So I decided to write a belated birthday present for Mukuro. 8D;;; It’s my first attempt at smut so be gentle. xD;;;
Mukuro is captured by the Vongola and has an intimate encounter with Decimo. 2769 (yes in that order), implied 2795 and kind of implied 27 + guardians, smut with mild plot.
((I’m just going to hide my shame at liking this (because 2769 ffff no, tsuna, cry you little mafia maggot that I kind of like b/c I’m seme 8l), but it’s well written (and your first smut fic?!). I really enjoyed your characterization of Tsuna as gentle-authoritative. I’d bow before that too. Maybe. 27% chance. ))
Ghost blinked slowly with the long light lashes, tilting his head to the side. “Ghost-… ” As to the question of where he came from… Byakuran-sama never taught him the name of that place he resided in, that empty room with padded walls and a single bed in the corner. Nothing else.
His expression was still curious as Mukuro started to rummage in that bag, what was he pulling out? Head tilted slowly, face moving in close, sniffing-… no, it wasn’t food, but the closure of the illusionist did reveal that weak vanilla lingering off his skin. This person wasn’t just pretty, but also smelled nice.
“Eyes…” He pointed towards Mukuro’s eyes, blinking once, twice like a curious child. Such wonderful colors… did all humans out here had such eyes?
The large hand accepted the bottle, almost dropping it since it was so cold and slippery.
Now came the question as to how he should open it? Byakuran gave him water through a tube-… this bottle cap was quite a difficult task for Ghost. He started by shaking it, and nothing came out. Then he proceeded to jab it with a finger, poking a hole through the bottom with pure physical force and parted his lips, darting out his tongue to lap at the pouring water like a thirsty dog.
This man was so child-like …. now, how was it that someone who looked like that man that he disliked so much could be such a polar opposite? He could tell now… no normal person, or a person with bad intention would behave in this way. This was very clearly a /stray/. Or perhaps “trash” was a better way to put it, the way those disheveled long locks were all matted, the flimsy clothing covering the larger body torn and dirty.
He had an unfortunate habit of picking up strays — and despite the visual similarities between the two (that is, a man that he hated and a man he didn’t know but was certain was a stray), he was inclined to bring this one home. So very inclined because not only was he a stray, but he was one with some influence (perhaps) and a certain naivete which fascinated him.
The mismatched eyes returned to gaze upon this ghost who had clearly not been made for this world to see. He reached forward, gesturing for the other to stand.
“Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”
[[I need people to follow and I actually really want to use this muse…]]
((Admin 69: Frontal view of previous picture. At least, a bit of clarification of the design of that ridiculous outfit. Uh, this is an exercise in my ability to show others my more embarrassing work. > u >; Sorry I’m not sorry/I still am a little sorry…
Scanned from my dirty sketchbook. Aha…And yes, I really should get to the rest of the asks. Please forgive my self-indulgent sketch projects. e u e;))
((Wow, how embarassing… reblogged on wrong account. 8D;
Uhh… thank you for the lotus tattoo on your chest, Otakuran. e u e… I might have to add it to this series of I don’t even know what this is. > u >….
On a side note…. I might try to work on some 10069 ask replies………maybe. I have one pic I’m working on, but… > u >;;;;;; ))
There was, of course, only one person who could have sent these. As if it wasn’t obvious from the half-buried note he had happened to catch a glimpse of as he scrutinized the basket of one, two, three….
Did he really have to count…? It was likely to be exactly a hundred flowers. In fact, as soon as he picked up the card, he knew. No one else called him that with such
The elegant eyebrows furrowed as almond eyes narrowed, darkened lashes lowering. Heterochromia appeared to darken under the shadow of butterfly-lips as he debated silently on whether to just leave the flowers there and let them rot or promptly toss them in the trash. Ah, there was even the possibility that they were poisoned with something —
Not that the Millefiore would pick such an uncreative way to combat him…
He stood there for a good sixty nine seconds just staring, lips pursed at the dilemma he had at hand.
At the 100th second, instead he had the dilemma in hand, long arms carrying the bouquet inside. A familiar scent nearly lost in the roses made him sigh. The lotus hidden in the mud hadn’t quite come into the foreground… Is this what the albino thought of him?
At last, he smiled as he set the flowers down on the table.
I’ll be your match soon enough.