#bsd x reader

It's too hot; The scents of the world are far too strong for Akutagawa's agitated mind right now. Sweet and salty. Sour and savory. Damp and arid. The scales along his body rub against his clothes in a way that's utterly agonizing. Coarse and uncomfortable, like cotton against dry, cracking skin. It's torture. Where hair meets horn is like thousands of ants skittering, and he wants nothing more than to scratch until the skin is raw.

He should have taken the day off today, but he refused to let his biology dictate his usefulness on the field.

In his defense, it seemed he had done his assignments in record time. He likely could have done with less bloodshed, but a job was a job, and he had executed them without fail. As he always did. He was not going to allow himself to fall short

Though — now — he was sorely regretting that decision.

The long trek to the apartment felt more arduous than usual. His ebony tail twitched in erratic agitation, snapping in the air as he fought down a growl. The cool, night air did nothing for his dwindling patience as the heat surged. Deep in the pockets of his black coat, his hands clenched tightly. He could vaguely register the claws digging into the thin flesh of his palms as he fought to keep himself focused on the path ahead. It was more of a challenge than he cared to admit.

He only wanted to get home; Something in his blood craved even the smallest hint of your scent. Of your warmth. To tug you close and bury his fangs in your skin if it would calm the fire blazing in his veins.

Just a little bit longer now. Nearly too long in his slowly hazing mind.

A faint whiff caught him in his tracks. He had nearly made it to the door when it slammed into his senses. It was familiar in a way he wished it wasn't. The calm scent of warm tea, fresh, fallen snow, and the underlying notes of a light soapiness that only infuriated him. The hackles on the back of his neck shot up in offense, mind clearing in an instant.

The Weretiger.

Surely that insufferable tiger wouldn't be idiotic enough to step into his territory — into his home. Anybody smarter would understand the presence of his scent — dark, smoky, with the noticeable tang of copper — as a hair-raising warning. It didn't take a genius to understand that wasn't a boundary you simply crossed, and Ryū quietly swore that if he opened the door to a twitching, white tail, he was going to tear the kid apart.

Stepping to the door, he roughly slammed the key into the lock, twisted and swinging the door wide open with a bit more force than you would likely deem was necessary. In fact, he could vaguely register your voice hissing his name at the explosive entrance, but he was too busy scanning the apartment for even a hint of white fur that he needed to tear apart.

A twitch.

A step.

A breath.

Just one little bit was all he needed.

Though, as he stood there, there didn't come the obvious presence of anyone else in the house. Nothing Ryū could feel, and his ears strained for even the slightest shift of a nervous muscle, only to find none.

The scent, however, was even stronger here than it had been outside, despite the seeming fact that the rest of the home was clear of any threat. He turned his nose at the putrid onslaught and sneered, shutting the door roughly behind him. It was in every fiber of his being, now, and he felt nothing but pure confusion. It shouldn't be possible for it to be this potent without the source being there himself.

Panic gripped him; Had the feline broken in when they had gone their separate ways to work?

No, his mind fought. Even the kid wasn't that reckless or invasive. Even on the field, he made sure to keep a wide birth from Akuatagawa's rampaging ability. It couldn't have been a home invasion, though his instincts didn't grow any less furious.

"Hey, is everything alright?" Your voice called out, and he watched as you shifted to step off of the couch. Curiously, the scent seemed to move with you — he tensed. Your wide eyes stared back at him in nothing but utter confusion — and his chest grew even more uncomfortably itchy. Ryū's nose lifted high up, tail tensing as all the worries came to pass.

Fury raced through his veins; It was coming from you. In fact, it seemed to be bathing your form in that heady, headache-inducing scent, and he could spy short, white fur scattered here and there across your clothes. You looked at him incredulously as he scanned your person. All he could focus on were the clothes soaked in Atsushi's scent — clothes rubbing his couch. How many other things had that vile scent been rubbed across?

That weretiger was bold, Ryū would give him that, but you were bolder — it seemed. Foolishly plastering his pungent, younger scent all over his mate that could've had anybody fooled, and you had let him? How many people had been led to believe that the beast was your beloved instead? It left his blood boiling. A desperate, marrow-deep need to hunt the mangy beast down to teach him a lesson reared its nasty head.

His steps towards the couch were silent, but no less furious. Behind him, he could feel his tail jittering erratically as he grew nearer until he was close enough that he could touch his nose against yours. Your breath hitched in his ears and he resisted letting out a rumble of pride. That dark gaze caught your eyes widening, his own pupils shrinking at the shock that pumped through your blood. He could hear your blood pumping faster at the close proximity, and he nearly smirked as the sound pulsed in his mind.

Rarely did he ever get in your face like this — annoyed and terrifyingly serious like he had some score to settle, a sharpness to his expression that he only held for enemies. He felt your hands against his chest, pressing as it rumbled under the warmth of your palms, against his better judgment. Ryū refused to admit the effect it had on him, and it was only fueled by the symptoms of his pre-rut hitting this week. His gaze swept your face and observed silently as your brows furrowed deeply.

"Is everything alright?" Your voice repeated softly, eyes dragging across his sharp expression, flicking between the points of his teeth to the fierce, concentrated look in his stony eyes. "Did something happen today that I need to know about? You usually don't come home this…pissed, and that's generally saying something."

He didn't move an inch — just continued to stare as his tail twitched along the ground behind him. You squirmed under his heavy gaze, and one of his hands came down to pin your shoulder against the couch.

Squirming only made his instincts stronger, like prey trembling before an approaching predator.

Ryū's gaze drifted down across the expanse of your neck to the small orb held on a strong, silver chain around your neck. The pure, white pearl sat in the cradle of your collarbones. Iridescent shimmers danced in the light across the surface, crackling with a low energy as he viewed his own, warped reflection.

His pearl.

The low rumbling turned into heavy purrs, the ornery fire in his blood soothing just a hair at the sight of his most prized treasure still around your most vital point. Then, the flames were building up inside him once again. You held his pearl — his very life — as close as it could be to your heart, and that insufferable feline still deigned to cake your skin in his claim. Ryū would need to somehow prove that you weren't someone to be claimed by anyone's scent but his own, and he doubted the idea of letting him shadow you everywhere would be allowed to fly.

Not that he really cared either way, but it was worth it to keep his sanity against any incessant nagging. That, and he wasn't about to be seen as the 'clingy' type.

His eyes trailed lower and lower, catching sight of the sliver of skin of your belly that had been revealed by your shirt riding up. He could feel a wave of heat crawling up the skin of his back, fury rustling along the edges of his coat.

How perfect.

His eyes snapped back up, pupils thinning to sharp slits as a crazed smirk pulled at the corner of his lips and showed off razor-sharp canines. His other hand — claws retracting from where they were still sunk into the cushion of the couch — feathered over your flushed cheek, the back of one nail dragging along your jaw. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he knocked your chin up to meet his narrowed gaze.

"You reek of him." He snarled, red lightning dancing across his scales and clothes. "And you've brought it to our home. Do you understand how torturous it is to smell that annoying beast in my space? I won't entertain a challenge like this when you're my mate." His voice coiled in your mind like a vice. Sharp nails ghosted down along the skin of your neck and toyed with the collar of your shirt, a threat veiled in black tips. "We'll need to fix this…mistake."

You opened your mouth to respond, but Ryū didn't even give a second of reaction time before he pushed himself back to stand upright. Coils extended from the fabric of his coat to entwine securely around your body and lift you from the cushions. A rough tug, and he carted you away in the air behind him, striding towards the bedroom as his tail lashed behind him. He was utterly displeased at the idea of that idiot getting that close to you. Had Atsushi been allowed to rub against your neck, where his pearl hung?

Even if it wasn't the case, the very mental image of it was enough to leave him livid.

Thanks to Rashōmon, Ryū could feel your heart racing just under your skin through the black cloth bindings. His tail gave an excited twitch against the floor as he walked — already, he could tell your muscles were tensing in quiet realization of what kind of 'danger' you were in for the night. He was silent the short walk to the bedroom, leaving you in suspense just to really enjoy the squirming.

When he finally threw the door open, he didn't hesitate to toss you unceremoniously to the bed, reveling in the yelp of surprise that echoed out as your body bounced against the mattress. Binds shot out across the room, wrapping securely around your head to cover your eyes.

In the meanwhile, as you squirmed from the sudden lack of sight, he locked onto you, eyes sharp and all too predatory. A singular bind snaked out from behind him to wrap around the edge of the door. He gave a throaty rumble of a chuckle before snapping it shut back into the frame. The hearty slam had you jumping in your spot.

Just under the wrap, he could feel your lashes fluttering against Rashōmon's grip. It tickled through his senses and he fought down a shudder at the feathery sensation. Just under Atsushi's potent scent, he could smell yours — sweetening and thickening with an arousal you likely wouldn't voice yourself.

"R-Ryū?" You gulped audibly. He watched your hands scatter over the top of the bed, feeling where you couldn't see. Your hands reached up for the binds and he hissed lowly, pleased when you ripped them away from the dark cloth. "You know I don't like being left in the dark like this."

He did know, yes, but you'd be alright.

It was silent as he moved, shifting closer until he was pouncing, covering your mouth just as you yelled in surprise. No noises needed here, except what he could drag deliciously out of your throat.

"Quiet." Ryū murmured darkly, nudging against your ear with a nip before soothing it with his forked tongue. His chest pressed down heavily against your own. "Your words are useless. Only your sounds and begs will suffice here, mate."

