#Eh back in the day it was all called laziness I’ll call it laziness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 4 months ago

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❝ 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ! ❞

❝ THEY TOOK YOU. SO SATORU GOJO DID THE ONLY REASONABLE THING — HE TOOK THEIR LIVES ! ❞

✧ pairing: gojo satoru x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo rarely loses his cool. except when it comes to you. so when you get taken and found hurt, he takes matters into his own hands to find out who did it and make them pay.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, canon compliant, feral gojo, acts of violence, reader gets kidnapped and attacked, gojo goes insane, gojo clan sucks, higher ups get asses best, yaga and Ijichi featured, dom!gojo, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral (f), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, implied multiple rounds, swearing,

✧ w/c: 8,446

The worst mistake Satoru Gojo ever made that morning was to get out of bed.

If he had just stayed in bed that morning, turned his cellphone on silent, and basked in the warmth of the soft comforter you had picked out (even as you balked at the exorbitant price) and especially in the warmth of your embrace — the one place where it felt as if it was okay to be himself, just him.

And now it was just him.

Because you were gone.

When his phone rang that morning, your lips had been against his, indulging in a lazy morning tryst because for once, Satoru had been off duty — or he was supposed to be off duty. Your gaze had been the ones to stir him from sleep, as even in the embrace of sleep he couldn’t resist you or your adoring eyes — the very same he held more precious than his own.

“I didn’t even say anything, how did you wake up?” And his lips curl at your slight frown, his fingers brushing over the curve of your cheek.

“Thought my pretty wife was admiring my beauty while I slept so I had to wake up to the same,” and he’s leaning over to press lazy kisses along your jaw.

“Did you just call yourself beautiful?” You snort, and he grins, before falling into a playful pout.

“My own wife doesn’t think her husband’s beautiful?” And you’re rolling your eyes, before rolling over on top of him, your body only covered by the black t-shirt you had stolen from him last night, a small groan as he felt your very bare thighs brush against his boxers.

You were a goddess — your smile ethereal in the sunlight streaming in from the window as you leaned over him, and he was willing to worship all his life at your altar, if you would only give him a brush of your lips.

“Of course I think you’re beautiful, I’m the one always saying that anyway,” your lips brush his chastely, far too quick and teasing, “I was just imagining what Nanami would say if he heard that,”

“Oh? And what’s that, sweetheart?”

“He would say the size of your ego is becoming a threat to Earth’s atmosphere,” and Satoru raises an eyebrow.

“And my darling wife would disagree, right?” and you look away, biting back a smile, “eh? You’d let him say such heinous things about me?”

“It’s not heinous if it’s true—“ you gasp, and he’s flipped you on your back, pressing his lips to yours to swallow your words, along with your giggles, as you break free, “Toru! Ah—“ and he nibbles at your neck, “hey!”

“You have to pay for the consequences of your actions, baby, what kind of sensei would I be?” And you’re rolling your eyes.

“I’m not your student, ngh,” you’re gasping as his teeth sinks into your neck, “if anything, I’m the one reigning you in,”

“Well then,” he chuckled in his words, as his fingers trace your jaw, “I’ll have to show you how far your student has come then,” and his lips only brush yours, when his phone rings.

“Baby,” you sigh, and he’s glancing at the phone, a sigh on his lips, as he reaches for the phone, sneaking a glance at you, before he picks up.

You press sweet kisses to his chest as you hear the faint murmur of Yaga’s voice through the phone, hearing reports of the special grades they’ve been tracking, “Old man, this is the first day off I’ve taken off in so looooong,” and he holds the phone away from his ear until Yaga’s screams fade, “fine, fine, send Ijichi,” he hangs up while Yaga was still mid-yell, tossing his phone on the bedside table with a sigh, “sweetheart,”

“I know,” you cup his cheek, his lips in a pout not made for the strongest sorcerer, but for your Satoru, “I’ll be here when you come back — waiting very impatiently,” and he chuckles, his lips finding yours.

“How’d I get so lucky to have such an understanding wife?” And your lips curl.

“You annoyed her into falling in love,” and he gapes at you as you giggle, until he’s got you pinned underneath him yet again, “what? It’s true!”

“Then I’ll have to annoy you some more, just to make sure,” and he’s finding you in another kiss, until his devilish fingers run down your sides, beginning their assault on the spots that made you laugh the most.

You pulled your lips from his, squealing, “Nooooo! Satoru, stop!” you tried to push him off from tickling you, but he was the strongest for a reason—a reason you usually were very grateful for, but not right now. And finally he relented, as you gasped and chuckled still, lips in the most adorable pout, “you’ll pay for that,”

“Oh really? How’s that, wifey?” and you kiss his lips chastely, barely a brush, as you cross your arms, fighting back a smile.

“That’s the only goodbye kiss you get,” and he gasps, clutching his chest dramatically, before that smirk of his returns, “and you try to steal one and I’m making you sleep on the couch,” And he pouts, before you press a longer kiss to his lips, “you’re lucky I love you,”

Satoru grinned, “I know.”’

Yeah, he should have never gotten out of bed.

“Where is she?” For once, Satoru’s words were devoid of humor, the laughter and happiness sapped from his very essence the moment he had heard. The moment he had felt your cursed energy waver. All this time, Satoru’s eyes had been focused on the outline of your soul, no matter where he was, because you were always the one thing he wanted to come home to — that he needed to.

“I don’t know Satoru, that’s why I had called you,” Yaga runs his fingers through his hair, “goddamnit,” he swore, scrubbing a hand down his face, “the mission came from the higher ups, they wouldn’t give me the specifics, but they said it was confidential—“

“I don’t care for the details right now, do we know anything about where she is?” Satoru keeps his words carefully measured, muscles wound taut, the only thing keeping him from using blue to destroy Jujutsu Tech in one fell swoop was the thought of you, “did she tell you anything else—“

And Ijichi bursts in, brow furrowed, “Gojo, we have a lead.”

~~~

Was this how it would end?

You knew it was in your fate to die, eventually. A wretched cycle that all of you were forced to live. An endless baton pass that always ended with the last runner dying — nothing but a pile of corpses left behind and to look back on.

And it would almost be a relief, a blessing to finally be done — if it wasn’t for Satoru.

You knew he would blame himself for this. He always blamed himself. Blamed himself when he couldn’t beat Toji. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Riko. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Geto. Because he was the strongest, and that meant he should be able to solve everyone’s problems — do everything no one else can do, be everywhere at once, and never fail.

Never. And yet, that’s not what the sleepless nights he spent working told you. It only told you that jujutsu would take everything from him, if he let it, and he would let it, if only that meant he could do more good.

And he was so good. Even if he didn’t see it — you could almost feel the lingering warmth of his embrace this morning, the wide grin on his lips as he peppered kisses down your neck, and the soft gaze of blues made of affection just for you — you would always see it for him.

You don’t see the curse coming, your vision blurred from the last strike. The crack of your bones barely registers in your ears, the curse presses you into the wall, claws pressed to your throat, drawing blood to run down your neck.

“Now, now, we can’t kill her, at least not yet,” a voice calls out, “we were given strict orders to wait,”

The curse’s growl reverberated across your skin, a desperate growl deep in its chest, the string of control being pulled taut, as its black nails dig deeper into your side, until it dropped you onto the ground like a rag doll.

Your body ached only for moments before it was chased away by numbness. And you could only wonder if this was how they felt? Riko, Haibara, Geto, all the others you watched die — was this the pain they felt? The ache of muscles that they could no longer feel, the sticky wetness of blood that seeped from their unknowing bodies, and the cold thst crept up from the tips of your toes.

You wanted it to stop. You wanted to stop. But each time you felt the tug of the other side, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t. Not when Satoru needed you.

Your eyes burn with tears. And you needed him.

~~~

“Where is she?” The same question was ringing in Satoru’s head over and over since he had heard.

Candle wicks trembled with fear, casting shadows on the wall that shivered in the presence of the man before them. The papered panels was all that stood between him and these old men — the very same that played with the lives of many day in and day out. It would be far too easy to kill them all — in fact, it would barely take any effort at all with his cursed technique.

But he wouldn’t allow them the warm embrace of an instant death.

“Such insolence — how dare you enter this place and speak—“

“You ought to be thanking me,” his power sparked in the glint of his eyes, the glow of the lit wicks catching in the hard blues, “for not bashing your skulls in and ripping your hearts from your chests from the moment I entered,”

A silence swept over the room, another voice speaking, “Gojo—“

“The next words out of your mouth better be an answer because I don’t want to ask again,” his voice fills the silence in the room, only broken by the sounds of the candles crackle, “where is she?”

“We cannot disclose where—“ there’s a loud crack, the splintering of wood and the wet squelch of flesh and blood, and a cold breeze swept through the room, the candles going out.

Satoru’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of his neck, forcing the broken floorboards digging into his wrinkled skin, “I said I want an answer, do you think I would think twice about killing any of you?”

There’s a pause and the silence is only filled by the sound of gore dripping down the paper screens and hitting the floor.

“The only reason I haven’t yet was there was no point to it — no meaning,” and he could see you this morning, his lips curled for you, a strangled choking noise leaving his throat as the pads of his fingers squeezed around his neck, “but now I have every reason to, so tell me before I lose my patience,”

A silence fills the room again, until one of them speaks, “Let him go, and we’ll tell you.”

~~~

“Who do you work for?” the words come out strangled, your fingers bunching up your soaked fabric and pressing it to the gash on your stomach, “why did you bring me here?” You force yourself not to give them the satisfaction of a flinch.

“Do you really think it would be that simple to get me to reveal the reason, jujutsu sorcerer?” you hear a distant laugh, “we have our reasons, isn’t that simple enough? Or rather—”

His footsteps clapped against the floor, your head wrenched upwards, as a small yelp escapes your lips, “does it matter when you’re going to die either way?”

And you grit your teeth, before spitting on his face, half blood, half saliva, “At least I don’t have to live a life as pathetic as yours,” his fingers squeeze at your chin, your jaw aching under his grasp.

“Pathetic?” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt before, throwing you to the floor, body screaming in pain, but you refuse to show weakness, even as tears burn at your tear ducts, “And yet, I’m not the one bloodied and battered and two inches from death, bitch,” he scoffs, muttering, “I can see why they ordered us to kill you now, who would want someone like you around?”

“Now I’m listening, who gave you those orders?” Another voice says from behind him. The man freezes, while you lift your head, a small smile on your lips, “are you hard of hearing or just plain stupid? Well, I don’t really need to even ask that, do I?”

He was shrouded in shadow, but you didn’t need to see him to know it was him — especially as he tugged his blindfold down with two fingers, blue eyes devoid of any humor or joy, and instead only with hatred.

“Satoru Gojo,” the voice left the man’s lips slowly, but before he could react, the special grade curse that had held you was barreling towards him in a moment, before Satoru held it at bay with his infinity, the other curses following suit — how many did this curse user have in the room with him? Three? No more like five or six, but even so — you scoffed under your breath, it wouldn’t matter, “No, you idiots! Don’t—”

And in a moment, they are eviscerated — held back by his infinity, deep seeded growls and roars leaving their lips, “c’mon now, is this the best you can do? I was expecting more from those bold enough to take my wife, but I guess I expected too much,” he sighs, before he lifts one hand, “Cursed Technique Amplification, Blue,”

You barely can make out the screams from one another, the splatter of their essence raining down from above, until you hear footsteps rushing towards you, and you’re hauled to your feet, pressed against the cursed user, his hand around your neck.

“One more move, and I break her neck,” Satoru landed below with ease, his gaze raised until he met yours, and you saw it soften for you — a silent question of ‘are you okay?’ and your nod and a forced smile that told him you were okay enough.

“You can try,” his words were slow and measured, just as his steps towards you were, “but I don’t think you understand who you are dealing with,”

He tensed, fingers digging into your neck, “I know perfectly well who you are, Satoru Gojo, and I am not afraid to die by your hand for this,”

Satoru’s lips curled, “I wasn’t talking about me,”

The kidnapper’s eyes narrowed, “What?”

And you jabbed at his knee, the bone splintering under your force, but you barely hear the snap or his scream because of the blood roaring in your ears. You don’t spare a second before slamming your other hand into his head, nose breaking from your fist, blood splattering across your arm. You ready yourself for another move, before you felt him ripped away from you, a strong arm around you to steady you.

“It’s okay, I got you, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Satoru murmured, soft words meant to soothe you, as his body envelops your tense muscles, until you finally relax into his arms. Your eyes burned with tears, as you looked up at him, before your eyes slid to the kidnapper, Satoru’s hand around his throat.

“I knew you’d come for me, Toru,” you whispered, grasping onto the front of his jacket, “I knew you would,”

“I always will,” and his eyes turned to the man, voice even, “should I kill him once I’m done questioning him?”

You know he means it.

“I don’t know,” you reply, fingers curling as you pressed your face against his chest, “but I don’t want you to have blood on your hands, not for me,”

“It wouldn’t be for you. It would be for me,” he says softly, “but we can discuss it later,” and then others began to flood the scene, the sights and sounds feeling distant as your eyes drooped with exhaustion.

“Satoru, I’m—“ your voice broke, “I really tried—“

“Shh, you did great,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head, as you finally succumbed to exhaustion, slumping over in his arms, “I’ll handle the rest.”

~~~

“You all must be wondering why I called this meeting,” Satoru said, standing at the head of the Gojo clan’s meeting room. It had been long since he had stood as the head, but far too short for his liking. He had discarded this part of his life as soon as he could, joining Jujutsu Tech without a second of hesitation, and continued to run the operations of his clan as an adult, behind the scenes.

But it seems he was too lax.

It had been a few weeks since the incident. You were asleep for a good day in and out while Shoko worked on you. She came out of your room, pulling off the surgical cap off her head, and Satoru got to his feet, as Shoko removed her gloves and mask, “She’s fine, Satoru,” and he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“How bad was it?” he asks, and she tilts her head, hands slipping into her pockets.

“Are you asking that to know how badly she was injured or so you can do worse to whoever did this?” Satoru shrugs, lips parting and she holds up a hand, “never mind, the less I know, the better,” she grabs your file and opens it, “most of her injuries related to cursed technique burn out — it seems whoever took her used curse spirits to attack her, she mentioned when she was conscious briefly that they didn’t control the curses, but they seemed to be able to work with them somehow,”

“More intelligent curses have been appearing since Yuji became Sukuna’s vessel,” Satoru murmured, but this wasn’t related to the asparagus special grade or volcano head. It was separate — it was personal.

“But all of this to take a first grade sorcerer, why?” and he shakes his head.

“It wasn’t for her — it was for me,” and that’s why they hadn’t killed you, “is she awake?”

Shoko sighed, “She should be waking up in a bit. She didn’t need much aside from some RCT treatment and stitches for the wounds she sustained,” she places a hand on his shoulder, “go see her, and try not to murder anyone until she wakes up,” she turns to leave, heels clicking.

