#HES WORKING IT OUT but its HARD to DO SO when again. their identities are tied together. it's a chen yi-ai di tangle

[casualavocados]

You look better this way. What way? Nothing. I couldn't get a hold of you for days. Did you work undercover in the school and help Zherui investigate?

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 08

[adickaboutspoons]

With respect, I disagree that the answer to proposition 2 is unambiguously yes. What's missing from your analysis is that our co-tagonists & deuteroagonist are ALL narrative parallels for one another, & all on v. similar arcs in S1. Ed, Stede, & Jim are all trying to escape from a past they no longer want to be part of & unbearable expectations toward a life where they can be accepted & loved as their authentic selves. Each has a source of friction from their old lives that embodies the restrictive values they're trying to distance themselves from, & which ultimately shames them into returning to their old lives. For Ed, this is Izzy; for Jim, this is Nana; for Stede, the Badmintons. Jim & Stede, after being drawn back into their old lives, receive council from a feminine figure with more emotional maturity than they (Jackie & Mary, respectively), & in so doing come to the conclusion the old life doesn't want them any more than they want it, make peace with laying the old life to rest, & joyously return to their authentic lives. Ed doesn't have that - or, rather, he's got Lucius, but the order of operations is wrong - Lucius gave Ed council BEFORE Izzy comes in with the steel chair to shame & threaten him back into his old life, & in this narrative, it's the last influence that bears the most weight. So before Lucius has a chance to give him additional council, Ed banishes the Voice of Reason from his life when he pushes Lucius overboard, & he is therefore stuck in the Old Life that he reviles. I hope that we can all agree that the Badmintons, while they embody the same colonialist & repressive, upper-class expectations for the correct performance of masculinity as Stede's father are NOT meant to be seen as a father-figure for Stede? And, that, when you add this into the whole tangle of influences/motivators being enacted on our heroes, that just because SOME of those influences are parental figures does not mean that parental status can therefore be conferred on ALL? With regard to the intentionality of the writers including signifiers that were meant to clue us in to Izzy position as a narrative parallel for Ed's father, I again have to disagree. DJenks said in multiple interviews that Izzy being a father-figure to Ed is not only something that didn't occur to them until they were breaking the last episode of the S2, but that the father-figure relationship is something that exists only AFTER Ed shoots Izzy. "He went from a troubled & downtrodden employee to a jilted lover to a discarded employee, to someone that is just trying to find his footing again—no pun intended—to actually becoming this guy’s parental figure on some level." "on the other side of the ego deaths, weirdly, Izzy is a father figure to Ed... The character is kind of a jilted lover who then becomes a maimed & discarded employee & emerges from that into being a father figure" "There is a nice parallel to have Ed treat him so badly at the beginning of the season & then come all the way around to where Izzy is this sort of father figure" Which is not to say this isn't something the writers weren't SUBCONSCIOUSLY including, the same way they didn't PURPOSEFULLY write Izzy to be a racist, but there are so many repeated instances of him displaying racist behavior, I wouldn't be surprised if "is racist" is one of those qualities that the writers subconsciously ascribes to the prototypical "bad boss" archetype. Ultimately, I'm not trying to talk anyone out of embracing Father Figure Izzy if they see evidence for it & found it meaningful. I'm just trying to explain why people like me do NOT accept it as a given, & why it has been alienating to be lumped in with blackhands shippers & izzy apologists, or told we are reading against the text, don't understand how narratives work, or are too dense to see the subtle hints that were clearly there all along.

i guess this is just another way of saying something i've tried to get at before, but when people say they don't think the father figure angle on izzy was set up in s1, i think they are actually conflating two different questions:

did s1 of ofmd portray ed as viewing or treating izzy as a father figure, even subconsciously?

did s1 of ofmd portray izzy's role in ed's life as a narrative parallel for ed's father?

i do think the answer to #1 is quite likely no, at least in terms of authorial intent. you CAN make a case for yes, but at best it would be extremely speculative. honestly the writing in s1 mostly strikes me as just not really very concerned about the question of how exactly ed sees izzy or why ed puts up with izzy's behavior. ed lets izzy get away with all that shit in s1 mostly for the same reason jim's able to teleport back onto the revenge in 1x10: because if he didn't the plot couldn't happen. his motivations for it i'm sure were discussed at some point in the writers' room but at the end of the day they don't really matter to the story s1 was trying to tell so they're left kind of handwavey. watching the ed-izzy scenes in s1 through the lens of izzy reminding ed of his father doesn't feel like actively reading against the text, but it does feel like you're just kind of making up a plausible answer to a question that doesn't actually have a canonical answer.

(david jenkins has said a lot of izzy's arc in s2 is about answering the question "who is he to blackbeard" and i think it's not just izzy himself figuring that out, it's the audience finding out for the first time over the course of the season as well, because s1 didn't tell us.)

the answer to #2 however is absolutely unambiguously yes. multiple people called this long before s2 dropped. i can think of at least six different specific people right here on tumblr who called out parallels between izzy and ed's dad explicitly during the hiatus after s1. a whole bunch more called out that the jim-nana relationship was very clearly paralleling ed-izzy, and obviously nana is not jim's literal parent but is nonetheless a parental figure in their life. these parallels are all very obviously intentional; jim's storyline, for instance, clearly had to be deliberately conceived from the ground up to parallel ed's (as well as stede's). the intentionality is especially clear when you look at the visuals - there are a bunch of visual callbacks to the flashbacks to ed's childhood in both the namby-pamby scene and izzy's duel against stede, and those callbacks are much too specific to be accidental, and they all very consistently place izzy in the role of ed's dad. there's a reason the line "i'm the kraken" appears exactly twice, once right after we see ed strangle his dad in front of a lighthouse and once right after we see ed choke izzy in front of a lighthouse. we also know ed's dad had a cut line "you're making my son soft," which, i don't know how you'd deny it if that was left in there. and yeah the line was cut (albeit based on what we know probably just for pacing) but somebody had to write it in the first place! they obviously knew what they were doing there.

djenks had this interview after s2 where he said something that surprised him as they storybroke the season was the idea of izzy as a father figure to blackbeard, and i believe him about that being a surprise, but i think fandom is doing something fans do a lot with creator interviews and interpreting that statement in a much more rigidly absolute and literal way than he seemed to mean it. i think what he's talking about there is question #1 - the idea of ed being aware on any level at all (even if only a subconscious one!) of izzy acting like his dad, of that being the motivation for ed relating to izzy the way he does, of izzy being one of a long line of angry white men ed has spent his adult life seeking out because of his daddy issues - that was a new idea that wasn't present in s1, that was probably a surprise. but that doesn't mean question #2 - the idea of izzy being positioned in the narrative as a parallel for ed's dad - was a new idea, it obviously wasn't. and in fact that already having been present in s1 is what led to the new idea of ed seeing izzy that way in s2. you're breaking the season trying to figure out what are the most important things to focus on for izzy's redemption and the role he plays in ed's arc, you realize izzy's role as a narrative echo of ed's dad is going to have to become much more centrally important than it was in s1, so you have to find ways to bring out that theme and emphasize it. and one of the ways to do that is to introduce this running motif throughout the season of ed seeking out angry white patriarchs who treat him a lot like izzy does and make it clearly an expression of his daddy issues. because that way when ed breaks down at izzy's apology and death it's a lot more clear to the viewer not just how he feels about izzy but exactly what deeper issue is being resolved for him in that moment.

[moondirti]

blue collar simon x gn! reader. implied cnc.

Simon finds a journal on his lunch break.

It's inconspicuous. A5 black moleskin with an elastic holding it's contents together, bits of paper sticking out like nails on a poorly constructed house frame. He only notices it because his cooler slips off the bench when he blindly places it atop the fat book, sandwiches and packets of crisps now strewn across the dirty pedway.

The day's already been shit. A motley of blows, each made worse by the torrid sun overhead, sweat to cling to his grievances. An uptight site manager. A near loss of life after some tenderfoot got caught in between an excavation truck and the wall. Even his too-long hair, which curls around red ears – having not had a chance to buzz it off since being called in for this job. It's no wonder, then, that the tiny mishap stirs as severe of a reaction as it does; he chucks his hard hat across the road, satisfied only when it finds its fate mid-lane, an obstruction to inevitably fuck the tires on a white collar's new car.

When his rage settles as smouldering ash in his chest, he picks his food off the floor and cracks open the source of his animosity.

With no name or number, the first page holds just a chicken-scratch address. Interesting. Its owner hasn't made this easy on him, crafting it like one would a game. A skewing of traditional acquaintance. Granting nothing of their superficial identity, yet unrestricted access to their innermost thoughts. Thus he's forced to paint his own picture of the figure behind the words.

And what a picture indeed.

The first entry is brief.

13.02 – My therapist expects at least three pages a week. I'm not doing any of that, so don't get your hopes up.

It's evident that you don't stick to your guns. Though the next one is dated several months later, so he see's the attempt had been made. Written in a whole new hand, like you'd picked a dry pen off the floor and practiced your non-dominant grip:

08.05 – I broke my arm playing tennis. The umpire called a match-point in my opponent's favour and I threw the racket at his head.

I am no longer allowed to play tennis. What good is that resolution? My radius has a greenstick fracture. I'm already out of the game.

His laugh is abrasive and sudden, like it'd been pried from his chest by a pair of careless hands. Or as close to that analogy as it can get – your anger is intoxicating and only grows more potent across the pages. Inadvertently amusing. Simon chews through the tough crust of his torpedo roll as he reads, time wearing away under the stiff comb of your words.

There's hardly any variation in your cataloguing –

10.06 – The universe must need more bad people in it, because it tests my limits everyday. Can the fuck next door snore any louder? It's 2 am, goddammit. I wonder if it'd be overkill to ship nasal strips to his mailbox.

26.06 – Dad called today. Didn't pick up.

04.07 – I'm close to killing Kathleen. There's a reason the food in the fridge is labelled as MINE. GET YOUR GRUBBY PAWS OFF OF IT!

13.07 – The world is a shitty, stupid, crappy, icky, lousy, rotten, stinking, stinky, bad place. I hate my coworkers and friends and parents and landlord and etc etc. It's like everyone is out to get me.

– so it's like the honed curl of a hook. Whiplash-inducing, reeling his attention so quick that his neck strains in phantom pain. Simon stops everything, elbows settling onto his knees as he fixates on one entry in particular.

30.07 – I stand by what I said. The world is uniquely horrible. I think that's because I make it that way for myself. Whatever this exercise was meant to do for me, rage relief or introspection or whatever, it's clearly not working. I'm just as angry as I was before. Maybe burning these pages would help. I wish I could play tennis again. I don't know what to do with my hands anymore. I got fired last week. Need groceries. Eggs, spinach. Spinach always goes bad and I never make use of it. I keep buying it though. Dad keeps calling. I've got a migraine and I've run out of advil.

I just need someone to put me in my place.

And it ends there. No more entries after the fact, just a handful of blank pages before the journal wraps to a close.

He flips back over to the address at front. Looking at it a second time, he can tell the ink is still fresh.

Perhaps he misinterprets it. Perhaps it hits a little too close to home. It wouldn’t be the first time he looks for salvation in the empty lines someone leaves behind. Perhaps it’s just been a bad day, and he should go home before he does something he’ll regret. Perhaps it’s nothing at all.

Or–

Perhaps he sees it for what it is.

Here are all my colours. What you choose to do, or think, is no longer my concern.

[astrxealis]

i think sandalphon theme

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC xDP fanfic idea: One hell of a good Bellhop

Danny and Jazz Fenton get a chance of a lifetime after a whirlwind of dimension displacement. It's hard to explain how it happened. One minute, they were visiting Clockwork, having tea with their surrogate grandfather, and the next, they were being attacked by what appeared to be woolly mammoths standing on two legs and carrying weapons.

Clockwork had dispatch to take them head on- timeline pests he called them- but in the confusion Danny and Jazz were taken by suprised, stuffed into sacks and thrown through a whirlpool turned portal that spit them out in a new world.

They tried to call Clockwork for help, but it was as if though the Ghost Zone was blocked by some power. Danny at least still had his ghost powers and Jazz was equipped with the standard Fenton weapons on her person, but that wasn't much help when between the two of them they had sixty dollars and thirty four cents to their names.

Drivers' invalid licenses, phones that weren't connected to any service, and maybe worse of all, no actual identity to speak of.

The Fentons simply didn't exist in this world. Not even their four fathers. The two were at a loss on what to do- for about three months. Then they put their Fenton intelligence to use and hacked into a hotel.

It was a run-down place in the heart of downtown Gotham- the place that the portal shot them to was Metropolis. Still, people paid way too much attention to homeless minors there, so they had to move after dodging a weird underwear guy who kept trying to capture Danny. Apparently, he thought Danny was a "Kryptonian Clone". Fruitloop.

Jazz thought they were the only guests in the Hotel, which is why the owner was so happy to host them for weeks instead of a few days. He was a sweet old man named Charles who was far too old to work but couldn't afford the staff, so he did everything himself.

Jazz felt an awful pity seeing him sit at his counter, staring hopefully at the door for any new guests whenever she returned from her work. It was heartbreaking to see Charles' eyes dim whenever the closing time came, and once again, no one stopped by. At this point, he kept the hotel open in a sad, broken dream.

Where did she work? Danny didn't know, but Jazz made him swear she would handle their expenses. She kept a tight lip on her day, and since Danny had no documentation to go to school with, he found himself helping Charles with maintenance.

He has no license to do anything, but Danny has been installing electricity, water pipes, and anything in between since he was young. FentonWorks always needed something fixed, after all.

He even went out and "borrowed" some paint cans to give the old place a little touch-up. Charles' eyes watered when he saw.

"My wife and I meet at this hotel, you know," Charles tells him one day as Danny patches up some old bricks. He runs to find the old man, gently running his hand along the fireplace. A picture of two young people dancing in the Hotel Lobby—back when it was new and shiny—is hanging right over it. It's easy to see it's Charles and his late wife, Sally.

"Of course, that was back in the forties—a few years after the war and before Gotham was crime-infested. We always wanted to run this place together. We worked two jobs, and when we finally had enough, we bought it from the old owners when they announced they were closing down. We were so happy and ran it together for a year, but then she got sick. Really sick. I was told to give up on the Hotel when I lost her. No one saw a reason when it was obviously failing, but it's the last thing I have of her, you know?"

Danny's lips wobble. He thinks back to hours and hours of tracing the Fenton Works logo on all his new clothes. It looks stupid but, gosh its the last thing he has of his parents since they been sepreated too.

"Yeah" His voice catches "Yeah I know. Did you two ever have children?"

Charles shakes his head. "Salley couldn't have kids, and no matter how many times we applied, we were never approved for adoption. Then we were too old."

"I'm sorry Charles"

"That's alright, my boy." The man's smile is just as heartbreaking and sad as it is soft. "It's something I accepted long ago. "

Danny decided then and there that he would save this hotel if it was the last thing he did. Danny wasn't aware that his Ghost Powers launched onto that oath and sent out a flair, turning Gotham's Fog Lodge into his new haunt.

This meant that overnight, Danny's haunt was carefully bettering itself as a reflection of Danny's happiness. It made it look brand new among all the old and falling apart scenery.

No one knew why or how, but it looked just as Charles remembered it in the glory days.

Danny decided they couldn't compete with large chain hotels, so he made it an experience instead. He did Era events using his experience with the different parts of the Ghost Zone as references.

Soon Gotham was hearing of the Victorian Era Ball—a chance to dress up and dance the old ways with antique clothing of that period.

But Danny didn't stop there.

Disco parties. Nineties garage bands. Murder mysteries nights from the roaring twenties. Even the props were so realistic that people swore they stepped into the time from when arriving for their events.

People started calling, hoping to book in advance, and Charles burst into tears the first night Danny told them they ran out of rooms.

Since it was Danny's haunt, he could complete all the work by himself, having the hotel help him along the way. No one knew why or how, but somehow it was always clean, food was always prepared whenever someone needed it, and bags would be up into their rooms without actually seeing the Bellhop pass getting them at the door.

Not a single staff member in sight, either.

Charles suspected Danny was meta, and he was using his powers to be one hell of a good host. Everyone else thought the place was haunted by staff made entirly of ghosts, and that somehow made it more appealing.

Jazz's new boss thought it a little too good to be accurate, but he was so good at keeping records and organizing that he gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she did mention she had a meta brother she was desperately trying to protect.

If there was one thing Red Hood knew, it was that desperate people turned to crime the most. If he could keep someone like Jazz Fenton away from working with the nutjobs of Gotham, he would have been doing one thing better for the city.

As far as Jazz was aware, she was only an assistant/secretary to an obvious front masquerading as an insurance company, and if she pretended not to notice all the crime, she could feed Danny and help Charles.

Charles, for his part, never said it, but he thinks if he and Sally had been able to have grandchildren, they would have been exactly like Jazz and Danny.

He may have let it be implied at one point, and the misunderstanding spreads that he is their grandfather. None of the three make haste to correct it.

Gotham Fog Lodge starts to gain traction around the same time it captures the eye of one very intrigued billionaire. Bruce Wayne keeps an eye on the business but decided to let Jason make the call since the grandduaghter's owner works for him. '

Surely, he would step in if something malicious was going on.

[hotchner-edu]

Pickpocket (Drabble) | Aaron Hotchner

Synopsis: You find something rather interesting in Aaron's pant pocket when you go to do laundry.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Warnings: fluff, sneaky reader

You were fiddling with the sleeves of the sweater you were wearing, a navy quarter zip-up you stole from Aaron eons ago.

Just an hour before, you were getting ready to do the laundry, sorting out the clothes in the laundry basket and making sure the pockets were empty. As you were checking on a pair of Aaron's work pants, your fingers brushed against a compact object that had you freezing on the spot.

The nagging curiosity in your head had you slowly pulling the object out from the pocket, and you nearly dropped his pants to the floor when you saw the black ring box peeking back at you.

Aaron was at work, so you had time to compose yourself and think through what you wanted to do next. You decided not to open the box and to just stuff it back into the pant pocket.

Ultimately, you decided to be oblivious to your findings, even momentarily convincing yourself there wasn't a ring in there but something else.

To be even less conspicuous, you undid all your hard work and stuff all the clothes back into the laundry basket, delaying the wash. You decide to busy yourself by cleaning the house— mopping, vacuuming, dusting, cooking, organizing, then reorganizing.

Aaron unceremoniously arrives home two hours earlier than his usual time when he's not on long trips away, practically pulling the front door off its hinges.

You pad toward him with a frown of concern, watching as he takes off his shoes and tries to hurry down the hall before noticing you.

"Honey..." he says breathlessly, searching your face for something.

Your frown deepens and you instinctively reach toward him. "Aaron? You're home early. Is something wrong?"

His hands find your sides as he pulls you closer. "No, no... just finished early is all." Which you knew to be a bold faced lie because his work was neverending. "How was your day?" He asks carefully.

"Busy. Just cleaned up around the house." You sigh tiredly, omitting your earlier findings. Kissing him softly, you peer at him curiously. "But why are you in such a rush?"

Aaron's shoulders tense a little again. "Do you happen to know where my work pants are?"

"Aaron, they're all identical and you have like six of them." You joke and chuckle, realizing why he was panicking now.

He gives a weak smile and squeezes your waist a little, eyebrows still furrowed in stress. "The ones I wore earlier this week on Tuesday."

You let out a false gasp of realization and sigh. "They're probably in the laundry basket. I was going to do the laundry today, but I completely got swamped with cleaning the house." You lie smoothly, plastering on a disappointed frown for good measure.

Aaron nearly sags in relief as he smiles at you. "Don't worry about it, honey. I just forgot an important business card in the pocket. I'll go put the laundry in the wash right now."

Smiling fondly, you bring him down for a loving kiss. "You're the best. I haven't had dinner yet, so I can warm some up and we can eat together."

He nods and kisses your nose. "Sounds great. I'll only be a moment." He gives your ass a little pinch before he's walking off toward the laundry room.

As you start walking toward the kitchen, he turns around again and beams at you with a boyish grin. "Oh, and honey? I love you."

Yeah, what he doesn't know won't kill him.

And a mere two weeks later, you're a teary-faced mess as he's down on one knee in front you, nervously proclaiming his love for you again and staring up at you in devotion.

You very nearly get whiplash from how quickly you nod, hand clasped over your mouth.

As he sweeps you into his arms after your fervent acceptance to his proposal, you get a glimpse of the glittering rock on your finger as you cup his cheek to kiss him.

Luckily, the ring stayed as a surprise since you never opened the box.

[spyder-junkie]

EARTH-42 MILES MORALES X READER PART 2

part three ??

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Honestly the death of his father traumatized Miles.

It taught him to hold on to the things he loves, things that make him happy, because nothing is forever.

And honestly he was looking for something to fill his father’s void, something to satisfy the itch being prowler couldn’t scratch.

So not even two days later, Miles shows up at you window.

He wanted to scope you out, see if you were something he’s like to spend his time on.

With any person hes ever thought of pursuing, the thought of having to tell them hes Prowler loomed over his shoulder.

But you already knew.

Hes dressed normally this time, and hes come at a reasonable hour.

You smile when you see him, opening the window immediately for him to crawl in.

“I aint’ catch you name.” is the first thing he says, dusting off his jeans.

“Y/n.” You reply, sitting down at your desk.

“What can I help you with, Miles?”

He pauses for a moment, almost forgetting what excuse he came up with.

“Check my wounds for me? You wrapped ‘em so well ian wanna unwrap em.” He says, face calm.

You look at him for a moment before shrugging.

“bien, siéntate.” You mumble, going to grab your first aid kit.

“You speak spanish?” Miles asks, sitting down on your bed and pulling his shirt from his body.

The big gash on his side is covered in bandages, blood stained.

“A little, I take a class at school.” You smile, bending down infront of him. He spreads his knees, letting you settle onto the ground infront of him.

He shuts his eyes tight as you unwrap the bandage.

“Thats a pretty chain.” You mumbled, using a cottonball to dab at the wound.

Miles’ hands come to to touch the chain hes wearing. It was one of the many things he half-hazardly bought with his work money.

“Where’d you get it? Ive been looking for something similar.” You ask.

“I honestly can’t remember.” He mumbles, from his tone you could only assume he was telling the truth.

“Thats okay, anyway Youre all good.” You say just finishing his bandages, standing up and putting your things away.

“Oh.” Miles mumbles, not realizing how little time that would take you.

“Anything else I can help you with, Prowler?” He shivers at the way the name rolls off your tongue.

“Guess not.” He says, standing up and walking towards the window. His hands are in his pockets.

He leaves, climbing back out your window and disappearing past the block.

After two days a package shows up at your door.

When you open it, you realize its a chain, identical to Miles’ and brand new.

You giggle a little while clasping it around your neck.

You dont see Miles again for two weeks.

“You know we can just schedule meet ups instead of you showing up to my window at night.” You say, watching as Miles in his normal clothes climbs out if the darkness and into your room.

He ignores your statement, taking his shoes and jacket off and sitting at your desk. He leans back, legs spread wide and eyes closed.

You shake you head, sitting down on your bed and facing him.

“Whats troubling you?” You ask.

“Nothing important.” He says quickly. He opens his eyes and looks at you.

“Youre wearing the chain.” He mumbles.

“Yeah.” You reach up and touch it. “It’s really nice, I thought you didn’t know where you got it from.”

Miles shrugs

“How much was it? I can pay you back-“

“Eres Bonita, you shouldnt have to pay for your own shit.” He cuts you off.

You pause.

“Thank you.” You smile, looking at his hard expression, he nods.

Its silent for a while, Miles just recollecting with his eyes closed.

“Youve been with the cops yet?” He asks calmly. The question startles you.

“…excuse me?”

“You got my name, you know my face, you could rat me out n’ get that reward money.” He says, opening his eyes to look at you.

“is that…what you want me to do..?” You ask, looking at him in confusion.

“Im asking why you haven’t already.” He stated.

“Oh. because I dont want to.”

Miles furrowed his eyebrows.

“I like you, Miles. Plus you helped me out when I needed you. What you do as the prowler doesn’t really concern me.” You say.

Miles stares at you a bit longer, gears turning in his head.

“You can believe me, Im not lying. Now its late, and I am kind of tired. Stay if you want, but my dad usually pops in at 7 to say hes leaving for work.” You say, moving the covers so you could properly get into bed.

You look over at Miles, whos still sitting quietly at you desk.

You lock eyes with him, holding out your hand.

He stares for a while longer, before slowly getting up and sitting on your bed.

He doesn’t get under the coveres, opting to sit with his back against the headboard. He lets you curl up besides him, laying your head in his lap.

His hand ghosts over your shoulder, rubbing soft circles with his thumb as your eyes close.

“Goodnight Miles.”

“…..goodnight y/n.”

When your father wakes you up the next morning as hes leaving, the bed is empty and Miles is gone.

You rub your eyes a little bit, looking to see if he left anything behind.

On your bedside table there was another note.