His hand didn't let up from where it covered your mouth. Using the grip, he turned your head to the side to bare the expanse of your throat to him. Just under the skin of your neck, he could hear your racing heart, the violent pounding of your veins ricocheting in his brain. Over that, your scent buried itself deep in his mind. He wouldn't last much longer like this.

He nipped at the angry lifeline and smirked against your neck at the low sound of pleasure muffled against his palm. Behind him, his tail shuffled over the sheets in quiet delight.

He needed you. Now.

Smooth bindings slipped under your shirt, and you tensed for only a moment before his low rumbles were soothing it out of you. You could hear your own heart in your ears as he moved over you. Sharp inhales when his touches ghosted over your skin before drawing away. Always leaving you guessing. Always leaving you wanting more.

You wanted to smack him. You hated when he did this—leaving you in the dark to anticipate his next moves tersely. A swirling cocktail of anxiety and arousal coursed deep in your veins, and Ryū gave a sharp laugh, as if hearing it all like the song of a crystal bell.

"Tense?" His voice broke through the dark, warm like steam as it rose over hot coals. Warmth you only ever had the privilege to experience behind closed doors like this. Noting your silence, he continued:

"Can't exactly imagine why. After all, this is all your fault in the end." Hands, warm and unyielding, tugged you further down the bed by your hips. Your brows furrowed at his words, eyes blinking uselessly in the direction of his voice.

"What the hell are you talking about?" You hissed, unamused at this supposed 'blame.' "I don't seem to recall asking you to come home in an attitude and just whisk me off to the bedroom. You stared me down as if I'd just set your beloved coat on fire, or something. I don't have a single clue what you're talking about with Atsushi's scent."

Sleek fabric wrapped snug over your lips, muffling any words. Despite not being able to see, you could just feel the incredulous stare he was aiming towards you. The words faltered in your throat as he hissed.

"Watch it." His voice cut through your bones, terrifyingly serious. "He's not allowed to exist in this moment. Not by name. Not by thought. And soon enough, not by smell. I come home to you caked in his scent, and I suppose I'm just supposed to let it go?" A sharp bark of a laugh echoed through the room, though it held nothing but condescension. "Lays claim to my mate and I'm to pretend nothing more is happening?"

Fury rose in your veins.

"Ryūnosuke," your hands grabbed his where they rested on your hips, "if you are going to sit here and accuse me of cheating, then we have more pressing matters than scents."

He was quiet for a moment, and you tried to track his direction. His breath was quiet enough for you to not be able to sense it . Trembling hands went still under yours, and there was the unmistakable twitch of his tail against the sheets.

"Apologies." The draconian male finally murmured after a long, terse moment, realizing his mistake. "That was…an ill-advised assumption on my part. My concern still stands, however. You smell like him, and I will not stand for it. Thus, the only logical solution is to make sure your skin can't forget mine."

A bind was slapped right over your mouth then, and you gave a muffled yell in indignation. You could at least explain it, but he was already moving on. There was the warmth of his lips as they pressed against the fabric over your mouth — a searing heat separated by nothing more than cloth.

His lips pressed to where the corner of your mouth would be, trailing seductively down your chin, along the length of your jaw, and down your racing pulse. It danced just underneath your skin, and you shuddered as his teeth pricked slightly in a sadistic show of power. Off to the side of it, he lapped over the healed mating bite on your shoulder. Soon, it would be renewed.

The warmth of his kisses moved lower and lower, and you instinctively arched up into him to follow the feeling.

Warm lips trailed down the bared expanse of your throat, licking, and nipping at the skin as he moved to the cradle of your collarbones — right beside where his pearl sat. Kissing the bone, his nose nudged the orb. He murmured in the hollow of your throat before sharp teeth were baring down into the bone without an ounce of remorse. The bed creaked under his shifting movements.

Trickles of pain bloomed across your nerves, sizzling with a burning that had you crying against Rashōmon's bind before it fizzled out in an ebb of pleasure. He peppered the flushed skin with countless bites, nearly purring in pride. He was teasing you, that sick bastard.

And, yet, you needed more of it.

He gave one of the swelling wounds a slight lick. Hardly an apology. It was more of an acknowledgment of the pain he was administering. Maybe the slightest bit of remorse, but not enough to see without truly understanding him.

Ryū moved further down your skin, alongside a hand smoothing up along your side under your shirt until finally reaching where the collar sat. There, it went still for a breath. The warmth of his palm settled heavy against your skin and you fought a whine at the stillness.

Soon after, another blade of cloth could be felt as it caressed across your cheek and slid down the open collar, over your chest, and stopped at the waistband of your shorts. It rested there, brushing over the skin over your belly. One clean snap of the ability and your shirt was split clean in half, allowing it to fall open to Ryū's well-adjusted gaze. You made a sound of displeasure against the bind over your mouth, but the ability swallowed it with the dark fabric.

You could feel his heated gaze roving over your newly exposed skin, the bind over your mouth tightening in response to his growing arousal. He gave an amused huff at the sound from your throat.

"Something to say?" He remarked all-too-smugly, another cloth sliding over your stomach and resting against your chest. You squirmed again, unamused, and were rewarded with a sharp 'thwack". The skin stung under the snap and you gave a gasp of delight at the feeling. He continued on, unfaltering. "Don't mistake my questions as permission, pearl-bearer. You're not some bug — so I expect that you don't squirm."

You had half a mind to grumble back mockingly, but something told you the repercussions that awaited that move were not worth the trouble. Denial would be great any other night, but not tonight — so you complied and steadily stilled once more. With a low hum, he continued on.

The white tips of his bangs tickled delicately across the skin of your chest. Peppering relentless bites along the warm skin, his tongue flicked tentatively at your pert nipples, and you gave a shiver of pleasure.

Cool, sharp air bit at your saliva-coated nipples, sparks of need flaring along your veins. Your hand twined in the pillow under your head and your hips rolled up sharply. Again, his tongue flicked out. And, again, the sensation roused a tidal wave of shudders through your body.

You could just barely hear the sound of a low chuckle building in his throat before his warmth was pulling away. Instinctively — and with the slightest bit of panic — a whimper curled from your throat as the cold air of the room fanned over your body. Warmth pressed against the pulsing mound between your thighs, and you stiffened. After a moment, your hips gave a sharp jerk for some desperate point of friction. When the mass shifted, and you felt the end of something pointed, that's when realization dawned. His tail.

"Ah, so you can tell. You're more observant than I give you credit for." The tail shifted, allowing you to press up and grind against it fully for just this moment. "Enjoy it, won't you? You won't have it there for long.

The words coated your mind like a frigid frost, but you didn't care. All you could think of was how you'd ride it like it was the last grind toy on earth. Pressing your swollen clit up against the smooth scales, and dragging your hips in a frantic staccato. No doubt you'd cry out his name like it was everything you'd ever need for the rest of your life.

Eventually, an arrow of harsh reality pierced through your daydream, and the warmth of his tail was now gone. Your eyelids fluttered, eyes unfocused in the pitch darkness under the tight, living blindfold over your eyes. It was amusing how, for someone that claimed to despise aimless torture, he seemed far too good at stringing your desperation along like some helpless puppet.

The cloth across your eyes shifted and drew away in a snap, rendering your eyes to the brightness of the room. The bind slipped from your mouth with lightening speed. Bright, unforgiving light blasted your retinas, fishing out a sharp, irritable hiss and forcing your hands to slam over your face.

"The fuck…?" You croaked, blinking away the bright spots and taking a moment to register that all that had been hidden in the dark of the blindfold. Like, the coat hanger over by the door where Ryū had gotten into the habit of hanging his own coat. The ornate style dresser over in the corner with a multitude of keepsakes and photographs from various occasions. The shimmering, ebony scales of his tail as it writhed in the air behind him. And those coal-black voids staring back down at you.

"A warning would have been nice. Getting blasted in the face isn't so fun when it's the blinding sun in your eyes." You shot wryly, pulling your hands away from your face.

"You're fine." He gave a sharp huff through his nose. "It's a shame I need to see your eyes as I take you, or I'd have kept it on. Maybe the gag will still be useful enough." The hybrid shot you a smirk and you leveled an unamused glare at him.

He continued on, unwavering. "Now, where were we…"

In the blink of an eye, he was back on you. Lips wrapped securely around one of your erect nipples, teeth, and tongue grazing along your areola as he lapped and tugged, drawing out moan after moan.

You arched up into his warmth with an aroused keen. He gave a quiet rumble in response, tail flicking as the sound reverberated through your ribs. White, hot need shot straight down to your core. Your hips shot up to meet the air in desperation.

You needed something — anything. Even just his tail would suffice.

His other hand, formerly busy with stabilizing himself, now moved to show attention to your other, ignored nipple and trapped it in his pointed grasp. The first time you'd done this together, terror had burned through your veins at the sharp tips against such a sensitive area. But now, only a cool wave of bliss that had your breath hitching flowed at the touch.

He busied himself against your chest, lapping mercilessly before pulling back, allowing his spit to cool on the skin as he swiftly switched, latching onto your other peak. Ryū lapped lazily, free hand moving lower and lower with a purposeful, torturous slothfulness.

You tried to build up some words, a desperate plea for him to go faster — to touch exactly where you knew he would keep edging along. Seeming to sense this, his claws hooked into the waistband of your bottoms and tore them into clear shreds as he had done with your shirt.

The haziness of your mind swallowed the protest at more clothing being ripped. Focusing, instead, on the way his claws trailed along the soft skin of your hip, he pulled shivers from your body just at the prickling feeling the sharp tips left behind.

