it made Suguru Geto — no, Kenjaku chuckle.

He kept his eye on you for no other reason besides his entertainment, as watching you himself was pointless considering he had two frightening curses looming over you.

Once, Satoru shared a fun fact with you: regular human beings cannot see curses unless they are about to die.

That fact was certainly interesting when the two of you were strolling through the beautiful park, a red and white striped blanket in your hand and a picnic basket in his. But, now, that fact only made sweat drip off of your scarred forehead, because you could see the two, black, disfigured curses.

It was a telltale sign that you could die.

“I haven’t had the displeasure of meeting him myself,” Kenjaku suddenly spoke, relaxing in a chair he had positioned a few feet away from the corner you were trapped in. “But I have seen memories of Satoru Gojo that belonged to this body I’ve inhabited. And, I must say, I couldn’t imagine that his wife would be such a weakling. It’s truly pathetic.”

Even if you wanted to reply to him, fear had snatched away your ability to speak. It created a lump in your throat that couldn’t be swallowed down.

“My best guess is that he needs someone boring and ordinary in his life to keep house while he’s busy saving the world. You’re just the cook and maid with a ring on her finger, hm?”

“He loves me.”

Your voice was small — it was a painfully perfect reflection of how you felt on the inside. Weak and pathetic.

“Oh?” Kenjaku raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly. “Believe it or not, I hope you’re right, or else kidnapping you was a waste of time.”

Your chains rattled as you shifted in your spot on the floor, scooting as far into the corner as you could get. An ache shot up your spine from the wall pressing into your back. Pulling your knees to your chest, more tears slipped from your eyes.

“Aw, don’t cry,” he falsely cooed. “Surely you’ve wondered why the world’s strongest sorcerer would settle for someone who forgets to double-check all of their ingredients before they start cooking, haven’t you? It’s not because of love, or anything of the sort. It’s because those who are deeply insecure would do anything to please anyone who looks their way. Only an ordinary, desperate housewife with low self-esteem and no ambition would waste time caring for a man who risks his life saving strangers. What would make you think he cares for you when he spends more time with curses than his own wife? Helping strangers more than his own family? Think about it.”

Kenjaku’s hurtful words were met with silence, but he didn’t stop speaking.

“I bet you’re nothing but a burden to him. Someone like him probably hates being tied down, but marrying a fool who contributes nothing to society is the only way he can get someone else to handle his laundry while he’s busy working hard, hm? He must carry around divorce papers, ready to serve them to you the day you forget to buy detergent from the grocery store.” Kenjaku’s smile brightened. “Oh, that reminds me. You dropped your detergent and other groceries on the road earlier, by the way. Looks like you’re useless now.”

“You . . .” your teary eyes flickered from him to the hovering curses. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. None of that’s true.”

“You have to believe that I’m speaking honestly, Y/N.” Kenjaku sighed with fake sincerity. “My entire plan rests on the hope that Satoru Gojo is foolish enough to try to rescue you. You see, when you want to lure someone out, the proper way to do it is by discovering their weaknesses. When I found out about you, I was hoping that you would be his weakness. That I could use you to lure him out. Then I met you, and, well, you’re simply disappointing. Sorry to break it to you, but I have memories of the old conversations Satoru used to have with Suguru, and being tied down to a powerless housewife was certainly not how he imagined his future. But, I figured I’d try anyway, and so here you are, and he’s not here to rescue you. What a shame. I bet he’s hoping I’ll kill you so he’ll be free.”

He was lying. He had to be. Satoru loved you more than anything . . . right?

The thought had crossed your mind before; why did Satoru want to be with someone powerless? And this villain’s plan to lure out your husband relied on his hope that he’d come to rescue you out of love, so how would it benefit him to convince you Satoru didn’t love you?

Maybe he was right.

After all, if Satoru cared for you, he would have saved you by now. Where was he?

You couldn’t help but cry even harder.

“Please let me go home,” your tears clouded your vision. “Please let me go.”

“Well, you should know that I hate wasting time,” Kenjaku rested his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow pressing into the arm of the chair he sat in. “I can’t let you leave. I won’t let the effort I put into kidnapping you be a total waste.”

Kenjaku’s smile widened, and suddenly, the curses started to move towards you.

—

1:45 A.M.

The subway station was isolated. No ordinary human beings were lurking around, and Satoru was relieved. Right now, he’d kill anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

His shoes gently shuffled against the ground as he made his way into the middle of the big, bright opening, and he clenched his fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palm, hard enough to draw blood.

Two special grade cursed spirits emerged. He recognized them both from a previous fight in the woods.

Volcano head. Asparagus.

“Satoru Gojo,” Jogo suddenly said. “We didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to-”

“Where is my wife?”

When Satoru interrupted the curse, his voice was low. Dark. Startling.

Blood dripped from his palms and splattered onto the ground.

“I was drawn here, but she isn’t here, is she? Where is she? Tell me now, and I’ll kill you quickly instead of slowly.”

Jogo chuckled a bit. Satoru dug his nails into his palm even more.

“Bring us the vessel, Yuji Itadori, and we’ll return that worthless-”

The two curses didn’t have time to blink — weren’t able to register in their minds that Satoru had moved from his previous spot until Jogo was lifted off of the ground and thrown into the flickering light fixture above, shattering it and causing sparks to rain down onto the ground below, where he then fell.

Satoru stepped on Jogo’s head, squishing it underneath his black shoe.

“I remember you. You’re stubborn, right?” Satoru gritted his teeth. “Who the hell do you think you are to take her from me? Whoever you work for must want you dead if they’re stupid enough to send you on a suicide mission. You think I’ll let you leave here alive after this?”

“If you kill us, you’ll never see her again,” the other cursed spirit, Hanami, suddenly spoke up. “Bring us the vessel, and she lives.”

When Satoru suddenly stopped moving, it was only to ensure that he had heard the cursed spirit correctly.

“Did you just threaten . . .” Satoru removed his blindfold, “to kill my wife?”

It was only a matter of time before the branches attached to Hanami’s head were ripped out, and Jogo was beheaded. The subway was reduced to nothing except crumbling walls and darkness. While the cursed spirits were teetering dangerously between life and death, there wasn’t a scratch on Satoru. Instead, there was a smile.

This was simply the consequence of their actions. This was what happened to anyone who laid a hand on his girl.

Hanami’s body was on the brink of collapse as it was forced to come in contact with Satoru’s cursed technique — a blue shield-like piece of infinity that distorted and manipulated both time and space, protecting the sorcerer from attacks and rendering Hanami powerless.

Hanami’s eyes darted over to their beheaded ally — they couldn’t help him.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” Satoru’s eyes widened. His smile grew. He slowly turned, facing Hanami, and blasted him back against the nearest wall without lifting a finger. “Where is my wife?”

—

2:39 A.M.

Kenjaku had never understood the concept of love, and, perhaps, that was why he failed.

Satoru’s love for you was his weakness, that was true, but it also turned out to be his greatest strength, and this was a fight Kenjaku couldn’t win.

Not today.

One of his curses, which had been traveling to and fro to observe what was currently taking place in the subway station and reporting it back to Kenjaku, had informed him that Jogo and Hanami were on the brink of death.

He couldn’t lose them yet. They were too powerful, and he needed their help for his future plans.

Kenjaku left the cabin, taking his curses with him.

And, without their cursed energy purposely making it difficult for Satoru to find you, he was able to pinpoint your exact location.

It appeared in his powerful mind as he was ripping Hanami apart limb by limb, and he wasn’t a fool. He didn’t know who was behind all of this, but it was clear that the mastermind had suddenly decided to let your whereabouts be tracked down in order to save Hanami and Jogo.

He didn’t want to make that deal. He wanted to kill these two, bring them back to life, and kill them over again. Their pain brought him joy, all because they took part in your capture.

But Satoru didn’t want his bloodlust to backfire. After all, if he killed the cursed spirits now, the person who held you captive could change their mind and move you someplace else and hide your location yet again, or, worse — they could kill you.

That wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.

Satoru stopped using his technique. But, as he left the subway station, he promised himself that eventually, he would kill those two. He would kill anyone and everyone involved.

But you came first.

You would always come first.