“Wait,” Satoru stops her, and she pauses, “I need a favor.”

~~~

Satoru never liked hospitals. He hadn’t spent much time in them for actual injuries, because of his abilities. However, he spent far too much time inside medical facilities for the Gojo clan’s required medical check-ups. It was to ensure the future head’s health, he was told, but really, it was an excuse to make sure their cash cow would still give them milk.

Because that’s all he ever was — a pawn.

But he had long shed that role, tossed it from the board, when he had left for Jujutsu Tech. But even so, he lingered outside your room, some things still stuck. Especially when he had new memories — of seeing his comrades dead bodies laid on cold metal slabs.

And would you have been another if he hadn’t made it in time?

Satoru shakes his head of his thoughts, and opens the door. You were still asleep. Tucked into the hospital bed, you looked so small somehow, fragile — two things he never saw you as. How could he have? When you were the one on his first day to greet him and then slap him when he had something pretentious or childish (neither of you remembered but you had insisted it was one or the other).

And he had never let you go after that. But now…he couldn’t even hold you.

The sharp beeps of the machine monitoring your vitals, connected by the tubes and wires that ran all over your body. He reaches for his blindfold so he can look at you, really look at you, but he can’t. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into the soft of his palms,

But you were alive. You were alive. You were alive.

That’s what he had to tell himself as he drew closer to your side — no matter how you looked now, you were okay. And that’s what was most important.

“Are you going to brood by my bedside all day?” his gaze snaps to you, your eyes fluttering open still, still drooping and exhausted, but a soft smile on your lips, “Because hospitals are depressing enough, Toru,”

He chuckles, forcing his tears back and his voice to be event, “Sorry, sweetheart, I forgot to pull out the stops for you this time,” and his fingers find yours, lacing as they always did, but they felt so cold, “next time I’ll bring confetti, balloons, streamers, and I’ll serenade you even—”

You snort, “You may be the best at everything, but I know you’ll sing offkey on purpose just to piss off Shoko or anyone else that visits me,” and he laughs shakily, a sigh stuck in his throat.

He presses his forehead to yours, “I love you, so much, y’know that, yeah?”

“I love you too, so much, Toru,” you cup his cheeks, turning your head to press your lips to his hand, “thank you for saving me,”

“You saved yourself, I just cleaned up a little,” his lips find yours in a soft kiss, and your brow furrowed, “what? Are my kissing skills that bad?”

You roll your eyes, “No, but are you okay?” and he scoffs softly, shaking his head.

“You’re the one who got kidnapped and hurt, and you’re asking me if I’m—”

“Satoru, you asked me if you should murder that guy,” you tilted your head, “I know you’re not against killing if it’s necessary or deserved, but the way you said it, I got worried,”

“I’m fine, I just—” he cut off, “I just need to figure out who did this,” you squeeze his hand, “I have to,”

“Satoru—“

“I know you’re okay, but you don’t know how afraid I was that you wouldn’t be—“ he cuts off, “and it’s not just that,” his fingers curl around yours tighter, “it’s not just us we’ll have to worry about in the future. We’re already a family, but what will happen if someone targets you and our future kids?” He takes a shaky breath at the thought,

“I have to make an example.”

Your gaze grows sad, pressing a kiss to his lips, if only to ground him for a moment, “I know,” but you frown all the same, “but promise me, you won’t do anything stupid, ok?”

But he was far from stupid — but the people before him were as close as anyone could get.

“You all are aware of my wife’s attack a few weeks ago,” he said in measured words, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m here to tell you that she has succumbed to her wounds,” his voice wavered, breaking, “she’s gone,”

There were whispers and murmurs that swept over the room, all were silenced by the lift of a hand — one of the Gojo Clan elders, the geezer leader as he liked to call him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Satoru,” he said, lips twisted in a fake frown, “we heard that your beloved wife passed from her injuries a week ago,”

“And yet, I see you’ve brought someone for me to meet,” his eyes slide to the woman dressed for a wedding rather than a meeting, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The woman’s painted lips kept in a neutral expression, her body so rigid he could have mistaken her as a statue if not for his six eyes, and her eyes refused to meet his.

“Satoru, I understand you are mourning, but we have to think of the future of the Gojo clan, and our future place in the Jujutsu world is only as secure as the next heir—“

“And so you thought to disrespect my wife by trying to marry your choice?” but their brows furrow as he begins to laugh, one that sends shivers down their backs.

The elders all gape at him, sharing looks, before turning back to him as his laughter finally settles into a quiet chuckle, “Satoru, what is this?”

“It’s funny that you ever thought I’d fall for this bullshit,” he pulls off his sunglasses, cerulean eyes gleaming in the low light, “did you know my wife was never supposed to be sent on this mission? Or rather, there were no reports of cursed spirits in the area, but yet, orders came for her to report to where she was,”

A hush falls over the group, “And why are you telling us this?”

“Because I think you all have forgotten your place,” in a blink, he’s grasping the neck of the elder, the very same man who had taken him away from his parents at the age of two to ensure his training was done properly, “I am the strongest, not the Gojo clan. I’m the only Gojo needed for the clan to be prosperous,”

“You insolent child—“ Satoru squeezes around his neck, gasps and whimpers clawing their way out from his grip, veins bulging as he tried and failed to pull Satoru’s hands off. He had even let the old man penetrate his infinity and all he had managed was a scratch or two.

“You should be careful when you’re talking to the ‘child’ who has your life in his hands,” and he grows silent, “now, to get back to the point, where did those orders come from?”

A quiet washed over the room, the only sounds were the shaky gasps of the elder in his hand, “W-what are—“

“I had a chat with the higher ups — those rotten old geezers may not like me, but I know they like all their limbs intact,” he drops the elder and twists his arm behind his back, wrenching back until he heard a cracking noise, “and they told me the orders came from the Gojo clan, and I wondered why would my own clan send the wife of the head off to be executed,”

“Satoru—“ one of the elders spoke, and he tilted his head.

“If you want him to die, your excuses will only make this go faster,” and his mouth shuts, “I’ll take your silence as a confirmation that all of you had a hand in this,” he sighs, removing his sunglasses, running his fingers through his hair, “man, I’ve had conspiracies against me, but I never guessed you’d target the one person I value above everything else. But I knew you would fail her little test,”

He’s met with furrowed brows and gritted teeth, the elder looking up at him in fear, “W-what?”

“You see if I had it my way, I would have killed you all, no questions asked,” his fingers close over the top of his head, wrenching him backwards to meet his gaze, “But my wife, my very much alive wife,” he adds, with a glance to the woman looking increasingly faint with each second that passes, “she would want me to see if you’d come clean about the plan and whether some of you were innocent,” his lips curl, “but she doesn’t know the bloody history of the Gojo clan like we do,” and his fingers dig into the flesh of the elder, “so what’s a few more bloodstains?”

He tears off his head, screams ringing out as a rush of scarlet paints the walls, splattering across the other elders. The woman offered to be his wife rings over the others, her shrill shriek piercing their eardrums. It’s a dull thud as the lifeless corpse falls to the floor, as Satoru wiped the blood from his cheek, a cock of his head and eyes flashing with anger.

“You can’t do this! You—“ Satoru’s fist connects with his face, blood flooding his features.

“I can, because I’ve decided the Gojo clan needs to get rid of the tumors that infect it, and besides,” his body crumples to the floor as his foot slams into their stomach, a sick, wet noise that draws gasps and open mouthed silent screams from the others, “what are you going to do about it?”

“Please, please, she’s alive—” one of them begged, all of them falling to their knees, wrinkled faces contorted in fear, blown out eyes and faces wet with tears only making them more ugly than he thought was possible — he really couldn’t end up like these geezers, “we only wanted what was best—we wanted the next head of the clan to be even more powerful than you are—”

He laughs, not an ounce of mirth or levity, shivers running down the spines of the others who watched, as he stepped over the body of the elder, lips twisted into a wide grin, “And there’s your mistake,”

He loomed over the one who spoke, shadow cast over him, as his fingers curled around his arm, before breaking it off, spurts of blood splattering on his clothes, mixing with the other — some of it flecked across his face.

Satoru wiped his face with his forearm, tilting his head. He knew they were begging and pleading — lips moving, words forming, but it all fell on deaf ears. After all they had never bothered to listen to any sorcerer before, did they? Suguru’s face came to mind — flashes of the spring he would never get back — so why should he listen to theirs?

“You were too busy worrying about the next head, when you should’ve been worried about the current one.”

~~~~

You were asleep.

Moonlight gave way to your features in the pitch black room, your soft breaths warming his fingers that ran over your cheek. Shoko had discharged you yesterday, and he had brought you home — but even now with you home, he couldn’t sleep. It felt as if you’d disappear the moment he took his eyes off you, slipping from his grasp just as you almost did.

But you didn’t. You’re here.

It was the same words you had whispered to him every night when he had curled up beside you, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m here, aren’t I?”

But you could disappear.

You could if he wasn’t there with you — if he wasn’t fast enough. Because he couldn’t be everywhere at once, not even the strongest could accomplish that. But he wanted to keep you safe all the same. Would it be selfish to lock you up? Hide you away somewhere others could never find you? Keep you hidden if only to keep you safe.

But you never would be safe, not while you were with him.

“Toru?” Your voice breaks him from his thoughts, eyes fluttering open to meet his as your fingers reach for his cheek, “is that blood?”

And he’s pinned your hands in a blink of an eye, quickly and quietly, “it’s not mine,” his gaze glows in the dark, catching the moonlight streaming in, and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Toru, what happened?” And he kisses along your cheekbones, your jaw, your nose, your chin, “Satoru—“

“I killed them,” his fingers trace the folds of the satin robe he had helped you into, brushing against the bandages that hid your wounds from his sight, but he could see them all the same, “the people who did this,”

Your brow furrows, “Toru, what do you mean the people who—“

“Why do you stay with me?” He leans down to find your lips in a bruising kiss, lips sliding against yours as his fingers undo the knot of your robe, letting the fabric fall away from your bare body.

“What—“ his lips part from yours, strings of spit connecting your mouths.

“Why do you stay with me when I’m a monster?” and your eyes soften.

“You’re not—“ and he’s cutting you off with another kiss, as your hands struggle under his grip, the other grazing down your side, finding the swell of your hip only to squeeze.

“I’m the perfect weapon,” he kisses down the side of your neck, teeth grazing against your soft flesh harshly, drawing a gasp from your lips, “I could have killed them all, because I know they all knew—“

“Knew what?”

“My clan elders — they wanted to have you die on a mission, they wanted to stage it, so they could have me marry who they wanted,” he pauses, drawing a finger down the valley of your breasts, “create a perfect heir,”

“Satoru—“

He kisses you again, swallowing your words along with your thoughts, parting only to speak, “so I killed them, I didn’t use my cursed technique, I wanted them to feel the pain they gave you, wanted them to feel a fraction of what you did,”

You can’t find a second to speak, his fingers now sliding up your bare leg, as he presses himself closer, erection against your inner thigh, “Toru, you didn’t have to put yourself through that—“

“I wanted to,” he parts your thighs easily, large palm spread against your inner thigh, fingers toying with the edge of your panties, “wanted to tear them to shreds for what they did to you — and what they wanted to do—”

“I’m okay, Satoru, I’m—” a bitter laugh leaves his throat, as his fingers find your bandages again.

“Do you call coming home half dead okay now by jujutsu sorcerer standards?” he shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair, “I told you after Suguru that I would fix this rotten jujutsu world,” he presses kisses up your thigh, “and their deaths did fix one thing — no sorcerer will touch you or our future children again, especially when they speak to the woman the clan wanted to marry off to when your body wasn’t even cold yet,”

“You left her,” and he nods, eyes unable to meet yours.

“I only killed the elders I gathered, anyone else was spared — they didn’t dig their own graves,” his hand loosens around your wrists and you reach for his cheek, cupping his cheek, despite the blood, “I don’t regret it, I’d kill anyone who hurts you, but I didn’t want you to see me like this,”

“Like what?”

“Like a monster,” and you click your tongue, his eyes flitting to yours.

“You’re my Satoru, not a monster, you did what you did to protect me, protect our family,” you murmur, “that’s just about the most Satoru thing you could do,”

“But—“

“And if you are deemed a monster anyway?” You lean up, fingers smearing the blood against your own cheek, “then I’ll just become a monster with you,”

He crashes into you with a kiss, cupping your cheeks, as his tongue slips into your mouth, “can you really be a monster, sweetheart?”

He drags his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your soft flesh along the hollow of your throat, “T-Toru—“ and his lips find the swell of your breasts, his tongue dragging over your pert nipple, while his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, snapping it against your skin, “y’know I can be, I would be, for you,”

He peers up through half lidded eyelids, his thumb drags down your puffy bottom lip, “I can’t imagine someone so sweet like you as one,” he murmurs, as he pulls back, lips slick with spit, as he drags his fingers toying with the soaked fabric of your panties, “and I wouldn’t want to drag you down with me,”

Your fingers reach forward, propping yourself up on your other arm, “Drag me or not,” you cup his chin, “you’re stuck with me,”

“Can we make it a binding vow?” you roll your eyes, and his lips curl for the first time since he’s got here, “c’mon sweets, I have to get my reassurance somehow,”

You hold up the giant rock on your finger, the very diamond you had told Satoru was too much, “this wasn’t enough—” the last word is a bite back gasp, as he noses at the drenched crotch of your underwear, a deep inhale that has you squirming, “No, Toru—” but he’s pinned your thighs down, prying them open, as he gazes up at you.

“Uh-uh, princess, I don’t remember saying you could move, especially when you could reopen your wounds,” his nose bumps against your clothed clit, a wicked smile as he drags his tongue over the already wet fabric, “you still haven’t seen how much of a monster I can be.”

~~~

“Ngh, Toru, can’t, I can’t—” but you can — you know you can from the heat building in your sloppy cunt under already soaked through sheets, and he knows too well you can too, from the way your pussy flutters around his three fingers, knuckle deep as they piston in and out, while his mouth toys with your abused clit, “please—”

You lost track of how many times you had orgasmed — his fingers, his mouth, and sometimes both — he had pulled each one after the other, allowing small reprieves, only to bury himself back in. He had even had you ride his face at one point, and you were sure he’d suffocate under your drenched cunt, until he flipped you on your back again.

“Please what, sweets?” he slows his fingers, curling them a certain way that makes your lips fall open, “you’ll have to use your words,” he pulls back.

Chest heaving, chin glistening with your release, his tongue cleaned his lips off before he wiped the rest off, before pressing open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs. And soon enough, his fingers were sinking back into your messy pussy, splitting you open with his thick fingers.

“Didn’t you say you wanted this, sweetheart?” his words cut through the wet squelch of his digits fucking you open, “wanted to drag you down with you, wanted this—” and he sucks hard at your clit, tongue flicking over it, making your back arch, “wanted me to drag you down with me,” and he punctuates it with a thrust of his fingers, brushing against a spot that has you seeing spots, “gotta make good on your promise, and I have to erase all the pain they gave you,”

And you barely manage to latch onto the desperation in his voice, the way the facade flickers.

He fucks you ever so slightly deeper, and you cum hard, tearing through you as your body tenses, pleasure washing over you as it did every single other time, melding into the others, “Good girl,” he murmurs, as he works his fingers through your orgasm, the slick noises becoming white noise, until he finally pulls the digits from inside you.

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of him licking his digits clean one by one of your cum, his lips curled in a soft smile as they meet your gaze, his hand sliding up your thigh gently as it quaked, the very same fingers he had used to murder the people that hurt you, were so gentle when it was you — he was always so gentle when it was you.

But never himself.

You reach up for him, palm cupping his cheek, while the other finds his bare shoulder — clothes long discarded, “I love you,” and the cracks spread, spider webbing from the epicenter, “you know that right?”

His words seem caught in the back of his throat, “Even now?”

“Especially now,” and he’s pressing you against the mattress again, your thighs folded against your chest, legs slung over his shoulders, “you saved me,”

His gaze softened, “you saved me first,” and again and again, he couldn’t count the number of times you did, by just existing, pressing a kiss to the side of your thigh, “but if I’m too late next time?”

“You can’t be everywhere,” your fingers lace with his, “and I just need you,” and still in this situation, his ego can inflate at your praise — nosing at your thigh, a deep inhale, before dragging his tongue up the side of your leg, “only you.”

He drags his weeping erection over your soaked folds, leaking tip teasing your slit while he watched his pre mix with yours, “Think you need more than just me,” and when he lets the tip sink into you, your lips part with his name, just as your walls part for him, “want something else, wifey?”

“You’re the worst,” you look up at him, lips curling despite your pout, your fingers grasping at the sheets under you, as your cunt tries to swallow him whole, “Toru, how long are you going to tease me for?”

And he’s pulling out only to draw a groan from your lips, “If you’re such a monster, thought you could take it—“ and your hand reaches for him, tugging him close by his neck.

“I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me right now—“

He grins, “If you insist,”

Fuck.

He sinks into you all at once, all too fast and all too slow, balls deep as he bottoms out inside you, your walls fluttering only to pull him deeper, “fuck,” your head falls back as his tip brushes against your cervix, “too fucking big, I swear if you rip my stitches open—”

“You don’t think I cleared this before I decided to do this, baby?” He grunts, glancing down to see how your messy hole stretched open as he sunk into you, “can’t believe anyone thought I’d fuck anyone but you — you’re the only one for me, sweetheart,”

You couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicker to your pussy stuffed full with his huge dick, “You talking to me or my cunt—“ and he begins to fuck you, remark undercut by the moan that he pulled from your lips, “f-fucker—“

“That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart?” the lewd sounds of skin slapping together filled the room, his soft grunts and your moans, “wanted me to fuck you open, yeah?” and he wanted this, needed this after this week — it had been too long since he felt you under him like this — real and alive, his name leaving your swollen, kiss bitten lips.

And you needed it just the same — needed his fingers to dig into the softness of your thighs, needed the way only he could fill every inch of you, needed the soft murmurs of how good you felt, how much he loved you.

“Fuck, Toru, so fast,” you whine, but how could slow down he when you felt so good — so wet and warm, you had joked he could cum just looking at you alone barely a fist around his dick, but it was true — and being inside you just made him unravel completely, all sense of himself lost and drowning in just you, “hngh, it’s so deep,” you babble, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“That’s right, sweetheart, gonna fuck you deep, gotta make sure you feel it don’t I?” he coos, and his hand snakes between your thighs, pressing his palm to the bulge in your stomach, making you gasp as your walls clench around him, drawing a grunt from his lips, “that’s it, good girl,”

You keen at his praise, the wet squelch of your cunt around his cock ringing in your ears, balls slapping against your pussy with a rhythm that echoes in your head, as your body arches into him, needing him deeper, harder, faster. He’s nearly rutting into you, his thrusts growing shallow as you clamp down on him, achingly close.

“Those old fucking geezers don’t know what they were talking about—“ he grunts, running his mouth all the same even as he sunk impossibly fucking deeper, “don’t know this is the only cunt I’d ever breed. The only one I’d ever breed. The only one I can. Know why?” And you only can whimper, as his fingers rub against your clit, “because this is the only one made for my cum,”

And his words push you over the edge, cumming hard and fast, head lolling back, as his tip bullies your womb, as he fucks you hard over and over through your orgasm, sending pleasure ripping up your spine. Satoru groans as he feels you spasm, soaking in him in your juices, as he watches a white ring of your cum form around the base of his dick, dripping onto the clean sheets with the evidence of your arousal.

He can’t hold back.

He rails into you, a moan of your name falling past your lips making you pull him close, shifting your legs around his back just so he can sink into you even a centimeter deeper—

“Fuck, g’nna cum,” he’s meeting your glazed over eyes, knowing “gonna fill you up, yeah? Get you nice and round with my baby,” he groans at the thought, the image of you carrying his kid, stomach swollen as you grow his child, “and they’ll know, all of them, that you’re the only one I’d cum in,” and he’s so close, dick twitching as your arms around his neck tug him close.

“Cum in me, Toru, give me our baby,” and that’s it, he’s spilling inside you, spurting his hot release inside, again and again, as he fucks it deeper, filling you up.

“That’s it, take every drop,” he’s relentless, until he finally eases from you, his release trickling out. A soft sigh parts your lips that grows into a sharp gasp as he’s already flipping you over onto your stomach.

“Toru—” you whine.

“Aw did you think we were done sweetheart?” a pillow cushions your still bandaged stomach, placed underneath to support you, a shudder down your body as he rubs his cock against you, as he leans down, hot words murmured against your ear with a grin, before he sinks back into you with one thrust, stuffing his spilling cum back inside, “One thing about monsters are that we also have monstrous stamina.”

~~~

It was early, but Satoru was already awake.

He always had trouble sleeping, but now? His eyes found your sleeping form beside him, under the covers and safe, just as he had left you that morning. He didn’t know if he’d ever sleep more than three hours now. He brushed the back of his knuckles over your cheek, but you needed sleep — one of three things you never could live without (food and himself being the other two). And you definitely needed it now, after he had kept you up — nearly all night.

You shifted in your sleep, revealing several blooming hickies and love bites he had littered your body with, lips curling at the sight, as he pulled the blanket back up around you.

He was selfish — he should have divorced you the moment he had gotten you back. Let you leave because it was the right thing to do — to let you live a life safe without him. But he couldn’t — because he couldn’t imagine waking another morning, spending another day without knowing where you were, how you were doing.

It was selfish. But you let him be — especially when it came to you.

And his phone vibrates on the nightstand, whirring again and again, as he picks it up with a sigh, Yaga’s name flashing on the display. He takes one last glance at you before slipping from bed, stepping into the living room.

“Sensei! To what—“ he hardly gets a word out before screams fill his ears. He rubs his chin, it was too early for this.

He makes out the words — Gojo clan, dead, scandal, murder (wasn’t sure if he meant if he was going to murder Gojo or he meant what happened to the elders).