“ maybe we should schedule meet ups. xxx-xxx-xxxx -miles”

You smile to yourself, immediately putting his number in your phone.

tags:

@caffeine-mess @arachnenotes @erensbbg @nightshxdex @el-chiste @3alvatore @sh-tposter2021 @miatjie @agstuffsworld @ella34435 @iluvdi0r @pulling-out-my-eyes @vakiui @bigpepperpicker @swaggybae @tsukisaiki @osebb

[newfallstrangeleaves]

Masked Yandere with an unknown identity

Magic bullet

M!Yander X F!Reader Warning: Druging reader, non-con, NSFW, P in V, Oral (F receiving), slight somnophilia. Summary: Its the winner of this poll. The man with the mask gets you a drug that makes you unable to move your body but you can still feel everything he does to you. Authors note: It really took some time to get it up :( sorry

If this were any other occasion, this would not be happening. He would check your apartment to make sure nothing was wrong or that no one other than himself where within your proximity. But word spread of a drug, something even he caught on to and now can't stop himself from getting his hands on. 

That this is the right alley is only a guess. The directions were unclear and he had spent nearly three nights just wandering to hopefully run into the right people. But it's been hard having to choose between anonymity and direction. The mask is a good protection, but it’s also a deterrent. It doesn't matter who you are and where you are from, everyone agrees that if you meet something that frightens you, you turn and walk the other way. 

But tonight the hard work bears fruit. At the far end of the alley stands three men, they are tense and seem to be waiting for him. When he approaches they act cool, buffing their chests out and blowing cigarette smoke his way.

“Heard you looking for something.” One of them says. 

“Yeah, you have it?” 

“Whoa, boy calm down, why you in a hurry? Are you scared or something?” If this is an intimation tactic it's not working. On the contrary, he is feeling rather bothered. 

“Yes, actually I am. I have the money, you got the stuff or not?” 

“Here.” One of the guys with a pretty nasty black eye holds up a bag with white powder in it. Its snapped out of his hand before he even had time to react.

“HEY!��

 “So this is the stuff?” He holds the bag away from the guy with the black eye. 

“Yes, You know, we will be nice to you today and let this pass, but if you grab stuff like that again-”

“Do you want the money or not?” 

“Hand it over.”

He brings out a hefty amount of bundled-up money. He holds it between the two of them for a second before he throws it to the side and lands right into a puddle. 

 “Go, take it. I thought you wanted it.” The man glares at him, but it's hard to do with only one eye. 

“Your dead, you know that.” But before anyone has time to react, with a swift motion he tackles the guy with the black eye to the ground. His moans in pain are enough to make the other two back off. 

With the drugs secured, he is off to your apartment. 

Your apartment has never been too difficult to get into. With the copy of your key back in his pocket, he heads for the bedroom. Just to see you. Despite it not being long between the meetings, things still tend to feel lonely. 

Coming home to an empty apartment, cooking and winding off for the day all in solitude. And even now, caressing your sleeping face he wishes for things to be different. To have you and to have you as his very own. 

But today the drugs will have to do. He can already feel his cock hardening at the thought of being inside you. Eagerly he heads for the kitchen. He tries to be as quiet as possible so as to not wake you as he pours you a glass of your favorite juice. He contemplates for a second before he decides that half of it will do. 

With the spiked drink in hand, he gently strokes your face, this time with the full intention of waking you.  

“Hey, wake up darling, I just need you for a second.” He can't contain himself for chuckling at your confused face, how cute you look when you're startled. “I just need you to drink this.” 

“What? What is it?” He helps you to a sitting position before he, as gently and firmly as he can, grabs your jaw to keep your face in place. He knew before going into this that you would never agree to drink his concoction. 

You struggle at first, your hands trying to grab at anything to get the glass away. But you're losing the battle and as you fight to not choke on the liquid, you drink most of it. Some spills down on your clothes and comforter but it's nothing that you will be using anyway. 

You cough and gasp for air as he places the glass calmly on the table. 

“What was that??” You're panicking, he can tell. 

“Shhh, it's okay, you know I will never do anything to harm you. I tell you this all the time.” He wraps his arms around you and lays you back down on the bed. His arms and legs pinning you in place. You are opposing and pleas to let go go unheard, he just hushes you and strokes your hair to calm you, it doesn't take long for the drugs to kick in. All of a sudden your arms lose their strength and fall flat to the side. Your eyes are the last thing that shuts but when they do he can't contain himself anymore. 

“I know you can still hear me so don't be scared. Now, I'm sorry I drugged you, it will wear off eventually, until then if figured we could have some special time together. Try something new.” His words get more and more breathy with every word. Arousal is getting the better of him. 

The first thing that comes off is his mask, how he has been aching to feel his lips against yours. He is smiling into the kiss, his breath fanning your face. Though your lips don't give his anything in return just the feeling of you is enough, for now. Then it's the gloves that fall to the floor. He doesn't want to leave one speck of your skin untouched by his lips and his hands when this night is over. 

He gives your lips one quick peck before he travels down. His lips glaze over your neck, and he trails a few kisses over your collarbones. He is too eager to stop just there, he wants what's further down. Gently he lifts the oversized shirt you're sporting as night clothes, over your head. 

He goes straight for one of your breasts. His tongue goes over and around your nipple, sucking and biting gently. He gives one side a few minutes before he switches. When he deems them done he turns his attention to the only piece of clothing still covering you. With a quick motion, it's thrown to the side and you're back to how he loves you. Bare before him.  

“I promise you, my love. I will make you feel so good. So good, so so good.” He pushes your legs apart taking in the scene before him, your beauty is astounding. “You don't understand how much I've looked forward to tasting you.”

His tongue works away eagerly at your core. He starts at the clit, working you up, wetness already leaking out of you and he laps it up. He adds a finger, you're still rather tight but with every movement and every lick, you're relaxing. 

Then when he goes back to focusing on your clit and with a second finger inside you he hears it. A tiny whine escapes your lips. It spurs him on so much that he thinks for a moment he might be pushed over to climax over it. Almost. 

But he is determined to push you over yours first and he does. Your breath hitches as you squeeze around his fingers. Oh, how he looks forward to you doing that to his cock. As you settle back down he can feel his cock aching in his pants. Without a moment of hesitation, he throws off everything. 

“I feel so exposed.” He says and chuckles. “Even though you can't see me.” He lines his body up with yours, his cock hard and throbbing in between the two of you. But he holds back, instead, he kisses you. 

“I don't know why I'm hesitating now. I guess it's because I kind of wanted…More, if that makes sense.” He sighs. “But it's really your own fault. I would have never done this to you if you'd just accepted me, and allowed me to be with you fully, I wouldn't have taken such drastic measures. …But let's not worry about that now.” 

His forehead meets yours as he looks down. He lines his cock up to your entrance. He pushes in slowly to not overwhelm you, but it's still tight. He groans and a moan slips your lips. 

“Maybe I've been too secretive, holding my identity intact and away from you for fear of rejection. Though I know you never would reject me, even if you wanted to. Because we  both know you love this.” He pushes slowly in, bottoming out as he speaks. “Youre..Fuck…Feels so good.”

His trusts are slow at first. He is using every fiber within him not to either rail you right into the mattress or to cum right this second. But it doesn't take long for him to amp up the pace. The wet sounds from where the two of you connect and the whines that constantly leave your lips. It could be the drugs starting to wear off, but he doesn't miss the way your eyebrows twitch together and that your moans come more frequently now. 

But he is too into it to care now, too in the moment to care about whether the drugs are wearing off or not. He feels you tightening around him and miraculously he pulls through your orgasm, keeping his own intact. 

“I want another…Please…Give me another one.” He mumbles into your ear, sweat dripping down his brow. He continues until he feels you tightening up once again, this time his release comes before yours. The way your pussy squeezes around him a second time makes him lose it. But despite feeling spent he fights through your high with sloppy thrusts. The overstimulation feels like a reward.   

He pulls out just to drop down on your chest, resting his head between your breasts. He lays there and listens to your steady heartbeat for just a moment. Then he worms his arms around you and rolls over on his back with you on top. 

“I want to clean you today.” He whispers into the top of your head. “You know, really take care of you now after I've had my fun.” 

He looks over the bed, the bedding having been thrown on the floor and he sighs. Feeling contempt with you in his arms, this is where you belong, where you always should be. 

“Maybe that could wait a moment or two.” But just as he says that he can see your fingers moving slowly. You are getting the control over your body back and with that pops the bubble he wanted to stay a little longer in. “Or not.” 

He gently lifts you off him and goes to get his belongings together. He gives you a quick clean and a peck to your lips before he is out the door just in time for you to slowly sit up and open your eyes.

[carbondioxidewater]

The Beauty of the Undead

Vampire!Gojo x female!reader

genre: romance, fluff, angst, au but few parallels to gojo's canon trauma, smut (at the end)

word count: 13.3k

A cold breeze spreads through the bodies of people passing by. The white flakes descending from the sky, you find smoke from people's mouths dissolving into the air.

The cold brings out the dark creatures, for in the cold it is dark. The warmth your cloak provides is almost comparable to the temperature of your body, the flowing, pure blood in your veins that attracts these creatures.

It is your blood in particular, this fragrant, delicious potion, that attracts a man who has such flawless white skin, almost identical to fragile porcelain, more beautiful than any human should be, and whose eyes flash in the night with such intensity that no human could possess in life.

But you do not notice the staring presence of this man's almost obsessive pursuit - not until that one day. It was just before midnight, you were about to let the blinds of your bedroom cover the window when you spotted a silhouette in the distance on the deserted street through the glass. It was standing sideways, its head tilted towards you even before you noticed it, the shine of its white hair easily confused with the sparkling snow. Glowing eyes stared deep into yours.

Despite the horror-like atmosphere that this motionless standing on the hard asphalt was supposed to create, you were not afraid. It was as if the being could infiltrate your inner being and speak to it. And it made you feel like you didn't have to be afraid.

But all of this happened in a tiny moment, just a blink on your part and the figure you had seen from the height of your apartment vanished as if swallowed by the earth. It happened in such a hurry that you weren't sure if you had maybe just imagined it.

But you hadn't. Because in the months that followed, the mysterious being, who always disappeared so quickly when you noticed him, and you crossed paths again and again.

Whether it was day or night, he followed you without showing himself too much, let alone getting close enough for you to make out anything more than his dark robes. It made you feel a little uncomfortable, like the prey of a predator examining it, but at the same time, after a while, you noticed a certain comfort spreading through you whenever you felt his presence. As if this uneasy demeanor scared away the real dangers of this world. You didn't know if that was a good or bad thing, but since he stayed away from you for the most part, you didn't worry any longer.

That is, until he didn't anymore, of course.

He followed you when you went to work during the day and he followed you when you walked home on another lonely night, but most importantly - he followed you into the depths of your dreams.

It was another peaceful winter night, you slept soundly and dreamed of the mysterious man. It was a nightmare, the man came towards you so fast and with such a terrible grimace of hunger that it threatened to tear you in two, to brutally tear you apart, before you woke up drenched in sweat.

In your dark room you only saw the man's eyes reflecting in the soft moonlight. You screamed a cry of terror when he was already gone again. You looked around you, to your left and right along the corners of your room, but the man was no longer to be seen.

The feeling of being watched disturbed your sleep more often from then on, but you never saw that figure in the comfort of your room again. You always woke up from a seemingly non-existent aura, always striving to go back to sleep.

You started looking for him, trying to get closer to him, but you failed miserably.

Until one day, when he loosened the chains of his distance and you suddenly felt him right behind you on the street in front of your house. You turned around, your heart racing because of the oppressive feeling, and there he was - motionless and with no intention of retreating. You were in such panick that your legs threatened to run away, but you were too scared to move. At the same time, you were eager to finally find out who or what he was.

He stood there, rooted to the spot, the black hat covering the upper half of his face. You had just returned from meeting your friends and started looking out for that familiar silhouette when the dark, attractive sound of his voice reached you.

"Looking for me?" was what he simply said.

He tilted his head up and for the first time you could really see him, a slight smirk on his face before it neutralized again at your gaze.

His skin was so clear that it was almost shining and long luscious white eyelashes adorned his eyelids. His lips were the only thing on him that had a vital color to them, they were almost as red as blood, albeit paler. His whole appearance was pure harmony - his silky blouse that highlighted his neck, the black cloak that hugged his shoulders.

A strong, dangerous aura emanated from him and despite his beautiful, fragile-looking body, he was equipped with many muscles. You couldn't understand how someone could look so delicate and powerful at the same time. But he was beautiful, very beautiful, probably the most beautiful being you had ever seen.

He looked almost like a noble gentleman from ancient times, but the most frightening thing were his sparkling blue eyes. They were so bright that you didn't dare to look into them for more than a few seconds, because their gaze was so intimidating that you suddenly felt like the smallest being in the universe.

"W-why are you following me?" you stuttered with a dry throat and he prepared to answer.

"A girl like you shouldn't walk around alone at night. It's dangerous." his voice sounded so deep when he took a step towards you, your bodies almost touching.

Then, something started to run out of you. It didn't take long for you to notice what it was - blood. You must have gotten your period earlier because of the stress.

All of a sudden his eyes turned blood red and he no longer seemed as calm and collected as he had a few moments ago. The gentleness of his body quickly changed into bestial behavior. The veins on his neck were tense, protruding and throbbing - his Adam's apple was the same. You could practically see his pulse with your naked eye and your whole body shuddered. When he started panting in and out threateningly, as if he had to suppress something inside of him, you saw fangs grow between his lips.

You screamed in fear and he turned away from you in shame, his head tilted sideways. You immediately regained the ability to move and you used it without hesitation to quickly run to your front door and sprint up the stairs. When you were in your apartment and looked out of the window to the spot where you had been standing just a few moments ago, it was deserted. Once again, the mysterious man had disappeared without a trace.

After that, you didn't see him again for a month.

The next month, you lay in bed, drenched in sweat. You had caught some kind of infection that was making you suffer more than usual. It was unbearable, you think had never been so immobile before. It had to be something serious.

When the doctor came, he confirmed your suspicions. It was something with your lungs, but you couldn't even pay enough attention to his words due to your bad condition. He gave you the necessary medication, but no matter how well you followed the instructions, it didn't help.

One day, you coughed blood, a bad sign, and when the days went by, you soon gave up the hope of getting better.

The worst thing is you couldn't even grieve your own life, too weak to mourn after your upcoming loss, too weak to properly say goodbye. You thought that soon, it would be over for you. And you couldn't do a thing about it.

And then one night he came into your room. You were just tormenting yourself in your sleep when you subconsciously felt like you were being watched. You weakly opened your eyes and he was standing at the foot of your bed, silent.

Your pulse immediately rose, afraid of the stranger who, however, never intended to harm you. You were in what was probably the most vulnerable moment of your life, unable to defend yourself when his voice interrupted your train of thought.

"Don't be scared. I will not harm you." he said in a clear tone. The melodious sound reverberated through your whole body and made you shudder with intensity.

You didn't notice, but he was suddenly next to you, cupping your cheek softly with his ice cold hand and looking down at you somewhat tender.

"...I could never harm you." he said in a deep, quiet voice. Suddenly he sounded vulnerable and that calmed you down.

He stroked your forehead and felt the heat, his mouth opened slightly in shock.

"Your condition is worse than expected." he voiced and this statement caused an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach.

"I can help you." he then declared and you looked up at him innocently, surprised by his offer.

"My abilities allow me to release antibodies in your blood, if you want me to."

You didn't know exactly what he meant and furrowed your brows in confusion.

"And what do you expect in return?" you asked weakly, suspicious of his selflessness.

"Believe me, I already get more than enough from that." he smiled kindly.

You watched his expression before nodding hesitantly. If your condition was as bad as you fear, you didn't have anything to lose anyways.

"Please forgive me for this."

Those were his last words before he suddenly came very close to you and gently tilted your neck in the opposite direction. He hesitated for a moment, gave you one last pityful look before forming his fangs and reddish eyes and biting directly into the veins that surrounded your neck.

At the contact you jumped up in panic and pain, the stinging in your throat so burning that the arm that is not suppressed by his body flied into the air. He reacted quickly, however, wrapping his wrist around yours and squeezing it a little

eagerly back on the mattress next to your head. His hold was strong.

At that moment, you didn't know if he was sucking the life out of your veins or the virus.

But the next moment, the sudden improvement in your body told you that it was the latter. It happened so quickly, you felt him literally sucking the germs out of you and with every sip you felt the illness leaving your body - almost the same effect that pain killers had.

You heard him gulp and sometimes even moan in satisfaction and you couldn't help but feel electrified by his deeply arousing sounds.

After a while, he let go of you somewhat reluctantly and when your eyes met his glowing, euphoric face, the dark veins spreading under his eyes and his blood-soaked lips, tingling sensations spread through your body. This sight went straight to your core.

He looked at you completely out of breath, sensitive and saturated, brows tilted upwards and mouth opened as if he just experienced the biggest high until you see black in front of your eyes and he realizes that he stopped too late.

In the following time you thought a lot about him, about the threatening aura and the seemingly absent threat. Something inside you wanted to see him again, to enjoy this indescribable beauty once more. He just wouldn't let you go.

Until you came out of the bathroom one night - your white nightgown enveloping your body - and he stood in your living room. Your eyes immediately widened, but his seductive voice drowned out the loud beating of your heart.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you again." he affirmed in a guilty tone that surprised you.

"I know." is the only thing you mumbled in response. He said nothing more.

Instead he came towards you, the lightness of his steps made it seem like he had been here a thousand times already.

He was now standing in front of you and his eyes penetrating yours casted such a spell on you that you thought you were losing yourself in them. It all seemed so alluring, as if you were caught in a kind of trance and only wanted to live under his gaze, otherwise you would never be happy again. The intense blue is so wide and deep that you couldn't find your way out of it. He took you in with the same speed in which he always disappeared.

"What's your name?" you finally asked, quietly, and he seemed surprised by the question.

"Gojo. Satoru Gojo." he replied and you were amazed.

"Satoru Gojo..." you repeated.

For a moment, everything was quiet and he studied your face. He couldn't decipher your expression.

"Now you know for sure what I am, and you're afraid of me, even though I seem so attractive to you."

You just shook your head.

"I'm not afraid of you." you said quietly and it's true, because in the time you had to think, you realized that he had never done anything that gave you a reason to fear him. He followed you, but you felt strangely protected, as if he was protecting you from all the real threats as your personal shield.

His hard, strong body then caught your attention, half lidded eyes almost undressing him. At the sight, the blood rushed to your cheeks and you blushed abruptly. You tried to get closer to him, to bathe more in his glory, but he quickly turned away from you and ran somewhere else. He suddenly seemed so disheartened.

You followed him with your gaze, fascination written all over your face before you followed suit with your steps.

"You're not in your right mind." he said, his back to you.

You shyly denied it, but couldn't say anything else, just followed him like a dog follows its owner. You didn't even notice you were moving out of the building and into the darkness of the outside world.

"Look at you, following me, without any hesitation. Without the freedom to decide for yourself."

But something inside you knew that wasn't true.

"What are you talking about, I'm here because of my own free will."

He laughed. He laughed so loudly and dangerously and seductively that you were completely unsure what you should feel - fear or excitement. It almost sounded mocking.

"You don't believe that yourself. Look around, where are we?"

"In my ho-"

Only now did you notice that you were in the forest. For a moment you were afraid again. He sensed it.

"This is all natural. The purpose of my body is to allure, to seduce you. Just so I can kill you better. Even though I wouldn't have trouble doing so anyways, considering I'm superior in every way."

You shook your head and your eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

He came towards you and leaned against the tree, his arm propping up over your head and his massive body caging you in.

"You're scared." he remarked.

"But not of you, of the fact that I didn't notice my surroundings." you replied.

He sighed before looking down at you again, moving closer to you under him until your faces were just a few inches apart.

"Everything about you makes me want to hurt you. To feed off of you. You don't even realize what a temptation you are." he voiced in a low tone.

It caught your breath briefly when his fingers wandered along your neck. You took his hand into yours and he turned his gaze away from your neck and instead focused on your eyes again. His own widened a little at this action.

"You told me yourself that you wouldn't do this."

"Don't be scared. I will not harm you." were his words back then.

"Maybe I only said that to gain your trust and make you compliant."

You shook your head again.

"If that was the case, it would contradict everything you said about the alleged natural attraction. You wouldn't have to gain my trust if I'm not able to resist your charm anyways."

He was shocked at your wits and brilliant observation. But he didn't want to give in. He couldn't.

"I lured you into the woods with that intent."

"I don't believe you. You saved me." you said again, this time more convinced than before.

"Maybe I'm just playing a game to spice things up." His deep voice murmured, a wide smirk on his face.

You shook your head stubbornly and prepared to speak once more, but Gojo interrupted your plan by roughly placing both of his arms next to your head. The sudden harshness made you wince. He twisted his face in anger, struggling to hide his distress. Being so close to you was driving him crazy.

"I've known you for a very long time. Your gentle face, your soft hair, even your intoxicating lips make me drunk with desire."

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucked it behind your ear and continued.

"I dreamed of you. I saw your face in the stars. I don't know if I imagined it, if my skilled eyes betrayed me with their high efficiency, but I spent many nights looking up to the sky in hopes of seeing that same constellation once again. It was like a curse never finding your existence. I seeked you for decades. And now I look into the eyes I longed to see for so long - and am perceived by them in equal measure - and I am filled with nothing but shame, facing you like this, as such a hideous being."

You were shocked at this confession, red tint creeping up on your face, but his last words outraged you.

"Don't talk like that, you are not hideous."

"Look at me! Just being near you is enough to drive me mad, to grow my fangs. Look into my bloodthirsty eyes and tell me that I don't disgust you!"

You stared into his eyes, which were now indeed red again and caused the dark veins under his eyes to emerge.

"You are beautiful." you whispered and held his face in your hand. He gently pushed it away.

"I thirst for your blood. I have never tasted blood so addicting before. I am not human. I feed on them. How can I be beautiful to you? You should be afraid of me."

And suddenly a bow shot into your immediate vicinity. It was heading straight for you, but before it could hit you, Gojo caught it in his hand. You looked at him full of admiration, an expression that contrasted this dangerous situation.

"A vampire hunter." he explained, more to himself than to you, but still with the intention of enlightening you.

"How can I be afraid of someone who saves my life again and again?" you whispered to him. He looked at you briefly before picking you up by the back of your knees and armpits and carrying you away with quick steps. You have never experienced such speed before, the cool wind warm like steam compared to the arctic temperature of Gojo's pale body.

To be held by his strong grip, pushed against his frosty figure made you shiver from bliss, it felt like ice melting on your overheated skin, cooling you down; felt like he was capturing you in his entity, embracing and swallowing you wholly. And you had no objections, you would give yourself to him willingly, because it feels good, it feels ecstatic.

Before you could soak yourself in him further, he interrupted your thoughts.

"...I'll bring you back. When I'm gone, you'll think differently about me. Right now, my presence is just manipulating your inner self."

-------------------------------------------------

But that wasn't true. All the beautiful words he said to you, all of his generous actions kept you feeling like that. You yearned for him and it hurt every second that he hadn't come to see you for so long, now that he had awakened those feelings in you.

In an instant it was clear to you why he was so depressed. He thought your feelings weren't sincere, just a product of him being a vampire. He wanted to prove it to you so miserably, wanted to give up his own feelings for your safety and happiness.

Immediately and without a second thought you ran out of your apartment and into one familiar direction: the forest. If that's where vampires lure humans into, if that's where vampire hunters reside, then maybe it would bring you to him. It's just a theory, but it's based on his behaviour last time and that makes you feel positive. Why else would he have brought you into the woods?

You're lucky that the forest was not far away from your house, you only ran about 5 minutes until you were there. Snow covered your hair and shoulders when you arrived and you didn't know what to do now, coming here without a plan. The sun was setting slowly, so you hurried starting to walk deeper into the woods to look for any sign of his presence.

After a while, probably 30 minutes into your pursuit, you noticed that the day was slowly coming to an end. You were not brave enough to be alone in a forest at night, where - and you only thought about this now - there could be other vampires wandering around.

You were just turning into the direction you came from when you heard a noise. Something was coming towards you. Fast.

Before you could even turn around, you were cornered from the front. In front of you stood a huge wolf, its mouth with its gnashing teeth bigger than your own head, its growling loud and dangerous. At the sight you were filled with fear. You screamed reflexively while tears formed in your eyes. It prevented you from moving on, its legs were spread out to hold you in place.

Suddenly, another figure sprinted towards your position. Your pulse rose and you quickly regretted your decision to come here.

But to your surprise, it was the object of your little quest itself that was heading towards you. Soon, Gojo came out from between the trees and bushes, wrapped his arms around you and situated himself protectively in front of you, his back facing the wolf.

"She's not one of the hunters." he then called out to the wolf and its gaze softened as it watched you more closely. It looked as if it had confused you with someone else and quickly retreated.

Then Gojo finally turned his head to you, the moment you were waiting for. His beautiful face twisted in worry as he stroked yours with his thumb, examining your body to make sure you were unharmed.

"Are you okay?" he then asked and stared into your eyes with his usual intensity. You needed a moment to recover from the sight, briefly lost in his blue gaze, and answered him.

"I'm fine." you said, still a little shaken by the shock.

His face relaxed and he closed his eyes in relief before his eyebrows quickly drew together again.