—

He found you.

When Satoru kicked open the door belonging to a raggedy, abandoned cabin, the scent of blood overwhelmed him. It dirtied his boots as he kneeled by your side. Your unconscious, bleeding body was lying there, simply left on the ground as if you were nothing.

“Y/N . . .” Satoru called out breathlessly.

He took the chains off of you instantly, his bloodshot eyes darting over every gaping wound.

It was indescribable — the anger he felt. He wanted to return to the subway and finish off those cursed spirits, to make them suffer and suffer and suffer.

But tending to you took priority right now. Satoru scooped up your broken and bruised body, holding you as softly as he could. A tear fell from his eye, splattering against your cheek.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay,” he spoke gently.

Your eyelids fluttered as you awakened. An overwhelming sense of pain slammed into you once you regained consciousness, and hot tears streamed down your cheeks. Prior to this, the only pain you had ever known was the wholesome body ache from tripping and falling while playing outside with your friends as a child. But this level of misery took away your ability to speak. Left you wondering if you were going to die.

You could make out stains of your blood on Satoru’s clothes.

Even so, you could tell based on the pained look on his face that he was suffering even more just from seeing you in such a condition.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbled, slowly getting off the ground as he carried you. “This is all my fault. They did this to you because of me. I’m so sorry.”

Satoru raised you a bit, gently pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.

He’d give anything to switch places with you right now — to be the one in unspeakable pain. Why couldn’t they have kidnapped him? Tortured him? If he had the power to take away your suffering and give it to himself, he would. For you, not only would he kill, but he’d die, repeatedly and without a second thought or a moment of hesitation.

As Satoru took you to the nearest hospital, his tears spilling onto your body, he said, “We’re almost there, okay? I promise I’ll make them pay for this, and no one will ever lay a hand on you again.”

Arriving into the uncomforting white halls of the emergency room, Satoru handed you off to the nurses and doctors who rushed up to him. But, before they placed you on the nearest stretcher, Satoru kissed your forehead once again as unconsciousness claimed you, and he whispered, “I love you, Y/N.”

—

10:02 A.M.

Two days later, you awakened in a hospital bed. This time, pain didn’t greet you, but grogginess and blurred vision. The gentle beeps from the nearby machines certainly didn’t help your pounding headache.

Your sight started to clear up after blinking a few times.

Soft strands of hair tickled your arm, and when you looked to your left, you saw Satoru slumped in a chair, his head resting in his arms on the side of your bed. You reached over and ruffled his messy white hair a bit.

He shot up, startled. His blue eyes were wide with alarm, then they softened with gratefulness, but, lastly, they darted down with sorrow.

“Y/N . . . thank god, you’re awake.” Satoru croaked out in his morning voice, clearing his throat a bit. He was dehydrated — too focused on your recovery to worry about himself. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so . . .”

Satoru got out of his chair, sat on the side of your bed, and leaned over, resting the side of his head against your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumbled weakly. “It’s mine.”

Satoru pulled his head away from you, staring at you with furrowed brows and a confused gaze.

“What? No, it’s not.”

You couldn’t find the courage to look him in the eye. Kenjaku’s words replayed in your mind. They hurt just as much as getting attacked by curses.

As if reading your thoughts, Satoru cupped your chin, turning your head back in his direction.

“Look at me,” he said. “What happened wasn’t your fault. I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care if you can’t fight curses-”

“You’re just saying that . . . because I’m kinda useful to you. But I’m easily replaceable. Speaking honestly, I’m a burden. You had to come save my life, and put yourself in danger. I’m not worth it.”

“You think I married you because you’re useful?” Hurt flashed in Satoru’s piercing eyes. “I’m in love with you, and you’ll never be a burden. I don’t care if you can’t fight curses. You’re my wife for a reason, and that’s because there’s nothing greater than seeing you get excited over finding your favorite snack at the grocery store or seeing the way you smile when your favorite scene from a show comes on, and you sit there and watch it as if you haven't seen it a thousand times. I love the way your eyes light up when you find a new activity in town for us to try, or a new book to read, or a new recipe. God, I just . . . I love you. I love you more than anything. I don’t know how you’re able to put up with someone like me. Every day I wonder how I got so lucky because I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me, and I haven’t met anyone as loving as you are. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do you understand me? I’d kill and die for you.”

Satoru gently wiped away the tear that fell from your eyes with his thumb.

“I love you too,” you smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “I’m sorry we missed our dinner reservations and the pottery class.”

Satoru couldn’t help but lean in and kiss your cheek.

“I’ve already rescheduled two weeks out.”

Moving away from your cheek, your husband softly kissed your lips. And while he had spent time rescheduling your date night and making sure you were receiving the excellent care you deserved while in the hospital, he was also hard at work, tracking down the monsters that dared to lay a hand on you.

He would make them suffer.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @nnasv @hyunorue

𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆

pairing. sub!werewolf!toji fushiguro x dom!gn!reader

synopsis. stories and fables always warn of the big bad wolf, but personally, you think he makes quite a cute pet.

content. PORN WITH PLOT YAYY, no curses/modern/alternate magic au, bratty asf sub!toji, mean dom!reader, reader is super strong and beats toji’s ass lol, canon-typical violence, cigarette smoking, outdoor sex, degradation, brat-taming, mild pet play, shoe humping, cock stepping, pain kink, s/m dynamic, handjob, edging, pet (?) names (darling, sweetheart [receiving; condescendingly] + pup, puppy, puppy dog [giving; also condescendingly]), anal fingering, spit and cum as lube, spanking, reader refers to themself as ‘master’ once, morally grey + dubcon ending

notes. finally finished!! thank you for your patience til now :,) this fic kinda ran away from me while i was writing it so it’s different to what i initially planned but hopefully people are still into it. also it’s my first time writing toji so i hope i did him justice!! anyway, please consider reblogging if you enjoy<3

wc. 9.2k

The footsteps started when you were about halfway home.

In sync with yours. Heavy yet carefully quiet, faint but noticeable, at least to someone who goes on walks in the woods as often as you. Human, as well — too calculated not to be — and someone with a broader gait, by the sounds of it.

After a few moments of inner-debate, you stop. The footsteps stop too.

Your eyes swiftly scan your surroundings. Nothing — but you keep your guard up as you slip a cigarette out of the tin in your coat’s breast pocket, then a lighter from your trouser pocket. Between your lips, you rest the cigarette and cup your hand over the lighter’s flame. Its warmth is intimate against your cold skin, in both its temperature and familiarity. The thin misty stem of scorched tobacco blooms in the air.

You absentmindedly dig a little divot in the dirt with the tip of your shoe, and chance another curt look around you, but still nothing. Minutes tick by and eventually you decide to resume your walking, though at a more leisurely pace this time. And as you do so, those footsteps return — tenfold. Soft, distant taps turn into violent hits against the earth. Nearer and nearer they draw, but you keep facing forward, not a stutter in your step or a falter in the lazy in and out of smoke.

Until a looming presence enters your peripheral vision.

A blur is your only warning. Then an arm cinches around your throat.

You jab your lit cigarette into the man’s arm. A raspy, “Son of a bitch,” puffs into your ear, but he doesn’t let go.

Okay. Don’t panic. Focus.

You try again. Spread your stance. Secure your grip. Jump, legs in the air, and throw yourself back down. His body hunches over yours. You propel back up. Hurl him over your back.

He grunts as his body slams the ground. You rush to immobilise him. He manoeuvres out of the way.

Back on his feet in seconds, he’s already charging at you. Too fast for you to dodge. You block with your arms. His fist lands like a nuclear bomb. Pure power. All at once. Leaves aftershocks like an earthquake. But still, you stay standing.

Your assailant huffs, something that sounds both pissed off and surprised, before he directs another attack. Straight for your torso.

You catch his wrist and twist it. He thrusts a leg out at your feet.

The forest around you flips upside down. Your back and the ground collide. Pain in your spine. A shadow above you. Weight on your hips. Pressure around your neck.

You grip one of your attacker’s arms. Pivot your feet round his legs. Ram your pelvis upward.

Your vision carousels. You’re on top of him. He pushes you off.

On your feet. Both of you.

A narrow miss, the edge of his knuckles swiping past your temple.

