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depravitycentral · 2 days ago

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Yandere! Kiyoomi Sakusa General Profile

Yandere! Kiyoomi Sakusa x fem!reader

TW: kidnapping, stalking, drugging, controlling behavior, Kiyoomi is secretly a wee bit of a misogynist, he makes a few comments about Reader's weight but there's no explicit descriptors, allusions to reader purposefully hurting themself, reader suffers a minor concussion but it was an accident, implied noncon, mentions of physical abuse, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10K

DARLING PROFILE:

Considerate

Kiyoomi is not an especially generous person. He’s civil, sure, and adheres to social customs enough to not be considered too rude, but he’s never really understood the need to stick out one’s neck at the expense of others.

And so Kiyoomi is equal parts intrigued and frustrated by a darling who’s empathetic and cognizant of others’ desires and wants. He thinks it’s admirable, if not a bit naïve, but it’s not until they stick their neck out for him that he really begins noticing them.

It’s small things – offering him the package of communal sweets first so that he can have the first bite, their smile seeming too big when they tell him that they know he hates when other people touch his food first. It’s the way they always ask about his day, asking about specific details when his blanket statement of fine doesn’t seem to be enough.

(And specifically, it’s the way they ask about how he felt, rather than simply what he did. It makes him pause and think, glancing at them like they’re crazy, but finding himself slightly intrigued because he can’t remember the last time someone had asked about his feelings.)

It irritates him, more than anything, but as his friendship with them grows, Kiyoomi finds himself almost growing protective over how invested his darling is in others. It’s dangerous to be so selfless, don’t they know?

They’re practically asking to be taken advantage of, and while Kiyoomi tries to convince himself that he doesn’t care in the beginning, it becomes harder and harder to maintain that air as his feelings slowly begin festering.

It’s just a sign of stupid kindness, he thinks, but it nonetheless draws him in, desperation to be seen by his darling insatiable.

Smart

Unfortunately, Kiyoomi is a bit of a snob. And although his profession isn’t exactly academic, he still likes to think of himself as a man with decent taste, or at least someone with a good head on his shoulders. And so, having a darling who is equally as intelligent is something that Kiyoomi absolutely must have.

He can’t tolerate a ditzy partner, finding himself growing too irritated to stand being around them. Instead, he needs a darling that’s quick-witted, perhaps even snarky like him to match his wit and challenge him intellectually.

Despite what proves to be a distinctly possessive and controlling edge in his relationship with his darling, he does truly find their intellect and ability to think for themselves wildly attractive.

(He limits this, of course, feeling that his thoughts and feelings are ever so slightly better for his darling’s wellbeing, but it’s still a significant source of where his attraction is stemming from.)

And because Kiyoomi needs to have been friends with his darling for a significant period of time before his infatuation fully settles in, his darling needs to be smart enough for him to feel like they’re an equal in a platonic, friendship-based setting.

They don’t need to be a genius, but Kiyoomi respects those who are inquisitive and able to foster a healthy curiosity about the world around them. It’s sweet, and while he’s never given much thought to having kids (because while he feels he’d be a decent father, he’s not sure if he could handle having such disgusting things latching onto his leg or drooling over his shoulder), the mother of his children absolutely must have a good sense of judgement and wits about her.

It’s just so appealing to him, and even as his obsession festers and grows, eventually trapping his darling away, he still expects to see that fire in their eyes, loving the way they seem to understand what he’s thinking without him even needing to say it.

Flexible

Because Kiyoomi is so particular, in order to develop a friendship with him, his darling needs to be flexible. They need to be able to understand his preferences, and understand that he’s moody.

A stubborn darling that butts heads with him will only lead to Kiyoomi growing frustrated, and instead he’d prefer someone who’s more complacent with his own desires. It’s a trait that Kiyoomi is a bit embarrassed to say he finds attractive, if only because it’s an admission of knowing that he can be difficult to be around, but the comfort that his darling provides for him in this aspect is one that makes his feelings grow exponentially.

He wants to feel comfortable and cared for in their presence, and a darling that’s willing to do whatever he would prefer not only soothes his anxieties, but it spoils him in a way that makes his heart flutter, his cheeks blooming ever so slightly pink and his palms clamming up a bit.

It’s just so very sweet, and it leaves him feeling only more eager to be in their presence, desperate to spend every waking moment he can with them.

And as his infatuation continues, this is a key trait that allows his feelings to fester and grow to the degree of feeling constantly on edge without his darling in his sight.

He’s able to insert himself into their life more easily this way, able to control every aspect of their life, keep them away from potential suitors, keep them looking at him and him only.

Clean

This one isn’t as imperative, but similarly to matching his intellect, Kiyoomi appreciates a partner who’s naturally cleaner. He’s comforted by the knowledge that his darling isn’t dirty, that when he gets brave enough to reach out and oh so carefully, hesitantly run his fingertips over the soft skin of their palm, that they’ve washed their hands recently.