"What are you doing out here, it's dangerous!" he exclaimed reprimandingly.

"I was looking for you..." you said quietly and your head sank in humiliation. This is the third time that Gojo saved your life. You felt so weak.

His gaze softened at your confession and his eyes widened from the warmth that flowed through him.

"You put yourself in danger for me?"

You looked away in embarrassment in response.

He smiled slightly before the look on his face darkened and he held you tightly to him, his hand pushing your head, his other arm pulling your body against him and his eyes pressed shut.

"Never do that again. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you." his voice cracked and you just stood there completely dumbfounded before you too began to wrap your hands around his torso. You stayed like that for a while, then Gojo took you by the hand and looked into the forest.

"We should get out of here before any more hunters come."

"Why are you here if it's so dangerous for you?" you asked thoughtfully.

"My estate is here. Far on the edge of the forest, they can't find their way there. Those who don't know the way get lost."

"Are they normal people?" was your next question, because now it was you who was worried about his well-being.

He smiled weakly to appease you.

"Yes, don't worry, they can't do much to me except decorating me with temporary wounds."

Then he continued.

"I said they're vampire hunters, but that's only half true. They hunt werewolves too."

"Wait, that was a werewolf? A human?" you were surprised, but now it made sense that he was so big and could understand Gojo.

Gojo nodded.

"Humans like to kill for pure entertainment - they see death as a kind of trophy. That's why the curse of the undead unleashed - to restore the balance."

You listened with interest and absorbed the new information. Then you asked another question, eager to learn more about this wondrous world that had been so closed to you until now.

"What about the werewolves, how do you get along? You're in the same boat after all, right?"

"We're not enemies, but we don't like each other very much either. Someone like me is unnatural to them, but they tolerate our existence. Well, to a certain extent at least. They understand the need for harmony."

You nodded in understanding and he let the subject rest.

"But now let's go." he said and picked you up on his back, his strong arms supporting your seat. You placed yours around his neck and couldn't help but notice his broad, muscular shoulders as well.

His back narrowed around his waist and his biceps flexed every once a while from carrying you. The part you touched with your hands and arms was hard and impressive beneath your fingertips, revealing to you his supernatural strength that was otherwise concealed beneath his princely appearance.

His body was your absolute desire. When you noticed that your legs were wrapped around his torso, you wondered what it would be like if you weren't sitting on his back but instead at the very front. The thought got you heated up and resulted in you squirming.

"Are you okay?" he asked genuinely, completely oblivious to your erotic thoughts.

You hid your face in his neck out of nervousness, muttered a small "yes" and he started the way back to your home with you as ballast. In this position you could smell his scent, it was a combination of sensual sweetness and manly musk and this mixture made your mouth salivate. Even though you enjoyed his company, you hoped the way back wouldn't last long because his effect on you seemed so embarrassing.

The next day, an unknown man came up and spoke to you. He was very broadly built and his muscles were clearly visible through the tight compression shirt. His massive chest looked like it was about to burst out at any moment. He also wore light gray loose pants around his waist. His hair was black, just like his shirt. A scar adorned his mouth and he had a smug expression on his face.

He introduced himself as Toji and it turned out that he was the werewolf from last night. He apologized profoundly and assured you that he never intended to scare such a beautiful girl. His flirtatious nature left you cold.

"I've come to warn you." he then said sternly, the sudden change startling you. You were curious to hear what he had to say.

"The man you've been with yesterday, do you know what he is?"

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Of course I do."

"Then you should understand that you better keep your distance."

You were speechless, but he kept talking.

"He's not human. You don't belong together, that's unnatural. Sooner or later he'll kill you, we both know that."

That made you angry.

"Oh, because werewolves are so natural! You were the one almost killing me yesterday, not him!"

"Touché." he smirked. "But at least I'm still human. You'd be better off with me."

Suddenly he wrinkled his nose in a sniffing manner. He looked down at your hand, an eye-catching ring attracting his attention. He grabbed your hand and took a closer look at it.

"He marked you."

You quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp before defending yourself.

"Listen, I don't know why you think that is any of your business, but it's not."

"It is my business because I'm worried about you."

"Don't bother, I'm fine."

"Alright." he held up his hands in retreat. "But don't say I didn't warn you. If you ever change your mind, my offer still stands." he smirked.

"No thanks, I refuse."

And then you left him alone.

"Good luck." he called after you.

When you met Gojo again later - he basically teleported himself back into your own four walls - he startled you. Would you ever get used to this?

"You smell like wolf." he discovered disapprovingly, looking at you rather annoyed.

"No hello?" you smiled to lighten the mood, but it was no use. His expression remained unchanged. You sighed and gave him an explanation.

After he listened to you, he stared out the window for a few minutes without saying a word, his head tilted to the side. You thought it best to switch topics.

"The ring you gave me yesterday...you said it would protect me, right?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, why? Did the wolf mention something?"

"He said you marked me. What does that mean?"

He remained silent for a moment and then sat down next to you on the couch.

"It's filled with my venom. It keeps predators away. But since it's not directly injected into your body, its effect is weaker. He probably smelled it." he explained.

You nodded. Now he too breathed in the surrounding scent through his nose. But he said nothing else.

He closed his eyes and sank back into thought. He almost looked...sad.

A few days passed without you seeing him. It was eating you up from the inside. Without him, all things lose their meaning. On the fifth day, you couldn't take it anymore. You gave him your word that you would never expose yourself to danger again. But this was an emergency. Why didn't he pay you a visit?

Maybe you were delusional, maybe you were out of your mind, but your feet brought you to the woods again.

The repetitive, barely distinguishable trees around you significantly weakened your sense of direction and made it harder for you to search for the attractive bloodsucker.

But once you turned around a corner on a path, you saw him, without his cloak and only clad in a white blouse that was not sewn up to his stomach and thus did not cover the middle of his chest. The last weak rays of sunlight in this snow-covered winter landscape colored his skin almost gold, almost transparent, so penetrable were they. It looked like the wet sand in the sea, illuminated by the hot reflection through the water.

But you noticed his absent-minded gaze - directed entirely towards the ground. And when suddenly the shadows of some branches made his body stop glowing and you could see his skin in its vulgar form, you could no longer believe your eyes. He was covered with several small wounds, it seemed as if they came from arrows. You quickly ran towards him and shouted his name.

At the sound of your troubling voice he looked up in shock. When you were in front of him he just looked at you blankly.

"You promised me you wouldn't do that." He was referring to you putting yourself in danger.

"How was I supposed to keep my promise without you at my side to remind me?" you replied angrily. "What happened to you? Why are you so hurt?"

He didn't bat an eyelid before answering.

"Go home. I don't want you to see me like this. Just forget about me."

A stab went through your heart and you immediately felt sick to your stomach.

"I could never do that. What's wrong with you? Why are you suddenly saying these ugly words to me that I don't want to hear?"

"We don't belong together. We should have never met. I'm the one to blame, but I won't let myself drag you into damnation any more."

"Damnation? Thanks to you, I've escaped it more than once! My life has never been better than when you joined it!" your arm shot out to the side to reinforce your argument. With this action, Gojo's focus slipped to the ring around your finger.

"Now it's my turn to help you. Let me treat your wounds." but he slapped your hand away, which was reaching out to him.

"I don't care about the wounds. They are a sign of my remorse." His gaze was still on your ring.

He laughed crazily.

"How easily his smell overpowers mine. It is as if it was just natural that you belong together."

You were confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"The werewolf. Or as you know him, 'Toji'." he managed to say. "He is interested in you. I could sense it." he then spat out, the newly found information taking you by surprise.

"I- I don't care. I am not interested in him. He is pushy and bold and irritat-" At that, Gojo interrupted you.

"Pushy? Did he do something to you?" Gojo's eyes filled with anger. You shook your head and you felt relief coming over him.

"I don't particularly like him. But he is right, you shouldn't be with someone like me. You deserve a better life."

"Did he tell you that?" You got mad. What was he thinking, always interfering your affairs?

"He came to me a few days ago and brought me to my senses. He said that I should let go of you for your own well-being, that you don't belong in this world and that I shouldn't put you in danger for selfish reasons. And I agree with him. I'm sorry for all the trouble that I've caused you. It was never my intention to hurt you."

"Bullshit! He doesn't know anything about us, about you! You want to leave me because some stranger advised you to? You're hurting me more with that than anything else ever could!"

"Don't you think I want to stay with you too?" he shouted a little louder. You flinched. "But I can't." He articulated the last part more quietly, his eyes squeezed shut in agony.

"Why not?" you asked, tears welling up in your eyes.

"Because you're destined for the wolf."

The knot in your chest only tightened.

"You can't decide that! I decide about my own life and you should do the same! What do you want, Gojo?"

Then he grabbed you by the collar, his teeth clenched in desperation.

"You wanna know what I want?"

"Yes." you whined out and his hands trembled.

Then his broad, long hands landed on both sides of your neck, his thumbs at your chin, and he pulled you closer to him. His grip was firm but gentle, he didn't apply unnecessary pressure, but he still seemed upset.

"I want to possess you and I want to be possessed by you. Do you even know how intensely I feel for you? I would love to mark you properly so that you belong to me, so that it is my scent that sticks to you. But that would be selfish, wouldn't it?" he professed, your lips almost grazing against each other, which quickly made you blush and quicken your already rapid beating heart. Everytime you were near him, you felt like it was beating out of your chest.

"Do it then. It's not selfish if I want you to. Mark me. Bite me. I am already yours."

You noticed the black veins forming on his dark circles at your words but before they were completed, he forcefully suppressed them and turned his head away from you.

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Yes I do! I want it! So go on!"

"Do you know what you're asking for? You're not just mere food to me. I could never live with the knowledge that I've taken away your normal life. Don't make me do something that would make me despise myself."

"But you already have. Since you came into my life, I have not been the same and I am glad about that! And take a look at you, you're still alive. Why won't you understand how dear you are to me..."

He looked at you fondly and softly called out your name, whispering, almost inaudible if you were not so close to him.

"Please don't leave me alone when I can't find you on my own. I would seek you every day and willingly put myself in danger, all just to see you again. Nothing can stop me, not my promise and not you. Because then my promise would no longer be valid anyways."

His eyes widened in utter surprise.

"Stubborn, aren't we?" he sighed defeatingly.

"Then promise me one thing. Don't ever get near the woods again if I'm not with you."

"Only if you promise me to never talk about parting ways ever again."

He smiled warmly.

"Alright." he complied. Then he pulled you into a hug and pressed your head against his cheek, holding you tight.

"You must be cold. Come on, let's go to my estate, you can warm up there."

You nodded, but remembered something else.

"Your wounds! Let me take care of you first!"

"Already taken care of." he showed you his arm that was full of injuries before. "See? I told you they're no real threat to me. I heal pretty quickly."

You sighed in relief and with that, you two set off.

Gojo's property stretched out somewhere far behind the forest. The black fence in front of it matched the gloomy house behind it. You didn't even know that this place existed, but Gojo said himself that it was impossible to find if you didn't already know the way.

The roof of the house towered far above the tall trees. It looked stable, but lonely and, admittedly, a little scary. The branches of the surrounding trees seemed even sharper than in the forest, they reminded of barbed wire. There were many thorn bushes in the garden of the house, on them lived roses.

The door squeaked loudly when opened and banged even louder when closed. Everything was dark inside, only a few candles allowed you to perceive your general surroundings. If you didn't know better, you would be pretty scared. But then all of a sudden, the whole house became bright and you could see the elegant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A long staircase spread out in front of you, covered with a red carpet. On the wall to the left you could see a fireplace, on the right a sofa. The room was large, but according to Gojo it was the entrance hall and therefore the least comfortable room.

He took you up to his bedroom and the rich furniture made your jaw drop to the floor. With its own fireplace and the many candlesticks, it seemed very warm and inviting, the complete opposite of your first impression of the outer building. The windows were big and long and decorated with velvet curtains.

This room was also very large, in the middle of it a round brown wooden table with matching chairs and a porcelain vase on its head and on the wall by the door was another sofa.

The bed was so huge that you would think 4 people could sleep in it - and that without having to suffer from a lack of space, the mattress was very soft and the covers very expensive. In front of the bed and therefore also in front of the fireplace, which was on the opposite side, was an embroidered carpet. Everything in this house seemed very expensive. Next to the right nightstand of the bed was a door that was half open and as you entered the room you could see that it was a bathroom.

Then Gojo spoke.

"Sorry, I'm not used to guests, but I hope you still feel comfortable here."

"That's no problem, I like your decor. It's so old-fashioned, but in a good way! When did you last have visitors here?" you asked out of pure curiosity and waved your finger over the flame of a candle.

"You're the first." he said bluntly, a tingling sensation overflowing you at his statement.

The sound of heavy rain unexpectedly interrupted you and you both stared at the window.

"It's pouring outside..." Gojo said and you hummed in response.

"If you want, you can stay overnight..." he suggested carefully. He felt your blood pressure rise.

"Uhm...I have a guest room of course." he clarified.

The heat rose to your head at the thought of sleeping in the same house as Gojo, but you approved of that idea.

"G-Gladly." you stumbled over your words.

Gojo looked around to escape the brief awkwardness between you. Then something occurred to him.

"You're welcome to take a bath, it will warm you up. I'll run the water for you."

You nodded shyly and thanked him, then he disappeared into the bathroom. When the bath was ready, he gave you towels and a piece of folded clothing. When you unfolded them, you noticed that it was a white nightgown. Your white nightgown that had been lying on your dresser for years because you wanted to take it to the tailor. Your face instantly turned red and he couldn't completely hide his nervousness either.

"I hope this doesn't seem creepy, but I found it and had it adjusted."

You looked at the dress and noticed that it was actually longer. The sleeves also had multiple layers from the elbows down.

"I hope that wasn't too insolent of me, but I saw it lying around for a long time and thought it would be a shame to keep leaving it there..."

Your inability to get the dress adjusted yourself made you feel ashamed, but at the same time you were so happy to finally be able to put on this old dress.

"No, it's perfect. Thank you." you said, overjoyed, and gave him a smile.

"Okay, I'll leave you on your own then. I'm sure you know how a bathroom works." he shook his head at his own utterance.

"Take your time." he ended eventually and closed the door behind him.

The bathtub was much bigger than a normal one and had many ornaments on the faucet as well as on the feet. The details in the bathroom were impressive - it almost seemed as if you were in a castle. The water was covered in foam and... rose petals? And on the windowsill next to the tub, many candles of different sizes lit up the room. The window was not transparent, but made of colored glass, like those in a church.

After taking some time to relax, you got dressed. When you entered the room, Gojo was nowhere to be found. So you decided to wander through the house and look for him.

The hallways were decorated with many paintings and you suddenly smelled the scent of fresh food. You went down the stairs and entered the room you guessed the smell was coming from.

Gojo was standing in the kitchen, he was preparing something and it looked delicious. You quietly sat down on a stool at the kitchen island, facing Gojo.

"Hey, enjoyed your shower?"

You nodded.

"You must be hungry, I prepared something for you. I'm not the best cook though." he said embarrassedly and scratched his ear. Butterflies formed in your stomach at this attentive gesture. He cooked spaghetti with tomato sauce just for you.

"I hope you like it."

You tried the food and he watched you eagerly.

"Mh! It's good!" you said with your mouth full and nodded supportively. A spaghetti stuck to your chin and the sauce on it turned it red even after you had successfully sucked it up into your mouth. Gojo laughed.

"Now you look like the bloodsucker." he grinned and wiped the stain away.

Your heart beat faster at his touch.

"Don't you eat human food at all?" you asked. He shook his head.

"My body is unable to tolerate it. That's why I hardly use the kitchen."

After dinner he showed you the guest room. It was smaller than his, but still cozy. He lit the fireplace and then you said goodnight to each other shyly.

"Well then, the fireplace is on and there's enough wood in it. If anything's wrong, you can always come to me." You smiled tiredly at him before relaxing your face again. You both stared at each other expectantly. Then he broke eye contact.

"Alright...Sweet dreams." he said and waited for a reaction before he closed the door. You looked after him quietly and nodded slightly. When he closed the door, you threw yourself onto the bed and let out the breath you held in. You were feeling so much for him, you were basically on cloud nine. He was so helpful, so good, so pure, so genuine and so SO handsome. He was truly perfect.

You spent some time gushing over him when you began to notice the chilly atmosphere in the room. You turned your head to the side and learned the reason behind it.

The window was broken, its handle not being able to close it. Rain was pouring in and the wind quickly ceased the fire. You didn't think twice and knocked on Gojo's door. When you entered, he was sitting on his bed shirtless, puzzled by the sudden intrusion. His back was leaning against the bedframe, he had a pair of silky pajama pants around his hips and was fiddling with his stomach. There you saw a large wound.

"Your stomach..." your eyes widened in shock. You thought all of his injuries had already healed - at least that's what he pretended.

"Ah, that's no problem, really. The regeneration just takes longer because it's bigger. But don't worry, I'm not in any pain."

He immediately stood up and distracted you by asking what was wrong. You hesitated first, but after you voiced your problem, he apologized thoroughly.

"I'm so sorry, I can't apologize enough. You can take my bed of course. I don't need sleep anyway and if I do want to, I'll go to the guest room. The cold doesn't bother me after all."

"No, please stay...I don't want to throw you out of your own bed."

Lies. You just wanted to share one with him.

He gawked at you flabbergasted,

"Aw, are you that eager to share a bed with me?" Now he was getting cocky.

"Yes." you answered firmly, knowing it would catch him off guard to give him a taste of his own medicine.

When you both laid down, you were silent - staring up at the ceiling and keeping a certain distance from one another. Your heart raced in your chest, unneeded as Gojo didn't reach out to you once in any way. The whole night, nothing happened.

The next Monday, Toji bothered you again. He was in the middle of explaining to you why you two were "the better match" when you interrupted him, annoyed.

“For someone so insistent on harmony, you sure do disrupt other people's lives pretty often."

“Listen. We wolves feel very quickly and, if so, very intensely. This is called imprinting. When I looked into your eyes back then, I could already see our whole future together. I knew straight away that we were meant for each other.”

"Do you wolves also consider the partner's feelings? Or does consent not exist with you?"

"Ah, just look at that temper, so fierce, you'd fit in so well."

"My temper depends on my counterpart. And I don't think I would, considering I would be mad constantly then. That sure wouldn't be good for my health."

"But surrounding yourself with parasites that thirst for your life is good for your health?" he snorted.

You got mad.

"He is not a parasite, you are! The only one molesting me with such ridiculous fantasies is you, and let me tell you one thing: they will never be reality. I despise you from the bottom of my heart for talking about him like that, he is so much better, greater and more human in every sense of the word. Next time you try to pursuit a woman, try be more romantic and less demanding. But forget about me."

With that you left, your pulse way too high. The only one who could put your mind at ease was Satoru. Oh, just thinking about him made you feel lightweighted enough to just float in the air. When you were together, that's when you felt at peace.

Your heart started to calm down when your eyes met him - as much as it could with the usual reason of your racing heart beat right in front of you.

When he sniffed this familiar scent again, you promised to explain what had happened once you arrived at your destination.

Gojo took you on a mountain, far above the city where you've never been to. The soft clouds were grey from the season and the sky prepared for it's upcoming rain. You looked down onto the city and couldn't believe how small it seemed.

You both lay down on the slightly wet grass, looking up into the endless firmament over you.

When you told him the story, he gave you even more insight into the life of the undead.

"We vampires also bind ourselves to a partner for life." he started. You shifted in your place for your eyes to focus on him, expecting him to continue. Your shoulders grazed one another now, but he took his time, hesitating a little.

"Many vampires die of a broken heart because they get the short end of the stick. They become suicidal or suffer for the rest of their lives. Even after the death of their partner, it doesn't stop. Because often they are not the predestined person for the one that's meant for them. It's only logical when you look at the fact that our lifetimes weren't intended to meet each other. That's a side effect of the curse. We are not actually entitled to love, because we shouldn't exist under normal circumstances."

You jumped up, entrusting all of your bodyweight to your right hand that supported you on the ground. Was this why he let all those arrows pierce through him after deciding on withdrawing from your life? Was he planning to commit suicide too?

"Of course you are entitled, just like everyone else! You have a right to exist, otherwise you wouldn't exist in the first place! If there really is something like fate, then it includes all of the anomalies of nature. You deserve to find happiness, Satoru."

He weakly smiled at you, getting up too now, standing while looking up in silence. You looked up too, up to him. There was no reason to look at the sky when heaven was right in front of you.

As you waited for some slight movement of his, the sudden strong wind blew through your hair and you quickly tucked it behind your ear before standing up as well, situating yourself next to Gojo.

"You are the purest form of nature." he then declared. You felt your face heating up at that.

"You are my human. You are my chosen one."

he turned his head to you know, your eyes displaying a longing of such fervour you both held/raised for so long now.

"And you are mine, Satoru." you muttered quietly.

Your heartbeat fastened when you saw his hands coming up to your face, placing them on both sides of your cheeks. Satoru looked at you through half-lidded eyes, lips contorted into a soft smile. You closed your eyes, and then you felt it. His lips on yours. It was a sensation like no other, he was tender in the way he moved his mouth against yours, the smooth pink flesh dancing around yours like they knew each other, mastering the choreography of your mutual love, giving and taking in all you could. Your hands found his strong chest on their way to his neck you snaked them around, resting them and pulling him in even more at the same time.

The coldness coating him only intensified the fluttering wings of the butterflies in your stomach, pressing your contrasting temperatures against each other while blending them into something entirely of their own.

You felt dizzy, your lips prickling as if they got more and more plump by each second. Your whole body concentrated on that one point, that small spot that touched him.

What came over you next - apart from the hurried declarations - was the rain. You both pulled away momentarily, letting the drops fall onto your bodies without a care in the world, only to laugh at your love being practically watered by mother nature, flourishing it and blooming as you simultaneously leaned in for another kiss.

How lucky you felt in this moment to have the privilege of feeling him, of being felt by him. You were sure you were the happiest person on earth.

But even the merriest of moments come to an end, because when the storm raged, you agreed that it would be best to leave, a place that high is not really advantageous when facing a storm.

He took you to his place again, tucking you into a warm blanket and seating you in front of the chimney in his room. He then told you that he had to take care of something and would come back as soon as possible, and to make yourself at home.

He came back about fourty minutes later and he looked paler than usual. You asked him about it, but he just shove it off, telling you he would tell you another time. You didn't want to be too pushy and decided to leave it for now.

You slept in the same bed again this night, and this time, you embraced each other's bodies, caressing your skins while talking about your lives and memories. Gojo told you that he has lived for 411 years and this information made your mouth drop. He laughed. He had such a pretty laugh.

It was sensual, you in his arms and the way his icy fingertips stroked your arm. You did the same, caressing his torso. When you brushed his side for a moment, he slightly winced in pain. It didn't go unnoticed by you. You stared up at him first, then down to where you accidentally touched him.

"You still have this wound?" You immediately sat up. He cursed himself for making you notice.

"Don't worry, I'm okay." he smiled, but it was a fake one. He was definitely in pain.

"I thought you said your wounds would close on their own..." you questioned, inspecting the wound closely.

"They do, but only if I consume a meal." he admitted.

"Meal as in...?" you started, insinuating human blood. He nodded.

"But don't worry. I don't intend to. I will figure it out somehow."

"Bite me." you confidently proposed, but he was not having it.

"Never. I'd rather die."

"You need blood and I have it. If you don't drink anything soon, who knows what will happen. I won't let you die because you refuse to eat!"

"Eat you!" he clarified, a little angry about your carelessness.

"Is that why you left earlier? Because you were in so much pain that you had to hide from me?"

He was silent. You were speechless.

"...Not only that, but it was a part of it."

You didn't understand.

"What does this mean?" you asked and he wanted to brush it off.

Then, you suddenly kissed him and it surprised him so much that he let out a small and quiet moan.

"I don't want to lose you."

Another kiss.

He slowly joined in, kissing you back each time your lips met.

"You won't lose me." he said, shifting. You thought he did that to switch positions, but he actually stood up to leave the room.

"I'll sleep in the guest room. Have a good night, I'll see you tomorrow." he said and headed for the door.

"So you're just leaving me?" you asked, but no reaction from him.

"Why don't you trust me?" you then asked louder, furrowing your brows. He immediately stopped in his tracks.

"I trust you. Do you think I'm so fragile? I don't know why you would want to be with someone you consider weak."

He turned around, placing his knees on the end of the bed, his arms supporting him on the mattress, a position that enabled him to leave quickly again. One of his hands reached out to your hair and he it petted it gently.

"I don't think you're weak. But you're weaker than me, and that's enough to be cautious."

"But you don't trust me. And apparently you don't trust yourself. Why do you turn me down everytime when all I want to do is feel you in every sense of the word?"

He didn't know what to say, so you continued.

"I don't know why you're so hesitant when this was what saved me back then, so let it save you now. Why don't you treat yourself the same way you treat me?"

"Because you are so much more dear to me than my own, cursed life. Although it is less cursed with you in it."

"If I said the same thing, what would your reaction be?"

"..."