You leap back. He surges forward.

You attack before he does — a roundhouse kick to his face.

The assailant’s head spins ninety degrees. He brings a hand up to his nose, sharply inhaling as he touches it, before turning back to you.

He swings again. You knock it away. Strike his diaphragm. Then his skull.

He doubles over. You double down. Spear your knee into his face. Once. Twice. Three times. Full force, no respite. You aim for his diaphragm again with the heel of your foot.

He stumbles backwards and hits a tree. His body slumps to the ground.

He goes to get up. You pin your shoe to his sternum and shove him back. “Stay down.” You lean forward, his rib cage fighting against the compression. “Who are you? Why are you attacking me?”

Blood oozes down his chin from his nose. “Why d’ya think I’d tell you anything?”

You answer with a backhanded smack across his face.

He coughs at the impact and spits out the blood in his mouth. “Feisty, aren’t ya?” His lips stretch into a vengeful smile, laying bare his orange-stained teeth.

That’s when you notice a distinguishable scar, thick and ridged, spliced through his lip. Next, his teeth — tapered, dog-like. Then the pointy mammal ears sticking out of his hair, the furry black tail resting beside him…

There’s no doubt in your mind. It’s him. World renowned assassin: Hellhound, the Sorcerer Killer. Half-man, half-wolf; rumoured to be the only one of his kind. Willing to do anything for the right price is his motto. Until now, you’ve only ever heard of him, but now that you’re face to face… Well, he certainly looks the part, but if he was really as good as people say he is, your current positions would likely be reversed.

“I take it my reputation precedes me?” Toji pipes up cockily, apparently picking up on the recognition in your stare.

You avoid the question, lest it feeds the ego that is undoubtedly big enough already. “How much are you getting paid?”

Toji wipes the blood under his nose and looks up at you. “Not enough to be dealing with all this, tha’s for sure,” he remarks snidely.

You fold your arms across your chest. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind giving me the details of your employer.”

“Nah,” Toji argues back with slitted eyes and a chin angled up arrogantly. “Afraid I’m bound by contract, sweetheart.”

You smack him again, but all it does is garner a chuckle.

“If slapping me’s as far as you’re willin’ to go to get me to talk,” Toji scoffs before gazing up at you, “then we’re gonna be here a while, darlin’.”

Eyes narrowed, you contemplate other courses of action, different methods of both torture and persuasion.

As if embracing his current position, Toji rests back against the tree, casual despite the circumstances being everything but. “Look. You’re not gonna get me to rat out my client, alright? So unless you wanna start talking numbers, I suggest you just give–”

Your boot stomps down on Toji’s groine.

His jaw drops open and an almost inaudible moan spills out. “Ah… fuck.”

Not quite the reaction you were going for. Still, you curiously lean your leg forward, pressing the sole of your shoe down harder against Toji’s crotch. His head slumps forward, dark hair curtaining over his eyes. A barely-suppressed groan finds its way out of him.

“No way,” you breathe, incredulous. “You like this, don’t you?” You stifle a laugh. “What, not every day you get your ass handed to you, huh? I bet you didn’t even know you were into this.”

He peers up at you, grin flashing like a switchblade. “Don’t act like you’re any better.”

“Oh, I don’t have to act like it.” You roll your foot around in focused circles, watching how Toji’s breath gets heavier with each one. Your silhouette towers over him, tall and proud; carving its shape into the veil of moonlight behind you. All your features melt away in the shadows draped over your face — all except your smile, which perseveres with deadly determination and even deadlier teeth. They’re not anything special, sure; they don’t hold a light to Toji’s, yet they instil a sense of unease that someone of his size and strength and species is entirely unfamiliar with. And as he watches your tongue glide across the edge of them, shining and sinister, he realises that maybe it’s not the teeth themselves that are the threat. Maybe it’s what lies behind them; the person they belong to, who is staring down at him like a tiger eyeing a pound of flesh.

“You’re the one whose pitiful dick is under my boot right now, after all.”

Matted black ears tuck back against his head, just as any cornered animal’s might, as Toji scowls up at you. “Shut up. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

You look him up and down, from the tips of his twitchy ears to the bottom of his fluffy tail. The pinkening of his cheeks, his glossy eyes staring up at you. Puppylike. “I’d say I have a pretty good idea actually,” you say, holding in a giggle.

Toji snarls. “I’m warning y…” A breathy moan slips past his defences, so delicate you’d never suspect it could come from a man as big and burly as him. “Fuck– fuck you. If you’re gonna touch me, at least do it properly, you fucking… coward.”

His glare melts into scrunched eyebrows and squeezed-shut eyes as you sink more pressure onto his cock.

“Why would I do that? You seem to be enjoying yourself just fine like this,” you tease, and follow it with a quickened but not yet fast pace; something steady enough to not be teasing but slow enough to keep him wanting.

Toji growls. “Bastard,” he spits, but the word’s intention is lost in the air that flutters around it, turning it soft and feeble as his jaw quivers. Another brief second of honesty, a momentary crack in his composure, but that locked jaw returns as soon as Toji notices it. The look on his face is unchanged, but you’re not sure if it’s because he truly believes he’ll come out on top by the end of this, or if he’s just waiting for you to prove you’re worthy of his surrender.

“It’s not enough,” he pants out. His hands clench into fists around the soil he sits in as his hips move against your shoe. It’s still not discreet enough to go unnoticed by you — though you opt to avoid mentioning it, in favour of continuing down the path of opportunity he’s already opened up for you with his response.

“No, I think it is,” you insist, syncing your foot’s movements to Toji’s hips. Already so lost in the moment, he doesn’t even realise it. “I think you could cum just like this, riding my shoe like a worthless whore.”

Clawed fingers and calloused palms constrict around your calf. The tightness of his grip gives the impression that he’s trying to stop you, but you can feel the way he uses it to meet his grinding motions.

It’s quite the show, really. A man — a beast — like Toji, beneath you in such a way, with his eyes closed in oblivious concentration, his lips parted ever so slightly and his strained breaths hot against your shin. Dark lashes on rosy cheeks. Hair swept across his eyes, shifting with every movement.

It’s too bad it can’t last.

What you said certainly implies that you plan to make him finish like this, but all it really is is a trap. No beast can truly resist temptation, after all, and Toji is no different. He’ll pretend to hate every second of this, but there is no denying that the only reason you’ve gotten this far is because he wants it. Desperately. Carnally. He might scowl at your degrading words, but in the end, he chases after the promise that’s whispered over their shoulder, the promise that he longs for so deeply that he doesn’t realise its hushed voice is really his own in disguise.

You rake your fingers through his hair, collecting sweat and the strands obscuring his face into a fist. A yank drags his face into the moonlight, and a groan from his throat. “Alright, that’s enough,” you declare, the words cutting and final. “Get off me, fleabag.”

Toji’s lip curls up in a snarl and his canines gleam beneath the pale skin. “The fuck d’ya mean ‘that’s enough’?”

You scoff. “Exactly that.” Darkness drips over Toji’s face as you lean over him. “Now get off of me before I fucking make you.”

For a second, you think you’ll need to repeat yourself one more time — his eyes are narrowed and his lips pursed, a look of reluctance if you’ve ever seen it — but then the hands around your leg loosen, until all that’s left behind is the autumn breeze against the lingering imprint of his warm palms. The grin you find yourself wearing is so wide you feel your teeth pressing through your lips. A brat’s obedience, no matter how small, is always a victory worth celebrating.

“So what now?” Toji sighs and leans back on his hands, legs still spread. Boredom sculpts his features, but the colour in his cheeks betrays his façade. Try as he might, he’s not nearly as good at hiding his true desires as he thinks. And when you only smile in response, he raises an eyebrow. “Well?” A scarred hand confidently slides down to the space between his thighs, the thick fingers parting and tracing the silhouette of his hard cock. Wolfish fangs pull at his bottom lip and a harsh breath rushes out through his nose. “You just gonna stand there… or are you gonna come and finish what you started?”

You lean your weight back, arms folded across your chest, and chuckle. “I can’t really win, can I?” you say with playful resignation. “Either way, you’ll enjoy it.”