“It was a clan dispute, there was no need to tell you,”

Satoru held the phone away from his ear, Yaga’s yelling told him everything he needed to know, “Yeah, yeah, I know, the higher ups know — or they probably do by now,” he almost chuckles at the thought, and how he would love to do the same to them — knuckles white as he grips his phone — love to make them feel the same pain the sorcerers cared nothing for felt, make them—

Arms curl around him from behind and he knows it’s you, his body relaxing into your touch with practiced ease, your face buried in his back. His fingers relax, finding yours, tracing over the back, as he lifts one hand to his lips.

—But it wasn’t the time for that.

“Fine, fine, no need to have a heart attack, old man — I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” Yaga was still speaking until Satoru hung up, turning to face yoy, your eyes half closed as his fingers found your cheek, “what are you doing awake, sweets?”

His lips curl as you lean into his touch, “you weren’t next to me when I woke up,” you murmur, nose brushing against his fingers as your eyes flutter open and closed, “how am I supposed to sleep when my pretty husband isn’t next to me?”

“Just pretty?” and you snort, as his arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you to his chest, your head right over his heart, a content sigh on your lips.

“Are you ever serious?”

“Always,” and you smile up at him, chin resting against him, “what is it? Do I got something on my face?”

“You think our baby will have your pretty face?” You hum, and his gaze softens at the thought, “I hope so,”

He grins, “You do huh? And here I thought my ego didn’t need more stroking,”

“It doesn’t, but my husband deserves every bit of praise he gets — because he doesn’t get enough,” you kiss him softly, nose bumping against his.

“You planning on showering me with your praise, sweetheart?” And your lips finds his again.

“Always,” and he’s leading you back towards the bedroom, “where are you—“ you squeal as he scoops you up into his arms and carries you back to bed, gently placing you down, a grin on his lips.

He drags his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “Do you think I’m gonna let you leave this bed without breeding you right?” He clicks his tongue, “I’m far from done with you, wifey,”

You’re so beautiful, hair spread on the pillow like a halo, “So we’re not leaving until I’m pregnant?” Your fingers brush against his cheek, “we might be here a while,”

Satoru wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He kisses you again, long and languid, “There’s nothing I want more than to stay in bed with you.”

✧ a/n: sorry i've been gone for a bit!! i got super busy with work and got hella writer's block and right when i was feeling ready to write-- i got sick. but i'm doing much better now!!

✧ taglist: @arrivedercis, @ssetsuka, @ch3rryistheg, @satorusmochis, @sunarins-bae, @blindbabycadder , @yihona-san06 , @dantaku , @archieballs , @ceruleansol , @mqcht , @xxemmarldxx , @chiyokoemilia , @theshylittleelfgirl , @rroseselavyyy , @out4thenight , @jatyes , @unreliablefangs , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @celestialseasart , @minsified , @akemfs , @ranatherealestsigma , @zherryxtar , @virtualangelllllll , @itsmebien , @difluenza , @rougebrainsludge , @mochigod , @euphorism , @vii-is-free , @elliesndg , @beneaththelamina , @monarch-of-anime-simping , @hhimetsu , @simply-a-s1mp , @jennieclips , @svt-backup , @angelbunsx , @duhhitsmiranda , @satowooo , @fushitoru , @lesaurita , @briluvslee , @gojo-gets-me-wetter , @catsgomurp , @pinkyvomit , @hyori2 , @wakashudou , @celestialgojo , @sxnkuna, @nakariabnrb, @dazailover1900, @hanlay, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @kxouri, @forest-fruits-jam, @spider-fan72, @strawmariee

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo fanfiction #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #jjk x reader #Jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk gojo

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hazbinshusk · 6 months ago

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blitzø x fem!afab!reader. during a lazy day on the couch, the imp decides to distract you from your work in a way he just knows will work. and despite your protests, how could you possibly resist when he's just so good at what he does?

featuring: imp reader, tail play, sex, orgasm denial, cream pies, dom!blitzø, I use the word 'fuck' too much, and degradation because calling you a whore is just how blitzø's broken ass shows affection.

anon request. 2.25k.

Hell might suck in large amounts, but times like this weren’t so bad.

You were curled up on the couch, some terribly cliché action movie playing on the TV in front of you. Blitzø was stretched out at the other end of it, legs kicked up over the arm the couch and his head propped up on pillows. Honestly, you had no idea how it could possibly be comfortable for him to lay there with his neck twisted towards the screen like that, but he seemed content. And honestly, it was nice to see him so relaxed.

Your tablet pings on the coffee table and you sigh, straightening reluctantly in your seat. Its yet another alert from the other organizers of the Lust Ring’s annual Fertility Festival, and you scoot to the edge of the couch cushion to swipe the device up off the table and check the latest in the long list of requests they’ve had for you to handle. Apparently, a day off doesn’t exist when you’re running errands for one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Scrolling through the new list of potential vendors you need to go through for approval, you glance up as you hear Blitzø shift beside you, reaching for the remote.

“You don’t have to stop it,” you assure him apologetically, but he does anyway. He groans quietly as he sits up, and you smile softly as you feel him crawl across the couch and slot himself behind you, thighs on either side of yours. Your body warms as he wraps his arms around your middle, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Eh, I’ve seen this one before,” you feel him shrug, the heat of his body pressed against your back. “Helpin’ you pick out porny-ass stalls for this slut fest?” he presses a quick kiss to the side of your neck. “More fun.”

“Fertility Festival,” you correct him patiently, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “And I don’t know if whatever you’re gonna suggest is exactly the vibe we’re going for.”

He snickers, breath tickling your collarbone. You feel his tail slide up to curl over your thigh, the spade of it tapping slowly against the side of your opposite knee.

“Oh, yeah?” he challenges, pointing at the screen in your hands. “Tell me what exactly the fuck is wrong with ‘Aunty Annie’s Aphrodisiac Ass-Pops’?”

“Aside for the godawful name?” you reply with a wrinkle of your nose. You tap their file, scanning the information provided. “How about the fact that the main ingredient in this shit seems to be ‘Auntie Annie’s’… ewww.”

He cackles, arms tightening around you. One hand plays with the hem of your shirt, claws just grazing your bare stomach as he lifts it slightly.

“I don’t even want to know why they think that would help turn anyone on,” you continue, quickly marking the stall as a no-go for all future Asmodeus-sanctioned events. You lean over to grab the remote, pressing ‘play’ again, before you continue scrolling through the list of vendors, checking each one as either a potential ‘yes’ or a firm ‘no’.

Blitzø watches the movie from over your shoulder for a while before you feel his lips return to the side of your throat, dusting soft, teasing kisses over the sensitive flesh. You raise your shoulder to ward him off, laughing despite yourself as he simply switches to the other side of your neck. His teeth graze over your pulse point, tongue following the mark he leaves behind. Heat trickles through you to settle between your thighs, your eyes closing for a moment as you feel his hands play with the waistband of your pants.

“Dude.”

“Hmm?” Blitzø hums the question against your skin, and your breath catches as he gently sinks his teeth into your collarbone. A shiver runs through you as he presses a lingering, teasing kiss to each individual mark his teeth have left in your skin. His tail edges up along the inside of your thigh.

“…Dude.”

“Fuck do you want?” he asks, the words at odds with his innocent tone. Still, you can hear the mischief at the edge of his voice, feel it in his smirk against your skin as his tongue slides up the side of your neck to the corner of your jaw. “I’m tryin’ to watch something here.”

“I know what you’re doing, B.”

He snickers against the nape of your neck, claws dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. “And I knooooow you like it…”

“I’m working, Blitzø.”

“And you’re makin’ this into fuckin’ work,” he retorts. “Are you gonna take your pants off or am I wreckin’ these ones too?”

“Satan, you’re an asshole.” you eye-roll and Blitzø reaches up to take hold of your chin. He turns your head towards him roughly, claiming your mouth in a hungry, heated kiss. He slides his tongue into your mouth, his hand moving from your chin to encircle your throat.

“And you’re a fuckin’ tease,” he replies against your mouth, the last word almost lost as he kisses you again. He squeezes your throat reflexively, and you whimper into the kiss. You can feel him hardening against the curve of your ass, his other hand moving down to clutch at your upper thigh, fingers dipping between your legs to tease over your denim-covered cunt. “Bein’ all sexy and professional like a slutty little— fuuuuck…”

You’d wrapped his tail around your fingers, and squeezed, pulling it firmly enough to make him groan, loud and drawn out. His head fell back against the back of the couch, hands taking hold of your hips. He pushed his own hips up against your ass, grinding into you.

“Bitch…”

“Oh, c’mon, Blitz-baby,” you taunt, turning around to kneel between his thighs. You slide your fingers up along his tail, stroking the length of it with your fingertips, and squeeze again. He whines through grinding teeth. “I know you like it.”

He lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a chuckle and a growl. “Oh, you filthy fuckin’ whore.”

“Sweet-talker,” you laugh, the sound cut off as he grabs ahold of you and kisses you fiercely again. Blitzø manages to keep kissing you as he manhandles you across the couch, fumbling with the fastenings of your jeans. He manages to undo them and have the pants and your underwear shoved halfway down your thighs before he turns you around to face the other end of the couch, baring your ass to him.

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it,” he warns you, his body pressing against your back. You hear the rustling of his own pants, feel him slide his erection up between your thighs. You whimper, bracing your hands against the arm of the couch and arching your back so your ass is pushed back against him. He growls again, low in the back of his throat, his cock throbbing and so fucking hard. “Shit, you’re a needy little slut…”

“I’m sorry,” you say, the way you feign casual ruined by the breathless anticipation in your voice. You shift your hips, and the two of you moan quietly as the head of his cock presses into you slightly. “Were you planning on just insulting me all day, or are you actually going to fuck me? I’ve got work to do.”

Your dismissiveness has the exact effect on him that you want it to, and Blitzø thrusts hard into you with a snarl, bottoming out in one brutal, toe-curling thrust.

You moan throatily and he agrees with one of his own, his tail curling around your middle. His claws clutch at your hips, digging into the flesh.

“Christ on a titty-fuckin’ stick, always so fuckin’ tight…” he groans, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming his hips back into your ass. Your fingers tighten on the arm of the couch, your own claws digging into the fabric. “Feels fuckin’ good, doesn’t it, slut? How’s my cock feel in your tight little cunt?”

There’s that thread of affection under his harsh words that you know he’d deny, but it still makes your eyes roll back. “Blitzø…”

You move to reach between your thighs and he catches hold of your wrist, pulling your arm up behind your back. His tail unwinds from your waist to instead wrap around your wrist and hold it against the small of your back. He scrapes his nails down over waist, dark lines forming under his touch, squeezes the curves of your ass.

“No fuckin’ way, princess. You wanna cum? You’re gonna milk every drop of cum outta my dick first like a good little cock-sleeve.” he sneers, and you bite back a needy whine, unwilling to admit just how much it’s turning you on. “Now answer the fuckin’ question: how’s my cock feel?”

“So good…” you whimper, your own tail entangling with his around your wrist. “Sooo fucking good, Blitzø…”

“Damn fuckin’ right it does,” he replies, smugness torn with his own arousal. He’s thrusting into you so hard that your whole body bounces forward each time his hips meet yours, and he grinds deliciously against you on each stroke. It’s enough to bring you to the precipice and keep you there, an infuriating tease of almost enough. You push your hips back to meet his, forehead pressed to the arm of the couch. “Take it so fuckin’ good…”

“Thank you, baby,” you moan, eyes rolling back. Blitzø curses, hands tightening on your ass. You know damn well the effect praise and gratitude can have on him during sex, and the sincerity burning through your breathless voice is enough to make his hips stutter against yours. There’s an ache in the way he’s stretching you, filling you, and your thighs are quivering. “Shit…”

“You want me to cum, slut?” he taunts, his voice betraying just how close he is. It’s reedy and gruff, and he groans as you flex around him on the pull back. He rewards you with an even harder thrust back in, the sound of his flesh meeting yours well and truly drowning out the sounds of the TV. “Wanna feel me fill you up? You gonna get all quivery and moan like a good little whore when you feel my cum dripping out of your cunt?”

“Please, Blitzø,” it almost comes out as a sob, your whole body tight with your need to feel that release. “Please, I want you to cum…”

“Where?” you can hear the smirk in his voice, and he laughs brokenly as he sees the hand he still has behind your back shift to give him the finger. He rolls his hips into yours the way he knows makes you keen in retaliation. “Say it, slut.”

“Fucking… shit, Blitzø, cum inside me.” you beg, eyes squeezed closed. “Please, baby… I need you to… fuck…”

Blitzø snickers, and you feel him lean over your body to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder blade, his teeth grazing over your skin as he tells you, “Good girl.”

Between the husky cadence of the praise and the way his fingers finally find your clit, you can’t help but curse, collapsing forward on the couch. Blitzø’s grip on your hips keeps you on your knees in front of him, and he thrusts into you in one final, hard slam of his hips to cum deep inside your quivering, swollen cunt.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, a growl sounding under the words, and he keeps himself buried fully inside you as he quickens his fingers over your clit. Each flex of your pussy around him milks him further, and you can barely register the sound of the string of curses it elicits from him over your own moaning.

Your thighs do shake as your orgasm finally crests, your voice catching slightly as Blitzø grasps a fistful of your hair and jerks your head back so you can’t muffle it in the cushions. Your moan is rough, too-loud for the apartment, and Blitzø laughs, cum-drunk as he releases your hips and you collapse, boneless onto the couch in front of him.

You hum a breath deliriously, rolling onto your back with some difficulty as your legs tangle with his. Blitzø straddles your hips, running his hand up over your hip and up, over your waist and your ribs and to your breast. He squeezes it teasingly, flicking his claw over your nipple, and he smirks as you jerk under his touch.

“Asshole,” you mutter breathlessly into the cushions, feeling his hand smooth up over the swell of your ass.

He squeezes, kneads the flesh, and you hear him exhale admiringly as he watches his cum slowly drip out of you. “So fuckin’ pretty…”

“So... can I get back to work now?”

Blitzø laughs at your attempt to sound impatient, pinching your nipple and leaning down over you to catch the resulting gasp with his own lips. He kisses you languidly, hand grazing up over your chest and the side of your throat to cup your cheek. The… tenderness of the gesture surprises you, but you let yourself relax into the embrace.

“Depends…” he says against your lips, kissing you again before pulling back to meet your eye. That infuriating smirk is playing on his lips again, an eyebrow arched challengingly. “You gonna sit there and do your work like a good little girl while my cum drips outta you? Or are you gonna come and get your freak on in the shower like I know you want to?”

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spookyrea · 7 months ago

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face of gold, heart of coal (my cross to bear, baby!)

You and Loki have an agreement - just sex with absolutely no feelings. None. Nu-uh. Zero.

(Unfortunately you both signed that agreement with your fingers crossed)

Word count: ~2k

Warnings: fem reader - plot? what plot? p-i-v sex, oral (f receiving), hate sex (kind of. 'hate' if the definition of hate was 'longing so profound it makes you mad'.)

“If only our team could see you right now. Whoring yourself out to me. Your big, bad villain.”

“Not so bad,” you bit out. “You’re nothing but a lap dog.”

“Boo. Another lazy insult,” he snorted. “Big, though?”

He pulled your hand down to palm at the length of him, straining against the fabric of his trousers. You shrugged, even as your thighs clenched in anticipation. “Eh.”

Loki laughed, closing his mouth over yours in a wet kiss. “I seem to recall you singing a different song a few days ago.”

“Your memory is failing you. Dementia, maybe? That’s pretty common with men your age.”

His upper lip curled. He dropped your wrist to gather your skirt in his hands, hiking it up to your waist. “Hold this,” he commanded.

You bunched the fabric in one hand. With his hands now unoccupied, he traced the inside of your thighs slowly, tipping your hips upwards to get a better look at your clothed mound. Both of his thumbs slid over the cotton fabric of your underwear, reverently in comparison to the way he had demanded your submission. They pressed gingerly, barely pulling your folds apart before pressing them back, working in circular motions around your clit but not quite over it. His eyes were half-lidded, transfixed on the way his fingertips spread wide over your hips, on the twitch of your tense muscles, on how you gave yourself up to him angrily and willingly.

You stifled a whine, hoping he wouldn’t notice - but he did. Loki always noticed; every gasp, every lingering look, every shiver when his hand brushed over yours - he saw it all. He could read you like a book, something that both infuriated and secretly delighted you, to be seen and understood so completely.

Loki mimicked you, scrunching his face up in a patronizing pout. One hand rose to pinch your cheeks, holding your head still while he pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple. “Oh boo hoo. Woe is me. Please, Loki, have mercy.”

You hissed, digging your knuckles into his abdomen. He laughed in response, dragging his nose across your jaw before sucking a mark under your ear. Your voice came out thready despite your best efforts, a casualty of the way his other hand was drawing figure-eights across your thigh. “You cocky bastard.”

“Careful. You speak to me like that again and I might just leave you wanting.”

“You won’t.”

He dipped his head, laving his tongue over the junction of your shoulder and throat. His thumb slid to the side, tracing the damp seat of your underwear with lazy intent. “I won’t?”

“Nope.” You swallowed another embarrassing sound when the meat of his palm ground against you with delicious friction.

“What makes you so certain?”

You tilted your head; distracted as he was by marking up your throat, his hold on your face had loosened enough for you to get your lips around the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger. You scraped your teeth over the delicate skin, delighting in how his body tensed against you. “Because you want me just as badly.”

“You’re finally right about something. Looks like you do have some coherent thoughts in that pretty little brain of yours.”

“Asshole.”

“Tsk. Try harder. I’ll make you a deal - if you call me something creative, I’ll let you come tonight.” He pulled away, his head tipped ever so slightly to the left to admire his handiwork. No doubt your lipstick was smeared across your face at this point, considering how it stained his pale skin from the tip of his nose to the sharp point at the corner of his jaw. “I warn you though, mortal, I’ve been alive for many centuries. I’ve heard it all.”

“Monster,” you tried.

“Old news.”

“Duplicitous snake.”

“Boring.”

“Evil, traitorous coward.”

“It’s starting to look like tonight will only be about me, little thing.” Loki grinned, sliding the tail of his belt through the buckle. It fell open with a clatter against his thigh as he worked the zipper of his slacks down and pushed on your free hand, urging you to take him in your fist and pump him slowly.

“Lover,” you spit.

He paused. “Excuse me?”

“I said ‘lover’.” Even without his hand guiding yours, you drew your hand back and forth in lazy tugs, arousal pooling, hot and wanting, at the way his stomach jumped, muscles visible through his open shirt. “What a pathetic god. To love a human.”