"It's fascinating how desperate you become after nothing but small touches." He popped off your slick nipple, puffy and red, and began to kiss a trail lower and lower. Lips fluttering right over your navel, fangs kissing the frantic, quick rise and fall of your belly, and down the soft hairs that built the little happy trail along your lower stomach — ending just above the swell of your mound.

You heard him take a deep inhale and couldn't help but groan in embarrassment. A hand flew down to push at his face, and he chuckled, a bind snapping around your wrist and dragging it up over your head. Feeling that silver gaze burning into you, your eyes flicked down to watch as his own stared, enamored, under heavy, ebony lashes. the pupils shrunk to thin slits of concentration as his tongue lapped experimentally over your pulsing clit.

At the desperate sound of your squeal, he rumbled with pride, scales shifting along his skin minutely, but it was easy to catch all the same. Annoyance swirled with your embarrassment. You shot him an irritated look. It was infuriating how that seemed to resonate with him, and you knew he loved to rile you up in a situation like this.

"I hate you." You snarled weakly, though it held no weight with the flush across your face. "When are you going to stop fucking with me and get on with it?"

He blinked as if hearing a language he didn't understand. Then, he scoffed.

"You have no idea how much I would simply love to do that. Anything to shut you up and quell this fire in my veins." Ryū snapped, coat rustling on his figure in agitation. "But, for your sake, I'm trying to properly prep you. Feel thankful. Or don't. But we both know you won't be complaining soon."

Rashōmon delivered a sharp smack on your outer thigh. You cried out at the feeling and he took the chance, two thin fingers pressing down on your tongue. The taste of sweat was heavy on your tongue.

"However, I can't promise to play nice if you keep testing my patience." He trailed into a heavy growl, pupils expanding and contracting as if his sanity was held by a thread. "Now. No more talking. Your complaints won't do any good, anyway."

Feeling satisfied with his explanation, he leaned forward, fingers pulling from your mouth as his arms hooked under your thighs to tug you closer. His lips surrounded your clit.

The slick muscle teased up around your hood, and Ryū gave a satisfied groan in response, the salty mix weighty and hazing in his mind. The lamplight nearby bounced off his dark strands, which shifted as he worked your sensitive nub with all he had. Dark lashes fluttered, dancing against the pale skin of his cheeks as his mouth moved against you with an audible slickness.

The skin between his brow-bones folded as he pushed forward, bending your hips up slightly as if trying to fuse into your very being. Behind him, his tail flashed across the bedspread, and he hummed low against you.

As his tongue worked, his hand moved from your thigh to rest just against your weeping cunt. You felt fingers trace the entrance, and you fought the urge to buck your hips, muscles tensing under your restraint. A hum rumbled against your skin.

"Mmm, so you do know how to behave…" He gave a sharp suck of your clit and was rewarded with a sharp cry of his name. "Good mate, you are." Curling one of his fingers, he brushed the tip of a knuckle against your hole and hummed as your hips tensed once more. Taking a moment — as his tongue curled delightfully around your bundle of nerves — he eventually granted a reprieve and began to gently push the knuckle into your fluttering pussy, before pulling right back out.

Ever-so-lightly dipping the knuckle in and shallowly fucking you. A low hiss escaped at the sudden intrusion, and he was quick to pull back from your clit. His gaze snapped to you, the other hand against your thigh, rubbing the flesh soothingly. His knuckle continued its shallow depth and slow pace.

"I told you so. You're dripping, but that won't help with tightness. Relax, won't you?. There's no harm here." He murmured, a blade of cloth moving to nudge your cheek — almost akin to a cat's nuzzle. His words were sharp, but the underlying concern was all too apparent. Dark eyes locked on as he repositioned his knuckle once more.

For all the shit he gave you, he was more attuned than most would give him credit for. Even as obvious as it was that he wanted nothing more than to shove his cocks inside you and mount you until time itself ceased to exist, he wouldn't allow pain to be shoved to the back burner in favor of desperate need.

Bit by bit, his knuckle began to sink deeper and deeper without much resistance, or a sharp intake of breath. Sensing your body gradually relaxing and giving way, he hummed and shot a quick, observational glance.

"Perfect." The bind that held your hand above your head suddenly disengaged, and he was lowering back down.

In an instant, he was back on you — lips securing around your erect clit and continuing as if no time had passed at all. Flicking. Lapping. Sucking. His tongue was relentless as it worked across the surface and dragged a string of moans and curses from your lips.

Stoke after stroke, like he was physically working to stoke the embers that were beginning to grow in the pit of your stomach. The scaled tail twitched sharply in quiet satisfaction as he kept his eyes trained up on your face. Every cry and contortion of your expression let him adjust accordingly. A man that was nothing if not perceptive.

Your hands gripped up at the pillow under your head, and you flopped back into the plushness, eyes focusing tiredly on the headboard a just a few inches away.

An intricate, carved piece of cedar that had been stained an elegant shade of coal black Ryū had picked up at an antique shop. Nearly the same shade of his raven-colored locks that caught the light with a hint of purple across its surface as he buried himself between your thighs. His horns shimmered a brilliant gold, and their healthy luster was clear to see as they shifted with his movements. Once dull from malnutrition, it was always so rewarding to see them flourishing with new life — to see him flourishing with new life.

It lasted a short while longer, tongue caressing your clit like a lover's hold, before he pulled away with a lewd pop. A string of saliva glittered in the lamplight along his tongue, arousal coating his chin in an astonishing layer that had your gut flaring in embarrassment. Settling back on his heels, he admired the mess between your legs and the subsequent trembling of your limbs. You just turned your head to avoid the blatant observance.

If he was amused with the effect he had, Ryū didn't show it this time. Dark irises were eaten away by slowly expanding pupils, continuing to search the scene before using a singular claw to draw your gaze back to his. He sat there a moment before settling back, reaching up and beginning to unfasten the buttons of his coat. He worked them loose with a practiced deftness. Your breath held.

Obviously it wasn't a new thing for him lately to actually remove the article of clothing, but the fact that he felt comfortable enough with you — to strip off his main form of defense — always sent a flurry of butterflies hurtling around your stomach. Had you been a bit more of sound mind, you'd have cupped his face and kissed him like it was the last day alive — pouring every sense of pride and appreciation for his trust into his very being.

Seemingly sensing this by the soft look on your face, his pale ears gained a light dusting of pink and a bind of white shot out over your mouth. Now, he was left in nothing but the white, frilled shirt he always wore under his coat and a pair of boxers that held the slightest bit of a stain at the front — you were almost honored.

"Don't." He hissed, barely even a threat as he moved to hover back over your body. "Quit looking at me like that. Like I'm so deserving. It's entirely ignorant."

Your face softened, and the sharp whip of his tail resounded through the air, watching as he leaned down. His nose brushed against the spot just under your ear, dragging slowly over your racing pulse, down your neck and chest. It ghosted across your navel and belly, and right back between your legs. Quick hands caught your thighs and hauled them up. As he tugged them high enough to present your quivering pussy to his gaze in the light, shame lanced through your mind at the stare, but that only incited him to tighten his grip.

He didn't say anything as his eyes caught yours, seemingly scanning the thoughts behind that gaze. Something glimmered in the deep pools. Something quiet, but clear enough to know he was thinking hard. Turning to the side, his nose pressed to the skin of your inner thigh, nuzzling it before delivering an assuring nip. Hands soothed your sides and the considerate assurance melted away any shame like snow on a warm, summer's day.

Turning his head back, his mouth latched securely around your awaiting hole, tongue flickering experimentally against it in a way that had him shuddering slightly at the taste. He traced the entrance, eyes lidded and once again trained on your face as he tracked your expressions. The tip circled endlessly, spelling characters and numbers against you in a way that had your back arching up in the air like a pleased cat.

A few more teasing flicks and he was pressing the muscle against you, inching the muscle inside tentatively and continuing deeper when he felt the walls clenching down around it like an invitation.

Pure bliss was all you could feel as he plundered his way inside, the pronged end tickling against your pulsing, squishy walls, and sending a mixed wave of pleasure. Warmth coated your walls with each pass and you gave a sharp breath. The overwhelming urge to tug him deeper by the horns grew and grew; To grab and tug until one couldn't tell where he began and you ended or night and day were one.

His hands moved, one sliding down to your inner thigh while the other trailed up along your hip, dragging steadily until the pad of his thumb pressed against your pulsing clit. Slowly, ever so slowly, he circled the bundle, tongue working in tandem to the unhurried pace. Still, his eyes were locked on you, and a bind nudged under your chin to keep your gaze locked with him. When it finally met his, he gave a rewarding curl of his tongue against that spongy spot, eliciting a bright array of lights behind your eyes.

You clenched down with a whine, arching up against him and fighting against the eye contact he forced you to hold. There was no escape from it — there never was. It was instinct for him to keep your gazes locked so long as moments like these occurred. Like a sadistic beast, Ryū wanted you to watch as he brought you hopelessly over that edge despite all embarrassment.

Giving another curl of his tongue, you watched from the corner of your eye as another white bind slithered from the folds of his shirt. It snaked across the bedspread, sliding silently until it disappeared into the shadow of your lifted hips. Ryū glanced down with an all-too-cunning expression and shifted his tongue against the roof of your cunt — seemingly making room for…something? A gasp leapt out at the sudden pressure squeezing in just below his tongue, eyes shooting wide in a moment of profound realization.

Oh.

Oh.