"Exactly. I trust you, Satoru, with all my heart. So just get a grip and drink from me and stop punishing yourself for simply existing! You're 411 years old for god's sake, someday you have to accept your life!"

This time it was him who kissed you - wildly, passionately, emotionally. As if for the first time in his life, someone had acknowledged Satoru's worth - apart from the picture that the world had seen.

Satoru slowly crawled to you, taking you into his embrace while keeping his mouth occupied with your pretty lips.

"You really want me to suck the blood out of your body so bad?" He said between a kiss, dragging his face down to your neck and brushing it with his nose while you moaned, letting out a small "mhmm" in approval.

"I know you will stop at the right time, don't even try to tease me." you said in a weak attempt to appear strong, to stand your ground, but you were getting inevitably weak, sinking into the exciting sensation that was Satoru Gojo.

He chuckled deeply, kissing over your neck and nibbling on it teasingly before shamelessly making out with it.

"Stop teasing." you whined while growing aroused, body heat increasing at his hot smooches.

He only forced your body against him harder, beefy arms fully engulfing you. You felt his powerful muscles against your front with the way his hefty body pressed into yours and you couldn't resist him anymore, groping his ripped shoulders desperately.

He shoved you in his lap and you whimpered, growing excited more and more with the way he devoured you.

"You're so-"

He kissed your ear.

"Incredibly-"

Then your neck.

"Stubborn."

And with the last word, he went even further down - his chin lowered the fabric of your nightgown just a little - and planted a kiss on your chest.

"Want me to drink from you? Alright, your wish is my command. But first I'll take care of your own needs." he then grumbled, growing needier himself.

"Satoru, please, I want you." You cried and he groaned at the sound.

"I'm going crazy over you." he added.

"I just want to devour you whole. Make you go crazy for me too" His sexual hint made you buck your hips against his, feeling wetter and wetter with each second. Saying "I already am." made him groan even louder.

He gently but hastily pushed up your nightgown to your waist, grazing his fingers over your throbbing clit. He played with it for a while, making you moan out loud and furrow your eyebrows until he pushed your panties aside to get to the real thing.

"You're so wet already. All for me?"

You nodded in response when his hand wandered through your folds, not able to form any words from the fast beating and heart in your chest. He continued stroking your clit with his thumb, while his fingers worked their way to your core.

"I'll be sure to cherish it then."

That's when two of his fingers slide in and you couldn't help but jump up from the unexpected but more than welcomed intrusion. You whined like you never knew you could and Satoru enjoyed every second of it, fingering your hole at a slow but steady pace first before speeding up his movements.

It was too much even for him, that's why he smoothly pushed you on the mattress and went down on you, licking and slobbering between your folds until he rolled his eyes back in a delirious state. You gasped at the sudden nudge and gasped even more when you felt his tongue penetrating your inner walls.

"This is my new favorite meal from now on."

You rolled back your eyes as he took you higher and when you came for the first time, you and him moaned in unison, him being so turned on by you that his own swelling bulge nearly threatened to drill a hole into his pants.

"Oh my god!" you screamed, completely breathless as Satoru rode out your high.

"Feel good?" he asked and licked his fingers clean, in disbelief once again at how good you taste. But he received an answer he did not expect.

"Yes, oh Satoru, I love you!" you exhaled in bliss and his eyes widened, his heart twitched and his pants tightened.

You had both confessed your feelings already, but none of you dared to speak out those three words. And it made him go absolutely feral.

Without a second thought, he got rid of both of your clothes, departing from another shortly before he dragged you down his lap again, sitting directly in front of his cock. He groaned when he saw your bare body for the first time.

"Look at you, so absolutely perfect. Don't you show any mercy in seducing me like this?" His fingers started fondling your breasts, rubbing at your sensitive nipples while amazedly taking in the sight of you further.

And you, for the first time too saw him in all his glory. And he was huge. Huge and surprisingly very pretty, his bright pink tip was leaking solid amounts precum already and for some reason it looked so scrumptious that you just wanted to lick it off.

His balls looked heavy, but the skin of the whole area looked so flawless and the few thick veins that decorated his shaft throbbed when it accidentally met your skin. All in all, it made the same impression as Gojo's body in general - delicate, but burly.

The new and unfamiliar kind of contact made tingles spread in all of your limbs, enjoying the incredible experience. You felt his protruding girth directly under your entrance and you felt wobbly just by the thought of him inserting himself.

"I have to have you." he growled, eyes half-lidded and impatient as he moved his hand all over your body.

"Then take me." you simply said. And you didn't have to say it twice.

In one motion, Gojo placed you directly over his bulbous head, taking your hand in his and kissing the back of it while luring you onto him. He began to carefully but eagerly glide you down on him and once you felt the stretch, you both let out a deep moan.

He was really thick, but his length was even longer and when he warily invaded your space, he let you get used to him and waited for your approval to go further. In the meantime he made you feel so treasured with the way his hands worked against your skin, how his slight touches swayed and whirled around almost ticklishly to console you through it all and how his eyes not only sparkled with desire but deep rooted devotion - that's how attentive he was, as if he would touch something sacred, something holy. And to him, you were a saint.

After a few moments, when you consented, he began to move inside of you, increasing his rhythm bit by bit. And god, was it euphoric, the way he bounced you on top of him as if you weighed nothing.

His thrusts were relentless, he pulled you in as if he wanted you to mold into each other. With every poke against your sweet spot - that he found so effortlessly - it felt as if you were one, as if you were becoming a single entity and you could feel everything the other felt.

The constant ram of his hips and his powerful arms caging you against him made you see stars soon and that's it when kicked in.

"M-mark me." you whined and his attention was on your words, caught off guard for a second before asking you one last question.

"A-are you...hngh...are you sure?" And you just nodded, pushing him by the back of his head so that he was in front of your neck. You leaned to the side to make space for him, so that he could settle between your head and shoulders and with one last look into your eyes, he hesitantly obliged.

He was so careful when he sank his teeth into you and it burned, the sting aching and pulsating, but you clenched your teeth and let it happen.

For Gojo it was heaven, he drank you up as if it would be his last meal, as if he hadn't eaten for a decade. He stopped his powerful thrusts for a second, basking in that feeling for a split second before he picked up his speed again and soon turned into a moaning, whimpering mess.

His eyes widened and were turned red again, the veins under them popped out, an expression on his face like he was about cry.

He thrusted and thrusted and sucked and thrusted and it did a hundred things to you, because soon, you found pure pleasure in it. He took from you but gave you something in return, releasing his venom inside of you. The sweet exchange made you basically melt into each other, relishing in the transcendental joy of absorbing one another.

It was ecstatic. It felt like the highest high possible, the way you gave in to him, quenching his thirst for blood and for you.

With every sip of his, the thrusts began to feel even more overwhelming, more intense than before, a downright assault on your walls, as if there was a place behind that he tried to get into.

It was addictive, as addictive as your stream of blood was to Gojo when he probably drank a little too much from you, considering how close you were to passing out. But it was that combination of pleasure and blood loss taking you to heaven and back, feeling as if you were drunk off of him, not the other way around. And you just smiled in pure bliss, looking a little insane with the way your eyes rolled back. You felt so lightheaded, as if you floated in the air, unconscious to everything but the satisfaction he provided you with.

And he gulped and groaned and gasped and pounded into you, his neediness palpable in his greedy grips that went up and down your body hastily, before you both reached your peaks at the same time and he stopped.

When he released inside of you, the liquid felt frosty to the point it made you shudder. You were shaking, feeling like his seed cooled you down from your own orgasm, goosebumps spreading on your body while he rode out both of your highs.

The chilly feeling vanished once the venom started spreading through your body, replacing the former weakness with newfound energy, filling your body with the power of regeneration. And when you looked at Satoru, he seemed so much more healthy, so much more glowing, saturated from his latest feast.

"You're all marked up now." hearing him announce his claim on you made your face flush and your insides twitch in excitement. Never before have you been this satisfied.

But it wasn't enough. For the both of you it wasn't enough. No, the night was still young and Gojo couldn't resist to push you down the mattress desperately, intertwining his fingers with yours as he placed your hands next to your head, rolling his hips once again.

-------------------------------------------------

The next months were full of Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. You could also put a "you" in front of the verb of the last sentence, because you made love to each other like you were bunnies. But it wasn't just the hot vampire sex that kept you satiated, it was the way he cared for you, the way he held you in his arms after, embracing you fully after wiping you clean with a wet towel, the way he would take you on new adventures, showing you places you didn't knew existed, telling you stories you've never heard. You explored and experienced the depths of the world - and each other.

And he was ready to show you one of those depths of his, bringing you to the backyard of his mansion one day to show you the big graveyard that was based there.

"This is a place of peace for all the people whose deaths I have on my conscience, all the people I have already killed during my existence. I built it as a way for me to show remorse, although I know that it doesn't condone my acts."

You furrowed your brows in sympathy, grateful that he opened up and shared this sensitive information with you.

"That's also where I went off to when I left you that one night. I accepted my wounds as a punishment for all my sins. I was torn between begging them to finally release me from my misery or begging for forgiveness to stay with you. I thought I was ready to perish until I met you. Finally finding you gave my life the purpose it yearned for so long." he cleared up, looking at the tombstones in front of you.

"You have such a good heart, Satoru. Building this place for them to rest and never be forgotten on your very own property shows that."

He let out a small laugh and turned to you.

"Do you feel this?" he took your hand and placed it in the middle of his chest.

"Your heart?" you asked.

He shook his head.

"It died a long time ago, but it started beating again for you. My heart is all yours. My love and life, they both belong to you." You knew he wasn't speaking literally but metaphorically.

Your eyes warmed up to him when he continued.

"I think that night was their answer, a sign of mercy when you offered yourself to me. My atonement will be protecting your precious life, the one that I'll save in return for the hundreds I took."

You quickly hugged him, tears swelling down your cheeks.

"I will take care of you too, Satoru. It won't be one-sided, I promise. I'll rescue you as many times as I have to."

He chuckled lowly, thankful for your sentiment before taking you into his embrace. He tightened his grip and kissed your temple, furrowing his brows when teardrops glimmered onto you.

You stood there for a while, relishing in the sheer intimacy of the moment.

-------------------------------------------------

One of the places Gojo surprised you with was a sea in the middle of the woods, far away from the curious eyes of anyone except the peaceful animals living around.

You've been here twice before, but the winter months have been to cold for you to enjoy your stay and Gojo was so worried over you - not feeling the cold himself - that he promised you to take you there again when the temperatures would rise again.

That time was now. It was a lovely spring night when you two found yourself alone at the abandoned spot.

Gojo bathed in the sea, naked and the water almost reaching his hips. He looked up at the moon, admiring it. And you, you were admiring him from afar, getting rid of your clothes too as he was waiting for you.

He shimmered under the moon as if absorbing and reflecting its light at once, flawless skin reminding you of nacre, rivaling mother-of-pearl. His eyes radiated with the same colour as the sea in the moonlight, and when you finally into the water and walked up to him, you realized that, although the brightness of the moon shone beautifully on the water, his shining white hair stood out to you, like a lamp guiding you through the darkness.

It felt like magnetism how you were pulled to each other, none of you capable of breaking the force, none of you wanting to. It was straight up torture whenever you had to separate, is it as if you belonged with each other, you were soulmates - there was nothing and no one in the world who could cut the invisible string of your deep connection.

When he heard the water splash behind him from your movements, he turned around, his lips went up to a bright, genuine smile. He snaked his arms around your smaller figure and rested his chin on the top of your head, eyes closing for a bit before contently looking into the distance. The time stood still whenever you were close, it was just him and you in this big world. Satoru Gojo was happy. He was thankful. And, most importantly, he was on cloud nine.

He couldn't help but start to get a little aroused at your loving fingers massaging all over his skin, his hardened member visible to you. When your hand moved down, that's what piqued his interest.

You teasingly went down, touches so light, barely even reaching him so that he grew more tempted. You grazed past his chest and stopped at his abdomen.

He watched your hand sliding around his pulsating erection and he inhaled, holding his breath, a pearly substance decorating the tip already, making you squeeze your legs at this delicious sight.

You grabbed it strongly, squeezing it a little before jerking him off. His moaned and groaned at the sensations turned out to be not enough for you - no, you wanted a taste of him. And so you kneeled down and wrapped your pretty lips around his length.

You made him go insane by bobbing your head up and down his shaft, stroking whatever didn't fit into your mouth with one hand and fondling his balls with the other while he lost his mind over you.

The way you seemed to enjoy it even more than him set him on fire, so he quickly lifted you up, forcefully throwing you onto his cock, sheathing himself deep inside of you, mumbling something about it "being not enough" and "needing more". It was safe to say that this happened with your consent, he would never do anything against your will, but the signals you gave him - and he was very familiar with them by now - convinced him that you did.

You let out a pleased wail at the sudden intrusion and he started digging his claws into your thighs, nails prodding in your flesh to move you impossibly closer, throwing his head back into his neck. When he started his unforgiving pace, a naughty idea came to your mind. You bit the inside of your palm hard enough to draw blood and planted the wound directly on his mouth. Gojo's eyes widened at the flavor, completely unprepared. His erotic mewls broke the silence.

"Drink up, handsome." you said and he growled, rolling back his eyes and rearranging your guts a tad more while drinking from the source on your palm.

You both reached your highs pretty quickly, considering your intense intercourse. When he released his cool semen into your womb, it was only then that you felt fulfilled. He was gushing out such amounts that it made your insides feel sticky and you took immense pride in that.

But you had no time coming back to your senses because he was not done with you, practically teleporting you to the rock nearby and caging you against it, already aiming for round two. With him, it was never just one round, too obsessed with you and the way you feel to stop so soon.

You spent much time and happy days loving each other. But time wasn't infinite.

So why, when you were so happy and fulfilled, did you have to leave him?

Why did you betray him?

And how dared you dying on him? To protect him from the arrow that was meant to hit him?

You broke your promise and he fell victim to his sins again, blaming himself for your death and never before did he feel so envious of someone. That's the endcome the werewolf warned him of and he was stupid to not believe him. He should have never trusted you, oh, how blinded he was from love. He would make sure to never make a mistake like this again, abstaining from every joy, never pursuing any dreams again, because you were his only wish, and dreams turn into nightmares.

Cursed to live the life you paved for him - without the life that kept him alive. Not being allowed to follow you into the afterlife, not daring to let your sacrifice be wasted, his kind not even able to reach the same beyond anyways. You were an angel that belonged in heaven, he a creature of the night, property of the underworld.

A picture of you forever adorned his windowsill, the clear glass behind it displaying the very graveyard you, now, rested on too. And Satoru Gojo was, once again, all alone in this world, eternally torturing himself for his crimes and mourning his only beloved.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Whewww, I started writing this at the beginning of September but then I went on vacation. But I'm proud of myself for finishing it before halloween! I hope you like it, let me know what you all think!

I dedicate this story to a friend of mine who told me she craved a vamp!gojo fic and I agreed, starting the story the exact same day. This will probably never reach her though, since she doesn't know I have this blog :P

Not an english native and not proofread yet, so sorry for that.

(I hope someone actually reads it, it's so longgg 😭)

[kayewrite]

Blue Sticky Note

straykids fic wherein a mysterious note confession appears in your binder. Unsure of who left it, you embark on an investigation among your eight close friends, each with their own quirks and possibilities.

genre: Fluff. and fluff

ot8 x reader! stray kids x reader!! word count: 3.3k

AN: i want to make a fic with multiple members in it but i might make more of it after i finished all individual members. btw can you teach me how tumblr works? i might pin a masterlist soon hehe

You just got back to your apartment after a long day of classes. Exhausted from wrestling with numbers and equations, you flopped down on your bed and closed your eyes.

But your moment of peace was interrupted by the sudden ringing of your phone.

“Hey,” your friend Seungmin’s voice greeted you through the speaker.

Used to how he always greeted you, you sighed and listened as he continued, your tiredness making it hard to focus.

“You didn’t turn in your literature assignment. I’m on my way to your building,” he said, causing you to bolt upright in surprise.

You had forgotten to give it to him during class earlier. Glad he reminded you. And you were glad to be friends with him because he was the class representative. You enjoyed a lot of benefits from being his friend.

“Okay, thanks for the reminder. No need to come up—I’ll meet you downstairs,” you replied before ending the call.

Grateful for Seungmin’s help, you quickly gathered your things and checked your binder for the assignment. You sighed in relief when you found it. “I thought I lost you.”

As you were about to close your binder, a flash of blue caught your eye. A blue sticky note on the front page—one that you definitely didn’t own.

You pulled it out and read the message, which made your heart skip a beat: “I like you. But i you only see me as a friend.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d received a confession, but this note felt different. There was a mystery to it that intrigued you.

Confusion swirled in your mind as you tried to piece together who might have left this note. The message was neatly written in capital letters, offering no clues about the writer's identity.

Who could it be?

You had a lot of friends, but who might have done this?

You had male friends, all of whom felt like brothers to you. Could it be one of them? But they were like family.

The note was a sweet but outdated way to confess—charming in its own way but not something you’d expect from anyone in particular. You read it again and again, hoping to find a hint about who it might be from. But aside from the neat handwriting on a blue sticky note, you found nothing.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. You immediately sprang out of bed, remembering Seungmin.

“I’m sorry,” you said, peeking through the door.

“It’s okay,” he smiled reassuringly. “I know you were tired, so I decided to come up.”

“Oh, thanks,” you replied, quickly picking up some clothes that were strewn on the floor. You grabbed your assignment and saw the sticky note again, hastily hiding it by placing a book on top.

As you handed over your paper, you decided to test the waters, curious about who the note could be from. “Do you own any sticky notes?” you asked casually.

Seungmin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“I was taking notes and thought I might need some,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“You have plenty already,” he said, gesturing to the stack of colorful sticky notes on your study table. “And no, I don’t have any. I keep running out of them. I should buy more.”

He glanced at his watch and then looked back at you, his eyes full of concern. “I should go now. You should continue resting, and don’t forget to eat.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. President,” you said, a playful tone in your voice.

“No problem. Take care and always lock your doors. Bye, see you tomorrow.”

Before he left, Seungmin ruffled your hair affectionately.

As the door closed behind him, you found yourself staring at the sticky note again, your mind racing. If it was Seungmin who left the note, did he feel that way about you? His caring nature and playful attitude seemed to match the tone of the note, but could he really be the one?

Then again, what if it wasn’t him? You couldn’t jump to conclusions based solely on a sticky note.

You took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts aside. Until you had more evidence, you couldn’t be certain. You needed to consider all possibilities before drawing any conclusions.

Sticky notes and neat penmanship alone weren’t enough to figure out who left the note. Everyone in your class had decent handwriting, and blue sticky notes were too common to offer any real clue. They were practically identical—anyone could have bought them. It wasn't unique, not even close.

So who could it be?

"What are you thinking about?"

You were lost in thought when a voice pulled you back to reality. You looked up to see who it was.

"Uh, nothing," you replied, somewhat startled.

It was Changbin.

He was a friend of yours, though vastly different from Seungmin. If Seungmin was a green flag, then Changbin was the complete opposite—a walking red flag who had a reputation for playing with people’s hearts.

"Let me copy your physics assignment," he demanded more than asked, flashing you a grin that was both charming and mischievous.

Changbin had that bad-boy aura, and you sometimes wondered how you two even became friends. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t be the one who left that sticky note in your binder. When Changbin liked someone, he didn’t shy away from telling them directly. He would flirt openly, not leave anonymous notes.

So no, it wasn’t him.

"Why should I?" you replied nonchalantly. You were used to his antics, which might be one of the reasons why you were friends.

"Because I’m cute, and after class, I’ll buy you your favorite toothpaste-flavored ice cream," he teased.

"It’s not toothpaste! It’s mint chocolate!" you corrected, rolling your eyes.

"My bad," he smirked, unfazed. "Now, let me copy."

Too tired to argue further, you handed him your assignment. Changbin eagerly started copying, his focus entirely on the task at hand.

As you watched him scribble down your answers, you noticed his messy handwriting. There was no way it could have been him—the note’s handwriting was neat and careful, the opposite of his chaotic scrawl.

"You really have terrible handwriting. What are you, a kid? It looks like a storm blew through it," you teased, watching him.

"If I had more time, I could make it look like it was printed with a font," he shot back, not looking up. "But since the prof will be here in a few minutes, I don’t care what you say. Now, shush."

You let him finish copying, trying not to overthink the situation again, when suddenly he pulled out a blue sticky note from his bag.

"I almost forgot to give this to you," he said, handing it to you slowly. "It’s the address for the party this weekend. You should come. If I don’t see even a glimpse of you, I won’t enjoy it."

Surprised, you stared at the sticky note in his hand. It was the same color and size as the one you found in your binder. Why would he have this?

Seeing that you weren’t taking it, he grinned mischievously and stuck it to your forehead, laughing at your shocked expression.

Could it be him?

But…

You glanced at the two sticky notes in your hand, comparing them as you strolled through the expansive university yard.

Confessing like this wasn’t his style.

So it couldn’t be, right?

But the sticky notes were identical—the same length, the same height. Plain as they were, they were unmistakably the same.

Yet, you remembered how he would laugh if he knew someone confessed like this. He’d call it plain, boring, and probably mock the person as weak.

You shook off the thought, placing the sticky notes back in your binder and hugging it to your chest, forcing your mind to focus on your lessons.

"Hey, monkey!" You halted mid-step, rolling your eyes at the familiar voice and nickname.

"What?" you snapped, turning to face him.

"So you really accept now that you’re a monkey?" he teased, laughing. It was Minho.

Your friend (well, sort of?). In your group, you were like a cat and dog—he was the cat, and according to him, you were the dog because your face reminded him of one.

Despite the constant teasing, you appreciated how he looked out for you and was always there when you needed him.

But what did he just say?

"I'm not in the mood to fight with you," you muttered. On a normal day, you would have started bickering with him, refusing to back down until he surrendered (yes, like kids). "What are you, a chicken?"

"Oh, you noticed my hair. Do you like it?" he winked.

"You look like a rooster." His hair was dyed orange, and although he didn’t look like a rooster, you wanted to get back at him.

"That's better than being a monkey," he grinned.

"Crazy."

The two of you walked together, talking about random things with the usual bickering sprinkled in. Then, you remembered the sticky note. You knew it wasn’t from him because, well, why would it be?

Still, you decided to show it to him.

"Who do you think did this?" you asked, handing him the note.

He read it aloud, the words dripping with sarcasm, "That’s the cringiest thing I’ve ever read in my whole life."

Just as you expected.

"You shouldn’t say that! He must’ve gathered a lot of courage to do this."

"Why wouldn’t he just tell you in person? Is he weak?" Minho scoffed, lowering his voice when he saw you weren’t amused.

"Maybe he didn’t want to ruin our friendship."

"Then he shouldn’t have liked you in the first place."

"Can we control our feelings? It’s hard, you know!" You rolled your eyes. "Why am I even telling you this? You don’t understand anything," you mumbled, though loud enough for him to hear. "Anyway, I should go. I have something to do at the library."

"I like you."

You froze in your tracks at his words.

"That’s what he should do! It’s really easy, you know," he said, smirking before suddenly sprinting off in the opposite direction.

What was that?

Confused by Minho's words, you made your way to the library, replaying the conversation in your mind.

"What was that? Does he like me, or was he just using it as an example?"

You tried to shrug off the thought as you arrived at the library. The familiar scent of books enveloped you, a comforting distraction.

At the librarian's desk, you spotted Han, your friend who worked there as a student assistant.

"Oh, what brings you here?" he greeted you with a smile, lowering his voice in contrast to Minho’s usual volume.

"Hello. I’m returning this book." You handed him the physics book you had been hugging to your chest.

"Already? Are you sure you’re done with it? It’s okay if you missed the deadline. You know I can always talk to the senior librarian for you," Han offered, his tone warm and reassuring.

If you were to consider another suspect in your mystery investigation, Han would be a possibility. You’d never questioned how he took care of you before, but now, as you tried to solve this puzzle, you began to wonder.

Could he like you?

Or were you just overthinking things?

No, you shouldn’t read too much into Han’s actions. Like Seungmin, he was someone who genuinely cared for the people he loved.

"No, it’s okay. I’m done with it. Thank you, Han. And thanks for the offer—I might take you up on that one day and maybe never return the book," you joked, earning a laugh from him.

"Now I should go. I need to meet Hyunjin—he asked me for a favor."

"Sure! Take care!"

"Thanks. You too."

As you left the library, you felt a hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. Turning around, you saw Han, slightly out of breath.

"Hey, was this yours? You forgot it," he said, handing you the sticky note.

You didn’t know how it ended up with him, but you quickly took it and placed it in your binder.

"Oh, thanks."

"No worries. That was a cute confession," he said, still catching his breath, then laughed. "I should get back—lots of work to do."

You nodded, watching as he returned to the library.

A question formed in your mind: Was it Han?

Why didn’t he ask who wrote it?

Why wasn’t he curious?

But then, he did ask if it was yours, as if he didn’t know.

So maybe… it wasn’t him.

"You literally owe me for this one," you whined, though you knew you didn’t have much of a choice as you glanced at your friend Hyunjin, a med student with an ever-present smile.