His eyes crawled down, then back up the length of your body. Slowly, achingly slowly, he slipped from your grasp and sank to his knees in front of you. “Truly debased.”

You ran your fingers through his damp curls, heavy with the humidity of want. “It’s sad, really.”

He tapped the back of your calf, shouldering your leg until you draped it over his back, and pressed a loud kiss to your lower belly. “Clever girl.”

Loki pulled your panties to the side; you would have been embarrassed by the threads of arousal clinging to them if it wasn’t for the way his expression darkened, a clear reverence rolling off of him while his thumb slid over you, pulling your folds apart to get a better look. His pretty eyes were awash with desire, burning a hot and syrupy trail as they traveled from the mess between your thighs to your face.

You smoothed a curl out of his eyes and watched him tip his head, pressing a loud kiss just beside your clit. He took his time teasing his mouth over you, alternating between licking long stripes and sliding sloppy kisses over slick, heated skin. The hand around your thigh clutched you in a bruising grip, holding you against his shoulder like you might slip away if he let go. His other hand slipped between his own legs and worked slowly up and down his cock.

You tipped your head back against the wall. “You’re enjoying this.”

His grip tightened. “Shut up.”

Loki squeezed his eyes tight, desperation clear in the way he tipped his head for a better angle. He closed his lips around your clit and sucked, pulling a thready gasp from your chest. You felt a familiar coil between your hips, winding and winding as he worked you more urgently; occasionally you felt his forearm bump against your shin while he pumped his cock in time with rolls of your hips.

You grew delirious. Your legs shook, struggling to hold you upright. You planted your hand on his shoulder for support, back bowing off the wall with the force of your impending orgasm. Loki laughed against you, the sound humming over your skin in the most delicious way.

You found no relief in his mouth; he seemed only to wind you higher and higher but never to the edge. Your chest heaved, pleasure turning desperate and achy. You pushed on his forehead, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “Stop. Loki, it’s not… I need…”

He paused, his mouth still pressed against you. His eyes scanned yours curiously, brimming with mischief, before he gave one final flick of his tongue. You clenched, hissing through your teeth, and squirmed away. His shoulders shook with laughter under your leg. Loki turned his cheek into your thigh and drew his wet chin across your skin, leaving an uncomfortable sticky path in his wake.

“Get -” Your order stuttered and died on your tongue when he bit down on your hip. “Get back up here.”

“So bossy.”

“You want me so bad, Laufeyson.”

“So, so badly,” he hummed mockingly.

You let him nudge his way between your legs, lining his hips up with yours to guide himself inside you. There was an initial pressure, that familiar press before your body yielded to him and he slid down to the hilt.

He groaned once his hips met yours and, privately, you agreed. There was something electric about him, as if he had rewritten the polarity of your nerves so they yearned in his direction. He was an asshole - arrogant, stubborn, untrusting - but there was such an aching kindness in the way his fingers trailed over your skin that it left you feeling raw and oozy.

A self-deprecating laugh hissed through his teeth when your fingers wound through the curls at the back of his skull. Very quietly, he murmured something against your skin.

“What was that?”

“I said I hate you.”

“Right.” His hips rolled against you slowly, testing you. “Come on, lover,” you goaded him on. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

He groaned. “One day you’ll let me make love to you.”

You gasped when he thrust into you, jolting you up the wall. He set a brutal pace, tugging your body down onto him with every sharp jerk of his hips. You twined your arms around his neck for support and tried to leverage your weight against him, shifting so he was angled to bump against that soft spot inside you that made your knees buckle. The sob that ripped through you when he finally connected seemed to spur him on, working him into a frenzy.

“One day you’ll let me do this in a bed. In my bed. No, actually, in our bed. Now, tell me what you feel.” Loki punctuated the order with a kiss, though you were both moving too much to get any further than a brush of open, panting mouths.

You nodded dumbly. “It’s- it’s good. So- oh, right there. Please.”

“Yes. Beg for me.”

Annoyance turned over in your belly. You scraped your teeth along his jaw. “Asshole.”

Loki pulled your body to a sudden stop, his cock buried to the hilt deep inside of you. His head cocked menacingly to the side.

“Hmm.” He gave an experimental roll of his hips. “You’re lucky you make the most fantastic sounds when you come. And I do so very, very badly want to hear them. So sing. Praise, this time, little mortal.”

His thumb pressed meanly against your clit. Each jerk of his hips against you made you bump against the calloused skin, a delicious but not-quite satisfying pressure.

“You want me so badly. I could have you eating out of the palm of my hand. But I’m merciful. I won’t make you do that.” Loki licked a hot stripe up the side of your throat. “I’ll just fuck you instead. Now come on.”

Your face scrunched up, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. You’d given up on stifling any sounds you made, letting broken, wanton sounds tumble from your mouth with each nudge of his thumb against your clit. Your chest ached, your breaths thready and gasping, barely sucking in air before it escaped you as a squeal or a sigh. Your thighs shook with the force of it all, body gone taut and boneless all at once.

You pulled him in as tightly as you could as you came, burying your nose in his throat, seeking some tether to ground yourself by. It was all too much - too hot, too sweaty, too bright, too good. You needed him to come. You needed him to stay. You needed, needed, needed.

Loki stumbled into his climax and stilled after a few more sloppy thrusts, winding his arms around your back to properly ensnare you. His breath licked over your skin and left goosebumps to rise in its wake.

You stayed tangled like that for an eternity, slowly winding down back to Earth in the other’s arms. Your fingers traced a shy path down his nape while his hands slid up and down your sides placatingly.

Eventually, he set you down on your feet. His hands smoothed down your skirt before tucking himself away in his slacks. Your voice was small as you watched him loop his belt back through the buckle. “I get closer and closer every day.”

“To what? First-degree murder?” He turned his face up to yours, a joking tilt to his brows. Something in your expression gave him pause, the smile melting off of him. He smoothed out the front of his slacks and then put his hand on your shoulders, leveling you with an unreadable look. “Really?”

You nodded mutely, turning your eyes to the floor. He tipped your face up to keep them trained on him.

“Ask me,” you murmured.

“Make love to me, darling.”

You paused, drawing the moment out. “Maybe. If you’re a good boy.”

He sighed, a long-suffering sound. “You vex me.”

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki smut #loki x you #loki fanfic #loki x female reader #SO MAD THAT IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO FIGURE OUT FORMATTING #im gonna have to get out of the habit of double tapping the enter key r i p #anyway found this in my drafts and completely forgot I wrote it lmao

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

Text

To a Tea 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character: Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don’t @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

You don’t often miss work, but that week, a burst pipe throws everything off. A morning spent waiting on your landlord, then the next few hours for a plumber, has things a bit off kilter. Even the next day, you’re not quite back on point.

The patched wall next to fridge reminds you of the disaster and a dingy smell persists. You hope it doesn’t cling to you as you set off for your shift that day. If you can, you want to pick up some hours from others if their up for grabs. Harry doesn’t like Saturday’s, maybe he’ll hand over some.

You try to leave your problems behind as you catch a bus down to the city centre. You get to the tea shop five minutes before the hour. Jenna’s wrapping up the opening tasks as you go to leave your things in the back. You tie on your apron and unlock the front door for the first customers of the day.

At first, it’s a trickle. Never very much at all. The early risers who often come alone or if they aren’t, they don’t speak much or very loudly. The smell of fresh baking and the slow rising sun add to the lazy din.

“Thought the special was strawberry today,” you comment as you transfer macarons from a cooled tray to the display.

“Eh, it was but we didn’t have enough jam,” she shrugs. “Changed the sign, is all.”

“Ah, thought my mind was lagging again. Everything’s been off since yesterday.”

“Eh, how’s the apartment, anyhow? Marilyn said it was something about a leak?”

“Burst pipe,” you explain, “they took out the wall above the sink, buncha clanging all day. When I tell you this place is like heaven.”

She chuckles, “can be.”

“There’s a formal tea booked in the Marigold Room at noon,” she intones, “forgot to mention that. With Mother’s day coming up, suppose we’ll get more bookings.”

“Suppose,” you go to check the schedule hanging on the wall. “Party of twelve, wow.”

“I’ll man the till. Honest, since those ladies at New Years, I’ve hated doing them.”

“No problem, Harry should be here, shouldn’t he?”

“Well, he’s... called in.”

“Again?” You whine as you face her.

“Are you really surprised?” She scoffs.

“No one else to cover? Not even Louisa?”

“Nah, she’s on holiday still.”

You huff, “fine. Not much of a choose then, is it?”

🫖

The tea room is as close to raucous as you’ve ever heard it. You have your back to the rest of the shop as you balance the stacked serving trays with an array of sponge cake, fruit, and biscuits. It’s the typical assortment for a tea party booking.

You’ve already served the tea and the sandwiches, and dessert is the last bit, along with any further pots needed to be steeped throughout. With a partner, it isn’t hard to keep up, but alone, it’s rather overwhelming. Jenna does her best to assist but there aren’t many lulls around lunch time.

Beyond that, the tourists are chatty. You could hardly get away to fetch each course as they wanted to chat about the culture and your suggestions of what they should do next. It’s nice that they’re friendly but still stressful.

You put the trays on the cart and roll it around the counter. As you do, you nearly skid to a halt. In the rush, you hadn’t noticed him. Your eyes meet Raymond’s as he watches you. Intent, intense. You give an apologetic smile and nod in acknowledgement. Jenna wanted to deal with the main room, she’ll have to wipe down his table and do her best.

You roll behind the wall and into the Marigold room. You present the tray and grab it by the ring at the top, lifting it onto the centre of the table. You roll around to gather the empty plates and cups, taking two pots for refill.

You come back out and see Raymond standing, just as he was. He sees you too. Watching, hands folded, knuckles white, jaw set. He’s usually patient but you don’t know how long he’s been waiting.

You roll behind the counter and sigh, clearing off the cart as Jenna steams a tea latte.

“Can you wipe Raymond’s table?” You ask.

“Who?” She furrows her brow.

You glance over your shoulder toward the man in question and she follows. She rolls her eyes, “I tried, I wiped the the table. He didn’t sit.”

“Hm, well... did you wash your hands first?”

“Christ Almighty, what is he a child?”

“Jen, he’s just... you know, my mom’s the same. He can’t help it.”

“You can deal with him. I won’t be arsed,” she sniffs, “he was rude and you know I don’t got time for those ones.”

“Jenna, I’m kinda up to my eyes,” you dump the used bags from a pot. “I know he can be prickly but just wash your hands and redo the table.”

“Ugh, fine,” she sneers, “but you owe me.”

“Let’s call it even,” you retort as you pour boiling water into the pots mouth.

She shakes her head and huffs, “guess it is.”

🫖

It’s nearly three in the afternoon. It’s quiet. Harry’s on his phone instead of doing the cups and your wiping the empty tables to keep yourself moving. The door opens and you glance over to make sure Harry’s alert. He’s not.

Doesn’t matter. It’s him. Raymond. You stand and clutch the cloth tight in your hand as you greet him.

“Be right with you, Raymond,” you assure him.

He barely looks at you as he goes to wait next to his table. You go behind the counter and mutter under your breath in Harry’s direction, “...dirty cups.” You wash your hands and make sure to clink some of the empty porcelain in an effort to draw your coworker’s attention. He’s still entranced by his phone.

You take the disinfectant wipes and go back out. You approach Raymond as he checks his watch.

“How are you today?” You ask.

He grumbles and shrugs, “fine.”

“English Breakfast, black,” you declares as you finish wiping up, “usual.”

“So you remember,” he challenges as he steps close, closer than ever, before sidling around to sit.

“Of course, I always do,” you smile.

“And last time?”

“Last time...”

“Twice.”

You’re confused. What is he talking about?

“I came on Tuesday and you weren’t here. Then on Thursday, you didn’t even say hello.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry, Raymond, it was a busy day. Tuesday, I had a personal emergency so I didn’t even know you’d been in--”

“I’ll have my tea now,” he interjects tersely.

“Right, tea,” you confirm and spin around.

“Crooked strings,” he remarks dully, “again.”

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #dark!raymond smith #drabble #series #to a tea #sweet and spicy #the gentlemen #au

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hxjikonn · 2 years ago

Text

(Artist: @/neneko_kone on twtr)

Reacting to GN Broken hearted!Reader

☆Staring☆ : Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, Epel Felmier, and Sebek Zigvolt

Synopsis: Yuu/MC/Reader gets their heart broken and tells their fellow first years over the phone. (Platonic rs w/ the boys) (the break up ended badly)

(I didn’t proofread this :b it’s too long and I’m lazy ehe)

——————————————————————————

Ace Trappola

Would first think you we’re kidding around so he teased and mocked you, but when he heard you’re voice crack and sniffles it dawned to him that you were serious.

“Awww such a sad tale” he teased, “Ace…” you called out in a warning tone but the sadness in your voice slipped out. “Wait you’re not kidding” he asks now completely serious, there wasn’t an answer on the other line because you were trying not to break down…

Moments later, the rickety doors of Ramshackle dormitory was kicked down, literally. “YOU’RE SERIOUS?!” Ace’s voice echoed, not in the phone though, in your hallway…in shock you ran out to see him trying to catch his breath looking like he ran a marathon

“BRO YOU BROKE THE FRONT DOOR?!?!” You yelled seeing him step on the door that was now crushed on the wooden floorboards “IRRELEVANT! TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED CUZ I CAN ASSURE YOU THIS DOOR ISN’T GONNA BE THE ONLY THING BROKEN” he shouted back…

Later that day you two talked about what happened while fixing your front door…Ace provided comfort by staying at Ramshackle with you to talk shit about your ex.

Deuce Spade

I’m gonna be honest with you, He wasn’t completely present when you told him. You happened to called him while he was studying for your upcoming test, but he picked up your call thinking that you just wanted to chat about something, not grasping the fact that this was a SERIOUS MATTER

“I have to tell you something Deuce…” you started, trying not to let your cries slip through, “Uh huh…” he answered, “It’s about…my partner…” you slowly said still being careful not to break down, inhaling preparing to tell him the bad news you opened your mouth to say something when he said “Wait sorry what was that?” sighing you shut your eyes

“No nevermind… s’fine…” you gave up “I’ll tell you tomorrow, you seem busy…” you were trying so hard to sound unbothered but a sniffle was heard by Deuce from your end of the line, he stopped what he was doing immediately and picked up his phone beside him

“Hey wait! Don’t hang up! Are you okay? Are you crying?” He rushed, now is very concerned, this made you finally broke down in tears. And also made Deuce panic he stood up from his chair and went out of his dorm rushing to get to you

“Hey it’s okay! It’s okay, I’m coming over there right now and you can tell me everything! Okay? Don’t cry!” He comforted you through the phone while running to get to the hall of mirrors. He arrived at your door step panting, hands on his knees trying to not pass out from sprinting all the way there

You let him in, gave him some water and you both sat down and talked about it, the moment he found out about the break up, and how it hurt you, two things were going through his mind One: Be there to comfort you while you’re sad and Two: Call Ace and Grimm so they can hunt down your ex and beat the shit outta him.

Jack Howl

May the great seven have mercy on your ex’s soul because he was prepared to feed your ex to the savannaclaw students. We all know Jack could never ignore his friends when they need him, especially now when you’re hurt…

“Hello?” He answers the phone while he was taking care of his little cactus garden, he wasn’t met with a reply, but he was met by familiar quiet sobs and sniffles, “What happened?” He sternly asks, all his attention is now directed in the phone call

“S’nothing serious…” you tried to defend, your voice betraying you, it was evident to Jack that it was in-fact something but he didn’t want to be pushy, “I’m gonna come over there, and you can tell me when you’re ready…” he said, gentle with his tone “Jack you don’t need t-“ “I’ll bring ice cream” he cut you off with a bribe before you can even protest, “fine” you said in defeat not being able to deny free ice cream

Once he arrived he sat down with you as you ate your ice cream, it’s a rare thing for him to do but this time he even let you play with his tail, while you were talking to him about what happened…

Hearing all of this he felt sad that you had to go through all that, but at the same time he can’t wait to see your ex at school tomorrow so he can give him a “talk” about “stuff”

Epel Felmier

He was in yet another “meeting” with Vil and Rook about something, he didn’t know what he did wrong this time but Vil was yet again scolding him for who knows what, until his phone rang and he said he had to take it. Safe to say he’s gonna have to stay for another extra 2hrs with his dorm leader after that phone call…

“Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, listen to me okay?” He said, walking back and forth the hallway outside Vil’s room, “They broke your heart, do I need to break their face?” He snapped, angered by you crying because your ex hurt you. He was aware that Vil and Rook probably heard him but that wasn’t his concern at the moment

“Epel it’s fine…” you sniffled, now you’re the one trying to calm him down. “Not it is not! Give me their number, and give me their address, I’ll make sure they know the damage they’ve done-“ he was abruptly cut off by Vil slamming his door open staring epel down with a “dont you dare” look

“please don’t, it’s really okay, I just need someone to talk to…” you said, you’re voice was hoarse, raspy, tired from crying so much, he felt bad. “Okay, okay I wont…But I will come over there though…” he said, Vil cleared his throat looking at Epel arms crossed, “I’ll come over in about 2hrs from now…” he corrected himself knowing what scolding lays ahead…

Even though he was mentally drained from Vil’s lectures, he still kept his promise and went to Ramshackle to comfort you. He was still infuriated with your ex but he’s there to comfort right now, he can be mad at your ex tomorrow…when he’s with the others…probably planning to hunt your ex down…

Sebek Zigvolt

Was suddenly not his usual self when you told him about what happened, the poor thing was so distressed by your crying self he forgot to say goodbye to the portrait of Malleus when he left his room to go to you.

“Human, don’t you know what time it is? Shouldn’t you be asleep instead of calling me? We have classes tomorrow!” he scolded a little loudly when he answered your call of course not trying to disturb his dorm mates “I’m sorry…” you said, you’re voice was weak and tiny…he felt a sudden pang of guilt in his chest when he heard you’re quiet sobs

“….Are you alright human?” He was suddenly very gentle with his tone, worried about you… “I’d be lying if I said I was” you tried to joke around to help you cope with the pain you’re feeling, He didn’t like this, “Please don’t joke about it… Do you need me to be there with you?” His voice was so soft, unlike his usual loud tone, it made you cry, nodding as if he could see you, but that was all he needed to rush out and go to Ramshackle…even forgetting to great his Malleus portrait goodbye..