He likes knowing that the wonderful, lovely scent of their hair is a mixture of their natural scent and shampoo, making his eyes roll to the back of his head because he just wants to keep inhaling and inhaling, breathing in as deeply as humanly possible to consume as much of them as he can.

There’s this subtle sense of pride that settles into his chest when he enter their apartment for the first time, pleased to see the way their living-space reflects his own – perhaps with elements of their personality, maybe more colors or patterns or photographs of friends and family, but it’s almost too easy to see himself pulling his darling into his side on the spotless sofa sitting in their living room.

It’s disturbingly easy to fantasize about pulling the covers of their well-made bed over his head, black curls brushing against his darling’s navel as he travels lower and lower, listening to their gasps and moans as he greedily laps at the spot between their freshly washed legs.

It’s just reassuring, and it only pushes his obsession deeper because he takes it as yet another sign that he and his darling are entirely compatible, a perfect match that he’d be a fool to let go.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Gradual

Despite his status as an internationally known professional athlete, Kiyoomi’s habits haven’t changed much since his youth. He’s still not especially interested in any sort of romantic relationship – he’s picky, incredibly so, and it takes him an extremely long time to feel comfortable enough with someone to actually be willing to be open and vulnerable with them.

(Particularly in the context of anything intimate – he needs to be very, very comfortable with them to reach the point where he’d willingly kiss them, touch them, or, god forbid, be inside of them.)

He’s not fully against the idea, but he’s realistic enough to know that he’d be a hard partner to please, and he just isn’t all that interested in finding someone. He’s got his career to worry about, and with all the traveling he does and his own personal idiosyncrasies, it would just be easier to not have a significant other.

And frankly, this mentality sticks with him – you have to have known Kiyoomi for quite some time before he develops feelings for you. At the absolute minimum, he must’ve been truly friendly with you for three years; that way, he can solidly say he finds you tolerable, that you’re acceptably clean, not too annoying, someone he doesn’t hate being around.

And even once his feelings begin forming, it’s a slow process – he doesn’t just suddenly wake up and decide that he’s in love with you. No, it’s much more gradual, much more subtle – he doesn’t even know it’s happening until it’s too late, after all.

It starts off as little things that he notices; a new haircut of yours (it was just a trim, something small and something even you had difficulty noticing) that he comments on absentmindedly, telling you it looks nice, this hairstylist is much better than the last one.

He’ll notice that you’ve changed your style a bit; maybe you bought a new pair of pants and you’re a little nervous about wearing them because they’re cute, but it’s a new color or a new cut or just a little bit outside your comfort zone. (He’ll blink and stare when you settle into the other chair at the café, your nerves getting the better of you as you ask what he’s staring at, only to get the rather flat response are your pants new? I like them.)

He's always been observant, noticing little things about you, but normally they’re things about your personality, or things about your likes or dislikes. He knows your favorite ice cream flavor, and which brands to avoid when he’s buying you some for your biweekly movie night (something you had to beg him to start, but now he finds himself looking forward to – enough that he’s counting down the minutes in practice that day, dark eyes glancing at the clock every few minutes and sighing lightly at how slowly time is moving).

He’s always known you were a bit of a klutz, and that your spatial awareness leaves a lot to be desired, just because he knows you. You’re tight friends, after all. But lately the things he’s been noticing are less platonic and less general, and more relating to your looks.

He’s never noticed that you have a fleck of another color in your eyes – it’s pretty, and when you turn your head just right in the sunlight, it makes your eyes glow.

He’s never noticed that you fill out your clothing very well; he’s gotten teased for spending so much time with you, sure, Hinata or Atsumu’s dramatic assertions about how the two of you must be more than friends always making him scoff and roll his eyes, disgusted by the implications. But now he finds himself wondering, late at night, with guilt gnawing at him, what it would be like to actually undergo those implications – being physical with you, that is.

His gaze is lingering on your pants a little more than usual, dark eyes staring just a hair too long at your ass, the jeans tight and accentuating every curve you have.

He’ll force himself to stop thinking about it, wondering where the hell that thought had sprung up from, rolling over in bed and shutting his eyes tightly, praying for sleep to come and for the images of the few, accidental times he’d seen you in your bra to stop flashing through his mind.

He notices that his thoughts towards you are changing a bit, but he tries not to think about it. You’re friends – aside from Komori and his teammates, you’re his closest companion, and developing feelings for you would ruin the fragile thing you have. Except his denial of his feelings doesn’t magically make them go away – he’s noticing how often he touches you, without even consciously realizing it. When you hand him some cash to repay him for some snacks he bought you, your fingers brush against his, and he actually freezes when he feels it.