It was soft. Cool. Firm yet malleable enough to compress under the squishing of your walls. It molded beautifully within the silk ridges of your sex, drawing over every nerve and bump in a way that had your hips rolling to follow. With a gentle curl, pleasure bloomed through your core, building on that deep fire in your gut that Ryū would stop at nothing to let burn you alive.

Slowly, it began to twist in time with the combined rhythm of his tongue and his thumb steadily circling your puffy clit, caressing your walls in a mix of soothing and teasing. He danced purposefully around that sweet spot, studying your reaction.

A slick squelching filled the warmth of the room, and you fought to bury your face.

Instead, you shot him a look. Glaring over your flushed cheeks in a way he undoubtedly understood. Right now was not the time for him to be playing this game — though he would inadvertently argue otherwise. It seemed to work, as a warm, firm curl of his tongue and cloth depressed on that spongy spot sent stars across your vision. White, hot fire burned across your body. The heat within the room only seemed to grow warmer.

You could faintly register his scent curling up into your nose. Smoky, deep, with the lightest hint of something herbal or medicinal. It was calming, yet overpowering in your hazy mind. It choked your senses and, combined with the onslaught of his tongue, makeshift toy, and fingers, made it hard to think clearly.

It was uniquely home.

Uniquely him.

You wanted to wrap yourself up in it, and the feeling of reality began to drift away from you. Colors blurred into one another in your vision. It was hard to keep track of what was real anymore, and a mumble tumbled past your lips numbly.

Desperate for some grounding purchase, your hands shot out, just barely scraping the surface of his gold, coral-branched horns that climbed from between his raven-black locks. In response, he hissed lowly against the slick. His eyes went sharp for just a quick moment, but it was enough to leave you gasping and yanking your hands back like it was the surface of a hot stove. All sense of fantasy was burned in the abruptness of the moment.

"Shit, Ryū—" Hands waving, they eventually came to clench together over your chest. "Sorry! Sorry, I didn't think about where I was grabbing."

He was never one for having his horns touched. One classification from just pure bone, they were packed with all senses of nerves and highly sensitive. It was hard to even look at them without Ryū feeling threatened in the end.

While frantic thoughts raced in your head, the hybrid snared low against where his tongue was buried in your pussy, eyes still sharp as he pressed down on your clit with his thumb — sending you arching uncontrollably with a sharp gasp.

His hands were quick, thumb pulling away as he grabbed onto the meat of your thighs and hiked them up over his broad shoulders, tilting his head forward. As his nose pressed into the space his thumb had formerly taken, two binds shot out to grab your hands and wrap them against his horns, binding them there. Realizing there was no way out, your fingers hesitantly curled around the solid appendages. All the while, he looked down at you with a scathing glare, as if the act of retreating had been an offense of the highest order.

"I never told you to pull away. Grab if you must." Ryū's words vibrated against your folds as his tongue pressed deeper, flicking slightly against that innermost part of you. Protests fizzled on the end of your tongue and you bucked up against him. A rumble of satisfaction met your undulations as the cloth blade settled back into it's pace. It wriggled and thrusted at a relentless beat. Squirming against him, your breath grew short as he flicked relentlessly, sharp nose rubbing against your poor, pulsating clit. The heat from earlier ignited once again, and with each relentless press of nudge, you could feel yourself drawing closer.

Two more tendrils crawled their way along your sides, weaving up and up until they curled themselves around your stiff nipples and tugged. You couldn't help the hiccuped sound of pleasure that bubbled in your throat, eyes squeezing shut. There was nothing to focus on than the feeling of him. The feeling as he drew you to that edge, attention focused entirely on you. It was hard to notice the bind that slipped into his boxers as he continued.

His lashes fluttered, gaze hazing and faltering slightly as he drowned himself in the sensation of you.

Closer. He curled his tongue, tendril drilling in incessantly.

Closer. He pressed his nose down further, dark eyes locked on you.

Closer. The tendrils around your nipples pulled hard.

Your nails dug into the surface of his horns, scratching away flecks of keratin that coated the surface and producing a low choking sound from Ryū. Whatever wasn't caught under your fingernail fell to the bedspread in flakes, gold flittering like dust in the lamplight. A nearly eye-catching sight if you weren't so busy trying to hold to the last shred of sanity in your poor, stimulated brain.

More tendrils joined the one in your cunt, combining with the first in a spiral shape and beginning to drag back and forth against your walls. They were steady, and the unique texture of his white shirt wrapped in his ability brought forth surges of pleasure. His tongue, undeterred, kept curling against that sweet spot and flicking against the surface of your cervix, greedily swallowing up the slick that your wept in droves.

He met your fervor with a low moan, sparse brows furrowing as hips jerked against the air. His movements were sloppy, lapping and eating you out like the taste was oxygen to his lungs. Pressing deeper, his nose pushed firmly against your clit and dragged a ragged cry from your throat. All he could sense was you. All he could smell was you.

He almost joined in as your orgasm built closer and closer. The cloth stuffed in his boxers tugged at him, wrapping, twisting, and jerking him off in shaky motions. The feeling of himself twitching and your warm walls wrapped like a vice around his other tendrils had his abdominals tensing with the inevitable release.

But before either of you could hit it, he was pulling away, panting lightly. His pale skin was dusted with a gentle pink, eyes barely focused. All the tendrils slunk back into his coat, withdrawing from your needy sex in a way that nearly had a sob of frustration ripping from your throat. It took him a moment to gather himself, but he was quick to refocus on you.

"R-Ryū! You can't just—" You gasped for breath, shuddering at the early fall from cloud nine. "You can't just stop there!"

He simply watched, amused. The front of his boxers twitched, a large wet spot clear to see in the dark fabric. It had been too close of a call.

"You're not in charge here. I'll do whatever I deem is necessary, and you'll learn to enjoy it." The male hummed, drawing out a tendril to ghost against your clit in a way that had your body seizing up before it pulled away. You chased it with your hips.

"Please, I need it! I need you—" You sobbed, reaching for him to tug him back. He dodged with ease, planting you back on the mattress with another white blade. Fighting against it, the wrap only pressed tighter, another joining to keep you down. There was no escape here.

"Oh no." The draconic hybrid sneered. "I don't want your pleas; For this, I want your apologies."

Indignation flared in your veins, utterly appalled at the request. "What?" You scoffed, brows furrowing as you stopped squirming. Seriously, what was his problem? "For what? I have nothing to apologize for! I haven't done a single thing wrong."

"For letting that mangy detective rub his scent on you." Ryū's eyes were dark against the paleness of his face, burning into yours without an ounce of jovial amusement. The bind feathered over your clit once more, and you fought to follow it. It stayed just out of reach, providing just enough stimulation to keep the fire right on the edge — right where he needed you. "For letting him cover my rightful scent and letting everyone else believe that you were his."

Your head shook; This was utterly stupid.

"I didn't let him!" You pleaded, trying to reason with him. The man simply tilted his head, white tipped bands dancing against his, mole-splattered pale face.

"I'll give you three chances. I'm feeling merciful enough."

"Ryū! This is stupid! Please—I need you! You can't just deny me right now." You cursed him with every name under the sun, frustration welling up in your chest that he was choosing to do this now. Rashōmon continued to tease at your swelled bundle of nerves and coaxing out sobs of desperation. "This is stupid, and you know it!"

"One." He rumbled, clearly not bluffing.

Panic raced through you. "W-Why do I have to pay for this?!" You squawked, hand reaching out to him, which he dodged once again. "I-I didn't let him rub on me, honest. I work with him, Ryunosuke — what else am I supposed to do? Avoid him? That's like asking me to follow a recipe without the ingredients. It's impossible!"

"Two."

You didn't want him to give him the satisfaction; You knew there was nothing to apologize for. But, you also knew that going to bed without that orgasm would leave you tossing and turning. Your gaze flicked away, face scrunching, before hesitantly shifting back to meet his.

Taking a deep breath, you pleaded under your breath, "R-Ryū, please…I-I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I let his scent get on me. I'm sorry I brought it home. I-I promise I didn't mean to. Please—I-I'm so sorry."

Crickets.

One moment. Another. Another.

"Mm…sufficing." The corner of his lip curled with amusement, tail twitching behind him as the torturous cloth tendril curled away. "It's quite amusing just how far you'll go when you need something, though. I never actually needed an apology."

Confusion hit you.

"Wha…"

"I was going to fuck you either way. Just wondered how desperate you would be." His hands were back on your hips. You protested, reaching to smack him — which he swatted away as easily. "I'll deal with the idiot later for getting too close to begin with. I know he knows better than to mess with what's mine. Maybe I'll rip the other leg off this time."

"You prick!" You snapped after a moment. "When we're done, I swear—."

"You'll be too blissed out of your pathetic, little mind to do anything. Though, I'd quite love to see you even try. Now, be quiet." He let out a deep growl, mood shifting like the flip of a coin as his hands were both back on your hips. With a sharp movement, he was swiftly rolling you onto your belly and pinning you face down into the mattress.

A sound of protest died on your tongue as he crowded your body into the sheets. Behind you, he shuffled off his boxers. The front was soaked with a hefty spot of pre-cum.

His knees bracketed your own, and he was suddenly bearing down on your back, tendrils wrapping around your ankles to pull you spread-eagle and leave your sensitive, drooling cunt on display.

One hand coming down between your legs to run along your slicked hole, gathering the lingering arousal along his finger and smearing it against the pad of his thumb. You gave a soft keen as electric arousal shot back through you, face burying down into the pillow to cover most of it. The bed creaked lightly at his shifting weight. His warmth pressed down against your back as he breathed against your sweat-caked neck.