"Yes, I promise I'll buy you whatever you want," he said, clasping his hands together in gratitude, his eyes gleaming with a sincerity that made it hard to stay annoyed. You sighed, relenting, and extended your arm.

He needed a blood sample for one of his "you-don’t-know-the-details" assignments, and apparently, you were exactly what he needed.

Like a seasoned pro, he pricked the needle into your skin and attached a small hose to collect your blood. It wasn’t the first time you’d been his willing guinea pig, but you couldn’t say no to Hyunjin.

"Thank you," he said earnestly after he was done.

"Right. You should be thankful," you retorted with a mock glare, though you couldn’t help but smile when he laughed.

Hyunjin had the most stereotypical 'doctor-y' penmanship you’d ever seen—impossible to decipher, even as you watched him scribble something in his records.

"By the way, I left a note before in your binder," he said casually.

His words rang in your ears. "What note?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying the suspense. "A note about how you should remember to take the vitamins I gave you."

Oh.

Seeing you internalize his words, he added, "And I noticed another note in there." He adjusted his white coat, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "And I know who put it there."

You looked up at him, curiosity written all over your face as he towered over you.

"And you should find that out on your own," he teased, winking before walking away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

"Why’d you call me here?" Jeongin asked as he walked into the coffee shop, a guitar slung over his back.

"Because I promised to buy you coffee," you replied with a smile.

Jeongin was a year younger than you, a music major who could play practically any instrument, though piano was his favorite.

"Really? But I’m not craving coffee right now. You should buy me a meal. I’m hungry," he said, not even trying to be cute but somehow managing to be utterly adorable.

As per his request, the two of you headed to a nearby restaurant. You let him order whatever he wanted and watched as he dug into his food.

"You must’ve been really hungry," you remarked.

"I didn’t have lunch or dinner yet," he admitted between bites.

"You shouldn’t skip meals like that! Our bodies are our main investment. We need to take care of them," you scolded, playing the role of the older sibling.

"I know, Mom," he teased.

"Good son," you laughed.

"Are you going to Changbin’s party?" he asked after stuffing more food into his mouth. You took a sip of your strawberry latte, considering your answer.

"I don’t know. I’m kinda busy."

He got back to eating, and you hesitated, feeling a question bubbling up inside you. It felt awkward, but you knew you wouldn’t be at peace until you asked.

"Uh, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You're already doing it," he said, his mouth still half-full.

"Let me finish!," you squinted at him. "This question is kinda weird, but…"

"Faster! I’m curious!" He leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Uh, do you know if anyone who’s close to us… erm…" You coughed, trying to find the right words. "…likes me? I mean, like, likes me?"

Jeongin looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "I don’t know who, but I know everyone loves you."

Well, that much was true—friendship came naturally with your group.

"And me too. I love you," he added casually.

"Aw, thank you. I love you too."

He didn’t reply, just smiled at you for a moment before turning back to his meal, leaving you with a warm feeling that was hard to shake.

"I'm so tired of that neighbor of mine!" Felix, a friend who lived three floors above you, burst into your apartment wearing pajamas and hugging his pillow.

"You can’t sleep again?" you asked, watching as he plopped down onto your sofa bed with a dramatic sigh.

"I don’t know what the hell he’s doing in the middle of the night! Was he doing construction or something?" he whined, making himself comfortable. "Oh, this is so comfortable. Let me crash here."

It wasn’t the first time he’d crashed at your place, so you were used to it. You didn’t mind at all.

"Did I bother you?" he asked, his head still buried in the pillow.

"Never."

"I should really move to this floor. It’s so peaceful."

"You could always move into my apartment and be my roommate," you suggested, a plan you’d considered before.

"No way. Someone might get angry."

"Who would that be?"

Felix didn’t answer, his silence leaving the question hanging in the air. You thought he might be teasing, but his continued silence suggested otherwise.

"And I don’t think I could handle living with you," he added.

"Why’s that?"

Once again, he didn’t respond.

"You should get some sleep. It’s past midnight," you said, heading toward your room.

As you were about to close the door, Felix called out, "I know about the blue sticky note in your binder."

You stopped in your tracks.

"Keep it, okay?" he said with a knowing smile before burying himself back into the pillow.

You wanted to ask more, but Felix seemed to be done with the conversation. With a curious mind, you went to bed, pondering over his cryptic words.

“Chan, did you really make this?” you asked, your voice brimming with excitement as you listened intently.

He nodded, a broad grin spreading across his face as he observed your reaction.

“This is the best music I’ve ever heard!” you exclaimed, pressing the earphones deeper into your ears.

“Oh, of course you’d say that because I’m your friend,” Chan said with a chuckle.

“No, I’m serious!” you replied, though you could only read his lips. The music’s high volume made it difficult to hear clearly. “This is amazing!”

“Yeah, that’s Han in the background and Changbin rapping.”

You bobbed your head along with the beats, completely immersed in the music Chan had created.

“Was Jeongin in it?” you asked, recognizing a familiar voice.

“Yes, and Hyunjin, Felix, Minho, and Seungmi—”

“This part is definitely Seungmin!” you shouted, and Chan laughed at your enthusiasm.

You continued listening, enjoying every note until the very last one, which was a soft piano melody.

“Wow, that was beautiful! I still can’t believe my friend created this. It’s a masterpiece.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s a great compliment from the person the song was inspired by,” Chan said with a knowing smile.

You didn’t catch that last part, too absorbed in the music to fully register his words.

“What’s the title of the song?” you asked, still in awe.

“Blue Sticky Note.”

The title made you stop dead in your tracks. Chan’s gaze lingered on you with an unreadable expression, as if he knew something you didn’t.

The realization hit you—the lyrics, the melody, everything about the song—

We’ve been friends for so long, shared laughter and tears,

But there’s something more inside, I’ve held back for years.

So I turned our feelings into a song, hoping you’d see,

How much you mean to me, how much you mean to me.

Oh, blue sticky note, you’re my secret, my confession,

Wrapped in notes and beats, my heart’s true expression.

In every verse, in every line, it’s you I adore,

From a simple blue sticky note to a melody I’m pouring out.

it was all connected to the note you had hidden in your binder.

part 2 here!

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

the right wrong number

pairing: pre/no outbreak!joel miller x soccer coach!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6k

summary:

When Joel receives a dirty text from an unknown number, he gives into his curiosity and messages back.

He doesn’t expect the number to belong to his daughter’s summer camp soccer coach.

dear reader:

this work is a request and a birthday gift for my sweet baby @mydailyhyperfixations , who’s been one of my biggest supporters since i started posting my work on tumblr. ily, and i hope you love the fic! special thanks to @cutesyscreenname for helping me with some lil details to finish this surprise. support and mdni banners by @saradika

content warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), age difference (undefined, but references are made), pre/no outbreak!joel miller, identity porn, wrong number au, sexting, dom/sub dynamics, use of ‘sir’, pet names, praise, thigh riding, semi-public sexual activity, spanking, safe word discussion, dirty talk, p in v. let me know if i’ve missed any!

Unknown Number: I had a really good time at dinner tonight!

Joel stares at his phone in confusion. It’s past midnight and he’s been sitting on the couch nursing a beer and watching Indiana Jones. He’s been in the same spot since Sarah went to bed a couple hours ago. His phone beeps again.

Unknown Number: It’s too bad we didn’t have time to visit Noir.

Joel raises his eyebrows. Noir is a bar in downtown Austin known for its calendar of speciality kink events. He’s seen it come up in his Google searches of local bars and had considered going to an event or two but never worked up the courage. His kinks remain between him and his porn search history.

Unknown Number: Wanna see what you missed out on?

[Photo 01.jpg]

Curiosity gets the better of him and he clicks on the image attachment. He nearly drops his phone when a photo of a woman fills his screen, sweet curves hugged by black lace on white sheets. He should absolutely tell her that she has the wrong number. His fingers type across the screen.

Damn, seems a shame something that gorgeous is going to waste.

Unknown Number: Who says it has to go to waste?

Joel swallows nervously. He’s already hard in his jeans, cock pressing urgently against his pants. He palms himself, trying to collect his thoughts.

Unknown Number: I’m feeling a little needy over here.

[Photo 02.jpg]

Against his better judgment, Joel opens the second photo and has to bite back a groan at the image of the woman’s hand slipped beneath the waistband of the panties, fingers hidden from sight behind lace and silk.

You want me to tell you how to play with that pretty pussy?

Joel squeezes his eyes shut as he presses send. This is a colossally stupid idea. This is a stranger, and he’s not the intended recipient of these messages.

Unknown Number: I’d really like that, sir.

Fuck it, Joel thinks. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Start by circling those fingers over your clit. Nice and slow.

And when you feel like you could cum, I want you to go even slower.

Unknown Number: It’s too slow. I want more.

Be patient, baby. And aren’t you forgetting something?

Unknown Number: Sorry. I want more, SIR.

Joel presses a hand to the bulge in his jeans, the pressure offering little relief.

Now don’t start being a brat, sweetheart. You won’t like the result.

Unknown Number: Oh yeah? What would you even do?

I’d love nothing more than to bend you over the edge of the bed, ass ready to be spanked red.

Unknown Number: Fuck, that would feel so good. Bet your hands would feel amazing marking me up.

You still being a good girl and following my instructions?

Unknown Number: I think I forgot. Could you remind me, sir?

You’ll have to ask more nicely than that.

Unknown Number: Could you *please* remind me, sir?

Joel runs a hand over his beard before reaching for the forgotten beer on the coffee table and taking a swig.

You’re supposed to be teasing yourself for me. Nice and slow.

I want you to pinch your nipples until they’re nice and tight, too.

Unknown Number: Like this?

[Photo 03.jpg]

Joel bites his lip as he opens the third photo. You’ve got your bra pulled down to expose your nipples, hard and perfect and begging for his mouth. He unbuttons his jeans, tossing his phone on the couch only long enough to shimmy the denim down his thighs and free his leaking cock.

Just like that, baby. Such a good girl for me.

Unknown Number: Are you touching yourself, too, sir?

Of course I am, baby.

Unknown Number: Can I see, sir? Please?

Joel’s hand falters as alarm bells blare in his head. He should absolutely not open his camera. And he should definitely not find the perfect angle that doesn’t show his face. And he certainly should not grip his cock around the base, holding it steady as the shutter sounds and a new photo is saved to his camera roll.

No. He shouldn’t do any of that.

[Photo 04.jpg]

Unknown Number: God, your cock would feel so good in me right now.

Joel’s right hand moves at a steady pace up and down his length, left hand fumbling to type a reply.

Why don’t you fuck your little fingers and pretend it’s me, then?

Unknown Number: Won’t fill me up nearly as much, sir.

Be a good girl and follow my directions, baby.

Unknown Number: [Photo 05.jpg]

He opens the photo and his cock pulses in his fist. She has her underwear shoved to the side, two fingers plunged into her glistening pussy. His mind reels with an image of this faceless woman writhing on the bed reading his words, thinking about his cock stretching her open and he has to bite his lip to just keep the responding moan trapped in his throat.

Unknown Number: Can I cum, sir? Please?

Since you asked so nicely, yes. Make yourself cum for me, sweetheart.

Joel sets the phone aside on the couch, closing his eyes as he pumps himself with a tight fist while he imagines your desperate pussy clenching around your fingers. He cups his palm over the head of his cock as his release hits him like a freight train, hips flexing from the couch to chase the lingering sensations of ecstasy from his hand.

He stands, pulling his pants up without bothering to fasten them so that he can wash his hands in the kitchen sink. Guilt settles on his shoulders as he dries his hands with the dish towel while he stares at the couch where his phone is lit up with another message from a stranger he had no business seeing that much of.

He approaches the couch and sits with a sigh, running a hand over his face before picking his phone up to read her message:

Unknown Number: Easily my best orgasm. Hope it was for you, too. Don’t be a stranger xx

Feeling like an asshole, Joel deletes the thread and the wrong number for good, but it’s fine.

It’s not like he’ll ever meet her, anyways.

——————

You’re on the phone with your best friend, telling her about how the last guy you went out with about a week ago, a guy named Jeremy you met on a dating app, still hasn’t reached out to you again despite what you’d thought was a successful date.

“So he just never reached out to you after you sexted him all night?” She asks. “Men are so weird.”

You cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder as you zip up your duffel bag of equipment. It’s the beginning of June and the summer soccer intensive camp for junior league starts today. You’ve got a full registration for the girl’s 13-15 division and you’re excited to get back on the field and help these girls do their best in a sport you love.

“Nope. Maybe I came on too strong? I don’t know,” you reply.

“You did come strongly. At least, that’s what you told me,” she says with a laugh. “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe you’ll meet a hot dad coaching this year.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking someone’s dad.”

“Never say never, babe.”

“I gotta go find my damn cleats. I’ll talk to you later,” you tell her.

“Fine, I expect a full run down of every DILF you meet today.”

You hang up as she laughs, tossing your phone into your personal bag that you keep separate from the gear before you go in search of your cleats from your room.

——————

Joel and an over-excited Sarah sit in the parking lot of the soccer field that her summer camp is being conducted at, ridiculously early at Sarah’s insistence because she didn’t want to be late on the first day. They’re the only car in the parking lot so far, having apparently beat even the coach, and Joel sips at his travel mug of coffee in the hopes that it grants him energy.

Another car pulls up and parks beside his truck, loud music blaring from the open window. Sarah waves excitedly.

“That’s the coach,” she explains.

Joel watches you get out of your car and pop the trunk. You start pulling out bags of soccer balls and stacks of orange cones, bags of agility equipment and strength training aids. He opens the door to his truck and jogs over.

“Hey, you need any help with that?” He asks. You look over at him in surprise, eyes wide.

“Oh, uh, sure. That would be great,” you reply.

“I’m Joel Miller, and this is my daughter, Sarah,” he says, gesturing to the young girl. She gives a little wave and he extends a hand out to you.

You give him your name, shaking his outstretched hand. “Y’all are a little early,” you reply, hefting a bag over your shoulder.

“My dad’s always late but I didn’t want to be late for camp,” Sarah says. Joel narrows his eyes at her.

“Not a problem. You can help me set up the cones,” you tell her. His daughter gives you a bright smile and he almost forgives her for throwing him under the bus. “I’ll grab these two bags, you grab the cones, and Mr. Miller, could you grab the balls, please?”

Joel fights back his childish laughter at your request, grabbing the bags as instructed. “Just Joel, please.”

You smile at him and he feels a bit blindsided by how it makes his heart beat faster, his palms a little sweatier. You’re very pretty, fresh faced and ready for a day of work, wearing one of those quick dry workout shirts that clings to your curves and a pair of shorts that show off your strong legs. Some traitorous part of his brain wonders what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Alright then, Just Joel. Let’s go.”

——————

“Thank you for the help,” you tell Sarah’s dad. You’re trying very hard not to let your eyes linger on the bulge of his biceps or the broad expanse of his back as he sets down the two bags of soccer balls and places his hands on his hips.

He’s a handsome man, older than you by at least a few years, with tan skin and dark hair and kind brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at something Sarah says. His daughter has the same brown eyes and olive skin, her dark curly hair pulled into a bun.

Of course the first parent you meet this summer is a hot dad. It’s like you’ve spoken it into the universe.

“Not a problem. Glad I can be useful if I’m goin’ to be here this early,” he replies with a narrowed glance at Sarah, who is suddenly very interested in the stack of cones she carried to the field. “Anythin’ else you need me for?”

“Let me get you the game schedule and contact sheet.” You open your bag and pull out your folder of materials you like to give to parents, assembling a stack of papers for him. “On top you’ve got the emergency contacts sheet. Fill that out with your contact information and an alternate’s information, too, just in case I can’t reach you or someone else needs to pick Sarah up. You’ll want to have Sarah bring that back tomorrow.”

You flip the page. “The second page is just a welcome letter. It’s got my phone number on it, feel free to text or call if you have any questions or if Sarah can’t make it one day.”

“And then last we’ve got the camp schedule. The girls will have two tournament days where they’ll play against some nearby summer camp leagues. You can sign up to bring a snack by filling out the piece at the bottom. Do you have any questions?”

“I don’t suppose I do. You’re very organized,” he says, taking the packet from you. You can feel your cheeks heating.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Well, I gotta finish setting up.”

“I won’t get in your way.” He calls out to Sarah and the young girl runs up to give him a hug goodbye. “Be good. I’ll see you later.”

——————

Joel Miller is the first at the field in the mornings helping you set up for the day and last parent to leave at pick-up, after he’s loaded your trunk up with the equipment, wiping the sweat from his brow as he grins at you.

His daughter is a great player, quick on her feet and smart as a whip, picking up the footwork skills you teach like they’re second nature. You’re telling Joel as much Friday afternoon in the second week of camp when Sarah bounds up and asks if you want to get ice cream with them.

“That’s a great idea, baby girl,” Joel says before you can decline. You blink at him and he gives you that lopsided grin that’s been giving you butterflies since the first day on the field. “But if you order mint chocolate chip, you’re buyin’ it yourself.”

“Good news, I’m a plain ol’ chocolate kinda gal,” you tell him with a laugh.

“Me, too!” Sarah says.

“I’ll follow you guys,” you suggest. Joel gives you a quick nod, herding Sarah into his truck and taking off toward town.

You follow them to a little ice cream parlor, the kind that sells old fashioned sundaes and thick milkshakes with red and white striped straws. You park beside them, watching as Sarah hops from the truck with a wide grin on her face and her dad comes around, slinging a strong arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. Your heart feels warm looking at them.

Once inside, Joel and Sarah end up ordering a sundae to split while you get a small cone of chocolate ice cream. You try to tell Joel not to pay for you, but he hits you with a look that has your mouth going dry, any argument disappearing as all your blood rushes south and makes you ache between your legs.

“I’ll go get us a table outside,” you offer, licking at your treat. You don’t miss the way Joel’s eyes track the path of your tongue.

You watch the busy foot traffic while you wait for the Millers to join you, the warm Texas air wrapped around you while you enjoy the slight breeze and your cold dessert.

A deep voice calls your name and you look around, finding a familiar face on the crowded sidewalk.

“Jeremy, hey. How are you?” You ask as the man approaches. It feels like forever ago that you went to dinner together and looking at him now you think he’s handsome but he doesn’t hold a candle to Joel.

“I’m good. Been busy. I gotta say, I was a little bummed I didn’t hear from you after our date. Thought we had a good time,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

“Didn’t…hear from me?” You ask nervously.

He tilts his head. “Yeah. Thought you said you would text me when you got home.”

“Uh…yeah. Sorry. I guess I just forgot.”

The bell dings above the door to the ice cream parlor, Joel and Sarah emerging with a sundae piled with whipped cream. Jeremy looks toward them, then back at you.

“I’m guessing another date is off the table?” He asks, slipping his hands into his pants pockets.

Joel looks between the two of you, brow furrowed as he sets the sundae on the metal table and Sarah takes a seat, digging in immediately.

“Jeremy, this is Joel and his daughter, Sarah. She’s in my soccer camp this summer. Joel, this is my friend Jeremy,” you introduce. Jeremy holds a hand out to Joel, who shakes it briefly, brows still pinched.

“I better get going. Nice seeing you, let me know if you want to get together again,” Jeremy says before turning to leave. When you glance at Joel, his shoulders are drawn up and jaw clenched tight as he stabs his spoon into his ice cream.

“What do you guys have planned this weekend?” You ask to break the silence. Sarah perks up and begins to tell you about how her Uncle Tommy, Joel’s brother, is taking her to a local carnival. You listen and nod along despite the fact that your thoughts are stuck on Jeremy’s words.

If it wasn’t Jeremy on the other end of your conversation that night…who was it?

——————

As the three of you walk back to your vehicles, Joel’s still thinking about that man who’d been talking to you at the ice cream shop and how it made his blood burn hot to hear him mention going on a date with you. His pulse pounded in his ears as he shook the guy’s hand, any information about the guy going right over his head. He didn’t even taste the ice cream or hear the conversation you and Sarah had about the weekend, lost in his thoughts about how between early mornings helping you prep for camp and late afternoons at pick up have all somehow allowed you to burrow into his heart.

A hand wraps around his bicep, halting him in his steps. He glances at your concerned face and suddenly all that tension leaves him in a rush. Sarah says her goodbye, hugging you around your waist before hopping into the truck, leaving the two of you alone.

“You okay?” You ask, taking a step closer.

“I’m great, sweetheart. Get home safe,” he says, eyes dipping briefly to your mouth. Your tongue pokes out, tracing your lower lip. He takes a step back before he’s tempted to lean in and chase the taste of chocolate and you.

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Bright and early.”

——————

Sarah spikes a fever Sunday night and spends the night curled around the toilet while Joel coaxes some water into her and keeps her hair out of harm's way. When it seems that the worst of her nausea has passed, Joel leaves her to rest in her bed while he goes downstairs and grabs the contact list you’d given him at the beginning of camp.

He starts a text, letting you know that Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp, at least for today. When it’s sent, he heads back upstairs, armed with a sleeve of crackers to deliver to his daughter.

Maybe he can squeeze in a little bit of sleep for himself.

——————

Hey, it’s Joel. Sarah’s sick and won’t make it to camp today.

You stare at the text, mind reeling. Not because a parent is texting you, that’s pretty common and you hope Sarah is doing okay, but because you already have a thread with Joel.

One where you’d called him sir and told him his cock would feel so good inside of you because you’d thought you’d been texting Jeremy. Your cheeks feel so hot you worry spontaneous human combustion could actually be a thing.

What are you even supposed to do in this situation? Do you tell him about it?

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Oh, also, you’ve sent me a picture of your dick.

You delete the last line immediately, hitting your phone against your forehead like doing so might make your thoughts make sense.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. Any chance you can make good on that promise and bend me over the bed?

You delete the last line again with a groan.

Hey, Joel. No worries. Thanks for letting me know, hope she feels better soon. There’s something I want to talk to you about. Would you be able to meet with me after practice this week? Or sometime this weekend?

You hit send before you can back out, tossing your phone in your bag as you get ready to head out the door.

——————

Joel wakes later in the morning and reads your text message. His mind races with what you could want to talk to him about. Maybe you noticed how he reacted to your friend and wanted to tell him you’re uncomfortable? Or maybe something to do with Sarah?

Fuck, he thinks, scrubbing a hand over his face. He reads the message a few more times but it doesn’t reveal any additional clues. He types out a message, pressing send before he can overthink the contents.

She seems to be doing better. Should be back to camp tomorrow. I can meet you somewhere for dinner on Friday after camp? My treat.

——————

Joel’s text plays on a loop in your brain for the rest of the week. Unlike the previous weeks of camp, he and Sarah don’t show up early. In fact, he’s been dropping her off almost at the last minute and picking her up promptly when camp ends, always managing to show up when you’re already pulled into conversation with another parent and driving off before you have a chance to talk with him.

On Friday, Joel is at the field early, leaning against his truck as he talks to Sarah. You park beside them, and he helps you unload your car and set up for the day, just as he had the weeks prior, making small talk like he hadn’t just spent the week dodging you after suggesting dinner. When everything is unpacked and Sarah is kicking a ball around, you follow Joel to his truck under the guise of needing one more thing from your car.

“Hey, are we still on for dinner?” You ask him. He runs a hand through his hair and you try not to let yourself zero in on the way his bicep flexes with the motion.

“‘Course. How ‘bout I meet you at that diner downtown? The one with the—“

“All day breakfast?” You finish. Joel grins.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Is six good?”

“Six is great.” You smile back at him, lost in the way his eyes crinkle in the corners and his mouth lifts slightly higher on the right.

“Coach!” Sarah yells, making you jump.

“Guess I better get out there,” you say, shifting nervously.

“Yeah, I’ll uh…I’ll see you later?” He asks.

“Looking forward to it.”

——————

To your surprise, it’s not Joel that picks up Sarah that afternoon, but another man with familiar brown eyes and dark curly hair. You grab your folder from your bag as Sarah greets the man, flipping through the pages until you’ve found her emergency contact form.

“Hey there,” the man says, a grin lighting up his face. “I’m Sarah’s Uncle Tommy.”

You shake the hand he’s held out towards you and introduce yourself. “Nice to meet you. Mind if I check your ID for alternate pick up?”

“Go right ahead,” he replies, pulling a worn brown leather wallet from his jeans and handing you his ID from its contents. “Don’t judge the photo, alright? It’s old.”

A younger version of the man in front of you is pictured on the card, his curly dark hair buzzed short and a grim expression on his face. You note the name THOMAS MILLER beside the picture and check it against Sarah’s emergency contact form.

“Thanks, Tommy,” you tell him, handing back the ID. There’s a brief silence where Tommy seems to be assessing you.

“So…,” he says, rocking on his heels, “you’re the girl that’s got Joel all tangled up, huh?”

You blink. “Uh—“

“Uncle Tommy! Let’s go!” Sarah shouts from the parking lot.

“Hold your horses!” Tommy yells. He gives you one last knowing smirk. “Have fun with Joel tonight!”

You watch him jog over to the truck and get behind the wheel, Sarah waving at you as he pulls out of the parking spot. You wave back, but your mind is stuck on Tommy’s words, the implication of them having your stomach doing backflips.