When he arrived and saw you’re disheveled hair and tear stained cheeks he surprisingly pulled you into a hug, he was sad to see you like this and this is how his father comforted him when he was a child when he was upset… he was also hiding the fact that he too was teary eyed, both of you cried your eyes out while talking about it and went to school looking like bees stung your eye lids…

After that night, He hated humans even more now, with you being an exception of course

——————————————————————————

A/N: I wanted to add Ortho and Grimm but it was getting too long 😭😭😭 I DID NOT PROOFREAD THIS!! So there may be some errors, wring grammar, misspelled words or missing words.

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quichein-me-softly · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! sorry to bother but I was wondering if you could do a sans x reader where it's like a first kiss scenario? It's alr if you can't! Have a great day!!

Author's note: No bother at all! And I'd actually like to thank you for being my first ask! Feel free to return with any new ideas lol

first kiss w/ sans

The stars shimmer softly above, casting a gentle glow over the empty picnic spot. The last of the laughter had faded, and the quiet hum of the night settled around you.

The day had been loud—filled with chatter and cheerful chaos. Papyrus and Undyne’s friendly bickering echoed over the hill as they teased each other about their sparring match, Alphys trying (and only half-succeeding) to wrangle Frisk into helping with an experiment that’d apparently gone awry, Toriel chiding Asgore over a mix-up with the picnic basket.

But they've all gone home, leaving you with only the soft sounds of the night and the gentle presence of Sans beside you.

He leans back on the blanket, hands tucked behind his head, staring up at the stars with that familiar, lazy grin of his. “gotta hand it to ya, sunshine. pretty solid idea for a get-together. beats grillbz any day.”

You laugh, nudging him lightly. “Oh, come on, nothing beats Grillby’s in your book.”

“eh, fair point. still, wouldn’t mind doin’ this again. maybe next time, i’ll even bring my… stellar humor.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, no. Please spare me the space puns, Sans. I don’t think I can take any more.”

“oh, c’mon, ya gotta admit, they're outta this world.”

You groan, hiding a grin. “Alright, I right walked into that one.”

"i call that a job well pun," he replied with a wink. You groan.

Then, you both fall into a comfortable silence, the night sky stretching endlessly above. The darkness wraps around you, serene and familiar, and you feel yourself relax into it, savoring the quiet, steady rhythm of simply being by his side. The world feels distant, leaving just the two of you, sharing a peace that needs no words.

After a moment, you tilt your head towards him, a thought surfacing as you gaze up at the sky. “Did monsters ever make wishes down in the Underground?” The question comes out softly, as if you’re afraid to break the spell of the moment.

“wishes, huh?” he echoes, his gaze staying fixed on the stars.

Sans' smile softens, and for a fleeting moment, you see something deeper in his gaze. "yeah… yeah, we did. used to make ‘em all the time."

He pauses for a few seconds, choosing his next words carefully. "wishin' and waitin'… was kinda all we had, y'know? we'd look up at the crystals in waterfall, just hopin' someone out there might actually hear us." There’s something soft and somber in his tone, something that speaks of countless nights spent in darkness, staring up at artificial lights and longing for something… different.

As if the universe was listening, a shooting star streaks across the sky, a brief but brilliant trail of light. You catch your breath, feeling a little thrill as you shut your eyes and make a wish before the light disappears.

When you open your eyes, Sans is watching you with a faint, curious smile. “well, did ya wish for somethin’ good?”

“I did,” you reply, feeling your cheeks warm slightly. “What about you? Did you wish for anything?”

Sans leans back again, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets. He hesitates a little, his face a touch more serious. "heh, if i told ya, it wouldn't come true."

But there’s something in the way he’s looking at you now, lingering just a little too long, as if he’s forgotten to say something else. The silence stretches, and before he can stop himself, he mumbles, “can’t help it, though… feels like i might be fallin’ for ya.”

The words hang between you, and he visibly tenses, realizing what he’s just said. “uh, i mean—trippin’. heh, yeah. trippin’ for ya… guess i… gotta watch my step…” But the attempt to backtrack doesn’t fool either of you.

His face softens, the humor falling away as his gaze meets yours with something far more honest, even a little shy.

Heart pounding, you leaned closer, the fabric of your clothes brushing together as you whispered his name, barely able to find your voice.

"Sans?"

“what?” he murmurs, the word barely more than a breath, his voice tender and uncharacteristically soft.

Before you know it, you’ve closed the gap, your lips brushing his teeth in a feather-light touch. For a moment, he doesn’t move, and you worry you’ve crossed a line, that this might be too much—too soon. But then, his hand comes up to cup your cheek, hesitant yet grounding, as if he’s anchoring himself in the moment.

The kiss is soft and achingly gentle.

When you pull back, his eyes meet yours, carrying a warmth that speaks louder than any words. The moment hangs between you, charged with something fragile yet profound, neither of you daring to look away.

Finally he leans forward, his mouth brushing yours once more, this time with a little more confidence. The hum of his magic mingles with the crisp night air as he pulls you closer, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss. Each movement is careful and deliberate, as though he’s savoring something he’s barely dared to hope for. The kiss holds a quiet sincerity, making it feel precious—like he’s offering you a part of himself.

As you part, he lets out a soft, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling in that familiar way when he’s genuinely happy. The sound fills the quiet night, a soft echo of joy that lingers between you.

“So,” you say softly, trying to calm your racing heart, “what’d you wish for?”

He looks at you, his voice softened by a gentleness that feels almost like an answer in itself. “maybe i’ll tell ya someday…”

#fanfiction #undertale #sans #sans the skeleton #sans undertale #self insert #x reader #sans x reader #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #sans fanfic #quichein

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milflewis · 7 months ago

Note

📝 i missed u

“Hello there,” the kid drawls, eyes dragging up and down Lewis’s body slowly. They linger on Lewis’s shoulders and the way his underarmour shirt stops an inch above his waistband. Michael had let him off for the night shift, and Lewis had taken the chance to get in some hand-to-hand training, sweat cooling in the warm evening air. “How are you on this fine day?”

Lewis raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you, like, seventeen?”

He splutters, cheeks growing pink. One hand comes up to tug at an ear, robes slipping down his wrist. They are porridge coloured and misshapen, way too big for him. He has a fighter build, clear even under them. “I’m twenty!”

Huh. Lewis would not have guessed he’s only four years younger than him. “And a padawan?” He gestures at the truly terrible nerftail that he has got going on, the distinctive padawan braid pulled back in a hair-tie.

“So?” He is grinning now, clumsily. “There is no age limit on how long someone can be a padawan, and, I’ll have you know, I am a fantastic Jedi.”

“Padawan,” Lewis adds, helpfully.

The Jedi-padawan narrows his eyes, still smiling. Lewis wishes for his helmet as he bites at the inside of his cheek. The delight on his face is infectious.

“Jedi-padawan,” he says, finally.

“Modest too,” Lewis says, and he laughs, high and echoing.

“Eh, well, we all have our flaws, yes?” He waves a hand in the air, loose and grand. Lewis looks forward to seeing him as a diplomat in a few years. Maybe it will finally make the biannual meetings that Michael has with the Senate and the Jedi interesting.

“Some do,” Lewis replies, mimicking Valtteri’s deadpan, and is rewarded in another wide smile.

“I can back it up, you know?” He walks a little closer, hips swaying. Lewis swallows back a laugh. Absolutely no shame. “My lack of modesty.”

He claps his hands. “Let me tell you about the Force,” he says, smile going heated and lazy. “We, Jedi, can do amazing things with it.”

“Uhuh, sure.” Lewis turns to walk away, raising a hand over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Jedi-padawan.”

“It’s Jedi-padawan Sebastian Vettel, actually,” he calls after him, but doesn’t follow. Lewis lets himself grin now that he is facing away.

#sebastian is annoying in every universe and lewis is endeared in every story in turn #i miss u too. so v much #wip snippet ask game #naila tag #niamh.asks #star wars au #sewis

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villainsview · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 16

All Stories End Sometime

It took a couple of days to prepare. I contacted Tito with the offer to sell the house where I stashed my money to him, so I had a small supply of cash again to bridge me over to the next job.

It seemed smart to lay low for a while, but there was just one last thing to do.

I bought the supplies I would need, before stopping at a thrift store to buy a couple extra clothes that seemed big enough to fit Erick. One could only last so long with one set, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to share any of my good clothes.

Ethel had already begun asking if I could take care of a teen, so I quickly told her a couple things are still being settled, which then became my cover to go away for a bit. I told her we had to go back to Arizona to take care of the last things, which wasn’t a lie of course.

“Best of luck with it hun,” Ethel said, insisting we take a food package she made along for the ride, “I hope to see you both back soon. Here, I packed a couple extra of those cookies you liked.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Erick said politely, taking the package from her and putting it in the back of the van with his backpack with new clothes.

“Oh you sweet thing~ You take good care of him now, Chase. If you need anything just call me.”

“Thanks beautiful,” I said, “hopefully we won’t be long. Just today to get there, a day rest, and we should be on our way back already.”

“Oh you flirt,” Ethel said, giving me a push, “get going you two, you don’t want to be late. And if you get car trouble again, call me. I’ll come pick you up.”

“You can’t drive, Ethel.”

“Only on paper.”

She waved us off as we got into the van and pulled into the road. Once she was well out of sight, Erick pulled his backpack closer and pulled out the baseball cap to hide his face.

“What did she mean with ‘only on paper’?” he asked.

“She had her licence taken away after hitting a stoplight one too many times,” I said, “she’s been salty about it ever since.”

“Oh that sucks,” Erick said.

“Mhm…it’s busy on the road today, it’s probably better if you sit in the back.”

“Why are we really going back to Phoenix, sir? You still haven’t told me any details.” Erick said, undoing his seatbelt and moving to sit among the luggage.

“To convince the police they can stop looking for you, we need to give them proof that you’re no longer alive,” I said.

“Um…”

“We’re going to fake your death,” I elaborated.

“How?”

“You see that jerrycan?” I said, “it’s full of benzine. A good enough fire can destroy a lot of evidence, but if we leave enough traces of you they won’t bother to look any deeper into it.”

“So…we’re gonna set something on fire? And close enough to Phoenix so that it’ll be linked to me?”

“Bingo,” I said, “but first…eh, you’ll see when we get there. You might want to get some rest. I wanna get started as soon as we get there, we’ll be able to work under the cover of darkness.”

“Alright,” Erick said, getting a little more comfortable in the back.

Even with the new company, the long trip was still rather boring. Not that either of us were the type for road games or something. Fortunately I’d calculated —or rather, I eyeballed— the amount of breaks and time spent on them enough that we arrived while it was pitch black outside.

Erick was asleep in the back, so he had no idea where we were, which was probably better for the time being. I’d taken him back to the farmhouse. Half of my plan relied on luck and Allard’s tendency to…well, be lazy I suppose.

“Ngh…are we there?” Erick asked, rubbing his eyes as he had just woken up.

“Yeah,” I said, “grab me a flashlight. Come on.”

He got up with a tired groan, searching my bag and pulling out a flashlight while I opened the side door for him. He handed me the flashlight, looking around a bit while I turned it on.

“W-why are we here?” he asked nervously.

“Because I need a car to torch,” I said, “it’s possible Jack’s car is still here somewhere.”

“But…h-he’s dead, right?”

“Without a doubt,” I said, “come on. Watch where you put your feet, there’s rocks everywhere.”

I took him to the barn, noticing he trailed further and further behind, but I could imagine why, so I decided to let it slide for now. I opened the barn door, shining my torch inside, noticing something that seemed like a car, covered by a dark sheet.

“Come on, there’s no one here,” I said, “help me pull this thing off.”

Erick reluctantly came closer, following me into the barn to pull the cover off the car. After doing that I shone the flashlight on the bumper, recognising the obnoxious abundance of stickers.

“Bingo,” I said, trying the door and finding it was unlocked, “open the doors further, I’ll see if she still runs.”

“Okay,” Erick replied, doing as he was told while I found the keys on the sun visor.

I tried starting the engine, and after sputtering a bit I managed to get it running and backed out of the barn. I parked it next to my van, so it would be ready for the next phase. But first…

“One more thing,” I said, getting back into my van and turning it towards another part of the grounds.

I turned on my high beams to light up as much as I could, before handing the torch to Erick.

“Do you remember where the shovels are?”

“...wh-why do we need shovels?” he asked.

“To believe that you’ve died…the police have to find human remains,” I explained, “this was the first place I thought of. I hope you didn’t fill up on snacks yet. The smell is going to be horrible.”

“So…two shovels or just the one?” Erick asked.

“One,” I said, “this is your mess, I can’t be the one doing all the hard work.”

“Man…”

He took the flashlight and headed back to the barn to grab a shovel, while I got out and tried to pinpoint exactly where I made him bury Tracy. It was the only place where the earth was still a bit more loose than around it, and fairly uneven, as if it had caved in a bit, which tends to happen when a body starts decomposing. This wasn’t going to be pretty, but it had to be done.

“Don’t stop now, you almost got it,” I said, lighting maybe a fifth cigarette.

Erick had paused digging to catch his breath, squinting at me as he had to peer against the light since I was leaning against the hood of the van.

“I don’t wanna throw up,” he whined.

“Keep breathing through your nose, you’ll adapt,” I said, “if you breathe through your mouth it’ll get worse.”

“Can’t I take a break?”

“No, keep digging.”

“Hrm…” he groaned again, but continued, slowly and carefully uncovering the corpse, since I told him to keep him in one piece.

After he dug away enough earth, I finally allowed him to stop.

“Okay, I think you can pull him out now.”

“He’s covered in gross stuff,” Erick said.

“Yeah, but enough should hang on to convince this city’s B-rate cops that he died in the fire,” I said, “now stop complaining, you can change clothes when we’re done. I should’ve grabbed overalls…”

“Oh man…”

“Stop whining!” I said, “just get him out the grave and I’ll help you toss him in the trunk of Jack’s car.”

“Why didn’t you park it closer too?”

“I said stop whining!” I repeated, kicking some dirt in his direction.

He coughed a bit, wiping his face with one hand, before taking a deep breath as he began pulling the decomposing corpse from the shallow grave.

I got back into my van, turning it a bit so it lit up the route from the grave to the car, before getting out again and walking over to the car to open the trunk just as Erick finally got that far. I rolled up my sleeves, grabbed the corpse by the ankles and helped him lift it into the trunk.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I said.

“Can we burn this shirt while we’re at it?” Erick asked, looking at the dark staining on his torso.

“Yeah sure,” I said, “but fill up that hole first. No need to get two shirts dirty.”

“...yes, sir.”

He sighed, heading back to begin scooping the small heaps of dirt scattered around back into the hole. After he was finished, I let him change his shirt by the car while I parked the van beside the barn, hiding it from view from the road. As I returned to the car with the jerrycan of benzine, Erick threw his soiled shirt into the trunk with the corpse, before closing it.

“What’s next?” he asked.

“Now we make it look like an accident,” I said, “get in. Put on your seatbelt, it’s gonna be a rough one.”

I put the jerrycan in the backseat and got behind the wheel, before starting the engine and driving off. I didn’t need to go too far, since we’d had to walk back after this, I just needed to find a good spot.

“Oh, that’ll do,” I said, spotting a post on the side of the road.

I slowed down, making a U-turn.

“D-do for what?” Erick asked.

“Cover your head with your arms,” I said, “I’m gonna hit the post.”

“What post—”

CRASH!

It wasn’t that rough in the end. The seatbelts and airbags did their jobs. I didn’t even need my airbag, really.

“Ow…” Erick groaned, rubbing a good burn from his seatbelt as he pulled himself out of his airbag.

“Makes you feel alive, doesn’t it?” I said.

“You could’ve warned me…”

“I did,” I said, “come on, get out.”

He groaned once more, before undoing his seatbelt and stumbling out of the car. I got out as well, grabbing the jerrycan. But before getting to work, I walked around towards Erick, pulling him a couple feet away from the back of the car.

“Now we leave some traces,” I said, “it’s gonna hurt, but you trust me, don’t you?”

“I…y-yes, sir.”

“Good, give me your arm.”

He hesitated a short second, before holding out his right arm. I grabbed it, before pulling out a knife. He gasped, but before he would try to pull away, I’d already cut a nice, deep gash into it.

“Ah! W-why?”

“DNA,” I said, “let it drip on the ground. We’ll make an obvious trail.”

I used the flashlight to determine when he’d spilled enough. Then I dragged him towards the car, instructing him to really dig his heels into the sand, before I lifted him to sit on top of the trunk while I pulled a package of gauze from my pocket and put pressure on the cut.

“Hold that in place,” I said, “I’m gonna carry you over to the asphalt so there’s only one set of prints from here on.”

“O-okay…”

I waited for him to get a good grip on his arm, before lifting him off the trunk and walking over to the asphalt before putting him down.

“Wait here while I torch the thing,” I said, before heading back, picking up the jerrycan and beginning to douse the insides and outsides of the car.

Then I made a little trail towards the asphalt so I wouldn’t have to be too close for the ignition. I put the can down and lit a cigarette, viewing my work for a second.

“Yeah, that’ll do,” I said, “even if they determine the fire was set on purpose, they’ll think it was done to conceal your death, remove evidence of who done it, yada yada.”

“And they’ll stop looking for me?” Erick asked.

“Yeah, cause they’ll think they’ve found you. Or your corpse at least.”

“...thank you, sir.”

“Whatever,” I said, taking a drag from my cigarette, before offering it to him, “do you wanna do the honour?”

Another second of hesitation, before he took the half-smoked cigarette and dropped it onto the benzine. The fuel immediately ignited, travelling quickly towards the car before nearly blinding us both as it blazed up into a giant ball of fire.

“Whoa,” Erick said.

“Worth it, isn’t it?” I said.

“It’s kinda awesome, yeah…”

“Either way, rest in peace I guess,” I said, “as far as the police and the media are concerned, that’ll be the end of your story.”

“No,” Erick said, “just the end of a chapter I think.”

“Don’t get all poetic on me, that’s my thing,” I said, “come on, let’s head back and get the fuck out of this stupid desert.”

#villain's view #VV #writeblr #whumpblr #whump writing #oc whump #cafekitsune #<-banner credit

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jewwyfeesh · 1 year ago

Text

Vampire Siblings

Writer: 日日日 (Akira)

Character(s): Isara Mao, Sakuma Rei, Sakuma Ritsu, Anzu

Translated by: jewwyfeesh

Disclaimer: I translated this story from the CN version of the game, which means that it has been double translated (JP > CN > EN).