There was a gentle roll of his hips, and now there was the feeling of him guiding one of the flared tips of his cocks against you. Pre-cum mixed with the arousal pouring from your cunt, and you sighed as he eased himself just inside.

You always forgot just how big he was like this. A brutal stretch that left you limping the next morning without fail, though you supposed it was a fair enough trade off.

Feeling you tense for just a moment, he shifted his hips away—nearly drawing a groan of displeasure at the loss. A bind curled loosely around your neck, settling heavy against your pulse.

"Relax for me." Ryū murmured low, pressing his cheek down against yours as he gave another gentle dip of the tip. "I already told you it'll make this easier. I won't allow you to come to harm here. Just give me deep breaths."

Half annoyed, you sighed wearily and tilted your head just enough to draw deep breaths into your lungs. Looking up, your eyes met his. As stony as always, they now held a deep shimmer of concern — of a care he'd never admit to feeling. The annoyance drained from your body as you slowly allowed yourself to relax. The bind around your neck clenched once, just enough to add pressure, but not enough to cut any air, and he lifted himself back up on his hands.

"And don't you dare look away."

Steadily, he began to inch himself inside. Pressing in further and further with each time he drew himself back to allow you to relax — steadily fucking in further while his hands moved to find purchase on your hips. He'd push in. Slow to a stop when he met resistance. Then pull right back out to the tip.

His other cock, smaller, but no less mighty, rubbed up against your clit deliciously. The soaked, pre-cum coated head provided a wonderful friction that had your lashes fluttering with each roll of his hips.

It was quiet for the first few minutes, save for your noises and his own shuddering breaths. Dark eyes never left you, and, somehow, it didn't feel as embarrassing holding his gaze in such an intimate moment. Maybe it was because he wasn't just looking to look, but to observe. The binding on your neck kept its light but secure hold, pulsing in time with your steady heart.

After a few moments of the slow routine, he finally sunk in completely, filling you with a delicious girth. You were quick to bury your face in the pillows to muffle any noises.

The stretch was glorious as always — a pleasurable burn, flared edges pressing against your walls as it conformed around every ridge, bump, and vein in a way that had you breathless. Just outside of it, the ridges at the base of his smaller dick settled against your pulsing clit. There was a delicious curve to the cock inside you that allowed him easy access to your g-spot, and he was prepared to abuse that.

He stilled when he bottomed out, breath coming in ragged rhythm as he leaned over you. Ryū's hands on your hips held his weight as his tail swiped across the sheets behind him. Slowly leaning down, he delivered a feathered nip at your ear.

"Forgive me. This will be quick. Quicker than I would care for." He hissed, seemingly ashamed as he nudged weakly against your cheek and neck. His body trembled with thinly-veiled restraint. A bind came down and tied around your wrists, dragging them up and behind his neck in a way that had your body bending up from the bed in a gentle arc. Your front was exposed to the air, and he curled a hand around to press against your belly. Claws trailed over the softness there. "But it will be no less pleasurable, that I promise you. This is just what I must do to rid you of that truly undeserving scent."

Akutagawa sighed, nose curling against your neck just under the bind against your pulse. He planted a soft nip, shifting your arms around his neck with Rashōmon before he was pulling back. The rough inner cock scraped along your walls on the way out and against you.

"Forgive me."

He slammed right back to the hilt without warning. The flared head of his outer cock ground against your clit just as the tip of the sunken one reached deep into you, spearing its way in and creating a wonderful pressure from deep within. You gave a sharp cry, head falling back against his shoulder. The hand on your belly came up to rest on your neck, thumb soothing along the side of your throat.

"There we are…" Ryū hissed, drawing out and slamming back in with a sigh. "Doing good. Just relax for me. You can handle it; I know you can."

He allowed you to sink into the feeling for a few thrusts — allowing that feeling to build up once more, thankfully accelerated by build up from moments ago. You clenched down around him, hips rocking to meet the feeling against your clit, and he shifted to meet your movements with a crack of his tail against the bed.

Then, he was pounding mercilessly into you. Your body rocked against the air, the arch of your spine sharpening before he was soothing along your back with a clawed hand. Your hands, still bound behind his head, grabbed helplessly at the strands of hair that tickled against your fingers.

Gripping at the tufts, you tugged with each sharp thrust. Ryū's cocks felt like bliss, twitching against you as he peppered bites and kisses along your exposed neck, the white bind seemingly falling away to allow access to his mark.

He pistoned into you like it was the last time he'd ever have the chance to.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He was relentless. Sharp.

Flares dragging against your walls, before he was sinking right back in — reaching deeper with each thrust and arch of your body. The feeling twisted euphorically in your guts.

Ryū seemed to think the same, as the other hand — which had still been resting on your hip — came to the front to rest on your lower belly. He applied a bit of pressure against his thrust, and you both let out a simultaneous, high-pitched noise of pleasure.

While you worked to recover, he only seemed to work harder. Your sweat mixed with the growing strength of his scent had your mind burying itself in the heady haze. Energy bolstered by the feeling of the bulge from deep inside you, he continued to slam without pause. Sharp hips drove against your ass, leaving a heavy stinging sensation that had cried ripping out of your throat.

His nips turned to full bites, and you tugged harder at his hair, almost sure that you were going to pull it from the scalp. As he thrusted, he made sure to angle his hips to allow for constant stimulation against your pulsing nub. Stars exploded in your vision, and you gripped desperately at him.

"I-It's too much!" You sobbed, head pressed back against his shoulder. The fire blazed like lava in your gut, fueled by the constant stimulation between your legs. "Ryū, I-I can't—"

"You can. Don't be a quitter, now." He gasped, seemingly close himself. "You can take it — and you will take it. Just a little bit longer."

'A little bit longer' felt too short as the incoming wave of an overload grew increasingly stronger.

It was hot and heavy — the room swirled in the corner of your glazed-over eyes as he reached around to tug you against the front of his shirt. Shadows and furniture mixed as you were mercilessly held down into the mattress. Just barely you could register the dragging sensation pooling low in your guts, catching something just perfectly that it had your fingers clenching and eyes rolling slightly.

Quiet, measly whimpers drifted into your ear, and you had not even half a mind to try and find what was making the noise.

Except there wasn't really any way to find the culprit. Those were your whimpers.

Dragging your leaden gaze up, you caught sight of the dark, onyx eyes that were all-too-focused on you. You nearly shied away from it except for his gaze being so burning that it was impossible to glance away.

"Not a thought in that pathetic head of yours, is there?" A sharp meld of a croon and a scoff, he was leaning over, hips slowing down as pinpricks bit your sides. A bit of the haze melted away, and the pain bled through just enough to have you gasping like an air-deprived scuba diver. Nails — long, sharp, and black as the scales across his pale skin — sunk slightly into your flesh.

A cry was ripped from your throat. Your back gave one last sharp arch before you were settling limp. Your nails scratched his scalp as you grasped for grounding.

It was a desperate noise — bright, and loud in a way that seemed to echo through the room. You could barely think past the pleasure singing in your veins as he brought that edge closer and closer, your vision blurring as your eyes unfocused and rolled back the slightest bit. It wasn't long before you spilled right over the edge.

Ryū's hands were quick to steady you as you went limp with pleasure, guiding your form back down onto your belly as his binding unwound from around your wrists. He laid your hands on either side of your head, covering them with his own and intertwining your fingers. And, without missing a beat, he kept going.

As your walls clamped down around him, he seemed to thrust harder just to get deeper past the vice grip, his cocks twitching simultaneously.

One of his hands picked up yours, guiding it down and pushing it against the underside of his smaller, pulsating cock. He pressed the tip of it to grind relentlessly against your clit, pulling a whimper of overstimulation from your throat as you squirmed under him. He didn't move it, though, only holding it down tighter and letting out a groan of pleasure, making you ride through the aftershocks as he speared relentlessly into the enveloping warmth for several heavy moments.

Eventually, he gave a sharp hiss from above, hips jerking harshly against your ass in an increasing, staggering staccato as he drove himself toward his own edge. His cocks twitched simultaneously, and you squirmed under him, nails digging into the bedspread with your other hand. You could hear his tail whipping back behind him, growls simmering in his throat as he drove and drove. He darted down, and sunk his teeth deep in the junction between your neck and shoulder. You delivered a sharp cry as he established the mating mark deep within your skin.

Finally, he was locking inside of you and spilling thick, warm ropes of cum deep inside. Simultaneously, the outer flare was twitching and shooting seed against the softness of your belly and sensitive, puffed-up clit. The base of his inner cock swelled like a balloon until he was locked securely into your fluttering cunt, coating your soft walls with a sticky whiteness. His hips gave weak jerks, twitching in an effort to push his spend deeper inside in a way that would calm the overbearing instincts right now.

When he finally stilled, he collapsed on top of you, and you both lay there, panting heavily and coming down from your collective highs as he worked to find his footing. He lapped gently at the oozing marks on your neck, rumbling as he soothed the skin with flicks of his sharp tongue. You had no doubt it would be a gnarly sight to behold in the morning.

His unburied cock still ground against your highly sensitive bundle of nerves, sending you squirming and whining under him before he hissed and pressed, using his weight to cease any further wiggling. Binds shot out to anchor you down, preventing any potential leakage.

"Quit that, it's almost over." Slender fingers gripped your hips, tugging them flush against his own. "As I've said, you can take it."

You hated when it came to this. Okay, not actually hated, but it was close enough of a feeling. As you lay there, comfortable under the weight, there eventually came a pressure against your lower lips, pushing insistently against your stuffed hole.