He grins — the kind of shit-eating grin that’s designed to scorch your nerves down to their roots. Whether that’s a good or a bad kind of sensation depends entirely on the person. In Toji’s case? It’s somehow both.

“Better make your choice quick then,” Toji remarks, his tone equal parts raspy and sultry. “If ya don’t hurry, I’ll just finish myself off right here and now.” The tip of his tongue peeks out between his sharp moonlit teeth, mirroring your action from before.

You snicker and give him a pitied once-over. “Darling, I assure you that’s not the threat you think it is.”

Furry ears jerk in place as Toji sucks his teeth. “Get down here and suck my cock before I rip your throat out then.” The words tumble out of him like he’s rushing to get them out — evidence of his growing desperation, or perhaps of his courage, waning in the imminent promise of consequence.

“There,” he says with finality, lips stretched into a half-cocky, half-frustrated snarl. “‘That threatenin’ enough for ya now, bitch?”

You swiftly snatch his face up in one hand and Toji flinches — just a split-second scrunch of his eyes, but it’s enough to tell you caught him off guard. You’re not really acting out of anger so much as greed though; craving and chasing after those tiny yet monumentally satisfying slip-ups in his reactions. “You are awful mouthy for some dog that was humping my foot until a minute ago.”

“Yeah, and?” he barks back, with enough gall to still be smiling against your palm. “What are you gonna do about it, huh?”

Suppressing another laugh, you draw closer to him; not quite eye-level, just ever so slightly elevated. “You know, it’d be kind of cute how badly you want me to fuck you if you weren’t so fucking insufferable about it.” Your nails, though blunt in comparison to Toji’s claws, carve impressive crescents into his skin under the force of your tensed fingers. “But don’t forget that you’re below me, mutt. I can stop any time. I can go home and never think about you again, but you?” You laugh through your nose and push his skull into the bark of the tree behind him. A clawed hand clamps around your wrist, but you don’t move an inch. “You’ll be the one jerking off in the middle of a fucking forest, like some filthy creep, fantasising about all the things I didn’t do to you but could have had you just stopped being a brat for one goddamn second.”

An airy breath leaves you, charged with equal parts exasperation and glee and resulting in something akin to a laugh. The mockery behind the noise fails to affect Toji, however. Those night-black ears remain flat against his skull, and those indigo eyes remain glaring at you, but the tightly-sealed lips below them tell you he’s biting his tongue — figuratively, though perhaps also literally. It doesn’t seem too far of a stretch to assume he’d go to such lengths to keep from arguing back, after all.

You smooth your free hand over your hair and readjust the grip of the other on Toji’s face. He grunts at the action, but those lips don’t budge, not even a twitch. The silence that follows is unfamiliar, but not completely unwelcome. Even rewarding, in a way.

“So what’s it gonna be, puppy dog?” you ask lazily, though not without that telltale flicker of amusement in your voice. “Are you gonna be a good boy?” You tilt your head and smirk. “Or would you prefer to jizz here in the dirt with just your hand and imagination like a pathetic loser instead?”

You feel how he grinds his teeth, that slow mechanical shift of his jaw and the muffled chalky sound of bone grating against bone in his mouth. Curiosity beckons you to wonder what’s going on inside that head of his; what words he’s rummaging through his mind for, what kind of responses he’s drafting and redrafting, if any at all. What does a beast of his calibre have to say to a lowly human like you, daring to tame and subdue him?

In the darkness below your form, you catch a cautionary rise and fall of his hips. Just one small short nudge of his pelvis, forwards then back again. And before you can comment on it, Toji speaks, low and not entirely begrudgingly:

“Put me in my place then.”

Immediately, your lips slide into a smile, but you restrain from getting too excited just yet. “Is that an order? Or a plea?”

Midnight eyes dart away from yours; no words follow.

“Well? Answer me,” you snap at him. “You can do it now or I can just leave, remember? Either option is fine by me.”

Toji groans. “It’s… I’m– I’m asking.” He sighs heavily and the hand around your wrist loosens, twitches. He still refuses to look at you amidst this all, it seems. But you wait some more, let the silence linger a little longer, just in case.

He sighs again. Still doesn’t look at you, but a quiet little, “Please,” squeezes through gritted teeth.

“Can I get that in a full sentence?” you say, polite enough to seem genuine at first, but paired with that condescending grin of yours, it’s not at all convincing. “I just want to be sure I’m understanding you correctly.”

Toji’s eyes finally return to yours. “You’re pushing your fucking luck,” he growls.

“Oh, I am? I’m pushing my luck?” You pause, but not to let him answer; on your face is a look that tells him he’s the one pushing his luck, that he’s misstepped — and should take that step back before he regrets it. “Sorry, who’s doing who a favour by being here, again?” You’re no longer smiling, but the condescension in your tone remains. “Remind me because I seem to have forgotten.”

His eyes flick away and you’re met instead with the silence you have grown somewhat fond of.

Then, eventually: “You,” he answers and his Adam’s apple bumps against your wrist as he swallows. “I want you to…” He hesitates, tense neck muscles relaxing in your hand, eyes closing, pressing shut. Hard. Reluctant, even now.

“To put me in my place… Please.”

A sickeningly delighted snicker escapes your throat. “Well done, puppy,” you praise, giving a few patronising pats to his cheek, making Toji flinch, before you let go of his face. “I knew you could do it! Who’s a good boy?” You ruffle his hair alongside your fake coo to rub salt into his wounded ego.

Toji sucks his teeth, refusing to give you the satisfaction of anything other than that as a reaction to your satirical tease. You just hum to yourself gleefully. You’re happy either way — you have him right where you want him, after all.

You stand up straight, returning to your position above him. “Alright. Be a doll and take your pants off for me.”

A scarred lip tugs up toward his cheekbone, canine teeth peering out. “No ‘please’?”

Easy as that, the cheerful expression on your face distils into stone cold eyes and unmoving lips, leaving the wordless air to speak for you. Briskly after, Toji begins sliding off his black pants until they bunch up at his ankles. He looks up at you. “Want my shoes off too, perv?” he jokes, proudly grinning.

Ignoring him, you step over his legs, so your feet are either side of them, then sit down. His thighs squirm under you.

“Uh, what–”

“Be quiet,” you demand.

And for once, Toji does so without further hesitation or questioning.

Your fingertips trail down his torso, his skin spasming under the fabric of his t-shirt at the featherlight contact. Down his chest, stomach, navel, catching on the waistband of his underwear, passing over it. Fingers dance and butterfly around the outline of his cock and back again. Slow and gentle but purposeful touches. His chest stutters, his abdominal muscles contract. You continue, motions repeating in hypnotic succession of one another like shifting waves. The thighs beneath you begin to fidget again.

“Stay still,” you say with a pointed look.

A restrained groan. “When are you gonna–”

“Whenever I damn well feel like it,” you scold, “but not at all if you don’t watch yourself.” You make sure to give him another sharp glare before you resume.

Elastic gives under the pull of your fingers and glides down his hips until they tuck under his balls. Cool air envelopes his cock and yanks a hiss out from between Toji’s teeth. Your fingers spread again, over the exposed tip, then back again to paint small circles around the wet slit.

A blunt thump brings your attention to Toji’s face, where the foliage above projects its fragile forms onto it. His head is tilted back against the tree behind him, mussed furry ears flush against the bark and restlessness manipulating the rest of his features. The shameless clarity of his struggle fans the flames of your excitement.

Your fingers change shape again and wrap loosely around Toji’s length. The edge of a harsh sigh catches on the ends of your hair, brushing it up as you move your hand down, and up, then down again. The writhing of his thighs dominoes into his hips, which jump up, seemingly involuntarily.

Just this once, you choose not to indulge in your own selfish enjoyment — as a reward for his almost exclusively obedient behaviour since you began touching him — and mercifully grant Toji the relief of your whole hand, curling it to fit around the shape of his dick. A half-cut-off gasp unfolds in the space between you, but nothing more. You smile nonetheless. “Does that feel good?”

Toji’s head adjusts against the tree, eyelids pinching and tightening. “What kinda question is that? F’course it does.”

You hum. “Just wanted to make sure you’re still responsive.”