Rei: Oooh!! Ritsu!! GOOD~ MORNING~ ☆

Season: Autumn Location: Track and Field

Mao: Mmm~ The feeling of fulfillment after a good prac! It’s really amazing~ ☆

Oh, thankies. Is this isotonic drink for me, Anzu? You’re becoming more and more ‘Producer’-like with every passing day~

Seems like you’ve been running after lots of other units besides us Trickstar lately.

There there, you’ve worked really hard ♪

But yeah… even though I’m one to talk, I still think you should take care of your body and your schedule. I’d feel really guilty if you pushed yourself too hard and something happened to you.

Never mind. Let’s go home, Anzu. Today’s my turn to ‘send you home’, so I’ll make sure that you get home safe and sound.

Though… lately, it seems like I’m always the one sending you home…? To the point where I’ve even gotten to know your family fairly well.

Sometimes I’d even stay for dinner…

But I’m not complaining. My family’s the kind to do whatever they want. As such, we don’t really spend a lot of time together. So… It’s nice being with your family.

I wonder if it’s because I can do things like household chores all by myself?

Everyone tends to think, “Oh it’s fine if we leave Isara Mao alone, nothing will happen to him”, but my younger sister has always been coddled and spoiled by our parents…

Hmph, would it be better if I tried to act a little more spoiled? But the second I come back to my senses, I’m back to taking care of others again. I feel old.

You’re also someone like this, so please be careful. You can also lean on me sometimes, you know~?

Eh… I’m meddling in other people’s business again…

It’s about to become a bad habit of mine, forget it, forget it… It’s pretty good to be relied on by others, but I’ve been ‘like this’ since I was young.

It’s because of Ritchan, my childhood friend~ If I leave him to his devices, that guy literally won’t lift a finger to do anything. When it got to a point where I couldn’t stand it anymore, I could only go and help… I’d help and help and help till I became ‘a meddler and a half’ ♪

You know Ritchan, right? Knights’…

Ahh, so you’ve also taken care of him before. He’s always so lazy, you literally can’t ignore him~

…Eh? You’re saying Ritchan’s over there?

Ah, call for the cat and he shall appear… where is he~?

Ah! Goodness! This guy, sleeping outside without a single shred of protection!

One day you’re gonna get pickpocketed, what are you gonna do then…? I reckon he fell asleep after lunch, and slept ‘all the way’ till now~

HEEEEY— Ritchan!! Don’t go sleeping in places like these, you’ll catch a cold ya know~?

Ritsu: ……Mmhhghhh? Huh… Maa~kun…? Wh… don’t wake me up…

Mao: Of course I need to wake you up. The school gates are gonna close soon, and if we don’t get moving we’ll be locked in. Our school has always been particularly ‘strict’ about these kinds of things.

Ritsu: Eh~ …Well, whatever. I could just continue sleeping here and save myself the trouble of having to come to school tomorrow. The more I think about it, the better of an idea it seems~

I’m really sleepy, so just leave me be. No matter how much I sleep, it’s never enough…

Mao: You… you haven’t changed one bit…

Hm? Eh? What are you hugging? It’s not a bolster… right? A tree stump? No, that seems to be a person…?

Ritsu: What?

Rei: Huu… snzz… ♪

Kekeke… Little baby~ Be good~ ♪ Go sleep~ ♪ Uuuu ♪

Mao: Ahh~ Taking a closer look… isn’t this Ritchan’s older brother? Why are the both of you snoozing together? Seems like you have a really good relationship~

When I got to know Ritchan, this person was always overseas, so I didn’t get to know him very well.

To be exact… I only found out he existed after I enrolled in Yumenosaki Academy. Ritchan doesn’t talk about his brother very often, so I got a little worried…

Who knew that the both of them were actually so close ♪

Ritsu: …Maa~kun, do you have anything sharp? I think staking him in the heart would definitely kill him.

Mao: N-no, you can’t just go around killing people. Eh? Do both of you have bad blood? In that case, why are you sleeping next to each other?

Ritsu: I don’t know what this thing was thinking, nor do I have any interest in finding out…

More than anything, I want to bury this thing six feet below and wipe my hands of it ‘as though nothing happened’. Now. Immediately. The faster the better.

Rei: E-eh? What happened, is it already time to say “good morning”? Ah? Where am I?

Ritsu: Yo. Why are you sleeping next to me, huh? You reek of mould, so stay further away from me. What happened, how are you still alive?

Rei: Mmmhh… My mind’s all fuzzy just after waking up… don’t ask so many questions at one go…

What’s there to rush, hm…? Re-rest a little… yawwwwn… ♪

Ritsu: No. No sleeping. I’ll kill you.

Rei: This tone… one that shows no mercy, even to one’s own blood brother…

Oooh!! Ritsu!! GOOD~ MORNING~ ☆

Ritsu: Don’t hug me! You’re so annoying!

Okay but spit it out. Why were you sleeping by my side? Depending on your answer, you could be demoted from “someone who seemed to have been a brother previously” to “stupid bug”.

Rei: Even if you don’t demote me, it’s a bit much, don’t you think?

Nothing much… It’s just that when I was leaving for home, I happened to see Ritsu sleeping. I was worried that you’d catch a cold, so I used my body warmth to warm you up. This is a big brother’s love ♪

Ritsu: Is that so? I understand, you don’t need to say anymore. Complete waste of Earth’s oxygen.

Maa~kun, could you help me get some cement from the warehouse? I want to solidify this thing in there and let it sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Rei: We’ve just woken up, and yet Ritsu’s already trying to get rid of me!?

Mm~ Anywho! The elderly aren’t quite suited for outdoor camping… My whole body’s sore and stiff…

Ritsu~ could you help massage my shoulders please ♪

Ritsu: Didn’t I tell you to shut up? You stupid bug.

Mao: Okay okay… as brothers, you guys should try to get along well. Though, let’s leave the fighting and the shoulder massage aside, yeah? We’re really about to be locked in school.

Rei: Oooh, you’re from Trickstar… It’s already this late… Thank you for waking me up. Ritsu~ it’s been a long time since we brothers walked home together hm~?

Ritsu: Brother? I don’t have a brother, though?

Rei: Don’t deny your brother’s existence with such a deadpan expression… That’s a bit much, even for a younger brother, don’t you think? I’ll start crying…

Ahh, I can’t… My tear ducts are getting weaker as I age… Uuuuuu~

Mao: Ahaha, I think I kinda understand your relationship, Sakuma-senpai.

Ritchan, the more you talk, the more others are gonna think “oh he’s just in his rebellious phase”, so maybe it’s better to not talk altogether?

Ritsu: Damn it… That isn’t the case at all. I had only wanted to throw this annoying ass thing into the trash bin. Whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore.

Maa~kun, you want to send them… send the Transfer Student home, right? Hurry up and go, don’t worry about us.

Rei: Mhm, please be careful on your way back. Who knows what kind of demons will be roaming at this hour – for example, vampires… and the like… ♪

Mao: Yep. I’ll be careful. The both of you too; no more fighting, okay? Hurry up and go home~

Rei:

Mm, I’ve always been praying that I’ll have a close relationship with Ritsu! We’re brothers after all ♪

…Ah, Ritsu? Where did you go? Hey— Ritsuuuu~

Ah, he dashed off at the speed of light. He really does hate me, huh? Hehehe ♪

Wait a minute, I am also more active at night! Well, when it comes to hide and seek, I’m not about to lose to a ‘novice’ ♪

Aaah… Running around like this under the night sky, it really reminds me of our childhood ♪

Ritsu: D-don’t chase after me!! Didn’t I already say you’re annoying!? Did it completely fly over your head, you infuriating Anija!?

Rei: Excellent, excellent… he’s finally willing to acknowledge me as his brother. Anyways, we take the same path back home, my super duper adorable little brother…

Translator's notes: [1] The original CN term here is 「菜鸡」, slang for "complete, total noob". I translated it to novice, a synonym. Personally don't think Rei would call Ritsu a "noob".

#enstars translation #! era sub/idol story #sakuma rei #sakuma ritsu #isara mao

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akehoshimystar · 3 months ago

Text

Haruhi SSR

Going to school with a game

Part 1

Ito: (He may look lazy… but he moves like someone who knows how to clean efficiently.)

He swept along the grain of the board, from narrow areas to wide areas. I saw his mop being swung sideways, moving back little by little.

Ito: (I find it pretty strange that Ichikawa-kun knows so much about cleaning. Maybe he watches Tsukimoto-san clean all the time and learns a few things from him.) Haruhi: Ah. I’m done here. Ito: Thank you. Let's get the mop going. Haruhi: Sure, sure. I’ll do the same place as yours.

After the event, it was decided that I would share the cleaning duty with Ichikawa-kum, and we're about halfway done now.

Haruhi: Ah, if I pull the gacha now, I might get the FES limited one. Ito: Eh….?

Ichikawa-kun suddenly muttered unexpected words that left me speechless.

Haruhi: I'm too tired to think about anything. Seems like my desire sensor won't respond at the moment. Ito: …….I see?

The more you want it, the harder it is to get the card you want. I recall hearing that such a superstition is a common understanding among those who like game apps.

Ito: I've heard that being free from greed is the best behaviour. Haruhi: I know right. If you ask someone who isn't interested in this sort of stuff to pull a gacha for you, it should come out easily. Could you do me a favor, Yashiro? Ito: I don’t think so… Whether I’m the right person for the job or not… I’m not sure I could be entrusted with such an important role. Haruhi: I pretty much saw that coming.

Ichikawa-kun's smile seemed more casual than usual. Maybe it was because of this classroom.

Mao: Good work. Is everything okay with the cleaning?

A voice suddenly called out to us. I quickly looked up and my eyes met with Mao-san walking towards us.

Ito: Good work. All that's left is mopping, so there’s no problem. By the way, Ukyo-san. Mao: Huh? Haruhi: I'm a little tired, can I take a break and pull a gacha? It's about time for an update and I'm so tired that my desire sensor doesn't seem to work. Mao: ….Just a little bit is fine, I guess. Haruhi: Yay.

Ichikawa-kun said as he picked up his smartphone and started up the game app. Majestic music began to play.

Ito: (He's so disciplined about not touching his smartphone until he gets permission.)

Mao: Ah, this song. I've been hearing it a lot in ads lately.

After hearing that remark, Ichikawa-kun tilted his phone for both of us to see.

Mao: Are you aiming for this character? Haruhi: Yeah. FES limited is always cool. Not that I truly believe in my not-wanting theory, but it's kind of like a good luck charm. Mao: Well, you won’t know unless you try, maybe it's okay to give it a go.

Ichikawa-kun pondered for a bit, then muttered, “Okay." I also straightened myself up to witness his battle against his own desire sensor.

Part 2

Haruhi: Let’s do one ten pulls for now.

After Ichikawa-kum tapped the button, some up-tempo music started to play, and a video of a fairy-like character and a boy flying together in the sky started.

Haruhi: Wow… The guaranteed one. Mao: Is it going to be an SSR? Haruhi: That's right. If you get a fairy, it's guaranteed to be the highest rarity. Ito: (Confirmed to be highest rarity… I guess it's like a preview that a good card will appear.)

As I was inputting the unfamiliar terms… The fairy and the boy joined hands, creating a vortex, from which 10 cards were released.

Haruhi: …Seriously? FES limited… Two of them. That desire sensor theory does apply after all.

Ichikawa-kun spoke with a slightly higher level of excitement than usual. Watching him is enough to tell how much he wanted that card.

Ito: Congratulations. Haruhi: Yeah. Mao: Your theory of being too tired to want anything seems to hold water now. Haruhi: Well… I wonder. I’m not sure anymore if I was actually “not greedy”. Oh… Maybe this is a reward…? Not only was I constantly on the move all day preparing for the café and serving customers, but I also cleaned up diligently, my good deeds must have been piling up.

Ito: (A reward… It must have been a pretty big job for Ichikawa-kun. Though he still has half of his work left.)

Nevertheless, I didt want to spoil Ichikawa-kun's fun. Thinking about handling the rest of the cleaning by myself, I quietly take a step back so as not to be noticed.

Mao: If you're going for the reward theory, surely you can just draw again after you've finished all the cleaning, right?

Then I stopped in my tracks after hearing Mao-san’s words.

Mao: This could work as an incentive, don’t you think so? You've already got two, why not make them even stronger? Haruhi: Ukyo-san. You think I will get this done quickly after hearing that from you, huh? Mao: Well, I won't deny that. Haruhi: I said a lot of things, but I know it's just pure luck at the end of the day. Mao: If something that doesn't usually appears suddenly shows up at this timing, I think there must be some meaning to it. Haruhi: …I could laugh at how good you are at getting people to play along your game, but that’s fine. I don’t mind. The break is about to end anyway. If I don’t do something, deputy probably gonna end up thinking about cleaning up all by herself. Ito: (Busted.…. Sorry.) Haruhi: I'll wrap this up and do another 10 pulls.

Ichikawa-kun said that and finished cleaning up even more efficiently than before.

Part 3

Haruhi: Ahh… It's finally over.

Ichikawa-kun sighed in the corner of the brightly sparkling room.

Ito: Good work. Haruhi: That’s 100 years worth of cleaning. Ito: (When he puts it like that, it really feels that way.)

Haruhi: Alright.

Ichikawa-kun started up the app game again, and opened the gacha screen. We naturally ended up peering at the screen as well. Ichikawa-kun’s finger tapped the 10-pull button, and we held our breath as we watched the gacha's progress….. A different image and music started to play.

Ito: (Which means…) Haruhi: After all, things don’t always go as smoothly as expected all the time. Ito: (Right.)

His reaction told me that there wasn’t a sign that he got the highest rarity.

Mao: Wait. Ichikawa-kun, look. Haruhi: Eh… No way, it was upgraded? Ito: (Upgraded…?)

On the screen, a winged man descended from the sky, and the scene of him bestowing golden equipment on the boy began.

Ito: (I guess it's like a divine being has given him a special reward…and he ended up receiving a better card than originally intended.)

In the end, thanks to that upgrade, Ichikawa-kun was able to get his limited card again.

Haruhi: …I really got one again. The card has gotten this strong after only 20 tries… Have I used up all my luck? I'm actually scared of what's going to happen after this. Ito: .….This is your reward for working hard today. I guess your luck won't run out anytime soon. Mao: Yeah. You’ve done 100 years' worth of cleaning after all. Haruhi: That's true.

Ichikawa-kun's smile was even more carefree than before.

Ito: (It really feels like it's time to go home after school.)

In a classroom that has just been cleaned, two people, dressed in uniforms, have fun playing games. This situation created a very peaceful imagination.

Mao: Then, how about you try again? There's only one more card left until you reach the maximum stats, right? Haruhi: That's too greedy. The reward for my virtue is probably all gone now. Next time I'll just add more gems and keep spinning until I got one normally. Mao: There you go, using an adult power. Haruhi: I mean…. I don't have an energy to clean anymore.

Even the conversations that would never have taken place during their actual school days slowly blended into my imagination of after-school hours.

#break my case #buremai #joseimuke #Ichikawa Haruhi #Ukyo Mao

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leiawritesstories · 11 months ago

Text

PART SIX: JUNE

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: swearing, violence, breaking and entering, fuzzy science, scheming, flirting and more flirting, innuendo, a villain, more violence, blood, minor character death

shout out to @house-of-galathynius for beta reading this hot mess and to @backtobl4ck for encouraging frederick

I don't know if I should say this, but...enjoy!! 😁😈

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

“Moon Moon!” Aelin clapped her hands twice as she strolled past Fenrys, who lounged against the Boss’s office door like it was the most natural place for him to be. “Thanks for showing up.”

The blonde man shrugged, a half-smirk curling his lips. “Like I had a choice.”

“You always do.” She threw him Celaena’s sweet little grin that usually made people either piss themselves, cry, or start babbling. “You can choose to show up, or you can choose to die.”

“Not much of a choice, Boss,” he drawled. He flopped into the chair across from her desk. “So tell me, who’s the mark?”

Aelin tapped on her computer for a few minutes before she slid a single sheet of paper across the desk. “Have a good long look, Moon Moon, because this is the only time you’ll see all of this info in one place.” As the Boss, she was many things, and stupid was decidedly not one of them.

Fen picked up the paper, his dark eyes scanning each line of text and small, grainy photo. He cocked one blonde brow. “Rourke Farran, eh?” Not looking up from the paper, he huffed out a breath. “The man’s whole fuckin’ house is a booby trap, Boss.”

“I’m aware.”

“So what’s this bastard done to…god damn.” Before he could even ask the full question, it was answered. “He’s got a front for a front.”

“I have never tolerated, nor will I ever tolerate, the treatment of human beings like commodities,” Aelin said softly, lethally. Celaena Sardothien’s notorious steel undercut her tone. “Farran thinks he can get away with it because I haven’t come for him. Yet.”

Fenrys whistled lowly and set down the paper. “What’s your timeline, Boss?”

Aelin liked this man more and more with each interaction. “I need Farran at the river warehouse by the 10th. You can use whatever means necessary, beat him up a little, get him nice and ready for his session with me, but don’t even fucking think about killing him.”

“Don’t worry, Boss.” A lazy, hungry grin unfurled across Fen’s handsome face, the dim lamplight reflecting off the scars on his cheeks. “Softening up bad boys is my specialty.”

“That’s why I hired you.” Aelin took back the paper and tossed it into the shredder next to her desk, which ate through the single sheet with a brief mechanical grinding of teeth. She burned the shreds at the end of each day, never one to take any chances with documents that could potentially be stitched back together. Fenrys stood up to leave, and she waited until he was almost out the door before speaking again. “One more thing, Moon Moon.”

“Yeah?” He paused, alert, his stance striking an oddly familiar chord in her mind.

“Farran isn’t dumb enough to put all of his guard dogs in one place.”

He nodded slowly, working over that little tidbit of information. “Noted. I’ll tell you when he’s ready for you.” With a wink that was far too flirtatious for anyone’s good, Fen left her office.

Aelin rolled her eyes as she returned to her computer. Her encoded list of targets was shrinking by the week; really, there was only one name left after Rourke Farran received his one-way ticket to her riverside warehouse, and it called to her every day. Some days, it took all of her willpower to stick to her typical Boss hours and Galathynius hours when she knew that if she spent just one more hour as Boss, she could solidify the plans that she’d been simmering for so fucking long. Just before she slit his throat, she’d once murmured to a criminal that she was cleansing the world of villains. In the months since then, that cleansing had nearly been completed.