——————

Joel’s fingers fidget with the straw wrapper, ripping it into small pieces that build in a pile on the laminate table while he waits for you to arrive for dinner. He’s still not sure what this is all about and that uncertainty has had him stuck in his head to the point where Tommy was giving him a hard time at work about it.

“Let me know if you need me to stay with Sarah overnight,” Tommy had said as Joel checked himself in the hall mirror one last time before leaving the house.

“It ain’t like that,” he grumbled back, but there was no changing his brother’s mind.

“Sure, you keep tellin’ yourself that.”

The bell above the diner door rings with a new customer, pulling Joel from his thoughts. You’ve just walked in wearing a dress, a far cry from the soccer shorts and t-shirt he’s seen you in every day this summer. His gaze is pulled to the tantalizing glimpse of your chest he gets from the deep neckline and the way the fabric swishes against your thighs as you approach.

“Hi,” you say, sliding into the booth across from him. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Sure,” Joel says, giving you what he hopes is a confident smile but he’s almost certain it’s more of a grimace.

A silence settles over the table as you both look at the laminated menus like they hold the secret to the universe. The waitress swings by and takes your orders - chocolate chip waffles for you and a medium rare burger for Joel.

“How’s Sarah doing with the camp?” Joel asks.

“She’s doing great. Easily one of the best players I’ve got this year,” you reply.

“Good that’s…good. You used to play for UT, right?”

“Yep, starting forward until I tore my ACL,” you tell him. “Now I coach because you can take the girl out of soccer but you can’t take the soccer from the girl.”

“That’s impressive,” Joel comments. “Is coaching your full time job?”

“No, I work in marketing for an instrument production company.”

“Really? You play anything?”

“Some guitar, a little piano. Nothing crazy. Do you?”

Joel laughs. “Been a while, but I got a guitar stashed away in a closet somewhere.”

The waitress returns with your food, setting the plates in front of you and asking if either of you need anything else before leaving the two of you to your meals.

Joel is a few bites into his burger when you set your fork down and say, “Look, I’m just gonna come right out and say it. You’ve sent me a picture of your dick.”

Joel nearly chokes, sputtering for air around his burger and grabbing his Coke, desperate for relief. He chugs the beverage, tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You ask, wide eyes full of concern.

“No, I’m not okay, what do you mean I’ve sent you a picture of my dick?” He hisses, looking around the mostly empty diner.

“About a month ago I went on a date with that guy I ran into at the ice cream place, Jeremy? We met on a dating app so we were messaging through there and he gave me his number at the end of the night,” you say quickly. “And I texted the number with some…racy photos. And messages.”

Joel feels the rising panic in his chest. No, there’s absolutely no way that random number could have been you. There’s no way he sexted his daughter’s soccer coach.

“I didn’t find out it was you until you texted me about Sarah being sick. I still had the chat with your number,” you finish, reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone. Joel watches with building dread as you tap on the screen and set the phone on the table, sliding it toward him.

You’ve opened the chat with him, the innocuous messages at the bottom about Sarah missing camp giving way to photo attachments he doesn’t dare click on but remembers vividly. He looks up at you.

“I…I’m so sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have replied, the messages weren’t meant for me.”

“I’m not mad,” you assure him. “A little embarrassed, maybe. But also…can I be completely honest?”

“Of course.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your messages.”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise. “You…really?”

“Yeah. And knowing it’s you…,” you say, voice trailing off. Your eyes are dark, a little smirk playing on your lips that has Joel’s cock twitching with interest. “Well, that makes it better.”

“It does?” Joel asks. You nod, picking up a bite of waffle with your fork, a moan of appreciation leaving your lips.

“It does,” you confirm.

Joel turns around in the booth and flags down the waitress.

“Check, please!”

——————

After paying for dinner, Joel walks you to the parking lot, his broad palm on your low back directing you to where his truck is parked.

He’s got you pressed against the passenger door, his chest grazing yours with each breath he takes. He lifts a hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. His gaze grows dark as you dart your tongue out, flicking it against the digit.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” he says. Gone is the man who was mortified to find out he’d been sexting you and in his place is the man behind the screen. “You wore this little dress because you knew exactly what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “You don’t like it?”

“Mm,” he hums, “Ain’t a matter of not likin’ it, trust me.”

His hands grip your hips, the fabric bunching in his fists as he moves a thigh between your legs. The sudden friction of his jeans, even through the barrier of your underwear, has you gasping.

“Joel,” you whimper, grinding over the muscle of his thigh. He kisses along the length of your neck, lips right over your racing pulse. “Come on, take me home.”

“You can ask more nicely than that,” he says, hands guiding the movement of your hips, forward and back, across his thigh. You moan, louder than you intended, too loud for the parking lot of a busy diner at dinner rush.

“Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please, take me home.”

“Cum on my thigh and we can leave,” he replies. “Leave a nice little wet spot on my jeans and then I’ll take you home and make you scream my name as loud as you need to.”

Joel’s lips capture your own, swallowing the curse that was ready to spill from them at his demand. His kiss is rough, demanding, his stubble scratching your skin and his tongue tangling with yours as your hips continue to rock over his leg. You dig your fingers into his hair, holding tightly to him while the knot of need in your belly tightens.

“Come on, baby,” he says when he lifts his head, lips still pressed to your neck. “Make a mess, come on.”

You go still in his hands as your orgasm washes over you, your muscles stiff as your pussy pulses desperately over his thigh. Joel pulls you in for another kiss, this one slow and sweet to bring you back to reality.

When you’ve caught your breath, he steps back, adjusting the skirt of your dress back over your thighs. He looks down at his pants and then back at you, a smirk on his handsome face. You look down, face heating with embarrassment as you notice the dark patch of denim.

“Get in the truck, baby.”

——————

You give Joel directions to your apartment, his warm hand on your thigh the whole way there. Your nerves are buzzing beneath your skin again, the effect of your first orgasm wearing off and your desire building rapidly with each mile closer to your apartment.

He parks in the visitor parking and you move to open the door, but a tan arm reaches across and tugs it shut. Confused, you watch Joel jump from the truck and jog around to the passenger side to pull open your door and hold a hand out to you.

You’re laughing as he helps you from the truck and shuts the door behind you, your giggles persisting as you lead him upstairs and his arms circle your waist while you try to unlock your door. He hustles you across the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him and flipping the deadbolt.

“Bedroom?” He asks.

“End of the hall,” you reply.

Joel pulls you along behind him, a man on a mission. Once inside your room, you flip on your bedside lamp and Joel steps in close, framing your face in his hands and giving you another kiss that has the butterflies in your tummy going wild.

His fingers are curling into the hem of your dress, dragging it up your body and breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over your head and toss it to the floor. His lips are back on yours while his hands map your curves, calloused fingers catching on soft skin and making goosebumps erupt in their wake.

“Get on the bed,” he commands. You turn, crawling onto the mattress slowly, a wiggle in your hips. You look over your shoulder at the older man and find his gaze fixed on your ass. He grins. “You remember what I said last time you teased me?”

“No. I think I need a reminder,” you tell him. He huffs, shaking his head.

“Teasin’ me and gettin’ mouthy? Think that might earn you a punishment.”

Joel palms the cheeks of your ass, pulling them apart in a rough grip that has you gasping his name. His fingers dig into the flesh, the ache of them already making your head spin.

“Five ain’t enough, but it’s all I’ve got the patience for right now,” he says. His tone changes as he asks, “You got a safe word? If I need to stop?”

“Apricots,” you say easily. He tilts his head. “It’s from a TV show. New Girl?”

“Never heard of it,” he says. “Alright, apricots it is.”

He pulls your panties down, leaving them around your thighs. His thumbs spread you apart and the vulnerability of this position, your ass in the air and everything spread for him, by him, has you feeling like you’re on fire.

“Pretty little pussy,” he murmurs. “But I already knew that. Because you’re a dirty fuckin’ girl who sent me pictures just because I told you how to cum. Ain’t that right?”

“Mhm.”

An open palm lands on your right ass cheek, hear blossoming on the spot as you gasp, lurching forward. His hands pull you towards him and he presses down between your shoulder blades, your back arching.

“Don’t move,” he commands. “That was one. You count the next one.”

Another smack across your other cheek, more sharp pain that shifts into dull ache as you mumble, “Two.”

He doles out two more in quick succession, each other making your pussy clench with need. You’re drooling into sheets, a whimpering mess as he runs his fingers through your soaked folds and lets out a deep groan.

“Baby, you’re soaked,” he says. “Fuck, one more, okay? One more and then I’ll have you wrapped around my cock.”

You nod your head, bracing for the final blow across your sensitive skin. The sting of his palm as it lands makes your eyes roll back, the line between pleasure and pain so blurry you don’t know which side you stand on.

His hands leave your hips and without the support, you slide flat to your belly. Distantly, you register the opening of your nightstand drawer and the sound of Joel rummaging through the contents, followed by the muted thump of clothes being discarded to the floor.

Joel maneuvers you to your back in the center of the bed, pulling your panties off. “You did so good, sweetheart,” he praises. You smile at him.

“Do I get a reward now, sir?” You ask.

“‘Course, baby. Good girls get what they deserve.”

His hips press between yours, his cock sliding through your wetness and catching on your clit. He positions the thick head at your slick entrance, pressing in the slightest bit. You take in the sight of him, his broad chest held over you by strong arms, the muscles of his neck tense.

Joel slides in slowly, your body accepting him gratefully. The stretch borders on painful but the fullness has you digging your nails into his back, a moan falling from your lips. It feels like ages before his hips as flush to yours and all you can feel is Joel Joel Joel.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours. “Christ, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He pulls back slightly, thrusting forward with a sharp snap of his hips. As he starts to set a rhythm, he sits up on his knees, lifting one of your legs up with a hand on the back of your thigh and pressing it to the side. The position opens you up further, letting him get impossibly deeper, and all you can do is allow him to use your body to his liking.

It’s not long before you’re screaming his name, as promised, the knot of pleasure in your core pulling tight and getting ready to snap.

“You gonna cum again for me?” Joel asks, breathing labored as his pace doesn’t falter. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock. You’re such a good fuckin’ girl, I know you can do it.”

“Joel!” You shout, that last thread snapping as your orgasm rushing through you, stars bursting behind your eyelids as they snap shut with the force of it all. Your pussy clenches around him, his hips stuttering and growing sloppy until he’s pressing in deep with a groan of your name.

He collapses on top of you, a heavy weight but not an unwelcome one as you both try to catch your breath, sweat cooling between you. After a moment, his softening cock slips from your body and he rolls to the side, gathering you to his chest.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Joel whispers back. He sits up, leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing his jeans, pulling his phone free.

He taps on the screen and brings it to his ear, a distant ringing audible through the speaker.

“Tommy? Yeah, everythin’s fine,” Joel says when his call connects. He takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Could you stay with Sarah tonight? Shut up,” he grumbles. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll be back in the mornin’. Thanks, brother.”

Joel hangs up and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You’re staying?” You ask.

“Yeah, baby. I ain’t finished with you yet,” he replies, pressing a flurry of kisses to your face, neck, and shoulders, sending you into a fit of giggles.

——————

1 Year Later

“Alright, great job, girls! Let’s get your snacks,” you shout as your summer league girls jog towards you from the field following their third tournament game.

The girls crowd around the cooler that Joel’s prepared, grabbing small bottles of Gatorade or water and a bag of orange slices. They lounge around the sidelines and you step up beside Joel, bumping him with your hip.

“Thanks for the snacks,” you say. He grins at you.

“‘Course. Gotta take care of my girls,” he replies. He pulls one last bag of oranges from the cooler. “And one for coach.”

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask, looping an arm around his waist.

“What can I say? You texted the right wrong number.”

Joel Miller Masterlist

[guilty-pleasures21]

Halloween special!

Don’t worry, my Jason Todd girlies, I’ve got you covered too!

Credits to @sirencardos for giving me the storyline (p.s. I added a little twist at the end 🤭). Thanks, babe and happy Halloween!

Warnings: none.

----------------------------------------------------------

     He had to tell you. Well, he had to tell you eventually … He didn’t have to do it right now. His mind ran through all the close calls he’d had in the past year that you’d been dating and his stomach clenched tightly with nerves. 

     You grin as you sink back onto his sofa, settling in for your weekly movie night, but your features quickly melt into a puzzled frown when you feel something hard beneath your butt. You pull it out and your confusion grows when you see the belt with multiple pouches hanging off it, each one holding a different tool inside. 

     “Jason?” You hold the belt out to him and tilt your head in question. “What is this?” 

     You twist the belt around, studying it carefully, then suddenly, your eyes widen in realisation. “Oh my god! Is this-”

     “That’s my tool belt!” Jason replies quickly, grabbing the belt out of your hands. “I wear it whenever I’m fixing up my bike. It just makes it easier to grab whatever I need.” 

     He turns around, shielding the belt from your view, then quickly goes to hide it in his spare room. Shit! How could he have been so careless?! He must have forgotten to keep it away when he’d taken it off after a particularly exhausting mission. What an idiot he’d been! He says nothing more about it when he returns to you and thankfully, you don’t push the subject any further. 

     You hang your jacket on its usual hook as you walk into Jason’s house, animatedly discussing the drama that had happened at your workplace that day. You’re so focused on your story that you almost don’t notice the creased brown leather jacket hanging off the hook at the end. Almost.

     “Jay?” you ask, closing your fingers around the hem and stroking the worn material. It looked … familiar … almost like …

     “Oh my god!” you squeal, suddenly realising where you’d seen the jacket before. “This looks just like Red-”

     “That’s Dick’s!” Jason lies, snatching the jacket off its hook. He shakes his head and sighs, as if disappointed in his brother. “Can’t believe he left it here again! I swear he’d lose his head if it wasn’t screwed onto his shoulders. I’ll keep it in my bag so I don’t forget to give it to him when I see him again.” 

     F*ck! What the hell was wrong with him?! What if you really had recognised the jacket and drawn a connection between him and the vigilante Red Hood?! No, the thought was too terrifying to consider: you were the best thing that had ever happened to him since he’d come back and he couldn’t risk losing you by letting you find out his secret identity. 

     “Oh, okay.” You deflate slightly, your expression a little crestfallen as he takes the jacket away, but your features quickly light up again when he asks you to continue your story. 

     “Jason?” Your sweet voice breaks into his thoughts and he looks up to find you looking at him in concern. “Are you okay?” 

     “Hmm?” What had you been talking about? Shit, forget about losing you to his secret alter ego, he’d lose you way before that if he was being a shitty boyfriend. “Sorry, baby, I was just thinking about … this ice cream place I wanted to take you to. I can’t remember the name. I’ll ask Steph if she remembers. What were you talking about?” 

     He sets his chopsticks down by his plate of sushi and reaches across the table to take your hand in his. The bright smile returns to your face at his revelation that he’d been thinking about you and you repeat what you’d been talking about earlier. 

     “I was just talking about how much I love Halloween!” you explain excitedly. “I planned my costume out months in advance. I can’t wait for you to see it! I worked really hard on it.” 

     You squeal at the very thought of your costume and Jason’s lips curl into a smile. He didn’t doubt that you’d put a lot of effort into your costume: he could still remember how detailed your Wonder Woman costume had been last year. You’d really paid attention to all the small things, even getting a lasso that you could press a button on to make it light up! And f*ck, you’d looked so sexy in it that things had heated up between the both of you enough for him to finally confess his feelings for you. “I can’t wait either, sweetheart. You gonna give me a clue?” 

     You purse your lips in thought, considering his request. Your boyfriend was really smart and he always had a knack for solving mysteries and figuring things out way too early in advance, so even a small clue would probably have him guessing what your costume was within a few hours. 

     “Nope,” you decide, shaking your head in disagreement. “You’re just gonna have to wait to find out!” 

     Jason returns your excited smile and you both turn your attentions back to your dinner. 

     He tapped his foot on the ground as he sat waiting for you to put the finishing touches on your costume. It was your anniversary today, but instead of a date, you’d be going to the big Halloween parade the city liked to throw each year. He didn’t mind, of course - he knew how much you loved dressing up and admiring other people’s costumes - but he’d still gone ahead and gotten you a gift. Jason dug his fingers into his palm as he thought about the helmet sitting in his car, waiting for you to see it: he’d tell you his secret today. That would be his gift to you: his revelation that he was the one and only vigilante Red Hood who prowled the streets at night taking down bad guys. Well … it would be his gift to you if he could work up the courage to show it to you. 

     “Jay? Are you ready?” you yell at him from your bedroom, the excitement evident in your voice. Maybe he should just get it over with and tell you the truth before the two of you got too involved with one another. He’d had a pretty good track record with Halloween so far, so maybe today was the day he’d finally be honest with you and it wouldn’t backfire on him in a spectacular display of failure.   

     “Yeah!” Jason calls back, standing up and turning to face you. But maybe he should wait until after the parade: he didn’t want to spoil your fun, after all, and it would be nice to spend just a little more time in blissful ignorance with you before you decided that all the danger wasn’t worth it - that he wasn’t it. He pulled another breath into his lungs, then looked up as you walked out of your bedroom. His heart stopped at the sight of you. 

     “Ta da!” you say, smiling as you proudly display your costume to him. “Isn’t it great?! I decided to go with a mask instead of his helmet, just because I wanted you to be able to see my face, but check out the jacket! It’s, like, the exact same colour as his! And the boots-” 

     He tuned out the rest of what you were saying, too stunned by the character you’d chosen to dress up as: the f*cking. Red. Hood. You’d dressed up as him for Halloween this year. Ho. Ly. F*ck. 

    “I just think he’s so cool!” you continue, oblivious to your boyfriend’s sudden moment of malfunction. “He’s my favourite superhero! Well, he probably wouldn’t call himself a superhero, but I think he’s great! He’s just not afraid to bring people to justice when they deserve it, you know?” 

     You wrap your arms around Jason’s neck, bringing your bodies close together, and fix him with a playful smirk. “Maybe you should dress up as the Red Hood next year. I bet you’d look so sexy in his outfit.” 

     You stretch onto your toes and catch his earlobe between your teeth, nipping on it teasingly, then you lower yourself back down again. You drag your hand down his chest, admiring his broad and hard muscles, and lick your lips appreciatively. “But we probably wouldn’t make it out of the house if you did.” 

     You give him a suggestive look and Jason feels his entire being melt into a sappy puddle. You would pounce on him if he was dressed as the Red Hood? Drag him into your bedroom and refuse to let him go? Holy shit! This was the best possible outcome he could ever have expected: hell, it was better than anything he could have even dreamed of! It was official: Halloween was the single greatest holiday ever invented. 

     “Actually, sweetheart, I have something to tell you.” He takes your hands in his and clears his throat as he recalls the speech he’d spent hours preparing. “I … haven’t been completely honest with you. I-”

     “Wait!” you stop him suddenly, bouncing up and down in excitement. “Let me guess! You … secretly hate sushi?!” 

     You grin up at him, mischief gleaming in your eyes, and Jason snickers softly at your joke. “No, I-”

     “You’ve been lying to me about your eye colour: they’re not actually green,” you try again, your guess becoming more elaborate. Jason shakes his head and chuckles as a wave of relief sweeps through his entire body. 

     “No, that’s not it either. I’m actually-”

     “You’re actually the vigilante Red Hood and you’ve been hiding your secret from me for the past year because you were afraid that I’d get scared and leave you?” Jason’s jaw drops open in shock as you smile at him softly, a knowing look on your face. What the f*ck?! How the hell …?

     “You knew?!” he asks you, eyes wide with disbelief. “The whole time?! Why didn’t you say anything, sweetheart?!” 

     Your smile widens and you rub your thumbs across the backs of his hands reassuringly. “Because you seemed so desperate to hide it from me, Jay. Every time I tried to bring it up you’d just shut me down and come up with some lame excuse!” 

     He winces slightly at the truth of your words: his excuses had been pretty lame. But he’d never had someone he’d felt the need to hide his secret from before! Someone he wanted to protect and look after and just enjoy a normal, ordinary life with. He grins at you, all the weight finally lifting off his shoulders. “Sorry. I’m just not used to it, Y/N.” 

     You raise your hand to his cheek and stroke his skin gently, then you bounce onto your toes again and press your lips to his. 

     “It’s okay,” you reassure him patiently. “I’m not really used to this either.” 

     You shoot him a sheepish smile, then let out an exaggerated sigh. “But oh my god, Jacy I was so relieved when I finally figured it out! I was going crazy having all these wet dreams about Red Hood and then feeling so guilty about it after! Honestly, finding out your alter ego was the most … peace-bringing thing I’ve ever found out in my life!” 

     Jason raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still curled into a stupidly wide grin. “Wet dreams, huh? What kind of dreams, princess?” 

     You giggle softly as he pulls you into his chest and starts peppering your face with affectionate kisses. “You’ll just have to wait to find out, Jay. You’ve waited this long, right? What’s a few more hours?” 

     You blink up at him innocently, driving him crazy with anticipation, but he doesn’t push you. 

     “Fine.” You’d waited this long too, after all, and if the only punishment you were going to give him was a few hours of waiting to pounce you and spend the night ravishing you, then he’d gladly accept it. “Come on. Let’s go show off your costume.” 

     You laugh as he leads you out the door and down to the street. “Do you like it though? Did I get everything right? I’m not missing anything, am I?” 

     “You got it perfect, babygirl,” he tells you, swinging his hand in yours as you walk down the pavement. “I actually think you wear it better than I do …” 

It was just a quick one, but I hope you guys enjoyed 😋! Happy Halloween/Diwali/Dia de los muertos everyone 🥳!

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Vox Keeping His S/O Secret

I asked @6esiree for some feedback on a post Im working on; then we started talking about Vox and how he would protect his s/o from the public eye and now I need to yap about it.

Contents/WARNINGS: Valentino mention; Valentino being an asshole; mindcontrolling/brainwashing; Vox being super possessive/protective Actual brainrot below the cut. Not beta read we die like men -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Vox tries to keep your relationship a secret and out of the presses for as long as possible. Countless reasons for this. Vox doesn't want to put a target on you, violent or otherwise. He also knows you dont want to be put in the spotlight and respects that. Neither of you want people snooping in on your relationship either.

Vox will probably straight up dodge questions (or just not answer) that ask if he is still single once rumors start swirling that he is dating someone. Again, its not a personal thing. He also knows itll hurt you if he straight up denies it. So dodging it is.

I imagine it finally getting out in like some tabloid scandal. Someone managed to get pictures of you two on a date/outing being all lovey-dovey and its all over everything the next day.

I picture like a magazine cover with the fucking sappiest sap image they managed to get. Your happily snuggled into Vox's chest, kissing the edge of his screen, with him doing that dorky smile and making heart eyes.

The Vees all lose their collective shit. Vox because how could this happen?? He was so careful!! The other two because holy shit is this comedy gold.

(Its Valentino's fault fyi; he tipped someone off about you two out of sheer spite. You'll never get this out of him though. Even when Vox hard presses him about it, Val is just like 'wouldn't you like to know weather boy')

Vox goes into full damage control mode. For the next couple weeks, if not full month, he spends all his time scrubbing everything. Mindwiping people of your existence, destroying all copies of the photos, physical and digital, and erasing any mentions of it online

The whole thing actually kind of scares you with the fact that Vox is effectively erasing your memory from the public. He is pretty efficient at it too.

Unfortunately, you cant actually undo the past.

Once all is said and done, Vox has successfully wiped out all memory of your name, identity, and the image. However. People do know in the back of their heads that Vox is indeed taken and dating... someone. Who it is, and how they know this, no one can really answer.

[imagine-darksiders]

The Angel of Highway 49 - ch. 3

Road Block.

Summary: 'You balk violently at the sight of a cherry-red Aston gunning towards you.'

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s often said that shock is superseded by anger.

You’ve read as much in dozens of books; Books on grief, on bettering yourself, dealing with remorse and the cyclical nature of loss. There was a time when you thought that if you just read the right words, something important might 'click,' and you'd find you could overcome the aching cold that gnawed at the lining of your stomach.

You're older now, sadder and wiser.

Grief aside, you find that the theory of anger following shock rings true in this instance, because as soon as the surprise of seeing ten thousand dollars in your otherwise barren account faded, you tumbled right over some invisible ledge and landed chest-first in an indignation so fierce, you barely slept a wink that night, tossing and turning and glaring hard into the pitch black room. 

As the inky darkness gradually shrank away from the grey light spilling in through the curtains, you stayed awake puzzling over who could have done such an altruistic but intrusive thing…

And how.

The details next to the figure on your phone’s screen are nothing more than a random jumble of numbers and letters, granting you no insight into the identity of your mysterious benefactor.

You had a suspicion… but the likelihood of him being the culprit is just so low as to be outlandish. How would he have even gotten your bank details anyway?

‘Perhaps,’ you mused, glowering at the ceiling of your new accommodations, ‘It could all be chalked up to an honest mistake…’

So, exhaling gruffly and tugging the too-scratchy blankets up to your chest, you resolved to do some digging before you leapt to any concrete conclusions.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The very next morning saw you all but dead on your feet.

It had taken a monumental effort to convince both your body and your boss that you were raring to go for your first day at a new job.