Toji opens his eyes, hooded but still catching the moonlight, to flash you a confident look. “You won’t break me that easily.”

Yet his self-assured tone cracks when you suddenly tighten your grip around him and hasten your pace.

“Wait, don’t– not that fast–” He gasps and reaches for your wrist, but you swat it away. You change the pace again, and again. Soft, hard, slow, quick. And all Toji can do is mutter expletives and squeeze his fists around handfuls of dirt.

“I’m… close,” Toji warns breathily.

“Really?” you snort. Granted, you’d teased him for a while before this, but you’re still shocked. He must have been more into this than even you had noticed. “You must be popular in the bedroom, huh?” you quip. “They call you Two-Minute-Toji?”

Thick eyebrows furrow as a half-hearted snarl seeps out from Toji’s lips. “God, do you ever shut–” He moans and grabs at your thighs, the tips of his claws piercing through your clothing. “I’m gonna cum, oh, fuck–”

Your touch vanishes before Toji’s words can come true, allowing you to watch the ecstasy melt off his face in real time. A series of emotions pass through in its place: first confusion, then realisation until, finally, disappointment. Outrage. Desperation.

Maybe you’re just sadistic, but you find it to be a good look on him.

In the spur of the moment, Toji attempts to finish what you so cruelly and prematurely left incomplete, but you capture his wrists and raise up on your knees to pin them above his head.

“Shit!” he exclaims, wide chest still sinking and swelling from his near-high. “What the fuck’s your problem? Why’d you stop?”

Exactly the kind of response you’d expected, of course. An entirely reasonable one at that, but still — you’re unable to fend off the smirk that grows at the sight of it. This is just the start, and he’s already so upset? Shivers take over you at the thought of how unprepared he is for the torture to come.

“You made me work for what I want. It’s only fair I get to do the same to you,” you explain matter-of-factly. “And the sooner you accept that, the easier it will be.”

Toji’s ears flap with vexation; you’re sure he only means to be angry, but to you, he resembles a sulking puppy.

You release his hands and move them to his shoulders. “So here’s how this is gonna go,” you start cheerily. “When you’re close, you tell me. Don’t, and I’ll ruin your beloved orgasm, right then and there!” You pinch his cheek in a faux-flirty way. “Got that, my little mutt?”

Toji frowns with something like judgement. “What sort of sick game is this?”

“Does it really matter so long as you cum at the end?” you counter, but Toji remains unconvinced.

“‘Course it does,” he replies. “What’s the point in making me wait if I can have it now?”

Such simplistic, almost childlike logic; it makes you giggle. “The point is a little thing called delayed gratification,” you say in that typical patronising tone, the one that Toji has become so dreadfully accustomed to.

“Delayed for who?” He eyes you, up and down. “You’re loving every second of this.”

You giggle again. “Oh, come on,” you beckon. “Don’t you want to know how good it feels?” One of your hands drops down his torso and Toji’s eyes follow just in time to see it curl its fingers around the drooling head of his cock. “Being denied over and over, that tension building higher and higher each time…” His jaw quivers when you slowly twist your wrist. “How sensitive you get, how desperate…” You drag and pull. Twist again. “And the rush of not knowing if this time you’ll get to cum…”

Toji grunts as his dick slaps against his stomach.

“Or be denied again!” Your laugh then is inevitable, but still it feels too sweet and innocent of a sound, given the cause of it is a man’s torment.

“Okay, enough. You’ve made your point,” Toji says in a flurry, before you can add anything else. “Stop talking and just…” You hear him swallow and study the way it makes the muscles of his neck ripple. “Show me.”

Those two words are the starting pistol to your well-earned entertainment — and Toji’s well-deserved misery. Your experienced and adaptable hands, paired with your watchful eyes and insatiable desire to inflict suffering, make for a dangerous concoction. And the fact that Toji is oblivious to that knowledge just makes the thrill of it all the more invigorating. Still, you pace yourself; remind yourself that patience may be bitter, but its fruit is sweet and lies waiting for you. Time is the least of your worries and the forest around you topples amidst the routine you’ve choreographed for you both. You work him up, soaking in his helplessness, and pull the floor out from under him when he’s at his most vulnerable, watching how that helplessness snowballs and the cycle repeats; watching him groan, gasp, whimper and curse under his breath. Like a feline playing with its food, you relish every moment of it, all while dreaming of how good it will taste once you finally feast.

“Close, so close, so close,” Toji mumbles. “M’gonna cum–”

Your hand jolts away from his dripping cock and with it, Toji’s hips buck up so hard, so desperately, that your knees lose contact with the ground for a second.

“How many times is that now?” you ask. You already know how many, you just want to make him say it.

Body slack against the tree, Toji’s eyes blink slowly at you. “F–four,” he says with a weak wince. “Fuck. When are you gonna let me cum?”

You make a contemplative noise. “I don’t know,” you say as you boredly doodle patterns on Toji’s shirt. “Maybe after… four or five more times?”

“You’re fucking joking,” Toji chokes out in disbelief, but that sincere gleam in your eyes stays. He runs a palm down his face. You don’t miss the way his tinted face saturates. “That’s– nine times? Are you crazy? That’s not–” His throat feels like it’s all dried up. He steadies his voice. “There’s… no way I’m waiting that long.”

“No?” you echo, your eyebrows raised. “Is it too much to handle for Two-Minute-Toji?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Toji hisses. “It’s nothing to do with me. You’re just insane.”

So defensive, you think, amused, but don’t let it show. Instead, you sit back thoughtfully. “I guess you have a point,” you agree. Meanwhile, your hands gain a mind of their own, caressing his hips, abdomen, inner thighs; brushing up against his dick every so often. “Four times is already quite a lot…” Finally, your gaze falls to your unforgiving fingers, where you’ve been toying at the cusp of Toji’s composure. “Just one more then,” you compromise and glimpse at Toji.

He doesn’t hide the irritated noise he makes at your offer, but he does think twice about his instinctual reply — which ends up being futile, since he chooses to say it anyway.

“You’re delusional if you think I’ll agree to that.”

You tilt your head and blink at him. “So… you want to cum now, is what you’re saying?” you ask, and Toji opens his mouth to answer but you suddenly grab his cock with a tight fist — and not the pleasurable kind. His jaw clamps shut, a slice of whistling air rushing in through his teeth. A paw-like hand whips out next, attempting to get rid of yours, but you slap it away and use your other hand to engulf the head of his cock in just as cruel a hold.

“Would cumming now make the spoiled mutt happy?” you mock.

His attempts to remove your hands persist, but each time you just push him away and squeeze harder. “Ah, shit, that fucking– hurts, you asshole! Let go–”

“Answer the question first,” you say sternly.

Toji’s thighs are thrashing now, and his hands have resorted to clinging onto your arms. His breaths leave him as hard as if he was on the verge of climax; the irony makes you laugh inwardly.

“Fuck, fine,” Toji heaves. “Yes, yes I want to cum now. Let me cum. Please.”

You keep your hands on him for a second longer than probably necessary before finally letting go. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you say with a grin.

Talking back again crosses Toji’s mind, but he thinks better of it. “Whatever. Just… get on with it already.”

As with the previous four times, getting him to the edge again doesn’t take long. Especially since now you’re armed with the knowledge of where he’s most sensitive, what he likes best and how much to do of each to get the most debauched sounds out of him. You have him panting and rolling his hips in time with your hands in just a few short minutes. One hand on your shoulder, the other carving gashes into a tree root bulging out of the soil; a reminder of Toji Fushiguro’s monstrous nature.

It’s easy to forget you’re taming a beast when he’s so pathetic all of the time.

“Ah, ah, I’m close,” Toji moans. His knuckles go taut-white, then relax, then repeat. In the throes of pleasure, his baritone voice has softened into something lighter. “F–fuck, I’m gonna cum! I wan– I wanna cum!”

The next upward stroke of your hand slides the rest of the way off, yet again depriving Toji of the orgasm he keeps chasing. In its absence, the reddened tip of his cock drools a drop of precum.

Toji shouts, gravelly and breathless, into the open air. “No! No, what– what the fuck?!” There seems to be a wetness in his eyes, but you think it could just be a trick of the light. “You… you said you’d let me cum this time!”