It was relentless and continued to press and press until finally it pushed past your cum-slick labia. It was big. Bigger than the widest point of Ryū's thicker cock, and it burned slightly as it slid through your sensitive walls. It carried a unique weight that had you squirming in a small sense of discomfort before the binds on tightened. When it reached the deepest part of you and nudged against your cervix, it slid right through with a soothing, pleasant feeling.

No matter how many times you went through this, it was always a shock that it felt nice. A side effect of Ryū's cum — numbing anything it touched. Blowjobs were always a delight when one essentially lost their gag reflex, that's for sure.

As its weight settled within you, the dragon above rumbled lowly.

"You always take them so well. It's amusing how much you whine about not liking it." He smirked, catching your side-long gaze, fangs glinting in the light. His pale skin was dusted with a light layer of pink.

"Yeah, well—" Your breath hitched at another pressure, fingers clenching just slightly as it rolled to join the first in the depths of your womb. You cleared your throat after a moment. "Well, why would I admit that? You get too smug, and I don't need you growing an ego now, of all times."

He scoffed, but was clearly undeterred.

"Excuses are all you're good at making." Ryū allowed the binds to finally fall from your body when he no longer deemed you a flight risk. "I can feel it anyway, with the way you tighten with each one. You can fool the world, but there's no fooling me."

Weight after weight, push after push, rounded objects began to press against your innermost walls, stretching the skin and muscle to its max before the last intrusion finally slid home, resting among its weighty brethren. Upon realization that the pushing was over, your body finally rested fully into the mattress. The round, gravid pressures left your body feeling both weightless and like the biggest ton of bricks one could ever possibly weigh.

You wanted to wring his scrawny neck — really, you did. Maybe it was your own fault for not keeping up with this stupid cycle. To be fair, it had never been this bad before. But now, as you lay there, filled —hopelessly — to the brim with his clutch, there were some serious regrets. He'd probably hold this over your head for a long while, all smug, and teasing. It was a good thing that they weren't fertile.

"Seriously?" You twisted your torso around as best you could with your new, limited flexibility. Ryū purred lowly, stone gaze meeting yours without a hint of remorse. His tail gave a pleased flick behind him, clearly unapologetic.

"It's your own fault for rubbing up against that utterly incompetent feline." Fangs nipped at your shoulder, gold horns glinting in the lamplight. White-tipped bangs tickled against the back of your neck. "You came home bathed in that vile odor, and I refuse to have you rub it along the house where I have to live in it. It is a mockery, and I won't have it."

He gave a sniff at your neck and let out a pleased hum, his hand pressing to your distended belly. Claws grazed the stretched surface, and you couldn't help pressing into the soothing feeling.

"He won't be able to cover this one up." He purred, pupils shrinking to slits. "And I'd love to see him try." Then he growled after a moment.

"That said, don't let him get so close again. You wouldn't want a repeat of this, would you? Since you supposedly hate it."

You shot him a look.

"I don't hate it, but you can't simply tell me who I can and can't speak with or hang around. It's asinine. And controlling, quite frankly." You swatted back at him, and he caught your wrist with ease, planting a soft, warning bite on your pulse. "I'm not going to listen to you."

He caught your gaze, head tilting to stare down out of the corner of one sharp eye. "You wish to see what happens if you do? As long as you carry my clutch, you'll listen to what I say."

You stared him down for a tense moment, meeting the clear, burning gaze with your own raging agitation. Another annoying side effect of the entire cycle — the raging territorial beast that wouldn't allow anything other than what his instincts deemed 'safe.' The slits of his eyes sharpened, body still as a statue.

"Bite me." You finally conceded with a sigh.

"Don't tempt me." Pale hands gathered under your belly, tugging you close against his own form as he rubbed at the taut skin. Pride rumbled through his veins at your agreement. You were listening, and that's all that mattered. Gently — wordlessly — he soothed the sore stretch and rolled you both on your sides. His tail came up, long, and reflecting the lamplight across the dark scales like stars in the night sky, to curl up against you. You hummed, wrapping your arms around it as exhaustion sunk in deep.

"I'm still mad at you, by the way." You grumbled, scrunching your nose as the spines of his tail swatted the tip of it gently. He pressed sharp claws against your belly, dragging through the cum drying there with nary a care. He lapped gently at the sweat-caked skin of your neck and shoulders. A way to clean, since moving wasn't exactly an option in this state. You'd badger him for a bath, later.

"Be mad. I couldn't care less."

Ryū curled around you, keeping your body close against him with his back to the wall so he could see the door just over your shoulder, an instinct bound to surface as the rut cycle kicked off fully over the week. One of many that could encase the hellishly long week that was ahead. You were sure he'd push to start nesting or whatever, blaming instinct over the fact he wanted his mate safe. Or, just pretend that he doesn't care, but you both knew full well how short that mask would fall.

Tucked securely in his grasp, eventually your eyes begin to slowly fall shut, a sigh escaping as you ventured to drift off to sleep. He wouldn't sleep for a long while, content to simply watch over, as he always did.

Just a dragon watching his most precious treasure, and the pearl you held close to your heart.

(Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! ^^ Please do not repost, copy, alter my words, or feed it into any sort of AI platform. Thank you so much for reading!)

In Yokohama, sea salt stirs in the air long before the harbor ever comes into view.

It infiltrates your tongue, mixing with the residue of this morning’s coffee and the sweat trickling down your forehead in a briny tang. Down below, the ocean of sparkling water nearly blinds you with every lingering glance.

Your sworn enemy for the day, however, is not the fleet of foes carrying stolen cargo, but the wind. It whips through the open helicopter window and tousles the hair you spent methodically braiding in front of the mirror, steals sheets of your reports when your grip loosened for an unsuspecting moment, and blows the occasional hapless insect and spray of salt water into your eyes. It even nearly rips the ribbon off your brooch before you clasp a protective hand over it.

When you avert your gaze inside, you expect to see Chuuya with his arms crossed and nodding off, or lost between the lines of the mission report, but instead, the entire upper half of his body dangles outside of the aircraft. A hand rests over his hat lest the wind snatches it away, his azure irises scouring the endless expanse of matching blue ahead. A massive overjoyed grin has taken over his usually grouchy face. 

Or maybe that’s just how he looks when he’s not schooling you. 

One would think he was enjoying the thrill of a rollercoaster drop, though to him, this would probably be equivalent.

Your stomach starts to plummet, and you have a feeling it’s not due to the altitude.

Eventually he climbs back in and tugs the ends of his gloves tighter around his wrist. “How many?” he asks.

The pair of binoculars lower to your chest, your eyes still squinting at the vague black dots in the distant horizon. “It’s hard to make out from this far, but I think around a dozen.”

Chuuya frowns, shooting you a pointed look. “You think?”

“I believe there to be a dozen,” you correct instantly.

“Better,” he scoffs. “Remember what I told you about certainty.”

You instinctively mirror his expression, the familiar itch of an argument clawing its way up your throat. “But, sir, reporting anything I’m uncertain about could lead to incorrect inductive reasoning. It’s important to account for unforeseen circumstances.”

His hand drops from unbuttoning his coat, squinted eyes slide towards you and stop at your face, as if he’s trying to determine whether or not you’re being serious. “The whole damn battlefield is unforeseen circumstances. You think the world’s gonna stop so you can gather more information for your case file?”

“Well no, but if I could increase our chances of success with a little more certainty then it might help—”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The problem with you investigative types is this,” Chuuya contends. “When I talk about certainty, I don’t mean knowin’ everything about what you’re fighting. You’re lucky if you can predict a damn thing that happens out there.” His arms cross over his chest, his chin raised in defiance. “What I’m talkin’ bout is conviction— in yourself. If you step out there second-guessing yourself, you’re basically asking to get your ass handed to you.”

A lump rises in your throat, arms hanging awkwardly by your side. 

“When you walk in, you should believe you’ve already won. That’s how you fight.” His eyes shine with pride as if recounting all the victories he’s racked up over the years. “Got that?”

Absolutely not. There was only so much fighting I had to do in an interrogation room.

“Yes, sir,” you concede anyway. 

Now is when he finally decides to take a look at the mission report and flips through the pages. He doesn’t look at you when he speaks again, “You remember what the boss’s orders were, right?”

Earlier that morning, Mori’s voice carried across the Port Mafia’s HQ rooftop as you clambered into the helicopter. “Thirteen minutes ago, we received word that our latest export shipment had been intercepted by an organization we recently dismantled. The flotilla carrying this stolen merchandise was spotted to have just left the harbor.” 

One of Elise’s paper airplanes arced through the air and crashed into Mori’s shoulder, before crumpling beside his polished shoes. “Ensure the ships do not leave Japanese waters.” A smile slipped onto his face as he crushed the plane beneath his toes. “Surrender them to the sea if you must.” 

You swallow at the memory, sweat continuing to roll down your temple. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t understand why you’re so excited. Aren’t we just retrieving stolen cargo?”

Chuuya jabs an accusatory finger in your direction. “So you did hear him wrong.”

Another bead of sweat drips down your chin. “What did you hear then?”

“What I heard…” Mirth lights up his face again, a snicker escaping his lips. “Was give ‘em hell.”

Silence stretches in the gap between you. You take in his words, turn them over in your head like he passed you a weighted coin.

A frown suddenly crosses his face, the shadow cast over his eyes darkening when his chin lowers. His thumb points behind him at the open window. “If you don’t have the stomach for this, you might as well go home now.” And yet, the corners of his lips curl ever so slightly in a thinly veiled smirk.