You don’t think either of them were very convinced.

Turns out, it would just be Terry and yourself working on the farm, on account of, ‘No other bastard’s managed to last a month. Probably spooked by the shit that goes on around here after dark.’

“That’s too bad,” you’d commiserated, recalling the rather vivid image of a wild-eyed farmer charging towards you last night with his shotgun raised.

“Bunch’a pussies,” Terry spat crudely, yanking open a metal gate and somehow ignoring the awful screech of its rusted hinges as he led you inside the first cattle barn.

You just hummed in response, bobbing your head and tilting it away from him lest he catch the bemused smile you were failing to repress.

You’d been polite when you asked him about the strange payment as he walked you through the barns, giving you a brief rundown of a typical day’s expectations.

“Just trying to suss out where it came from,” you’d said conversationally, keeping the corner of your eye on one of the heifers staring you down from a few yards away, likely wondering why you’re blocking her path to the broken water trough, “Thought maybe it was a… a generous advance from you or something.”

All Terry did was grunt as he gave the pipe jutting from the wall a rough kick. Seconds later, its service box gurgled and sputtered, and water finally started flowing back into the tank.

“Don’t believe in no ‘advances,” he scowled disdainfully, turning a beady eye onto you, “Show me you can work, then I’ll show you your paycheque.”

You figured as much, but you had to be sure.

“Sounds reasonable to me,” you acquiesced, diplomatic, and again bemused that the man who believes in extra-terrestrials doesn’t believe in something so outlandish as an advance.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The money remains untouched, of course.

You’re tempted by it, certainly, the way a hungry child might be tempted by a large, unattended slice of chocolate cake.

But you’re not a child. And ten thousand is no mere slice of cake.

It isn’t yours. You didn’t earn it, and you don’t want it.

You don’t.

You still have to remind yourself of that every other hour though, because it would certainly make retrieving your truck a whole hell of a lot easier.

Thankfully, the work Terry puts you to provides ample distraction from temptation.

Getting your head down, you shadow him around the dairy, listening in on his telephone conversations with the milk hauliers as he simultaneously shows you where the parlour is.

It’s a relatively small farm. Difficult to manage alone, but just fine enough for two people to handle.

After demonstrating how to fit the milking machine onto a rather unimpressed cow, Terry sends you off to do some of the simpler tasks to break you in for your first day.

‘Grunt work,’ he calls it.

You call it ‘jobs Terry doesn’t want to do.’

No matter. You willingly fall into the mundanity and repetition of simpler tasks, glad to be busying your hands, not your head.

Pliers in tow, you go about tightening the barbed wire around each paddock to stop the cows getting their heads under the fence if they feel like making break for the open desert. Following that, you take a can of oil to all the rusty gate hinges, scrub down each stall in the parlour, familiarise yourself with the layout of the dairy and even introduce yourself to the cantankerous rooster strutting circles around a flock of hens in the front yard.

“If he runs at���chya, don’t you dare kick ‘im,” Terry warns as he skulks past you with a bucket of rat poison under one arm, “He’s protectin’ his girls.”

You peer down at the rooster, who eyeballs you in return, his wings lowered and his feathery chest puffed out.

Wordlessly, you both agree to stay out of each other’s way.

-----

It isn’t until Terry calls you in for an early supper that you finally pluck up the courage to inquire about your truck.

“Just get it towed,” Terry tells you as he shovels a forkful of bacon into his mouth, “S’a couple of places in Jasper who’ll drop it off here.”

“I can’t afford a tow,” you sigh around your own mouthful.

Screwing an eye shut, the old farmer squints across the table at you with a sceptical hum. “Thought you said you got a lot of money on you…”

“Money that isn’t mine to spend,” you remind him, “It only dropped into my account last night. And whoever did it, I’m not convinced they meant to.”

You certainly hope they didn’t mean to.

“Besides,” you add, chasing a potato around your plate with a fork, “I have every intention of giving it back.”

Very gradually, Terry’s bushy, grey eyebrows creep closer and closer together, wrinkling a forehead that’s already been harshly creased by time and age. For several, awkward moments, he scowls at you with the exasperation of a man who’s never heard such tripe in all his life.

“Jeezus,” he scoffs at last, laying his cutlery down on the plate with a ‘clink’, “Well… Least I know I didn’t hire some fancy entrepreneur.”

He doesn’t stop staring at you though. If anything, he seems to be taking an even closer look. The deep, brooding frown on his face is set like dried cement as he roves his glare down to your hands, to the scrapes and nicks dug from skin not yet callused by a life of hard, physical labour.

Proof, in his eyes, that you’ve put in the work he asked you to do. And not a complaint out of you all day…

“Mmph…” Chewing on his mouthful for a moment longer, he at last swallows it down, smacking his lips and exhaling roughly through his nose as he tosses his soiled napkin onto the plate. “Fine.”

Lifting your head, you hesitantly echo, “Fine?”

“I got a tractor and a tow rope,” he elaborates, pushing his chair out and rising to his feet, “I’ll go get your truck.”

Shocked by his unexpected generosity, you scramble to follow him away from the table, feeling far too much like a broken record as you self-consciously raise your hands, palms tipped towards the ceiling “I… can’t pay you…” you admit, ashamed.

Gruffly, he retorts, “Don’t recall askin’ you to."

“Well, at least deduct the cost of the fuel from this month’s wages,” you offer as a compromise.

At that, as if you’d said something entirely ludicrous, Terry promptly stops in his tracks and whips his head around towards you so quickly, it’s a wonder his flat cap doesn’t come flying off.

Exuding the air of a man who’s wholly unimpressed, he glares you down until you physically wither beneath his scrutiny, shrinking in on yourself, head retreating backwards to try and hide between your rising shoulders.

“Goddamn, Kid. No wonder you ended up here,” he at last grumbles disparagingly, “You ain’t exactly goin’ places with that kind of credo.”

And to say that didn’t sting would be a bold-faced lie.

You didn’t even consider the possibility that you were saying something foolish until Terry drew specific attention to it. Now you just feel ashamed because you know you ought to be.

“Sorry,” you concede, cupping your elbows and avoiding his stare, “...Look, will you at least let me come and help you fetch it?”

The truck is yours after all. Your responsibility. Your burden to retrieve, not his.

At the suggestion of assistance, however, Terry’s boots falter again on the threshold between the front door and the porch, and he cocks his head to one side in clear contemplation.

Trailing to a stop behind him, you wait, shifting on your feet and chewing a welt onto the inside of your cheek.

You’ve almost drawn blood by the time he shakes his head and announces, “Nah,” much to your dismay, though the disappointment is fleeting as he’s quick to start marching off again, beckoning over a shoulder for you to follow him out into the yard. “I been hitchin’ up to tractors since before you were born… Got somethin’ else you can help with though…”

Curiosity - always the more potent force - sweeps in to readily take the place of your discouragement. “Oh?” you ask, perking up and trotting obediently after the old farmer.

“Yup,” he says, “Got some stuff needs pickin’ up from the store in town. Hate goin’ in myself. Too noisy. Kids always runnin’ around, eyein’ up my wallet.”

Doubtless they’re just kids being kids and he’s seeing behaviour that isn’t there, but you don’t dispute his claim. You’re just glad to feel like you’re finally about to do something useful, nodding eagerly as you chirp, “Sure! I can go into town for you, no problem. Is there another car I can take or…?”

His retort comes as a sharp bark of laughter, which doesn’t bode well for you at all.

“Not a chance in Hell,” he guffaws, “Ain’t usin’ two tanks of gas…”

Gradually, your heart sinks down towards your shoes, but before you can start entertaining the gruelling prospect that he’s about to make you walk all the way into Jasper, Terry rounds the corner of his house and adds, “C’mon. Reckon it’s time I introduced you to Tom…”

----------------------------------------------------------

Tom, you soon discover, is in fact not derived from the longer name ‘Thomas.’ At least not in this instance. Here, Terry seems only too gleeful as he tells you that it’s the short form of ‘Tom Thumb,’ something that brings him no end of amusement when he leads you to a paddock attached to the back of the farmhouse and you find yourself staring agog at an absolute titan grazing behind the little, wooden fence.

Now, you can appreciate the irony of a good misnomer as much as the next person, but the implications of what you’re looking at are not lost on you, considering what Terry has just asked you to do.

Standing beyond a little, wooden fence that hardly seems adequate to keep such an animal contained, is a colossal, ebony Shire horse, munching lazily at a pile of hay left out to grow dry and brittle under the afternoon sun.

Pursing his lips, the farmer whistles loud and shrill, calling out, “Tom! C’mon!”

With apparent effort, the horse raises its massive head and turns to blink down at you through long, sweeping lashes, still chewing idly on his mouthful of hay.

“Terry,” you deadpan, turning to send the man an incredulous look, brows arched high on your head.

Shrugging his shoulders brusquely, he retorts, “What?”

“Terry!”

“Oh, quitch’yer whinin’. Tom’s a damn-sight cheaper’n insuring a tractor for a year, I’ll tell you that right now. Saves a fortune on gas. Hay’s cheap around here.”

Floundering in the air with one hand as if you’re trying to fish through it for a lick of sense, you exclaim, “Terry, that is completely beside the point!” At last gesturing wildly at the apathetic gelding – who has already lost interest and turned back to his fodder – you add, “I can’t ride a horse into Jasper!”

Puffing out a dismissive grunt, Terry simply brushes past you and makes for a tumbledown tack room built flush against the rear of his house. “Oh, sure you can,” he tells you as he goes, “Tom’s as cold-blooded as they come. Means he don’t spook easily. Had him shipped over from England in the nineties – poor old boy was towin’ barges. So, I got my hands on him and made him tow a plough instead, hah!”

“Hah,” you wheeze half-heartedly, stumbling after him in a daze and casting a sympathetic glance at the Shire, “… Does he make a good work horse?”

Striking his shoulder against the door a few times to arduously inch it open, Terry lets out a scoff between two breaths before he replies, “Hell yeah, he did. Damn good draughter in his day. Course, that was before I stopped arable and started focusing on the dairy. Now, Tom’s retired.”

Heaving an aggrieved sigh, he finally manages to get the door open wide enough to step into the gloom, fumbling for a pull-string. It creaks when he yanks it, and a dusty lightbulb splutters to life, dangling from the ceiling and illuminating the cluttered space within. “He’s just gettin’ fat and lazy in his paddock. I can’t ride him no more, so I need you to start. It’ll do him some good to make the shopping trips again.”

The notion, apparently, is non-negotiable.

Terry wastes no time showing you how to tack the massive gelding, who endures both your inexperience and the man’s incessant rambling with a stoic sort of resignation that better befits a grizzled, old soldier than a nag.

Despite your constant flow of objections, Terry won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and when he points out, ‘You said you wanted to help,’ you can only hang your head dolefully and acquiesce, knowing you’re as good as beat.

You do, however, adamantly insist that you aren’t going anywhere without a riding hat, refusing to back down even as Terry seems to grow more and more vexed by your persistence until he finally caves and digs an old, black helmet from a barrel deep inside the tack room, muttering about ‘health and safety gone mad,’ under his breath.

Happy to let him be unimpressed, you shake a disgruntled spider out of the hat before sitting it on your head and pulling a face at how tight it is.

Still, you reason, too tight is better than a fractured skull.

And so, with the saddlebags slung across Tom’s hindquarters and your boots stuck awkwardly into too-large stirrups, you’re sent out through the gate with Terry’s paper shopping list stuffed into your shirt pocket, crumpled up beneath the weight of your (freshly-charged) phone.

“I’m givin’ you one-twenty,” Terry barks, reaching up and slapping a wad of notes into your outstretched palm, “I don’t wanna see a cent of it goin’ to anythin’ other than what’s on that list. You hear?”

“Loud and clear,” you quip, sliding the money into the pocket of your work trousers and giving Tom’s sides a nudge with your heels.

The horse’s barrel-stomach expands and contracts around a massive sigh as he begrudgingly picks up his hooves.

“Remember; Highway forty-nine,” you call back to the old farmer as you plod through the open gates, “A couple of miles North of Jasper. The truck’s right on the side of the road, you can’t miss it!”

Terry’s hand waves your words away dismissively as if he’s trying to swat away a fly, but you know he heard you.

Twisting forwards in the saddle, you squeeze Tom’s leathery reins between your palms and lift your eyes to the horizon, and the long, straight road that’ll take you right into town.

If you’re going to be travelling back out into the desert, you suppose it would be prudent to keep your eyes peeled for a certain Good Samaritan who purportedly patrols these parts. Because with Terry’s name cleared off your list of suspects, there’s only one other person you’ve met in recent days who might be guilty of dumping a suspicious lump-sum into your bank account.

And by God, do you have a bone to pick with him.

--------------------------------------------

The ride into Jasper is about as dull as you expected it would be.

While the sun begins its steady decline towards the Western sky, Tom ambles along unhurriedly beneath you, his hooves clopping a rhythmic beat into the sand-dusted tarmac.

As a show of deference, you’ve given him all but the last few inches of his reins, allowing his bowed head to sway unimpeded from side to side with each step, ears flopped languidly against his skull, whereas in contrast, you sit rigid and unnatural upon his too-wide back.

The leather saddlebags squeak gently as the tack rubs together, mingling well with the buzz and hum of insects orchestrating this evening’s ambiance.

Breathing out a measured exhale, you try to sit back in the saddle and relax, counting your blessings that Terry hadn’t told you to go into town on foot.

“But what if I get lost!?” you’d argued as the farmer clambered up into his tractor, a towing strap coiled around one sinewy shoulder.

“Y’aint gonna get lost,” he admonished with a roll of his eyes, “If you do, just ask for directions, Christ! ‘Sides, Tom knows his way home. All you gotta do is mount up, and he’ll do the rest.”

When you took this job, you didn’t have any inkling that you’d be deferring to a horse, but then again, you’re not exactly in a position to complain.

“At least one of us knows what they’re doing,” you comment aloud, reaching forwards to scratch at his withers, half obscured under the saddle-horn. As your fingernails scrape back and forth across his hard-to-reach spot, the horse stretches his neck out and wiggles his upper lip in the air, a clear enough indication to you that he either appreciates the scratch or the praise, though you have a sneaking suspicion it’s the former.

Before long, the open desert skyline falls away behind you, replaced by rows of quaint little homes that perch on the outskirts of Jasper. At one point, you even pluck up the courage to click your tongue and ease Tom into a slow, loping trot along the roadside, daring to let yourself enjoy the wind against your face as you raise your hand to thank the occasional driver who slows down when they pass you by, eyes on stalks.

Tom seems more than content to follow the line of the main road at a heavy trot with all the confidence of a horse that’s travelled this path a hundred times before.

Houses and gardens tentatively give way to a park, several run-down shopfronts, and then a library. And even further up the road, Tom slows to a walk and takes you past what must be Jasper’s school, judging by the tumultuous throng of children and teenagers lounging around on the stone steps or waving down their parents’ cars.

“Must be home-time,” you murmur aloud, doing a convincing job of pretending not to notice the plentiful stares and giggles you’re drawing from various clusters of students.

Unnoticed by you, lost among the myriad of youthful faces, a girl sits slumped against the brick wall that runs along the outer perimeter of the school. Her back is arched, a wiry frame hunched possessively over the sketch book she has propped against her bent knees, a pen dancing furiously across the page. 

You don’t notice her at all – why would you when she’s just one of many lost in the crowd of whispering, tittering teens that you’re trying desperately to ignore?

Below you, Tom bobs his head and snorts loudly just as he draws parallel with the student, and all at once, her pale face shoots up from the book, a glittery pen clutched tightly between her fingers falling still against the page.

You very nearly jump out of your skin when a loud, strident voice all but explodes from the comparatively tiny girl on your left.

“WOAH! Hey, I love your horse!”

Even Tom seems mildly taken aback by the exclamation, turning his nose towards the source and flicking his ears up as the girl springs to her feet, pink-tipped bunches bobbing up and down on a head of otherwise black hair.

“Oh!” you bumble, glancing over at her before remembering yourself and flashing a sheepish smile, “Er, I – thanks. He’s, uh, not mine though.”

Apparently undeterred, the girl simply snaps her sketchbook closed, stuffs it under her arm and bounds towards you with the gumption of a crow discovering something shiny, her eyes sharp and sparkling. “Cool!” she announces, keeping pace with the horse’s gait and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial – and far less obtrusive – volume, “You rustle him, or what?”

At once, your face falls, and Tom’s hooves come to a stop on the side of the road as if he can sense that his rider isn’t paying attention and decides to use the opportunity to be idle, but before you can stammer out that ‘No, you did not, in fact, steal a horse,’ another voice pipes up from nearby, scolding and scandalised.

“Miko!”

Glancing sideways along the path, your gaze lands on a pair of boys approaching 'Miko' with varying expressions of concern. The oldest – though not yet old enough to grow a shadow under his chin – has his face pulled into a frown that doesn’t suit his adolescent features, dark brows furrowed over equally dark eyes. Bemused, you can tell he’s trying very hard to level the girl with a look that would give even the most disapproving parent a run for their money.

“You can’t just accuse someone of stealing a horse,” he admonishes, earning an exasperated groan from your newest acquaintance who meets your gaze and jerks her head at the boy as if to say, ‘Can you believe what I have to put up with?’

“Ugh, just ignore him,” she complains aloud, “Jack’s a total fun sponge.”

Noted. 

Sticking like a burr to the older student’s side is another boy – this one far younger than his companion, you deduce. Shorter too. He looks utterly tiny from your position up on Tom’s back, barely standing half as tall as the dark-haired boy, and even then, a lot of his height is lent to him by the wild, flyaway spikes of brown hair that sweep up from his skull. His clothes seem to hang off his frame, giving him bulk where you imagine there isn’t any. Jeans that are far too long have been rolled up several times at the cuffs and crammed into the tops of his trainers, likely to keep him from tripping over their hems every time he takes a step.

You can’t help but notice how nervous he looks, his round face tilted down towards the ground but his eyes wide and upturned behind a pair of thick, black spectacles, eyeing Tom and yourself with dubious curiosity, as if he’s reluctant to venture any closer, yet inquisitive enough to keep his feet shuffling along after his friend anyway.

Of its own accord, your mouth lifts into a friendly smile, aiming it at the youngster, who spots it, blinks in surprise for a moment, and finally offers you a shy, fleeting grin in return.

“Uh, hi! Sorry about her,” the aforementioned Jack pipes up, drawing your attention down to him as he stops beside Miko and gives her a companionable bump with his elbow, “She doesn’t actually think you stole a horse.”

He barely manages to finish his sentence before Miko butts in, her eyes still fixed eagerly on said horse, paying little mind now to the boys at her side. “Can I pet him?” she rushes out, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Um…” Sparing a glance down at Tom’s floppy ears, you spend a brief moment mulling over the prospect of letting little fingers venture too close to the mouth of a horse you… really don’t know very well. He looks nonplussed though, and even apathetic to the whole situation, hardly paying more than a lazy glance at the girl inching closer and closer to his neck.

“I think that’s okay,” you give in, “I mean… he hasn’t bitten me yet, so…”

Evidently, even hesitant permission is good enough for her.

Bounding across the remaining distance, Miko wastes next to no time in reaching up and boldly thrusting her hand underneath Tom’s shaggy mane, running it down the length of his strong, muscled neck and gasping in unmitigated delight. 

“Easy, Kid,” you tell her gently as the Shire tosses his head back, snorting at the suddenness of her approach, “He might like a bit of warning next time.”

“Sorry!” she chirrups, her mouth stretched into a toothy grin, entirely preoccupied by the horse.

You get the sense she’s used to apologising on autopilot.

“Just wait’ll Bulk hears about this! He’s gonna freak!” Twisting her neck over a shoulder, she beams eagerly at the boys behind her and barks, “Jack! Raf! Get over here! He’s so soft!”

Jack’s thick eyebrows flinch apart and he quickly raises his hands, shaking them out in front of himself. “Uh, no thanks,” he chuckles awkwardly, trying to play off apprehension as cool indifference, “I’m good. He’s all yours.”

The girl scoffs something under her breath that she’d definitely take flack for if she was overheard by anybody other than yourself. Jack, however, seems nonplussed by the jab, offering you a small shrug when he briefly catches your eye before pulling a phone from his pocket and busying himself with the screen.

Meanwhile, the youngster – Raf, was it? – has taken a hesitant step forwards, leaving his taller friend’s shadow and sidling up to Miko’s flank, his bespectacled eyes flicking back and forth between your face and Tom’s.

“W-what’s his name?” he manages, clenching and unclenching his fists as he gazes at the giant of a horse towering over him.

Relaxing forwards against the saddle horn, you keep an eye on the Shire’s lips when he bends around to snuffle curiously at the hand Miko offers up to his velvety muzzle.

“Tom,” you supply, jerking your chin encouragingly towards the horse’s shoulder and flashing Raf a reassuring grin, “Short for Tom Thumb.”

The smile that’s been playing at the younger boy’s lips finally stretches into something material as he reaches up and brushes the very tips of his fingers over the Shire’s foreleg, quietly uttering, “Hi, Tom.”

Beside him, Miko’s face screws up comically and she scoffs, “Tom Thumb? That’s a dumb name. Should’a called him… er… Oh! Titan! Or – or Thunderhoof!”

Jack flashes her another exasperated glower whilst you nod ponderously at the suggestions, pursing your lips. “Mm. Those are pretty cool names….”

While she tosses a triumphant smirk over her shoulder, you pausing to scratch at the back of your neck, regarding the kids for a few more moments with one eye screwed shut in contemplation. “Say,” you pipe up at last, earning three curious looks, “You guys think you could help me with something?”

“You want us to help you think up a better name!?” Miko suggests hopefully, ducking beneath Tom’s head when he swings it around to nudge at Raf’s arm, doubtless aware of something edible in the boy’s backpack. At first, he lets out a tiny gasp of alarm, but quickly settles, even laughs quietly under his breath when the horse's soft, rubbery lips snuffle the sleeve of his shirt.

“Ah, no,” you huff, amused, “Nothing so exciting.”

Still standing at a respectable – and safe – distance from the Shire, Jack subconsciously mirrors you, lifting an arm to rub at the base of his neck as he says, “Sure, we can um… We can help. What’d you need?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find… Oh, hang on…” The three of them exchange glances as you delve into the pocket of your shirt and tug out Terry’s scrap of paper, unfolding it and holding it up in front of your face. “Uh…” Squinting at the unsteady scrawl, you read, “Ham’s Home and Hardware?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There are very few things more endearing than teenagers who clearly want to prove they can be helpful.

Miko’s incorrect yet very enthusiastic directions were cautiously disputed by Raf, and then corrected by Jack, who was only too happy to point you towards the right street, even thanking you on behalf of his friends for allowing them to indulge in their curiosity of Tom.

“My pleasure,” you’d returned, throwing a wave over your shoulder as you nudged the horse into a walk, “And thanks again. You guys make sure to get home safely, okay?”

You didn’t understand why Miko snorted, nor why Raf told you rather emphatically not to worry, and why Jack’s soft chuckle and subsequent, ‘Oh, we will,’ seemed a little too knowing, but you didn’t give it much regard.

You were a teenager once too, cryptic and peculiar.

There’s still a very jovial grin perched across your lips by the time you stagger out of the hardware shop with your arms bogged down by plastic bags filled to the brim with Terry’s essentials. As promised, you used almost exactly what he gave you, plus a bit of spare change that jingles around in your pocket, and you made certain to nab the receipt too just in case he’s inclined to check you’ve been honest.

It’s a game to get two new hammers, a box of nails, batteries, and several foodstuffs into Tom’s saddlebags, but you manage somehow, even with an audience of amused shoppers who stop to snicker at your attempts to remount the Shire horse using nothing but a stray traffic cone and sheer force of will.

The sun has dipped considerably lower on the skyline as you ride out of Jasper at a brisk trot, leaving the houses, cul-de-sacs and all the traffic behind you.

After several minutes spent enjoying the barren stillness of the desert and passing by a scorpion that's pre-emptively ventured out into the dying light, your mind wanders to thoughts of your mysterious benefactor, and consequentially, the kind truck driver who picked you up last night…

It’s a coincidence that you can’t rightly ignore.

Optimus…. What was it Terry had called him? The Angel of Highway 49? Insinuating you’re likely to find him on the same stretch of road you came in on last night. And if what Optimus said was true about testing the truck's automated systems when there’s less traffic on the road, your best bet is to venture out after dark…

… Figures.

But, as of this moment, you’re far too tired and far too close to the end of a long, arduous day to go chasing after ‘angels.’

Leaning your weight back in the saddle, you resolve to track down the Peterbilt another time, when you’re not quite so exhausted.

It’s nearly silent on the road. Peaceful, even, and although you’d initially been reluctant to complete this task for your new employer, you have to admit, there’s something very restful about being out here alone…

And as if to rudely remind you that you are not, in fact, alone, the horse below you jerks to a sudden halt.

“Shit!” you yelp, startled, planting your hand on his saddle horn just to keep yourself from being launched out of the stirrups and onto his neck as Tom throws his head up, ears pinned back against his skull.

“What the Hell, Tom?” you gripe, “What’s got you so spooked?” 