“Did I say that?” you muse — recalling very vividly, in fact, that you conveniently never said those words. Whether or not that was on purpose is anybody’s guess, since you doubt Toji’s foggy brain remembers such semantics. “I don’t think I did.”

Toji scowls at you, but his aggravation runs off of you like water on a duck’s back; you can’t take him too seriously when his face is so flushed, cheeks practically aglow with colour and slowly spreading down his neck. A quick tongue swipes over his lips, which have gone dry from the progressively increasing frequency of open-mouthed noises.

Out of something akin to instinct or impulse, you find yourself leaning in — close. Until you’re brushing noses, lips only inches from each other, sharing the same breath of air. Silver-blue eyes flick down your face and linger a little too long to be accidental.

You pull away, laughing.

“You are way too fun to toy with,” you mutter, more to yourself than to Toji before looking up at him. “Did you think I was gonna kiss you just then?”

“No,” Toji sputters out, appearing offended that you would even think such a thing. “I’d bite your tongue off if you tried.”

His threat only makes you chuckle. “We’ll see how much longer you can keep up that attitude,” you say, scrunching up the front of his t-shirt in your fist, “once I’m through with you.”

Your lips collide so immediately that you almost don’t realise Toji is the one to close the final rift of space between you. Like a volatile chemical reaction, the kiss escalates. Potent, rabid, vulgar. Animalistic. Teeth nip at flesh, blood and saliva blend and smear down chins.

At the same time, your hand occupies itself with the same delectable song and dance you’ve come to know so well. The prelude — an open palm, skimming across the head of Toji’s cock; a dainty back and forth, like a bow across violin strings, and Toji’s noises a melody writing itself on your lips. You steer the flow of his sound like a conductor with a symphony, building the bridge, climbing towards the chorus, the crescendo just in sight… Then with a flourish, it all descends back down again, hushed into a temporary interlude, before ebbing into a reprise. Over and over, you play this orchestrated tune; over and over and over, until each note has been played to its fullest and rang out into silence.

Eventually, you get up.

Left in your wake, beneath you, Toji is a mess of the man he was. Eyes glazed over. Lips pink and damp. Cock blushing, slick, swollen. Hips jumping in search of relief. It took denying him almost ten times, but regardless, he’s all yours now. Pliant and at your mercy, like a common prey animal.

“Roll over, boy,” you say, just like you would to an actual dog, as you make a circling gesture with your finger. “I want you on your hands and knees.” You tap his bare thigh with the side of your shoe. “Go on. Hands and knees. Like a good little dog.”

Shakily, Toji turns around. Soil pools around his knees where they sink. One hand wraps around that same scratched up root from before, the other braces against the base of the tree. His head hangs limp between his shoulders.

You kneel behind him and tug his underwear down his toned thighs. Goosebumps multiply over Toji’s exposed skin, first at the breeze that briefly grazes it, next at the fingers that replace it. Both your hands span out across the expanse of Toji’s ass, a soothing sensation against the goosebumps despite being so foreign to him. Your thumbs wander away from the rest of your fingers and toward the patch of skin between his tail and the base of his spine. Experimentally, the pads of your thumbs grind down into it.

Toji makes a noise that could arguably be classified as a yelp and his tail bushes up, almost hitting you in the face with how skittishly it swings out.

“W–watch it,” Toji whinges. “Don’t be so rough.”

“Oh? Is it sensitive?” you taunt.

Even now, on all fours with his bare ass in front of you, the embers of Toji’s pride prevent him from admitting even the slightest implications of weakness. You, however, are no stranger to such behaviour, and do not let it deter you from your goal.

Your thumbs continue wandering, dipping below his tail. They rotate inward, pulling apart the thick meat of his ass to reveal a soft, puckered hole. You succumb to temptation and prod at it. It tenses, along with the rest of Toji’s muscles.

Toji turns his head over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” he breathes, almost sounding worried or angry, definitely trying to sound assertive — but you can tell he’s more nervous than anything. Flustered, even.

You pause. “Do you want me to stop?”

His features contort, as if perplexed. “It’s weird.” He turns back around. “Don’t even know why you would wanna touch back there.”

The reason is simple to you. “Because it feels good.” Thoughtlessly, you knead your thumb against the virgin hole, observing how it clenches, as if inviting you in. “Inside, I mean,” you clarify.

“Ins– inside?” Toji repeats, like the concept is unfathomable to him. “Like, inside of– me?”

“Yeah,” you deadpan, though, admittedly, you are somewhat entertained. Perhaps he truly is so oblivious that it skews his logical thinking, but you suspect that the true cause is the lust that clouds his mind. Whether from his need for release or from a late-onset sexual epiphany, you find it almost endearing how naïve and innocent his response makes him seem. “So… Can I keep going?”

“Uh…” Toji, subconsciously, it seems, arches his back ever so slightly in your direction. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters.

“In that case,” you usher and place a hand between his shoulder blades, “lower your chest for me some more.”

With the sheer density of muscle fibre beneath your fingertips alone, those defined contours mapped out across his broad back, visible even through his clothes, you expect some resistance — but he gives like freshly fallen snow, without so much as a groan of indignation, and yields his form until he’s flush with the ground.

In this position, he opens up on his own. Hole lewdly exposed, as if presenting to you. His tail hangs over it, out of humiliation or to protect his dignity you assume, but with one simple order, you have Toji holding it out of the way for you, making him appear even more pathetic.

Leaning over him, you trickle some saliva onto Toji’s hole. It spasms as the fluid lands on it.

“Did you just spit on–” Toji cuts himself off with an exasperated sigh. “That’s… fucking disgusting.”

“Your tail seems to think otherwise,” you retort, referring to how the appendage subtly wags.

Toji buries his face in the crook of one arm. “That thing’s got a mind of its own.”

Ever so slightly poking out over the top of his bicep, however, is the scarlet tip of one ear.

You chuckle. “Sure.”

With that, you run a fingertip through the slimy fluid, collecting it from where it started dripping down his taint and spreading it out. Tentatively, you nudge your finger inside. The muscle clenches at the breach.

“Relax,” you tell Toji.

He grunts. “What do you think I’m tryna do?”

A rare streak of sympathy has your other hand reaching down to Toji’s cock and planting a few distracting touches. Slowly, the stiffness around your finger eases up, and steadily, you push past each knuckle until it’s seamlessly tucked away inside.

“How much longer…” A soft moan reverberates in the back of Toji’s throat as your finger pulls out of him. “‘T–til I can cum?”

You hum and give a few slothful pumps. “Between two minutes and two hours.” Toji’s subsequent groan of protest makes your smile stretch out like a cat. “Why? You’re not at your limit, are you?”

“You kidding? I could–” You sneak another finger on the next slide in and Toji shudders, gulps. “I could do this all day,” he finishes quietly.

The hand on his dick stops its task momentarily to lather Toji’s precum over your two fingers. You scissor them attentively, observing Toji’s facial reactions; as much as you can, at least, given he’s concealing them. Luckily, though, it seems you won’t need them anyway, with how the rest of his body is uncovering all those secrets for him — the fingers around his tail flexing, hips rocking back against your fingers, dick leaking incessantly despite your minimal touches. To think he’s already so weak to his lustful desires when you haven’t even skirted that particular place inside him; the one you’ve intentionally been avoiding.

“Are you sure you can take any more?” you tease. “It seems to me like–”

“I can take whatever you give me,” Toji interrupts gratingly.

You wonder if he can hear how ruined he sounds, but suppose that even if he does, he likely doesn’t see the humour in it that you do.

“We’ll see about that.”

After adding some more spit, you’re easing in a third finger. Just as you predicted, Toji’s body wriggles more restlessly under you. Breaths staggering as you bump into the hilt of your fingers. You bend them probingly and it lures out a fluttery moan.

Your eyes flit over Toji’s form, lips taking the shape of a salacious smile. “How are you doing over there?”

But before he has the time to even think of a witty reply, he’s tearing new claw marks into the tree bark and whining out, not unlike a dog in heat — which, in some ways, is not far from reality.

“Wow. I didn’t think you were capable of making a sound like that,” you comment. In truth, you’ve always had a knack for turning even the most unsuspecting of victims into your needy little toys; the only difference between them is how long it takes to do so. “Mind making it again?” you purr.