She slid her gaze down to the end of the page, following the trail of crimson lines that struck out each name up through Farran’s, and stopped, musing on the last name left. Five letters. One name—the villainous criminal was possibly more elusive than Celaena Sardothien herself.

Maeve.

On the one hand, it made complete sense that Arobynn’s lover—ex-lover—would have taken over his business, diminished as it was when all of his cronies started fighting over their pieces of the trade after Arobynn died. On the other hand, Aelin had wondered just why the hell Maeve would have wanted to take over Arobynn’s drug- and gun-running business; surely the money couldn’t be the only reason. The more she dug into the grimy, seedy backchannels of truth, though, the more she came to understand why Maeve had done it.

The woman had been madly in love with Arobynn Hamel, and now she was madly out for blood.

In the prep room of the Gal Inc. labs, Aelin snapped on a fresh pair of sterile blue latex gloves, checked her badge where it was clipped to her lab coat, and nodded at her reflection. It had been seven weeks since Ren had come into the labs to have his SecondSkin changed—she and Nehemia had decided to extend the wearing period to seven weeks, as Ren’s use of SecondSkin was an experiment—and she was curious to see if anything was different.

“About time,” Nehemia said dryly as Aelin walked into the small, sterile lab, the one that Nehemia typically reserved for experiments that needed to be kept quiet. “I was just about to assume you were in a meeting and start the removal process without you.”

“Hello to you too, Dr. Ytger,” Aelin returned, just as dryly. “I just had to primp a little longer, you know how much effort it takes to look this good.”

Nehemia snorted. “Galathynius, if you spent that much time primping, I’d never let you in my lab.”

“Don’t I know it.” Aelin sat down on the second rolling stool and scooted over to Ren’s side. “Okay, Nemi. It’s your experiment.”

Quickly but clearly, Nehemia ran through her usual list of removal instructions, then dismissed Ren to go take his shower. He emerged about half an hour later, wearing his robe, his hair damp and his face…

“Aelin, come here.” Nehemia motioned for Ren to sit down and scooted her stool up close so she could examine his ruddy face. “This doesn’t look like a typical hot-shower flush.”

Aelin scanned the redness on Ren’s face and nodded in agreement. “Allsbrook, does it itch?”

“Not on my face, no,” he answered.

“Are you itchy anywhere else?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Chest, elbows, upper arms, torso, knees, feet, most of my back, some other areas. It’s not bad, it’s more annoying, like when you have a mosquito bite that you want to scratch.”

“Would you please remove your robe so we can see if there’s anything visibly wrong with your skin?” Nehemia asked.

“One sec.” Ren hopped off the chair, went into the shower room, and came back out a moment later. “Just wanted to put my boxers on.” He took off his robe, hung it on the hook in the wall, and sat back down.

“Too much information, Allsbrook,” Aelin grumbled.

Nehemia ran her analytical gaze over Ren’s body, charting the red rash spread over the areas that he had said were itchy. It looked like an ordinary chafing rash, the skin irritated and slightly split in some places, and some of the redness faded, indicating that it was probably sensitive to the heat of the shower he had taken to remove the SecondSkin.

“Are you allergic to latex or any of its components?” Nehemia inquired.

“Not as far as I’m aware, no,” Ren said.

Nehemia hummed. “Ae, I have thoughts. What do you think?”

“Prolonged exposure?” Aelin asked. “It almost seems like what happens when you wear the same tightly fitting garment—like a leotard—for an extended period of time and it chafes.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. It could also potentially be compounded by bacteria and dirt buildup under the material. It lays atop the skin, and as much as we want to claim that there’s no gap, we know there has to be a microscopic distance between the material and the wearer’s skin that could allow that to happen.” Nehemia gently touched two gloved fingers to the rash on Ren’s chest. “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

She pressed down. “Does it hurt when I do this?”

He shook his head. “No. Itches, but it doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s a good sign, at least.” Nehemia sighed. “Okay, Galathynius, we need to talk before we can decide how to move forward.” She beckoned Aelin towards the back of the room. “Should we go ahead with another application?” she asked, her voice lowered to a whisper.

Aelin pressed her lips together. “Well, we can’t exactly have him disappear while we try and work out the rash.”

“I don’t want it to spread or get any worse because it wasn’t treated, though,” Nehemia said. “I think we need to at least treat the rash.”

“Yes, I agree, but how will that work with another application?” Aelin’s brows furrowed. “And how should we treat the rash if we’re not fully certain of what it is and how it works?”

“We haven’t yet agreed to do another full application,” Nehemia reminded her, “and my instinct is saying to treat it like it’s a normal chafing rash—hydrocortisone cream, Benadryl, that kind of thing.”

Aelin nodded. “Okay, that sounds fine. How do you think we should apply the SecondSkin?”

“Hmm.” Nehemia tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “We could selectively apply it and avoid the rash areas. Theoretically, he’s not going to be stripping down in front of anyone for any reason, so he really only needs to have the right fingerprints and face, maybe footprints too. I vote we just apply the SecondSkin to his hands, face and neck, and feet.”

“I think we should apply it from hands up to elbows, just to be safe, but that sounds like a solid plan. Do we have hydrocortisone cream here?”

“Should be in the first aid bin.” Nehemia returned to Ren’s chair. “Okay, Allsbrook, here’s how we’re going to proceed. We’ll treat your rash and reapply the synthetic to your hands and lower arms, face and neck, and feet, which should hopefully give the rash time and breathing room to heal. You should apply this cream every day, as often as necessary, to the parts that are most itchy or inflamed.” She took the tube of hydrocortisone cream that Aelin handed her and applied it to Ren’s rash.

“Is this something I can find at the pharmacy?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s a common treatment,” Aelin replied. She walked over to the safe built into the far wall, keyed in the combination, opened the compartment, and retrieved a sleek steel canister from inside. She closed the compartment back up and brought the canister over to the prep table next to where Ren sat.

Nehemia took off her used gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Ren confirmed.

Working in tandem, Aelin and Nehemia carefully laid the almost-invisible film of SecondSkin over Ren’s hands, forearms, face, and feet, carefully molding it to his skin. The pieces had all been prepped beforehand, since it took a significant amount of time to press fingerprints and other distinctive blemishes and markings into the synthetic material, and the SecondSkin molded to Ren’s skin flawlessly, leaving almost no evidence that it was there.

“Come back in two weeks,” Aelin instructed him as she disposed of her gloves. “We’ll want to see if your rash has improved, which will help us decide how to move forward.”

“Got it.” Ren went back into the bathroom, got dressed, and came back out as Chaol Westfall, contact lenses placed and bland grin on his face. “See you in two weeks, Dr. Ytger, Galathynius.” He left the lab.

“We should have seen this coming,” Nehemia groaned when Ren was gone, chucking her gloves into the trash bin. “Honestly, Ae, I feel like such an idiot.”

“Nemi, you are a genius,” Aelin reassured her. “You’ve been so busy with development and research, and we didn’t even know this could happen until we saw it today.”

“Yeah.” The chief engineer sighed. “I need to go chart all of this, and you probably have meetings or whatever shit you do in your big fancy office.” She smirked at Aelin.

Aelin rolled her eyes, nudging her friend in the shoulder. “I’d say something smartass, but I do have a meeting pretty soon. Let me know if anything comes up with Allsbrook, yeah?”

“Of course.” Nehemia waved and turned down a side hallway towards her office. Aelin headed back to the prep room, put her lab coat in the laundry basket, and collected her things before heading to her office and the inevitable day of meetings.

Two weeks later, Ren came back to the labs, his rash significantly improved. Nehemia removed and reapplied the SecondSkin in the same few areas and instructed him to keep treating the rash, as she didn’t want to move forward with full SecondSkin application until it had completely healed.

“It’s a good sign that the rash is healing,” she told Aelin over the phone later that day. “In theory, that means the SecondSkin could cause a rash from chafing, irritation, or prolonged use, but the rash can be treated like normal.”

“Definitely a good sign.” Aelin jotted down that note. “Hopefully, that means SecondSkin can be used for the wide audience we’ve been intending all along.”

“How much longer do you think this is going to be in development and testing?” Nehemia asked. “It’s been over two years, Ae. Shouldn’t this be about the time where we start to consider trial groups?”

“I’d say yes, but we’ve only just learned about the rash, and we’re not yet sure if the current formula won’t cause that rash.” Aelin was partially thinking out loud. “My gut says to wait until the Ren trial isn’t getting a rash, and then move into trial groups.” Which will give me more time to get rid of Maeve before she can make a move for the SecondSkin tech like Arobynn did, she added silently.

She was the only person who knew why Arobynn Hamel had died when he did—the former crime lord had taken one step too close to her highly guarded technology, and she’d had no choice but to retaliate. It was…not unexpected that Maeve would try to do the same.

Fenrys Moonbeam might very well be insane.

People had told him that frequently, ever since he was a reckless kid jumping off the playground structures at school, but he’d never had the thought himself until he was strolling into the Night Owl—a popular nightclub that was rumored to be the primary front of Maeve’s organization—in tight leather pants, a silver sequined jacket, and no shirt. Because rumor also had it that Maeve, the so-called Queen of the Night, had a…taste for handsome men, and he had it on good information that Rourke Farran was a frequent guest at the Night Owl.

He sauntered up to the bouncer with a lazy, easy grin sprawled across his face. “Hey.”

The bouncer, who could accurately be depicted as a concrete brick, stared flatly at him. “Invitation only, fancy boy.”

“I’m with Cadre,” Fen returned, sliding his hand into his jacket to retrieve a beautiful ivory card with purple script embossed across its fine surface. He waved the card at the bouncer. “And they’re expecting me in ten minutes, so it would be great if you’d let me get my pretty ass through the door.”

“Fuckin’ performers,” the bouncer muttered as he swung open the door.

“Thank you,” Fen crooned, blowing a kiss at the stone-faced man. The door slammed behind him, and he tucked the invitation—expertly forged by Celaena’s man Nox—back into his jacket and slipped into the crowd of dancing bodies. He winked and smirked his way through the crowd, letting the thumping beat of the music ease his rhythm, until he reached the bar.

Sure enough, Rourke Farran lounged on a barstool near the far end, one hand around a bottle of beer and the other around the waist of a blonde woman whose lipstick was littered all over his neck.

Fenrys muffled the snort he wanted to let out and waved over the bartender. “I’ll take a Sex on the Beach,” he purred, giving the guy, who was probably in his early twenties, a wink.

The bartender’s blush was faintly visible in the flashing strobe lights. “Want that extra strong?” His gaze flicked ever so quickly to Fen’s bare chest.

“Give it to me as-is, and then we’ll see.” Fen lowered his eyes to half-mast and watched the bartender make his drink. The other man threw the drink together effortlessly, sliding it across the bartop to Fenrys with a little smile of his own.

“I get off shift in an hour,” he said softly, dark blue eyes alight with hope and a little hesitancy.

“Good to know.” Fen took a long sip of his cocktail and nodded appreciatively. “Delicious.” In his periphery, he noticed Farran push the blonde out of his lap and stand up, swaying a little, and turn towards the dancefloor.

He brushed past Fen on his way over. “Get a fuckin’ room,” he slurred, his glassy-eyed gaze flicking once over Fen’s glittering jacket and tight pants. “Goddamn fancy boy.”

“I’ll be back.” Fen drained the rest of his drink, tossed a twenty on the bar, and rose, following Farran into the sea of dancing bodies. He kept a discreet distance from the man, far enough away to not be noticed but close enough to watch the man’s moves.

As he had suspected, Farran oozed sleaziness. What he was doing on the dancefloor barely passed for dancing; his gyrating hips and roaming hands were just barely short of outright having sex in public. He moved from girl to girl, changing partners as often as the music changed, leaving a good number of people giving him dirty looks for being too handsy. Fen snorted, knowing that the man probably deserved their scorn. Farran began to move towards the doors, and Fen slipped onto the dancefloor himself, moving fluidly through the crowd, keeping a constant eye on Farran’s steady, subtle escape route.

Time to move, Moonbeam.

Feeling a twinge of guilt for not staying to meet the cute bartender, Fenrys watched Farran leave the club and waited exactly a minute and a half before he headed out as well, putting enough unsteadiness in his step to indicate intoxication. Once he was out of the club, he glanced down the street in both directions and then went left. Even if he couldn’t track Farran, he knew where the bastard lived.

After a quick pit stop in an alley to swap out his flashy jacket for a closely fitted black knit turtleneck, Fenrys headed into the tidy grid of streets that made up western Orynth, taking a meandering route towards the tidy, wealthy neighborhood where Rourke Farran lived. The neighborhood was decked out with security cameras, as Celaena had warned him, so he looped around through the expansive back yards, slinking easily through the landscaped trees and plants until he came to the fence that marked the edge of Farran’s property. There weren’t cameras along the back fence, primarily because of the rotating patrol of guard dogs and security guards, so Fen swiftly scaled the fence and hopped into a tree.

He waited for the first round of patrols to pass before he carefully reached into the thigh pocket of his pants, withdrew a slim, vacuum-sealed package of meat, quietly cut open the plastic, and tossed the meat in a gentle arc directly onto the grass beside the paved walkway that wove around Farran’s house. A pair of guard dogs came barreling around the corner within sixty seconds, barking and growling and quickly discovering the meat. The second and third patrols weren’t far behind, and it was only a few minutes before all eight guard dogs were tearing apart the meat.

“The fuck is happening?” A security guard rounded the corner, breathless from sprinting. He saw the dogs calming down and settling back into their patrols after having finished the meat. “God. Which idiot dropped snacks everywhere?”

Another guard sprinted around the corner. “Everything okay?”

“One of you jackasses dropped the dogs’ snacks,” the first guard snapped.

The second one raised his hands in innocence. “I’m not the snack keeper tonight, dude.”

“Whatever. Just get your ass back to rounds.” The guards nudged the dogs back onto the path and headed away.

Mentally, Fenrys started counting minutes. He got to four, then five, then slowly and carefully slid down from the tree and darted across the lawn and onto the shadowed back porch. A moment later, he’d scaled the drainpipe leading up the side of the house and was perched on the balcony directly outside the master bedroom.

Wherein Rourke Farran was fully naked in front of his mirror, with his—

“Fucking hell,” Fen groaned to himself, shaking his head. “Disgusting.” But also enough of a distraction for him to slip down onto the balcony, pull a slender silver tube from his sleeve, raise it to his lips, and blow a tiny needle dart straight into the back of Farran’s neck.

Farran crumpled to the floor.

Good work, Moonbeam, Fenrys complimented himself. Now you just have to get the asshole out of his booby-trap house and over to the river warehouse.

Easy.

Right?

“He’s all yours, Boss,” Fenrys drawled as Aelin strolled past on the way out of the storage warehouse.

She glanced at her smart watch. “It’s only the eleventh, Moon Moon. That was quick.”

He shrugged, irreverent as always. “What can I say? I like to work fast.”

“Hopefully not all the time.” She smirked wickedly. “Your bartender boyfriend might be disappointed.”

Fenrys flushed a delightful shade of pink. “How the fuck—”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, Moon Moon.” She winked wickedly at him. “How’s our special guest doing? Is he adjusted to his new home?”

“It took him some time to get used to the room,” Fen returned, casually pulling a set of brass knuckles from a pocket of his cargo pants and spinning them over his fist.

Aelin chuckled, soft and lethal. “Not surprising. Thanks, Fen.” She paused just in front of the side door, her gloved knuckles resting on the doorknob. “Oh, Moon Moon?”

“Yeah?” He froze, his posture still as a…soldier’s.

“I’ll need you for cleanup on the twenty-seventh.”

He nodded. “Got it, Boss.”

Aelin keyed in the door code and left the warehouse, satisfied that she had set the wheels of her plan in motion. While she trusted Con’s assessment of his brother, she wasn’t fully convinced that she could completely trust anyone on her payroll, and Fen’s easy charm masked a cold, heartless willingness to carry out whatever depraved task she demanded of him. Furthermore, that stance of his—the utter stillness of his posture when someone ordered him to stop—had been pricking at her memory for days, and she’d only just realized why.

Fenrys stood like a soldier. More than that—he stood like one of her uncle’s men, one of the Terrasen Special Forces.

And Aelin knew the day one of Gav’s men got into Celaena Sardothien’s business would be the day her double identity began to crumble. Even if she wanted to trust Fenrys, she had to confirm for herself that she could, and that meant giving him a fake kill date in case he needed to report back to someone in the military.

If he did, if he turned out to be a spy, then the TSF would come sniffing around for Rourke Farran when it was already weeks too late.

Aelin laced her fingers with Rowan’s as they strolled through the fancy restaurant’s glass front doors, something settling deep in her chest at the simple, casual intimacy of holding his hand. Her mind had been running in overdrive for the last two weeks, and even now, with ten days left in the month, she hadn’t been able to slow the constant dizzying whirl of her thoughts.

Rowan was one of the only people who’d brought her a glimpse of peace recently, in the few scattered dates they’d been able to snatch between both of their busy schedules. He flicked her a tiny, secret smile, one that only she ever saw, before approaching the hostess stand with the same confidence that cloaked him when he was in his investigator clothes and badge. And dear god, the things that confidence did to her already throbbing pussy—she was half tempted to slip off her panties and sneak them to him under the table.

But she was a mature woman, so she wouldn’t.

“Whitethorn, party of two, seven-thirty reservation,” Rowan said to the hostess.

The young woman—probably a college student, if Aelin’s guess was correct—tapped a few things into her tablet. “Your table is ready, Mr. Whitethorn. Please, this way.” She led Rowan and Aelin through the low-lit restaurant towards the far wall of windows. Through the glass was a breathtaking view of Orynth, the city cast in shades of bronze as the sun began to drift downwards.

“Gorgeous,” Aelin murmured, captivated by the view.

Rowan’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand. “Not half as much as you.”

She blushed. “You’re quite the flirt, you—oh!” Unexpectedly, a man’s shoulder brushed hers as they wove through the restaurant floor. She looked up to find none other than Police Captain Chaol Westfall, wearing a nice suit and a mildly shocked expression.

“M–Miss Galathynius,” he finally managed, clearing his throat. “And, ah, Lieutenant Whitethorn. I…I apologize for running into you.”

“Westfall, what are you doing here?” Rowan inquired, polite on the surface but with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“Considering we aren’t at work, it’s none of your business, White-horn, but I was at dinner with a friend of mine,” Chaol shot back. There was definite animosity underlying his words.

Rowan raised a brow. “You…have friends?”