Ah, so that’s what this is. A challenge. 

Chin up, shoulders back, eyes forward. Your gaze is an arrow cast straight to your enemy’s heart, unfettered, unflinching, unforgiving. Finally, smile, like the sheen of an unsheathed katana.

That was how Kouyou taught you to hold yourself. 

Brandishing the smirk for him, you toss the binoculars aside and rest your hands on your hips. “Bit late to turn back, isn’t it? If those are the boss’s orders then who am I to disappoint him?”

This time, Chuuya laughs unabashedly, the kind that regales the winds outside. “Knew Boss wouldn’t assign me dead weight.”

All your newly gathered confidence is suddenly knocked out along with the air in your lungs. The helicopter lurches and the space inside feels lost to gravity.

Chuuya quirks an eyebrow at your nonresponse but makes no more remarks, opting instead to lean over the window’s edge again. “Just up ahead now, Takashi,” he yells to the pilot to win over the wind, “Get in close to the ships at the back of the fleet.” Then he turns to you and barks, “You take the east wing. I’ll sweep the west.”

You respond with a stolid nod. The pilot shoots back a thumbs up, and before long, the flotilla appears within view. And yet the distance between you and the water stretches like the space between today and tomorrow. 

As the helicopter begins its angular, choppy descent, your stomach recoils with every sway. Eventually, it draws near enough that you can distinguish the individual crewmen running about across the deck. The waters below crash over each other and make you wish you’d skipped breakfast that morning like a certain engineer. 

But before you can complete that thought, Chuuya’s voice cuts in. “We’ll be jumping soon. Not scared of heights are you?” 

The solid cadence of his voice makes it clear there’s no room for failure— not to mention weaknesses. Sunlight slips inside, rays limning the strands of Chuuya’s wild hair billowing around the sharp cut of his jaw like live flames. His coat frees itself off his shoulders and flies to the back of the aircraft. 

One hand rests on the door handle. One chance.

Shrugging off whatever grasp motion sickness had on you, you steel your nerves against the howling winds. 

Shoulders back, you sweep one arm through the air and bend in an exaggerated bow. “After you,” you simper. 

Chuuya merely flashes a grin. And then barrels out of the open door.

Now there’s no one left to yell at you for being slow. No one needed to. 

Chin up, eyes forward.

What comes next wasn’t hers, though.

The leap.

And then the fall.

Yokohama’s skyline blinks by on your left. And though the scene leaves something to be desired as opposed to its nighttime counterpart, there’s a certain allure of seeing every shadow retreat beneath the daylight. You’re sure you could’ve come up with a better allegory had you not been freefalling.

Your back burns from the stubborn sunlight, and you grimace. Is this what Icarus saw on his way down?

Hang on, did Chuuya tell you how to land?

Shit.

An explosion erupts from the nearby deck. A cloud of smoke and dust rises above a meteor-sized hole. The ruckus attracts a growing mob of crewmen, and from within the wreckage, a familiar red silhouette glows. 

Of course.

But if Chuuya provoked you into accepting his challenge to jump, then he must have trusted you to figure out the landing on your own. That didn’t mean he had to leave you to figure it out midair though. Knowing you can’t very well replicate his methods, you propel your brain into overdrive doing the only thing you know to do: think.

Your eyes scour the deck directly below for anything that could make your crash-landing any less conducive to certain death. Rows of stacked containers line up in Jenga pieces— but unfortunately metal isn’t known to be a very good cushion. A square of canvas is stretched across one corner— but there’s no knowing what lies underneath would be any more forgiving.

But there— directly under the crane is a massive acrylic tank. A tank of seawater and whatever fish has the misfortune of breaking your fall today.

As the ground rapidly approaches, you twist yourself to catch the eastward breeze, the wind now your dependable friend, towards the tank. Your boots jut out under you so that they reach the pool at an angle, your head barely saved from knocking against the edge of the tank.

In the instant before your feet make contact, your fingers curl and the water beneath your toes ices over like a freshly frozen lake, crackling downwards into the midsection of the tank. The thin layers disrupt just enough of the momentum to keep you from plunging straight below deck. 

Once every sheet of ice is broken through, you summon your ability once again to transform the next layer of water into frozen slushy-like pellets, shattered ice that swallows the last of your descent, enough to prevent a very painful, final splat.

Whatever water remains slows your fall. The acrylic walls aren’t quite as resilient though. Definitely not.

In a devastating groan, the four walls of the tank explode, sending you skidding across the deck in a torrent of saltwater, seaweed and scales stuck to your face.

Every single bone in your body shudders from the impact, your hips and spine seeming to shoulder the brunt of the impact. When your hand reaches up to peel a slimy strand of seaweed away, it also pulls off blood seeping out of some wound from your forehead. 

Miraculously, gravity decided you should live for the day.

Water sputters out as you make a haphazard attempt at standing. Your knees buckle putting one foot in front of the other, but unfortunately, you can’t blame the ship’s movement for your pitiful swaying. 

Several monstrous fish thrash violently near your feet, nearly twice your armspan, their panicked eyes staring blankly at the sky as if wondering what they did to deserve this. The scattered seawater pools around your ankles, soaking right through your thermal leggings.

“The tuna! The bluefin tuna escaped!” a panicked voice approaches from the other end of the deck.

“You idiot, it was obviously the girl,” another voice snarls at him. “Forget the damn tuna. Shoot her!”

A round of artillery fire rings out. From the top of some containers, three cannons send a rain of shells straight down. But before they can reach their target, ice climbs in a wall in front of you like a barricade, halting the shells’ skyborne trajectory. Then the wall fractures into hundreds of scattered pieces, each ice-encased shell propelling backwards where they came from.

Cries sound from above where the three cannon-handlers now clutch at their bullet-ridden arms, blood spouting from the holes. Their weapons, too, lay in shattered segments around their feet. 

Heavy footfalls thunder behind you. Six cleaver and machete-wielding burly men, who look like they weren’t very happy you’d interrupted their farming and fish-steaking routine, race across the deck. They only make it about halfway before you freeze their feet in place.

A frosted breath escapes your lips as you take in your surroundings. The six men are suspended in precarious positions, most just about to topple over themselves with their weapons raised high above their heads, knees coming up to their chests at the start of an attack sequence. 

“You think a little ice will stop us?” One of the men growls, furiously picking at his shoe with the tip of his machete.

You ponder this briefly before giving a solemn nod. “You’re right. I should be more thorough.” With a flick of your wrist, the ice continues creeping up each body like a spiderweb, until every man is frozen up their midsection, arms bound. 

The man who spoke is now immobilized in an awkward, bent-over position, his blade stuck to his shoe and hands, now shooting you futile glances.

You traverse between the row of frozen men like giant chess pieces, every deliberate footfall kicking up another smattering of snow into their faces. “You can still try to pry yourself free if you’d like.” You throw a glance over your shoulder. “Of course, it’ll be a bit difficult to fight me without skin on your feet.”

What you see in the distance makes you turn around entirely. Smoke billows out of a nearby ship that's been turned on its side, the entire front half submerged. 

A short distance away is Chuuya's frenzied figure throwing punch after kick after punch at the onslaught of enemies surging at him on the deck. He promptly tosses them one after the other overboard, before deciding instead to sink the cargo containers with his gravity. Their increased weight causes the deck to groan in agony, and then collapse inwards, the containers punching straight through to the bottom. With the newly punctured holes in the ship, the vehicle quickly loses buoyancy and descends, seawater rising through the gaps. 

Chuuya doesn't wait for it to sink before hopping over to the next one. But this time, he keeps himself levitated and brushes his hand across the hull. The ship begins floating, utterly devoid of gravity, helpless crewmen sliding down the sloped deck. And Chuuya, with all his love of combative spectacles, grabs the tip of the hull, balances the whole mass over his shoulder and bowls it into the sliver of space between the nearest two other ships. The resulting explosions erupt in perfect synchronization.

A flawless strike.

A flash of red.

A force of nature.

Conviction.

Wind whistles through the air as if applauding Chuuya’s efficiency. The worst part is, you would be too. You didn’t know when you started holding your breath, just that when you remember to inhale again, the motion makes your ribs rattle like a skewed xylophone.

It’s not until Chuuya leaps onto the next ship that a chill races across the back of your neck. 

“Charge!”

In a single blink, your every side is surrounded by a motley crew of bedraggled men wielding fishing tools turned weapons. One ambushes you with a fishing spear and nearly takes your eye out before an ice dagger splinters it in half. Your foot stumbles back, giving another crew member the opportunity to bash the back of your head with a bat. 

Stars dance in your vision as you fall backward, collapsing next to one of the unlucky tuna fish. 

“Now how should we deal with you, Snow White?” jeers a hazy voice. “You prefer filleted, butterflied, steaked, or let me guess— since you’re all fancy you probably deserve sanmai oroshi?”

Not looking good. 

The men creep closer to you, each hoisting their weapon of choice as if already revelling in the thought of cracking your skull open. 

“You’re basically asking to get your ass handed to you.”

No. I am not proving him right.

One hand slams against the wooden deck and a flurry of ice races over the floor, but this time, in a thinner layer than the one you used to trap the machete-men. Just enough to immobilize your assailants while you regain purchase of the ground. 

Unfortunately, these new constraints prove much easier to shake off. Within seconds, several men begin to approach you striking and thrusting through the air. Your heels tap against the deck and the new skates pop out with a click. For a harrowing moment, the deck lurches sideways beneath your feet. Then the floor rights itself with stark clarity, just in time for you to slide backwards and narrowly evade a knife to the throat. 