Regardless of what Toji’s answer may have been — though you predict it would have been something snippy or dismissive — your fingers are once again prying out a frail whine from him as he barely manages to maintain his grip on his tail.

You pull your fingers out, almost all the way, and when you push them back in again, you have your pinky finger join, poking at the edge of Toji’s entrance. “Think you can take one more?”

Toji whimpers at your suggestion. “Fuck, yes please,” he begs — something even you had begun doubting you could get him to do, and so is all the more gratifying to hear.

And just like that, you have the deadly mercenary, Toji Fushiguro, better known as Hellhound, the mighty Sorcerer Killer, riding four of your fingers like he was made for nothing else. Whining and whimpering — two things that no one would believe he did if you told them. Dribbling a puddle of his arousal into the dirt below him even in the absence of your hand. Tail jerking uncontrollably, occasionally slipping from his hold and earning himself an admonishing spank, which only serves to break him down further.

A shaking hand clasps onto your wrist, driving its thrusting motions harder and deeper into himself. “God, I’m gonna cum,” Toji sobs. “Please let me cum, please, please.”

His words make you realise that you never actually answered his question from before. Not really, not seriously. In the grand scheme of things, sure, it was always in your plan to let him cum; an irrefutable certainty. And, as large as your appetite is, you’ve had your fill now — are brimming with it, in fact — but Toji doesn’t know that, and that’s what makes you smile. Even now, you long to overflow with the joy of terrorising him. Even now, you fail to turn a deaf ear to the siren call of your deepest, darkest, most lecherous desires. In all your differences, this weakness, this unquenchable yearning of the flesh, is one that you and Toji are both cursed with.

You lean over the muscular man below you, just enough so your hot breath beats over his back. “Only good dogs get to cum,” you murmur as your fingers bully that awfully euphoric cluster of nerves, “and good dogs can beg better than that.”

Sweat permeates off him in waves and you can’t tell if the goosebumps on his skin are from the outdoor air blowing on the moisture or from the embarrassment of the demeaning act that he’s about to commit, all to appease his meagre human wants.

Cheek trapped against the dirt, Toji’s teeth flash on full display as he whimpers out. “Ahh, fuck, m’sorry… I don’t deserve it… but please let me– let me cum.” Wet eyelashes, all clumped together and satiny, flutter as Toji’s eyes fight to stay open. “M’so sorry. I’ll do anything, please.”

Anything. So vague and all-encompassing; only a small-minded fool would make the mistake of promising ‘anything’. And small-minded fools? Well, you’re not one yourself, but you certainly know your way around making one. And Toji Fushiguro, your latest little project, is no exception, it seems; he may not know it, but he’s just fulfilled a bittersweet prophecy.

Indeed — ‘anything’ is a truly wonderful word.

“Yeah?” Your pace slows until the sight of Toji’s hole, puffy, stretched and clinging around your fingers, is trackable in immensely vivid and erotic detail. “Will you be my little lapdog?” you chirrup, light and honey-sweet, as if to a beloved pet. “Obey my every word, fulfil my every wish? Be mine and no one else’s?”

The precipitation on Toji’s nape glistens as he feverishly nods his head and pushes back harder onto your fingers. “Yes, yes, I will, I am. I’m yours. All yours.”

From the cunning and brutish Hellhound, Killer of Sorcerers, the half-wolf half-man who is both feared and revered for his domineering power and cutthroat personality, you have sculpted a disciplined and docile little plaything. An irredeemable mongrel, whose generous master’s firm, wise hand has trained him into a lovely pet, worthy of being called a…

“Good boy.”

Toji’s tail convulses between his fingers.

You grin. “Go ahead,” you say with a final encouraging slap to Toji’s ass. “Let it all out for me, pup.”

And he does — so abruptly and intensely that his trembling thighs almost give under him, practically held up by your hand on his tail alone. He cries out so loud that drool flies from his lip and his voice is followed by a slight echo on the wind. Soreness is already making itself known in your wrist, but you don’t stop; you milk him for all he’s worth, coaxing out every last drop until Toji is laying in a heap of soil and his own spend, groaning and pushing your hand away.

From your coat, you fish out a handkerchief and wipe your hands. Then you move Toji onto his back to do the same for him. A ritualistic process that brings a kind of peace to your otherwise tireless, whirring thoughts.

“Sit up for me,” you tell Toji, with a pat to his thigh.

With some help, he does. You smile and rummage through your pockets, searching for… Ah, there it is!

You take out the circular object and shift towards Toji. With practised efficiency, you secure it around his neck and lean back to appreciate the sight: sturdy ebony leather with intricately engraved symbols, topped off with silver fastenings. Such a pretty collar looks perfectly at home on him.

“What– what is this?” Toji slurs.

You stand up and stroll a few feet away from Toji, who’s bound to where he is in his weak post-orgasm state. Unhurriedly, you slide out a cigarette and prop it between your lips. In the corner of your eye, you make sure Toji is looking at you before you hover a finger beneath your cigarette. From it, a flame manifests and lights the butt.

Witnessing horror formulate on a face like Toji’s — on the face of a man like Toji — is nothing less than beautiful. You would pay good money to experience it for the first time again; to pinpoint the moment he comes to realise the terrible situation he’s found himself in, so you can cherish it from start to finish, all over again.

“You’re…” Toji’s shocked tone bleeds into one of ire; his wide eyes shrink into slits. “A Jujutsu Sorcerer.”

Wreathed smoke billows out of your mouth as you chuckle. “That’s right.” You cross your arms, menacing eyes flitting over Toji. “And now, you’re my cute little pet.”

“Pet?” Toji scoffs. “I kill your kind for a living. You think I’m just gonna take this shit from you?” Toji’s hands scramble up the tree behind him as he goes to get up. “You’re fucking dead, Sorcerer. Ya hear me? D–”

He yells out as he falls back down, fur standing on end from the scorching pain that pulses out of the collar around his neck. He wheezes and claws at the leather, curved black nails piercing into glowing red runes — but the pain only amplifies. He tries and tries, but the only damage he succeeds to inflict is a few nicks on his own skin.

“I’d be careful if I were you. Brute force just makes the hex stronger,” you warn with a misleadingly charming smirk. “You’re more likely to cut your own throat open before you manage to put a single split in that collar.”

You would know — it’s not the first time you’ve used it — but Toji, stubborn as ever, continues to wrestle against the collar’s spell until he’s purple in the face. Veins bulging and eyes watery. Clambering to his feet only to tumble back down again, like a baby deer learning to walk.

Eventually, though, he does stop — but he wouldn’t be Toji Fushiguro without maintaining that defiant expression, even while in such a pitiful state.

“I do feel sorry for you, you know,” you admit as you approach Toji, who, going by his expression, doesn’t believe you one bit, “but you must understand, I’m the type of person who always gets what they want.”

“And what’s that, huh?” Toji snipes. “F’me to be your fuckin’ sex slave? Someone to play out all your sick fantasies and take your frustrations out on? ‘That it?”

“Silly dog,” you playfully reprimand and roughly tousle Toji’s already dishevelled hair. He snatches his head away from your touch. “The means don’t always signify the end,” you continue as you saunter past Toji. “Just because I used sexual methods doesn’t mean I have sexual intentions.”

Toji glares at you, half puzzled and half — just straight up pissed. “So what then? What do you want from me?”

Your lips curve around the cigarette before you exhale with a cloudy chuckle. “Oh, you really are adorable sometimes, you know that?”

“Stop fuckin’ around and tell me already,” Toji snarls, teeth bared.

Blatantly dismissing his words, you gradually walk back to Toji and tilt forward over him. “Feisty, aren’t you?” you sneer at him — a callback to the same words he said to you at the start of your encounter. And one that Toji recognises, going by his strained composure. “It’s simple really,” you say conversationally as you straighten back up. “I heard the name ‘Hellhound’, saw the word ‘anything’ next to ‘for the right price’ and I was intrigued. I wanted to have you for myself. To tame the wild beast, defeat the undefeated ‘Sorcerer Killer’. That’s all.” You shrug. “I’m just fortunate I could afford such a conquest.” You smirk down at him. “You sure know how to drive a hard bargain, don’t you, puppy?”