Agitation in a horse his size in never subtle.

Nostrils flared towards the sky, Tom’s hooves shift and prance underneath you, and he hauls his sturdy bulk around to stand sideways, aiming a single, rolling eye down the road, back in the direction you’ve just ridden from.

Heart thumping a bruise against the inside of your ribcage, you whip your head about, following his line of sight and clenching the reins between white-knuckled fists. “What!?” you blurt aloud, wholly undeterred by the fact that the horse can’t respond in any comprehendible way, “What is it!?”

And that’s when you hear it.

It starts out faint like distant brontide, the mere threat of a storm approaching on an otherwise peaceful horizon.

Squinting against the dying light, you peer down the road, and at once, your eyes land on a bright, cherry red blob that wavers in the air above the sun-baked tarmac as if it’s nothing more than a mirage, growing bigger and more defined as it hurtles out of Jasper and charges towards you at a breakneck speed.

A sound like thunder given voice rolls across the desert, swelling louder and more obtrusive with every second that flits by, festering in your eardrums until you can almost feel the vibrations thrumming through your chest.

It’s the powerful bellow of a car’s engine.

And it’s coming on fast.

Too fast.

Already, the indiscernible blob has grown into the very vivid shape of a sports car. Part of you hopes the driver will see you in time, and with a sudden burst of urgency, you throw an arm out and swing it up and down as Tom tosses his mane and leans his weight back onto his haunches, forelegs dancing off the ground.

To your quickly mounting horror, the car doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. An impressive cloud of sand and dust flies along in its wake like contrails tailing a jumbo jet, and you realise with a sudden lurch of your gut that you’re miles too late to try and get Tom off the road.

The vehicle is upon you in a matter of seconds.

Before you can even cry out, a blur of angry, scarlet hellfire scorches past you and the horse at a blistering pace, not bothering to swerve around you to put even a modicum of space between itself and Tom.

You almost feel as if the air itself has been ripped out of your lungs at the speed of its passing. Suddenly, your hair is whipped up into a frenzy beneath the riding hat, and Tom’s mane and tail are simultaneously blasted to the side as the atmosphere around you both is sucked along in the wake of the car.

Poor Tom – whose life has only ever known a cavalcade of steady, slow-moving tractors, boats, and even slower humans – finally meets his match in the form of modern automation.

Rearing up onto his hind legs, the Shire belts out a deep, resonant whinny, striking furiously at the air with his hooves. It’s too sudden, too jarring of a movement for you to remember to clamp your knees around the saddle and throw your weight forwards.

With the roar of an engine still buzzing at the inside of your skull, you let out a garbled string of noises and tumble over the back the saddle, your feet slipping from the too-wide stirrups.

Gravity takes you by the throat and pulls. Hard.

You topple, hands outstretched and clasping madly for anything that might prevent the inevitable – reins, mane, saddle… But then the sky is suddenly all you can see, a blur of bleeding hues that flash by as fast as the car had.

It all spins above you, around you, a maelstrom of confusion and alarm until, just as abruptly as it had begun, everything comes to a painful halt.

The hard, sickening ‘thud!’ hits your ears before the pain does.

Your shoulders are the first to strike tarmac, bearing the brunt of a significant fall that knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves them empty and shrivelled, unable to swell enough to produce even a tiny wheeze of pain.

The riding hat bounces off the road next, absorbing the impact on behalf of your cranium, and for one moment, you simply lay there gasping on your back, eyes blown wide as saucers and your mouth hanging open in shock as you listen to the drum of hoofbeats galloping away across the sand, and the equally disheartening drone of a car’s engine receding into the distance.

You blink once…

And then you blink again.

Somehow - you determine with no small amount of trepidation - you’re still conscious.

Good!

You also realise that you can no longer hear Tom’s hoofbeats.

Less good.

Gritting your teeth to stop them from rattling, you screw your face up into a tight ball and push yourself up onto your elbows, squinting at the rear bumper of a car that’s swiftly disappearing down the road.

You suck down a breath, instantly relieved to find your lungs still work, and gasp out a hoarse, incredulous, “Oh-!”

Pausing, you have to swallow down another breath before you have enough air to finish, “My GOD!?”

They could have killed you! Actually, more to the point, they could have killed Tom!

Shock, then anger? Isn't that how it goes?

A pulse pounds aggressively at your eardrums, urging you to scrabble awkwardly but furiously to your feet, blind to the searing twinge in your right shoulder. Once you’re upright, you start to sway as the sudden movement jostles your skull and sends your brain swimming for a few, awful seconds before you clench your eyes shut and take in a steadying breath through your nose.

Shaking, you let it out again in a rush, eyes bursting open and zeroing in on the flash of red, not unlike a bull locking on to a matador’s muleta.

“HEY! SHIT-FOR-BRAINS!” you howl after the retreating car and reach up to fumble agitatedly with your chin strap, all the while snarling like some wild, uncivilised beast as you rip off the helmet and launch it at the ground in a fit of rage, “MAYBE IF YOU PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ARSE, YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO SEE WHERE YOU’RE GOING!”

And as if the desert wind had carried your words down that same road, as if somehow, inexplicably, the driver had heard you, that little dot of cherry red on the horizon suddenly screeches to a stop.

The abrupt switch from thunderous engine to the squeal of rubber tyres on tarmac is shocking enough to wipe the scowl right off your face.

Lungs chugging out breaths like a runaway train, you suddenly find each inhale and exhale far too loud, exacerbated by the jarring silence that’s descended over the desert, leaving you far more conscious of the incessant, high-pitched ringing in your ears.

Far in the distance, that shiny red car– once more warped by the sun’s heat rising from the tarmac – starts to slowly turn itself about.

The breath in your throat catches on spittle.

Swallowing, you straighten up, mildly surprised that the driver has bothered to turn back. You suppose they must have noticed the horseless rider in their rear-view mirror and grew a timely conscience.

Well! Planting your hands squarely on each hip, you give a decisive nod. At least they have the common decency to return and check that they hadn’t, in fact, killed you!

You’re still going to give them a piece of your mind, of course.

Heaving an almighty sigh, you card your hands through your flattened hair and grimace at the sweat that still sticks to your scalp, buried underneath the warm helmet for so many hours. What you wouldn’t give to be in a shower right now, instead of dealing with this catastrophe.

As the car comes pealing back up the road in your direction, its engine roaring like a sea at storm, you lift your hands and hook them behind your head, twisting sideways to grimace helplessly out at the open desert, and the tiny, black dot rapidly galloping off into the distance, running parallel with the road.

“Cold-blooded’ my foot,” you scoff, though not too unkindly. You can’t imagine the old nag has had a lot of experience with flashy, irresponsible speedsters who have a horsepower that far exceeds his own.

… At least he looks to have turned his nose in the direction of Terry’s Dairy…

You’re busy praying to whatever god you think might listen that Tom will make it home in one piece when the particularly aggressive bellow of an engine rips your focus back towards the highway.

You balk violently at the sight of a cherry-red Aston gunning towards you. 

‘What the… Are they…?’

Just moments ago, there’d been a considerable distance standing between you and the car, but in the few short seconds where you took your eyes off it, that distance has been more than halved, and the gap is growing narrower and narrower with every beat of your quavering heart.

The driver must have their foot to the floor.

All the blood drains from your face in a blink. Your muscles go taut of their own accord, some long-buried instinct rears its sleepy head as every ounce of tension flows down to your legs.

A dark, steel grill of the car is aimed directly at you, glinting in the meagre sunlight like a mouthful of bared teeth, threatening and furious.

Twenty yards….

There’s no way they’d really…?

Ten yards…

Shit, it’s right on top of you-

Just as you think you’re about to become a smear across its blood-red bonnet, your body suddenly seizes control away from your brain and you all but launch yourself sideways in a graceless, desperate leap.

You hit the ground hard, landing harshly on your already-bruised shoulder with an ‘oof!’ right as the driver ploughs across the space you’d just been standing not a second earlier.

The wind buffets against you on his pass, and the force of it is strong enough to roll you over onto your side. Following the momentum, you allow yourself to twist all the way around onto your opposite side, gaping in astonishment at the taillights of your would-be murderer.

“What the HELL!?” you can’t help but shriek, heart striking the base of your throat with every, agitated thump.

A flood of crimson light sears your retinas as the car’s brakes engage and it fishtails to a halt nearly one hundred yards up the road, its engine revving so loudly, you can feel the vibrations humming through the palms of your hands when you shove yourself up onto your knees.

“HEY!” you shout, your voice shrill, yet lost and small in comparison to the growling car, “Are you completely insane!?”

You’ve heard it said that it’s never a good idea to call a crazy person crazy.

Once, you believed the notion was a nod to how unmannerly it is to comment on anyone’s state of mind. Now, however, you wonder if the notion exists because asking as much isn’t unlike poking at a sleeping bear.

Risky and altogether ill-advised.

And true to your theory, the driver’s rear wheels start to spin madly before they gather purchase on the tarmac, catching and whipping the vehicle’s nose around to face you.

The wintery bite of ice-water in your veins freezes you in place, stuck on your knees and staring through wide, incredulous eyes at the grill of a rampaging car.

Now, the distance between you and it is meagre. And you’ve already seen the speed at which it can eat up space.

Your palms start to burn where they’re braced against the hard, simmering road, but you keep them splayed there, sweat beading above your lips as you listen to the idle thrum of the engine.

You don’t rightly know what you did to warrant this hostility, but you suppose it hardly matters.

You really do meet all sorts out on the road.

The sun is dipping lower and lower behind the Aston, casting a long, dark shadow that creeps towards you over the tarmac, and almost – almost – ghosts the tips of your fingers. Swallowing thickly, you curl them inwards as if your body knows instinctively that even that intangible part of the car shouldn’t be touching you.

Eyes screwed halfway shut against the light, you set your jaw into a hard, rigid line, braced to react.

It’s a standoff. One you really didn’t see coming.

A hapless farmhand, and an irate driver hidden behind an illegally dark window tint…

The latter observation tugs at something in the back of your mind, and the word ‘shit’ flashes briefly through your skull, soon followed by the more emphatic, ‘Fuck!’

Just whose toes have you managed to step on?

The flashy car, the blacked-out windows, the reckless driving, and blatant disregard for human life....? 

When you were reading up on the state before moving here, didn't you learn that Nevada is a high-intensity drug trafficking area?

…

……. Oh no.

“Oh no,” you reiterate aloud, eyebrows creeping up towards your hairline as a heavy ball of lead drops straight into your gut.

The driver must have been waiting for some realisation to dawn on you because no sooner have you uttered the words than the Aston’s grumbling engine suddenly lets out another deafening roar.

Rubber tyres squeal on the tarmac, spinning in place for a second and kicking up sand like a mustang scraping its hooves before charging.

By the time you’ve flinched at the sound, the car has already lurched forwards, haring towards you once more.

Terror steals the strength from your limbs.

You’re still on your knees, disadvantaged and slow. Too slow to do anything other than throw your arms over your head and bleat out a wild, faltering cry.

“Wait! PLEASE-!”

The plea hasn’t even finished leaving your tongue when the world around you is rocked by an absolutely cacophonous din.

The blast of a horn - apoplectic with rage given its volume - drowns out the engine of your assailant, and before you can register the source of God’s Seventh trumpet, a monstrous titan of blue and contrasting red comes crashing across your field of view.

From out of nowhere, a familiar semi-truck barrels sideways into the path of the oncoming Aston, its massive wheels locking it into place and bringing it to a lurching halt right across the road like a blockade of shining metal and billowing smokestacks.

Mouth agape, you drop your arms and fling your eyes up to the driver’s side door, bowled over onto your back by the unexpected yet timely arrival of the very person you’ve been meaning to find.

“Optimus!?” you blurt squeakily.

Where the Hell did he come from!?

Suddenly, above the truck's rumbling growl, you hear a far less impressive set of tyres squeal sharply on the road as the rampaging driver slams on their brakes.

But they were already far too close to you, and travelling at such a speed, you know without seeing that there’s going to be a collision.

And sure enough….

‘C R U N C H!’

The body of Optimus’s truck doesn’t even budge an inch.

Unstoppable force, meet Immoveable object…

Metal screeches against metal, and the stomach-churning sound of something crumpling splits the air asunder.

Horrified, you watch on whilst the Peterbilt quakes on its struts, rocked by the sheer force of the crash, but here, in this battle of automobiles, size easily trumps speed, and the truck remains unmoved, a steadfast road block standing triumphant between you and the lunatic in the Aston Martin…

Another scream of metal, something pulling loose and clanging to the ground, and then…

“My… My bonnet! MY PAINT JOB!”

Male, you deduce, snobbish and categorically livid.

“Just who in the PIT do you think you-…? Ah…”

To your astonishment, his voice trails off, and there’s the distinct sound of a car peeling itself further out from the truck's side, its engine much more subdued.

“Prime?” the voice hisses to itself, all prior traces of rage gone. You wonder if he’s leaning out of the window to speak.

When he continues, you note the tone has shifted to something far more apprehensive. “Why! What a… a surprise to see you on this stretch of road!”

Optimus’s speakers remain ominously silent whilst his truck’s engine still hums like guard dog growling in its throat, prompting the other driver to sputter over his words.

“I-I was only messing around with the fleshy, you know that! Just a bit of sport!”

‘Fleshy?’ You pull a face. Good god, this guy must be using the drugs he’s smuggling. Every word that comes out of his mouth sounds like the ramblings of a maniac.

“Is it one of yours?”

'Case in point...' you muse. 

“If I’d known, I’d have never-! You know I wouldn’t really want that under my tyres! Far too messy!”

Cloying, saccharine despite the drivel, his tone smacks of a classic schmoozer, but why does it sound as though he and Optimus are acquainted?

Grunting at the pain in your shoulder, you start to bully yourself up off your backside, emboldened by Optimus’s ‘presence.’ Does the Aston driver know there’s little more than a voice behind the wheel of that imposing truck?

He’s saying something else now, his voice growing fainter as the tyres of his car carry him further away from the solid wall of a Peterbilt.

“I’m no fool. I know not to bite off more than I can chew. No need for this to go any further than it already has.”

As if he wasn’t the one who started it.

You nearly feel a pinch of guilt at the schadenfreude of hearing the nervousness on his tongue, but then you remind yourself of what he did to Tom, what he almost did to you, and the grim satisfaction curling in your gut is permitted a place to stay.

“You understand, I’m su-“

All of a sudden, he’s cut off by the low, chillingly dangerous pitch of Optimus’s voice, rumbling out of the hidden speakers. The sound is so clear and sharp, it’s as though the truck itself has been given a tongue.

One word is all he utters. One word that’s packed with the authority of a King. It isn’t shouted. It isn’t even loud. But it is strong. Deep and dark, so much so that it raises the hairs on the nape of your neck and sends a shiver lancing up your spine.

“L E A V E."

The breath catches in your throat, and at the same time, the Aston’s engine goes quiet as if it had just stalled. But soon enough, you hear the driver mutter a cold, “With pleasure,” followed quickly by another screech of rubber burning a hasty retreat down the highway, and at long last, that once intimidating engine fades away into the distance.

In an instant, your whole body sags and you let out a whooshing breath, one you hadn’t even realised you’ve been keeping hostage inside your lungs.

Ahead of you, even the Peterbilt appears to deflate, its hydraulics hissing noisily as it sinks on its tyres, though you’re too busy hobbling around it to pay any real attention.

Staggering unevenly, still reeling from the shock of it all, you venture to the nose of the truck, peeking around its grill to see the shiny, red bumper crest a gentle slope before vanishing below the horizon line.

“…Who-” you begin, gulping down a trembling breath, “-the Hell… was that?”

[chiyoso]

you can't get enough of choso

j. kaisen : kamo choso ··→ brainrot.

i need to get this out desperately before i comatose all day, but choso is the most babygirl of babygirls i've witnessed and dealt with throughout my life as an anime/manga fan.

fuck, just imagine choso overhearing you gush about him to someone, close to you or not, he'd have the unluckiest luckiest times to encounter you as you speak about him, it would range from the most cutest shit ever, to the absolute filthy, oh-my-god-please-do-that-to-me-right-now, i have a boner from just you talking about me so lovingly with carnal desire type shit.

he thrives in your indirect praises about him, more so when you compliment his academic prowess besides his physical appearances.

he finds himself thinking about how, when and just fucking why you think he's so lovable in such a way. like what is he doing so special to be someone so high up to the stars for someone else? what is he doing for you to be so enamoured by him? he doesn't understand, but he wants to, he really does, he's just sooo puppy-like excited just at the thought of you continuing your shinanigans about him to anyone, up until the point where they're annoyed.

and he just especially loves the way your tone gets so low, just the right amount of breathlessness and excitement everytime his name comes out with endearment from your mouth. god, you sound so fucking hot like that.

“please please PLEASE, itadori, link me up with choso, yeah, that kamo choso, please holy FUCK, i know you know him, aren't you related to him too? no? what do you mean you can't? yes you fucking can, i've seen him talk and talk and just talk about you.” shit, if only he can hear you desperately beg for him like that whenever he is around you, but you're just such a two-faced person, skillfully so, being and doing the opposite of what you normally are without his presence.

you'd interact with him normal, just like others, but since that day where he caught you the first time, talking about him in a way where your fondness for him is through the roofs, he'd notice you often lean in against him, following up with a simple “come again?” “i can't hear you.” “louder.” even if the place had little to no people. peculiar.

there would also be times where you would just tease him that causes him to have an existential, identity crisis. “fucking finally,” you groan begrudgingly, stretching your limbs, cursing under your breath about how hard and fucked up the assignment was. of course biology wasn't your strong suit, but it was also a great, valid reason to ask the kamo choso to have a study sesh with you.

“high five, kamo-san.” huh? he glances up from his work, seeing a hand reached out near him. you were idled, lazily leaned back with your other hand acting as the pillar for your weight behind, legs up and obnoxious, knees against the rim of the low table you two studied on. thank god you weren't wearing a skirt, why the fuck are your legs parted.

“i mean,” he pauses, hesitant, glancing between your weirdly nonchalant expression and attitude and your hand. “i don't see why n—” “sorry,”

now how did he find himself in the same sitting position you were in, but with a hand behind his back on the floor, and you now on top of him.

“i have a big fat fucking crush on you,” you took his stretched out hand, basically handholding him now, the other cupping his cheeks. “you're so pretty, you know that right?” he'd see your eyes grow distant, the situation now processed, resulting in him have this pathetic blush all over his face, undecided if it was from your sudden closeness, or the fact that you just straight up confessed to him just now.

were you eye fucking him? what was going through inside your head? and the fact that he wasn't moving an inch, unopposed to whatever this was right now, maybe because he had someone so fucking hot and as ‘pretty’ as him just hovered on top of him.

maybe because its the accumulation of overhearing you on certain times that he'd allow this, or the fact that itadori has talked warned him about you, or also maybe because no one has ever held him in such high regards its just insanity.

you know what you want. so who is he to stop you from achieving your goal?

“earth to kamo-san?” oh.

what do you mean he was daydreaming? what do you mean he was zoning out for awhile? you mean you didn't just confess right now on top of him? you weren't about to fuck his mouth with yours? maybe fuck the shit out of something else too?

yeah, he's okay, even if his cheeks roused such a pretty, healthy color all over, even if his eyes couldn't keep still all over the room but yours, even if his breathing became irregular suddenly just now, and even if he has this overwhelming hotness that throbbed continuously between his thighs right now. yeah.

yeah, he's okay.

of course he's okay.

⚝ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎𝐒𝐎 | remember!!! reblogs are waaayyy sexier!!!

[thepartyresponsible]

prompt fill! someone asked for jason todd and truth serum. this was also supposed to fill the request for "who did this to you?" with phil/jason, but i didn't make it to "who did this to you?" part. sorry! i'm trying to keep these under 1k.

anyway, this one's a bit bleak, but educational. here, jason learns an important life lesson: if you go undercover as a criminal, sometimes people believe you. and phil learns to reorder his interrogation questions.

warnings for drugging people without their consent. the drug in question is a fictional truth serum.

- - -

Using this particular drug on a nonconsenting person is a crime in most of the world. A recent amendment to the Geneva Convention marked its use on prisoners of war as a war crime. There’s a blanket ban on its production and use in the European Union. In the United States, administration by law enforcement personnel was ruled a violation of the Fifth and Eighth Amendments.

But SHIELD is not at war. Nor is it a law enforcement agency. And Phil Coulson is not in territory controlled by the United States or the European Union. The man in SHIELD custody undoubtedly has rights of some kind, but the extent of those rights – and who might be obligated to protect them – is currently unknown.

“It’s messy,” he says, to Fury.

“It’s a mess,” Fury replies. “Clean it up.”

- - -

He’s younger than Phil expected. But he has no right to judge anyone for sending their young to die. After all, he looks older than Natasha, possibly older than Clint.

And Natasha and Clint might be dead. In some ways, SHIELD’s no better.

“Your name, please,” Phil says.

“Jason,” the man says, a slow, sleepy mumble, and then his eyes open, and the panic hits.

Phil’s grown familiar with panic. He’s seen it in civilians and soldiers, in diplomats and dictators. He’s seen it every time he’s encountered this drug.

When it was first developed, early adopters trotted out the old lie: if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear. But everyone has something to hide. Everyone has a secret they would swallow their own tongue to protect, and here’s a substance that takes that choice away, a wonder drug that retains awareness while negating will. A life-saving torture device.

“Fuck you,” the man says, which is far more spirit than most manage.

“Jason,” Phil says, “my agents are missing.”

“Fuck you,” Jason says, again. “That’s what happens.” He’s double-blinking, struggling to focus. Phil’s done this six times. No one's ever managed this level of control. Usually, they’re drooling by now, spilling secrets and saliva into the collar of their shirts.

Something’s wrong.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Phil says. “We must have miscalculated your dosage.”

- - -

Medical reports back half an hour later. There was no miscalculation. The man has a tolerance they assure him should not be possible.

“We gave him a second dose. He should be amenable now,” the doctor says. “If he doesn’t stop breathing.”

Amenable, Phil thinks. He explores the hollow inside him where the horror should’ve been. It’s a terrible thing they’re doing. He knows that.

But his agents are missing.

“Thank you,” he says. And he goes back to work.

- - -

“You know,” Jason tells him, glassy-eyed, barely looking Phil’s direction, “if you ask the wrong questions, I have to kill you."

It’s an interesting threat from a man who cannot lie.

“And what are you afraid you’ll tell me?” Phil asks.

“Identities,” he answers, chest rising slower than a sleeper’s.

“Ah,” Phil says. “Yes, we’ll get to that.”

“Batman,” he adds, unexpectedly. “Nightwing.” He swallows, clumsily. When he breathes in, he chokes. Phil watches him almost drown for a moment and then he reaches across the table and tugs Jason’s head forward so he can breathe.

He barely has the coordination to breathe, but the contact makes him flinch hard enough to shake the table. Phil wonders who made a creature like him.

“Who do you work for?” he asks.

“Nobody.” And then, almost smiling, voice dropping into a guttural growl, “Justice.”

Which could be good news. Killers with a mission are predictable, once you understand their cause. “And who decides justice? Who gives you orders?”

“Nobody.”

Interesting. Most freelancers don’t work at this level, and the ones who do should have extensive SHIELD files. “Who’s been signing your checks lately?”

“Checks,” Jason says, and laughs. “Fucking checks.”

He’s been thoroughly dosed with a drug designed to make him highly suggestible and meekly compliant. Phil’s starting to understand why capturing him was such a costly undertaking.

“Whose money is in your accounts right now?”

Jason makes a noise, some gusty grumble of complaint, and then lists off a dozen or so of the very worst people alive. The most interesting names are the ones Phil doesn’t recognize, but he’ll have to get to those later. The window is short; his time is running out.

A single dose is risky. Some people never fully recover their independence. They’re rendered permanently docile, suffering from a kind of chemical lobotomy that good people across the globe have outlawed. A second dose doubles the odds of permanent damage. After the third, some people won't even breathe without orders.

They’ve given him two already.

“These people who’ve been paying you,” Phil says, “which of them is paying you right now?”

Jason sighs. “Nobody pays me. I stole that money.”

“You---” Phil pauses, looks at his notes. He re-reads the names, marvels at the insanity of stealing from any of them. “You stole from those people?”

“Stole from ‘em,” he says, “killed ‘em. Well, killed some. Gonna kill the others. It’s, you know. A to-do list. I’ve been busy.”

Phil wonders if he’s been wasting his time, if he’s drugged a delusional man. “You don’t steal from people like that before you kill them.”

Jason tilts his head so he can look up him, furrows his brow in something that is almost a coherent expression of disdain. “You never have any fun, huh?”

Phil might be dealing with someone far more dangerous than he’d predicted. “You do this for fun?”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “And for justice.”

Justice, right. Of course. “And who taught you about justice?”

“My dad,” Jason says.

Which is good. Which might be helpful. Truth has its uses, but, in Phil’s experience, leverage gets more accomplished.

“And who,” Phil says, “is your father?”

Jason’s eyes track his direction but don’t quite land. His mouth closes and then opens again. “Batman,” he says.

“Oh,” Phil says. “Shit.”