“Ah, lighten up, darling,” Aelin interjected before either man could resort to fists. “We don’t all live at our workplace, as we seem to have discovered. And Ro, darling, we’ve left that poor hostess floundering.” She wrapped her hand around his arm and tugged him towards their table.

He shot Chaol one last suspicious look. Chaol returned the look, but broke the stare-off to nod respectfully at Aelin as she passed. “Ms. Galathynius.”

When they reached their table, Rowan pulled out Aelin’s chair before seating himself across from her. Questions brewed in the shifting of his eyes. “Question, Ae—do you know Westfall? How?”

“That was two questions,” she teased. “Yes, I’ve met Captain Westfall before. It’s all part of the business; I’ve met just about every notable figure in Orynth at some function or another. I probably met the police captain at some kind of gala.”

Rowan nodded slowly, digesting the information. “That makes sense. All those faces probably run together after long enough, yeah?”

“I try to keep them separate, but yeah.” She flashed him a sheepish grin. “There’s only so many names and faces you can memorize before they all start to appear the same.”

“Why, Miss Galathynius,” Rowan drawled, his face alight with mischief, “are you implying that there are too many men in suits in this fine city?”

She shrugged, meeting the gleam of his humor with her own dry wit. “I’m simply observing that if a few less of them were to bother me at every function I attend, my mind would be clearer.”

“I thought you had a mind like a steel trap, love.” Raising a brow, he sipped his water.

“It sometimes takes a moment to pull out a name from the file cabinet,” she returned. “And—oh look, here comes our server.” Their server, a sandy-blonde-haired man in his late twenties wearing the restaurant staff’s uniform of white shirt, black trousers, and maroon tie, wore a pleasant (if tired) smile as he pulled his notepad from his apron pocket.

“Good evening,” he said cheerfully. “My name is James, and I’ll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear about our specials this evening?”

Aelin glanced at Rowan, whose eyes had visibly narrowed as he scanned the server. The look was so blatantly male, she almost rolled her eyes, but her possessive buzzard relaxed when he saw the silver wedding band adorning the server’s left ring finger. “I actually think we’re ready to order, if that’s alright?”

James the server just about melted to the floor in relief. “Are you serious?” he asked, lowering his voice to an incredulous whisper. “I—I haven’t had a single easy table tonight, and it’s the last two hours of a double and—I’m so sorry, that was completely unprofessional of me.”

Aelin chuckled. “Don’t worry, James, was it? Customer service is a rough job.”

“Tell me about it,” the man grumbled.

Rowan shot Aelin a confused look. “Ae, love, I haven’t even looked at the menu.”

“Do you trust me, love?” she asked.

He pursed his lips, not quite used to letting someone else order his food. “All right.”

“Perfect.” She blew him a subtle kiss. “Okay, James, is it alright if I give you our order a few steps away?” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, keeping it still loud enough for Rowan to hear. “I want to surprise my boyfriend; I’ve been here more than once but he hasn’t ever been.”

“Of course.” James smiled, a genuine one this time. “I brought my wife here once when we were dating—took half my paycheck, but it was worth it.” He stepped aside a few paces and Aelin followed, quietly giving her and Rowan’s order. The server’s pen flew over his page.

“And say hi to Chef Emrys for me, would you?” she concluded.

“You…you know the head chef?”

“Bit of a long story, but yes. Tell him Aelin Galathynius says hi, please. Thanks!” She came back to the table and slipped into her seat, leaving the very nice but very shocked server to collect his wits after realizing just who he was talking to and go to place the order.

“Poor guy looks like he just got hit by a truck,” Rowan observed, smothering a laugh.

Aelin smirked. “I may or may not have given him my full name.”

“Ah, the name drop.” He nodded sagely. “Just what every famous CEO has to do to the poor server who got their table.”

“You’ve got quite a mouth for a soldier, you know,” Aelin mused, her words slowing to a near- seductive pace. “A respectable man would never insinuate that his date uses her job title for perks.”

“I never said I was respectable.” Lazily, his gaze roamed down her upper body, admiring the way her little black dress scooped beneath her collarbones, accentuating the gleam of the single small teardrop diamond pendant that nestled in the hollow of her throat.

James came by with two glasses of white wine and an appetizer platter with two sharing plates, breaking the dangerous haze of the moment, and Aelin thanked the server as he headed off, no doubt to take care of his other tables.

Rowan’s jaw slacked just a bit at the sight of the cured meat and prawns arranged on the plate. “Please tell me you didn’t order the most expensive things on the menu, Ae.”

“Of course not.” She reached across the table and linked her hands with his, the gesture as natural as breathing. “I got us an appetizer to share, a first course, a meat course, and a dessert, and I’m not the kind of person who orders expensive items just to flash her money around.”

He breathed out a deep, controlled exhale. “I know, love. It’s just…” His thumb rubbed across her knuckles. “I’m not used to any of this—the fancy restaurants, the fancy food, the way people don’t bat an eye at spending thirty dollars for some toast.”

She cracked a grin at that. “Let me introduce you to the fine, fine work of Chef Emrys, then. I actually used to work for him, way back when I was eighteen and my parents decided I needed to experience real-people jobs.”

“Way back when,” he drawled, teasing her.

“Hush, old man,” she teased right back, plating up a sampling of the appetizer plate and sliding it over to him. “I know I’m only twenty-seven, but my stint as a hostess feels like forever ago.”

“Kind of like how basic training feels like forever ago for me.” Rowan agreed. He bit into one of the cured prawns and nearly moaned, his eyes closing in joy. “God, this is incredible.”

She beamed. “Wait until you taste Chef Emrys’s filet mignon, Ro.”

The conversation flowed freely between them after that, only interrupted by the arrival of new food and wine. A mushroom and herb risotto accompanied by an aged Riesling. The promised filet mignon, which almost made Rowan cry with joy, and a spectacular six-year Merlot. And finally, individual blackberry cobblers, the berries ripe and fresh and perfectly sweet-tart, paired with the restaurant’s signature Cabernet.

“I don’t think I can move,” Rowan sighed as he set down his last empty wineglass. “But it was absolutely worth every bite.”

“I think I’m going to dream of this cobbler,” Aelin added, regretfully nudging her empty dish towards the end of the table. “Tell me when you’re ready to leave, yes?”

“Gonna need three to five business days,” he mumbled.

Her laughter rippled across their low-lit table. “I love when you let that humor of yours loose.”

A different kind of hunger flickered in his forest eyes. “And I love when I have you all to myself.”

“Possessive much?”

He just shrugged. “Call me whatever you want, love, but we both know you only come for me.”

Flames flickered through her blood at the deep, sinful timbre of his voice. “That’s only because I haven’t introduced you to my drawer full of battery-powered boyfriends.”

The banked embers simmering in his expression flared into a bonfire, and he sat upright and beckoned their server over. “Suddenly, I’m ready to go home.”

James was at their table within two minutes. “How was everything for you tonight? Can I get you anything else?”

“It was absolutely mind-blowing, as always,” Aelin said. “And no, I think we’ll just take the check.” Covertly, she slipped James her credit card, and he gave her a small nod as he went over to the server computer to process the payment.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you,” Rowan murmured, the velvet caress of his voice stroking down her spine. “Mind-blowing, Ae?”

“Would you happen to know anything about that?” she asked, innocently.

In response, he trailed a brazen stare down her figure. “Seems like you need a refresher.” He stood up far too smoothly for someone who had just finished his fourth glass of wine, gave her his hand for stability as she rose, and then rested that hand against the small of her back, his touch burning through her dress.

Their server returned with a check folder in his hand and passed it over to Aelin, who glanced over the receipts, signed her name, and tucked her credit card and her copy of the receipt back into her small handbag. “Thanks, James.”

“Ah, thank you, Ms. Galathynius, Mr. Whitethorn. You might have been the best table I’ve had all day.” He tucked the folder into his apron pocket with a wry grin. “Have a good one!”

“If it’s good, it won’t be just one,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear.

A shiver danced down her neck. “Is that a promise, Lieutenant?”

He held the door open for her as they left the restaurant. “Ask me again when you’re begging for my cock, love.”

Ren Allsbrook, alias Chaol Westfall, was expecting Whitethorn’s visit, but the man’s presence in his office still gave him an oddly unsettled feeling.

He pasted a bland, blasé expression onto his face. “Yes, Whitethorn?”

Rowan dropped into the chair opposite Ren’s, regarding him with a piercing look that almost seemed to pierce beneath the layer of SecondSkin cloaking his true identity. “How the hell do you know Aelin, Westfall?”

Ren shrugged. “We met at some city leader event a while back. Some big thing the mayor hosted so the big names of Orynth could pretend to be civil to each other.”

“Yeah? How long ago was that?”

Fucking think, Allsbrook. Chaol Westfall had been the police captain for about three years, Ren had taken over as Chaol six months ago in January, and the mayor’s Leaders Gala was always held in…the fall…“Last October, I believe. You’ll have to give me a little grace on the estimate, since I was damn busy with actual work.”

“Cute of you to think you can get away with sneering at me from your soapbox, Westfall,” Whitethorn said dryly. “Well, I checked the dates, and the mayor always holds his little party in October, so I’ll buy your story.”

“My story, huh? When did you get so desperate for leads that you started accusing coworkers, Whitethorn?”

“Shut up,” Rowan grunted. “I’m just making sure you haven’t been doing anything shady with my girlfriend, jackass.”

“Ooooooh, we’re using official terms now?” Ren couldn’t resist the urge to press Whitethorn’s buttons. “I thought you were allergic to that kind of commitment.”

“I wouldn’t get smart-mouthed with me, Westfailure,” Rowan grumbled. “I’ve seen you going to the Galathynius labs. What the hell are you doing there?”

Ren muffled a rather creative string of curses. “Whitethorn, I know you’re terse, but what the hell was that subject change? Give me some goddamn context, for shit’s sake.”

“Fine.” Rowan pulled up some security camera footage on his tablet. “This is a record of the feed from the Galathynius, Inc. lab complex’s security cameras, and before you open your mouth, I have clearance. Two and a half weeks ago, on June 4th, you went to the labs. You went again yesterday.” He tapped on the video, and the footage played, clearly showing Chaol walk into the labs and walk back out after a period of fast-forwarding through nothing.

“Well.” Think, you fucking idiot! “Since we are currently quietly investigating a connection between Galathynius, Incorporated, and the, uh, Shadow Killer—”

“Shadow Assassin,” Rowan corrected.

“Whatever. That person. You think there’s a connection, and I’m pursuing it. I happen to know a scientist who works in the Galathynius labs, and I set up a couple of meetings to speak with her.” Ren folded his arms across his chest. Buy the story, Whitethorn.

Whitethorn frowned. “Why didn’t I hear about these meetings?”

“Because I was being discreet, duh.” Ren poured a heavy dose of sarcasm into the last word.

Rowan grumbled something that sounded like a string of cussing. “I didn’t get sent to this investigation for the laugh track, Westfall.” He stood up and left the office, carelessly banging the door shut behind him.

“Jackass,” Ren grumbled. He turned back to the endless slog of paperwork and files he had to get through, because the job of police captain came with a lifetime supply of that shit. Against all beliefs, he’d actually come to enjoy this job, this role, and he was just as invested in the case as Whitethorn was.

He just happened to be on a different side.

This is fucking insane, this is fucking insane, this is fucking insane. Those were the words running through Fenrys’s head as he and his twin strolled down the secret back stars of the Night Owl. He was barely able to focus on the opulence of the hallway—plush velvet lining the walls, fine mahogany banisters, and black wall torches and overhead lights giving the whole space a deep purple glow—when his mind was so focused on what lay at the end of the walk.

“Relax,” Con muttered. “Don’t get us fucking killed before we’ve found out what she wants.”

“I’m trying,” Fen grumbled. He straightened the lapels of his jacket, the same sequined one he’d worn to the Night Owl three weeks ago. “But—”

“But nothing.” Con cut him off. “Remember why we’re here.”

“Right.” Because Celaena had trusted the two of them with infiltrating Maeve’s lair. Because they were the key to taking down the last obstacle in Boss Sardothien’s path, whatever the hell it was.

The masked guard in front of the twins stopped at a dark wooden door at the end of the hall. “Wait here,” he said, expressionless. He went into the room, closed the door behind him, and came out a few minutes later just as expressionless. “Maeve will see you now.” And he opened the door.

Fenrys took a quick, deep breath and strolled into the dark-paneled office, Con at his side, both of their gazes immediately locking onto the woman who sat behind the imposing black marble desk at the far end of the room. Her face was pale, nearly opalescent in the darkness, her lips were stained scarlet, and her unnervingly violet gaze was fixed on the twins.

“Thank you for being willing to meet on such short notice, boys,” Maeve said, her calm, cold voice slicing through the room like a blade.

“Our honor,” Fen replied. Maeve gestured at the pair of leather chairs opposite her desk, and the twins sat down.

She steepled her fingers under her chin. “I have a job for you.”

Con shared a loaded look with Fen. “Both of us, or just one?”

“Both of you. I need one of you for each side of the job.”

Slowly, Fen nodded. “Alright. What can we do for you?”

One corner of Maeve’s scarlet lips curled upwards. She retrieved a thin manila file from her desk and slid it across the desktop. “Fenrys, kill this man.” The order was as clearly and casually enunciated as if she was asking for a glass of water. “Connall, you will stay here to monitor Fenrys’s task.”

Beside Fenrys, Con’s posture stiffened. “How?”

“We have an advanced tech space that will provide all the equipment you need, as well as the chance to experiment with some of the devices we’re working on.” A gleam flickered briefly through the Queen of the Night’s unflinching stare. “And I require company.”

“Alright.” Con dipped his head in acquiescence, flatly refusing to meet the sharp, concerned gaze Fen shot towards him.

“Excellent.” Maeve smiled, and it sent a shiver down Fenrys’s spine. “You may go, Fenrys. I expect it won’t take you too long to get the job done.”

“I pride myself on efficiency,” he smirked, masking the oily chill in his blood with a lazy, half-wild grin. He rose, nodded at Maeve, and strolled out of the room and then out of the club, his steps sure and unfaltering until he was around the corner and out of sight.

Then, he ducked into a side alley and slumped against the wall, his veneer of easy confidence dropping to reveal his hidden terror. Fuck! He’d left his brother in that spider’s lair; gods only knew what could happen if either of them failed to do what Maeve commanded. Hands shaking, Fenrys reached into the hidden inner pockets of his jacket, his fingers closing around the comfortingly cold steel of his favorite twin flat knives and the envelope containing the thick piece of cardstock that had been in the file. The least he could do—for himself, for Connall, and for the man he had to kill—was carry out his task quickly, before the Queen of the Night could hurt his brother.

And so, heart heavy, Fenrys Moonbeam adjusted his jacket and the weapons contained within it and began his prowl towards Orynth Police headquarters.

Rowan arrived at Orynth PD unusually early on the morning of June 30. After a restless night—he’d tossed and turned far into the wee hours of the morning, snatched probably three solid hours of sleep, and had a muddled collection of dream snippets—he’d just decided to bite the bullet and drag his ass out of bed at five in the morning. Shortly before six, he keyed in his code at the door of the police station, let himself into the quiet, chilly building, and dragged himself to the locker room to dump his bag and splash some icy water on his face. With his vest strapped on and his badge around his arm, he grabbed his laptop bag and trudged up the stairs to the offices, ducking into his office to drop off his things and try to form a to-do list.

Fuck, he needed caffeine. He needed it badly enough that he’d even drink the bitter shit from the common-room carafe. So he pushed his chair in, left his office, and went down to the bullpen, following the faint scent of the first batch of coffee. Operating on autopilot, he was halfway to the break room before he smelled it.

Blood.

That coppery tang was unmistakable.

Fuck.

Coffee forgotten, Rowan whirled around and strode back to the bullpen, following his nose like some kind of hound. A bloodhound, whispered the traitorous part of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Aelin’s witty laugh. In any other context, he might have laughed along. But not this time. Head down, he tracked the metallic stench of blood across the bullpen, its tang growing heavier with each successive step he took. The blood, wherever it was, was still fresh enough to be that strong, but old enough to have spread its scent through a significant part of the floor. Both of those things worried him. A lot.

Hand straying to his holster, Rowan rounded the corner towards the cluster of desks where the detectives and Westfall worked whenever Westfall was in the bullpen. He inhaled, catching a lungful of blood-scent, so strong it nearly knocked him back. That part of the floor was still shadowed in the early-morning dimness, so he flicked on the nearest light for a better visual.

The flashlight in his hand clattered to the floor. His other hand clenched around the cold, smooth handle of his gun.

He’d found the source of the blood stench.

He blinked. Shook his head. He snapped his jaw shut, swore at himself a few times, imagined Gav yelling at him for losing his mind like a goddamn fucking green idiot, and took one step forwards.

He froze.

Sprawled facedown in a pool of his own blood, the back of his skull concave as if bashed in with a heavy, blunt object, with a bullet hole ripped through his temple and knives pinning his now-limp hands to the desk, was Chaol Westfall.

Rowan locked up the side of himself that immediately started screaming questions and approached Chaol’s…corpse…carefully, forcing the investigative side of himself to take the lead. He cautiously nudged Westfall with his baton, noting the lack of response. With that amount of blood loss, he’d be more shocked if the man was alive, but he still had to go through the steps. As much as he could, Rowan circled the body, clocking each new wound he found on the man’s body. It was…more brutal than he had initially noticed, slashes and cuts scattered over the body, as well as the knives stabbed through the hands and the obvious point-blank range of the bullet, marked by its entry and exit wounds.

As he came to the other side, Rowan stopped once again, because there was a goddamned note tacked to Westfall’s forehead. No—nailed to his forehead.

Fuck.

He pulled on the pair of latex gloves he kept tucked into his belt and gingerly reached for the note, lifting it up enough to read it. He didn’t remove it; he was too experienced to fuck with a crime scene like that. He did, however, lift up the paper, which was surprisingly thick and high-quality for a fucking assassin signoff. Three words were printed onto the note in dark ink. He tilted the paper slightly, and the black ink shimmered with a dark purple sheen, indicative both of its quality and probably of the signature colors of whoever the hell had written the message.

Tread carefully, Lieutenant.

There was no signature. There was, however, a symbol stamped beneath the short, threatening message. Rowan peered at the stamp, sharp gaze scanning it until the shape came into focus. It was an almost photographic image of an owl, the bird posed in eerie stillness, its inked eyes large and unblinking. And atop the owl’s head sat a crown, a perfect arc of five jeweled spikes.

It was the mark of the Queen of the Night.

~~~

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