Toji swallows, the action undulating through his throat. His tongue flicks out over his lips. His eyebrows knit densely. “You hired me?”

You blink at him. “Was that not obvious?” you say with a bashful laugh. “Ah, I really did try not to seem too prepared but I’m just a humble Sorcerer! Not an actor.”

As if still processing what’s happening, Toji just stares at you. You half-expect him to blow up any second, but that doesn’t discourage you from provoking him a little more. “I know what you’re thinking,” you say, and on its own, it’s true, but it’s more fun to pretend that it’s not. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get the second half of the deposit, even though– you know, I’m still alive.”

You laugh again and Toji’s eye twitches at the repetitive sound. He doesn’t see what you find so fucking funny that you need to laugh every five seconds but he wishes you’d just shut up already.

“You’re outta your fucking mind,” he whispers bitterly, like a too-late realisation.

“I am, aren’t I?” you quip back with a beaming closed-eye grin. “But don’t act like you’re any better.” Another callback, and just in case it doesn’t ring any bells, you press your shoe down on Toji’s crotch, where the head of his still-pink cock pokes out of his underwear, on display through his unzipped trousers. Like a panther pouring out of the shadows, your teeth reveal themselves from behind your lips in a hungry, bordering on starved, smile. “I’m not the one who’s got a second hard-on right now.”

Your acknowledgement persuades a drop of precum to shyly gather at the tip, triggering an even more shy press of thighs around your shoe. When that fails to sufficiently conceal his shame, Toji grits his teeth and whips his head away from you — but you won’t allow that.

After a final puff of smoke, you grasp Toji’s face and force it back into place: laid bare before you, tear tracks on his dirtied cheeks, dried blood under his nose, eyelashes still shiny with the evidence of his desperation. “Be a good pet,” you say as you hover your burning cigarette above his lips, “and open your mouth for your master.”

His teeth gnash together stubbornly, but, ultimately, he follows your command. Jaw falling open, tongue drooping over his lip, eyes gazing up at you, expectant and waiting. Eagerly waiting.

You make him wait no longer; you bring down the lit end of your cigarette onto Toji’s inviting tongue and twist it. The embers hiss and sizzle, branding a small scarlet circle into the pink muscle. As you pull out the cigarette, satisfied, you tell him:

“That’s my good boy.”

taglist. @jazzyluuv @mysicklove @starrierknight @kentophilia @vampcubus @d7dream @feruza22 <3

I saw requests were open, and idk if this would be something up your alley, by I would like to see your writing for Alastor with a mommy kink!

a/n — Up my alley? UP MY ALLEY? BABES THIS IS THE WHOLE DOWNTOWN STREET.

I quite literally giggled and kicked my feet when I saw this because… yes?

Anyways though, I was so tired last night when I wrote this so I apologize if it’s shorter than you hoped.

“Ah— careful, my dear,” Alastor winced as you slid onto his cock. His hands were tied to the bed post, and the only thing giving him any illusion of control was his faltering grin.

It was incredibly rewarding to see him like this, open and defenseless against you. It was putting him on edge, you could tell easily from the way his shoulders tightened and his smile wrinkled down, ever so slightly. 

“Relax,” you caressed his face with your thumb, “Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.”

You felt his dick twitch inside you, “Nngh, d—dearest, I—“

He’s cute off by an embarrassingly loud whine when you start rolling your hips.

He looks absolutely horrified at himself for the lack of power in the situation, but he doesn’t have time to think about it for too long before your cunt clenches down on his dick. 

“Who knew the Radio Demon would sound so pretty in bed?” you tease as you speed up.

Alastor curses himself for the deep static-y moan that comes out. He hated feeling so desperate but he sure as hell loved your attention. 

“You—ugh—“ He couldn’t focus with all the stimulation, “—this is perverted.” He stated it as if he wasn’t constantly letting out breathy moans.

“I know you love having mommy dote on you like this , Alastor,” you coo down at him and stroke his hair.

Alastors eyes widened at that comment, before he let out a needy whine.

“You want to be taken care of, pretty baby?” You hump his dick rougher, he nods vigorously. “Want me to praise you and tell you how good of a boy you are?”

He threw his head back into the pillow and kicked his feet out, struggling against the restraint around his wrists.

“Mommy, m—mommy, yes I want—“ his moans and whines are more apparent now as if he stopped trying to hide them. 

“You want what, sweetheart?”

“I want—“ he tried again, struggling to collect his thoughts while you milked his sensitive cock. Sex wasn’t something he engaged in often so the sensations got to his head fast.

“Use your words, darling,” you bite your lip while you ride him.

“—I want you, mommy, I need you,” he finished, feeling as if he hadn’t articulated what he’d been trying too. 

“Good boy, Alastor, telling me what you want.” You praise, running your hands over his chest.

He moaned pathetically. There was something so madly appealing to him about you calling yourself his ‘mommy.’ 

Some part of Alastor, deep inside of him, yearned to be praised and cared for. It had been almost an eternity since anyone had done so.

He whined your title in useless slurs, calling out for more. More of what? He didn’t know. He just craved your attention, your touch, your affection, like a starved man.

Your hands roamed his body, along with your lips, while you pussy drank up his cock. His whimpers were getting more frequent and staticky with every hip thrust and bite.

You sensed his climax building from the way he squirmed underneath the restraints of the wrist binds and bucked his dick up into you subconsciously. 

In truth, you could feel your own orgasm approaching as well, but you wanted to draw out this for as long as possible. After all, it’s not every day you have the Radio Demon whining for your approval.

“Mommy, ‘m almost there, ‘m so close,” He moaned, still squirming and biting his lip to hold back his release.

His eyes searched yours for the approval to cum, but it wasn’t there.

Instead, finding a vague sympathy as you continued grinding down on his dick, “I know, sweetheart, I know. You’re just going to have to wait, though.”

He whined miserably and kicked his feet. He didn’t like this answer, but for whatever reason he didn’t want to disappoint you.

“Your going to have to wait til after I cum baby,” You explain, breathlessness creeping into your voice, “Until then you’ll just have to be my good boy. How’s that sound?”

He nodded his head weakly, wincing at all of the attention on his cock as he tried to hold back.

You speed up, going fast enough for your orgasm to approach but not fast enough for it to be over to soon.

“Being so good for mommy, Al,” you coo, “Such good control, making mommy feel so good.”

The sides of his mouth look like they ache after smiling through all of this, but he whines regardless. 

His eyes are half lidded and needy, his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead while the ties around his wrists dug into his skin.

When you finally let go, you throw your head back and moan, still humping his cock but humming softly, satisfied with your orgasm and equally proud of Alastors restraint.

“Please,” Alastor whimpers, trying his hardest to lean up into your touch before being stopped by the ropes, “Please, mommy, now.”

“My pretty baby, of course you can—“ you didn’t even finish your sentence before being cut off by he’s loud desperate moan.

He came almost immediately after getting your approval and then fell back into the mattress, whispering quiet phrases of ‘Thank you, mommy,’

You pulled yourself off of him and laid down next to him on the bed. After untying the ropes around his wrists you take him in your arms and stroke his hair.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart. ‘m so proud of you,” you spoke softly in his ears.

Alastor didn’t say anything, only letting out a small hum of contentment and burying his face in your neck. 

You take one of his hands in yours and  observe the light bruise the restraints left of his  wrist. You rub your thumb against the injury and he winces. For a moment, you’re worried they were tied to tight until you catch a glimpse of his face. 

His usually shit-eating grin was replaced by what looked like a smile of genuine satisfaction.

You quietly applauded yourself for accomplishing something you once thought to be impossible, before you rose slightly on the bed.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Al,” you say. You try to move but his arms clings onto your neck and hold on for life. He whines slightly.

“Alright,” you give in and sit back down, “maybe we can’t wait a little longer.”

a/n — this guys misses his mommy so much it’s not even funny oh my god. He’s way more pathetic than meets the eye guys, trust.

I feel like he would get super needy and clingy after this too like. He would constantly be needing all of attention at all times. He would just be competing with everyone for your attention it’d be wild.

It would make for some absolute fire songs though.