Sasaki, you did it again.

A thin smile spreads across your face like blooming ice. You lean to the right, legs carving an arc through the makeshift rink, and manage to draw enough ice for a spear. Suddenly every knife slashes through empty air where you stood a single blink ago. All it takes is one lean, and you’re already sliding behind your opponent, whose demise is met with a swift stab through the heart.

But after the fourth swing, miss, and stab, you find yourself doubling over and clutching the space under your chest, completely winded.

Think. With the amount of water you have, you could manage to freeze and spear them three at a time, but in the corner of your eye, even more armed men hop over the containers to join the battle, and at that rate you’d be gutted just like that other man gloated. 

Your eyes flicker to the men still frozen behind you, halfway encased in ice— a little overkill now that you thought about it more. 

Don’t second guess.

You draw in a long breath despite the ache in your ribs, and summon all the water on deck back to you. The ice that previously held hostage the six men now races back to you in whirling wisps, gathering around your spear until it builds over the tip in a wicked curve. Out into a giant crystalline scythe. 

And now that every one of your enemies is freed, they, naturally, charge at you all at once. You flick your wrist so the sharp edge of the scythe glistens in the ocean sunlight. 

“Believe you’ve already won.”

With the remaining frost, you spin up miniature icicles and swing the scythe in a wide arc. The bodies nearest to you are sliced in half, straight down the midsection, while the ones in the outer ring bear gashes where the hail of icicles meet skin. Others were knocked out, felled by a bluefin tuna that slid away in the whirlwind. 

The wind howls once again. A strand of hair flies into your eye.

The handle of the scythe rests on your shoulder as you kick away the tail of the nearest fish. “Sorry, not a huge fan of seafood,” you reply to no one in particular, brushing away your hair. 

Fog rolls across the deck like the final curtain falling over these lost souls. 

Their eulogy, however, is interrupted by a peculiar rumbling underfoot. Something rapidly approaches, but evades your gaze behind the shrouded mist. 

A sharp whistle cuts through the air. An arc slashes at the space between your eyes. 

But it fails to meet its target. A compact shield of ice blossoms across your wrist and parries the blade with a sharp crack. You don’t remember deciding to make it.

So this is what they mean when they say your ability acts before you do.

What water was used for its creation, though, is entirely lost to you. 

The assailant, who appears no older than a teen, skids back and before he even recovered his footing, swipes his feet behind your knees then dashes away. Your wrists sorely break your fall before your chin hits the ground. A folded sheet of paper hangs out of his back pocket, faded inked lines running across the creases, a compass in the corner— and then he disappears into an open hatch below deck.

A map. That must be the route they planned to sail with the cargo.

You grit your teeth and don’t think twice before hopping into the hatch after him.

It takes a minute for your eyesight to adjust to the darkness, but once you make your way deeper inside, a familiar confidence settles into your joints. Narrow corridors, low ceilings, and rooms that needed no more than a few strides to cross all laid out in a labyrinthine network. Your shoulders relax, but the dagger gripped in your palm doesn’t. 

Rustling echoes down the corridor and your pace quickens in pursuit. The youth from earlier conspires with an older man in a room lined with charts. When they catch sight of you, the bearded man whistles and soon, you’re joined by a small entourage of sailors brandishing an assortment of seafaring tools from sextants to compasses to hourglasses.

The ensuing fight— if you can call it that— took even less time than finding this room. Tremendously unremarkable, you think as you finish tying the last knot around the group of unconscious sailors. You clap the dust off your gloved hands, before swiping the map out of the kid’s pocket. 

The only thing deterring you from engulfing the contents of the map right then and there is the dim lighting, forcing you to squint at the lines.

But when you return above deck, the sunlight exposes more than the cargo markings and shipping coordinates. Crimson pools march from the fallen bodies and collect around your boots, and the map goes limp in your hands.

Deadly silence poisons the air. The only sound comes from the flag snapping somewhere overhead and waves crashing against the hull of the ship you stood on. One of the six ships you were assigned to take care of. The remainder rapidly disappears over the horizon. Smoke plumes rise from the exhausts like a forsaken farewell.

Your gaze fixates on the line where the sea meets the sky. That oh-so-fragile line.

One ship. One of six. 

The rest? Sand through your fingers.

Chuuya would never have let something like this happen.

The instant that thought finishes in your brain, your stomach flips with regret.

Because you know what they say: speak of the devil, and he shall land with a crater-sized crack in the deck. Right beside your motionless figure. The timing was so comical you would’ve laughed if all the air wasn’t knocked out of your lungs.

You catch him scanning the deck from your peripheral vision. But you don’t greet him. 

“So,” he begins with a click of his tongue. Here it comes. “Why do you smell like sashimi?” 

The words come out dry with an edge of displeasure, as if he were asking why his wine is room temperature.

The question lands so astronomically outside your realm of logic that you almost start laughing. You don’t.

Your words choke through a hard lump in your throat. “I landed in a fish tank.”

The toe of his shoe nudges the snout of a nearby fish. “That explains the tuna.”

“Doesn’t explain why you’re still on the same ship you landed on though.” 

Of course he’d been watching. In fact he probably finished cleaning up his half so fast that he’d kicked his feet up on a lawnchair watching your struggle like a football match. You felt like one of the shipping containers he sunk to the ocean floor.

“No, it doesn’t,” is all you manage to croak out. 

Your eyes are still cast into the far distance when he asks, “How many were on this ship?” 

“Lost count after the ninth attack,” you mumble through half-parted lips, “around thirty if you count the non-combattants below.”

Somewhere behind you, Chuuya groans and taps his heels against the wood. “Hey, look at me,” he commands.

Your head doesn’t turn.

“I said,” he sucks in a breath and then barks, “look at me.”

Your feet stay rooted in place.

All that goes on in your head are the same thoughts running a circular groove through your brain. That kid wanted me to see the map. He kept checking to see I was following him through the corridor. He was baiting me. Buying time so the others could escape. 

And I fell for it.

The mission objective was to secure the cargo ships. I won the battle but at what cost?

“For fuck’s sake, Y/n.” he eventually grumbles, the way he says your name striking you like a bullet that pulls you out of your loop. Then he trudges over to plant himself directly in front of you, blocking your view of the skyline. “What were you looking at?”

“The ships.”

“The ships,” he repeats, slower this time, tasting the word with the sea air. “What about them?”

“They got away.”

“So you’re aware. Good to know.”

Silence. What is there to say? Every excuse feels unfathomably pathetic to reach for.

“How many?” This morning’s same question makes your heart sink to your stomach.

“…Five.”

Surely he can do the math himself. But he made you say it anyway.

“Remind me, your ability uses water to manipulate ice, correct?”

“Yes.”

He throws a single glance on either side of him, and the wide, wide expanse of ocean surrounding your every direction. An infinite, immediate water source, wasted. 

“You still think like you’re inside a box.”

Eventually, he realizes there isn’t another word he an get out of you today.

“Right,” he heaves a heavy sigh, and then balances a cigarette between his lips. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Somehow, what little he said was worse than any yell or lecture or insult you could’ve conceived.

The last thing you hear is the one, two clicks of a lighter. Then every one of your senses is consumed by the lull of rolling tides, crashing, crashing, crashing.

Chuuya’s footsteps disappear, your head submerged in water. He leaves you to stand in the middle of the ship, in a sea of eternal blue.

“I just grovel on the ground here  Like some kind of beast, thoughts darken There's no way of knowing When those darkened thoughts will break. It's as if I'm drowning in the ocean And can see the moon glowing overhead.”

.

.

.

The way home took much longer than Chuuya would’ve liked. His door opens with a slam that lands much harder than he intended it to, rattling the folders sitting on the nearby shelf. He throws his coat over the leather back of his office chair and slumps down. 

Under the tip of his hat progressively falling further over his eyes, he traces the silver rays of moonlight crawling across his desk and the ashtray in the corner. His nose crinkles.

He’s always hated the way his office smelled after a mission.

Gunpowder, dried blood, ash, engine exhaust— all of them cling to his hair and always need more shampoo to wash out. This time, though, there’s a characteristic scent of seawater and… tuna. 

“Tch,” slips out involuntarily. 

The shadow of your crestfallen face bubbles to mind against his will. His jaw tightens, grimace deepening.

“That’s what happens when you overobsess over the small shit,” he complains to no one in particular. His hand already reaches for the wine in his drawers. “I bet she’s next door overanalyzing the whole thing beginning to end. She’ll probably come up with some smartass excuse tomorrow.”

That’s what people like her do.

But as he brings the overflowing wine glass to his lips, his eyes darken, cerulean meeting burgundy. 

She was oddly quiet at the end though.

The half-filled glass slams onto the oak table. 

His door is closed, the stretching shadows in Chuuya’s office his only audience.

Nonetheless, he can’t help but curse under his breath. 

“Damn investigative types.”

… 

A/N: This chapter took exponentially longer to write because I had to work out a lot of the physics, so I apologize if it's still not realistically sound, bear with me 😅 It also took some time figuring out itself what I wanted to convey through every scene, and though I know it's a lot, I hope it'll all make sense in due time. This was the first time I've had to write y/n and chuuya conversing for longer periods and as much as i'd like to insert as much banter as I can and I'm still working on getting a handle on dialogue, I still have to prioritize character revelations and plot but hopefully it'll smooth out soon.

If you made this far, thank you for reading and I sincerely appreciate you sticking with me on this long, long journey <3