(Your hands are so fucking soft – not hard and calloused like his, not rough and scratchy from years of smacking rock hard volleyballs.)

He never realized that he unconsciously let his hand rest on the small of your back when you guided him through crowds, trying to find the shortest route to minimize his discomfort. (He’d always liked that about you – your acceptance of his dislike of large crowds and germs, never making him feel weird or like a freak for it. You’d even shared an irrational fear or disgust of your own, just to make him feel better – it didn’t, but he appreciated the sentiment.)

Small things begin compiling up for Kiyoomi – things he’d never really noticed or thought about before, but now seem to be at the forefront of his mind. And yet, he still represses his feelings – no, he doesn’t want a girlfriend, and if he acknowledges his feelings for you, he'll want to push your relationship in that direction, to not suffer in silence because he wants more more more.

And yet, as time passes, Kiyoomi finds that he simply can’t not acknowledge what he’s feeling – it’s too much, too strong for him to ignore. His heart physically aches when he’s not around you, his mind racing and whirring with thoughts of what you’re doing, how you’re feeling, who you’re with, if you’re thinking of him.

It’s overwhelming, and it gets to the point where Kiyoomi literally cannot function without recognizing just how far gone his feelings for you are – it's effecting his playing, his relationships with his teammate, his eating habits, even his sleeping. You’re just too all-encompassing, his feelings to fucking intense – intense enough to leave him staring at his ceiling night after night, the bright screen of his phone illuminating his bedroom as he scrolls through photo after photo after photo of you.

Always you.

Possessive

Kiyoomi’s feelings, while strong and nauseating and so, so very good, really end up intensifying to an unbearable level from a single, main cause – he absolutely cannot stand watching you interact with other men.

He can’t repress the way jealousy claws at his throat, making his mouth taste sour and his gut twist because who the fuck is that man you’re talking to?

All it takes is one instance of a man flirting with you while Kiyoomi is present for these feelings to spark up – frankly, he's shocked that the man had the gall to approach you when you’re with someone as famous and handsome as Kiyoomi Sakusa, but perhaps he’d only felt confident enough because you were smiling at this stranger, standing close to him, laughing at a joke.

His fists clench up, dark brows drawing tight as he watches, the bustling café too loud for him to pick out exactly what’s being said. Seeing the way another man looks at you makes his gut sink, and even once you return back to him (with the food you’d ordered for both of you, since you know how much he hates talking to strangers), he can’t shake off his sour mood. From that moment forward, Kiyoomi is forced to confront his feelings – specifically, the ugly, twisting mess of emotions he feels whenever you’re around another man.

He grows possessive of you remarkably fast, hating when your attention strays from him, particularly if the new target is another person. Another man, really. It makes all these insecurities begin sprouting up in his chest – things he thought he’d long moved past, doubts and self-criticisms that make him feel weak, helpless, pathetic.

When he sees you catch eye contact with the man passing you on the sidewalk, your smile and small good morning makes him think about whether this stranger can stand being in a crowd for longer than three minutes. (He probably can, something Kiyoomi can’t – this man could take you to all those concerts you talk about, and he could take you to fun amusement parks and be in the crowd at sporting events and museums and all sorts of things that Kiyoomi can’t.)

When he sees you laugh and apologize to the man you nearly ran over with your shopping cart in the grocery store, Kiyoomi can’t help but notice how easily the man’s smile comes, his entire aura radiating positivity and happiness, the little tease and joke he makes in response to your apology making Kiyoomi’s hair bristle, unease sitting in his chest because no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t be so carefree and socially comfortable.

(Would you prefer someone more confident and natural in social settings, someone who can make you laugh so easily and introduce himself to strangers, shaking their hand and telling them with any sort of honesty that it’s nice to meet them? Kiyoomi hopes not, please be no.)

He grows pessimistic at the prospect of you interacting with others, because Kiyoomi recognizes that he probably isn’t your type. It makes him feel insecure, worthless, ugly, but more than anything it makes him panic, his fingers shaking and his knee bouncing because he absolutely cannot allow another man to come along and sweep you off your feet.

He needs to do something – and do it quickly, because you’re beautiful and gorgeous and funny and sweet and smart and so fucking perfect, and surely another man will realize that soon and you’ll be gone forever, all while he’s left to watch and stand by, forever regretting that he let this happen. And so, Kiyoomi decides that his only option is to try and limit your time with other men – meaning, he needs to monopolize more of your time, keep you with him, your company limited to only your family, coworkers, and him.

It’s the only way – and while he’s never been particularly subtle about anything, even you will be shocked at how blatantly he acts on this desire.

He's calling you up more, sending texts with flying fingers asking if you’re busy tonight, if you’d like to move your movie night up a few days, if you’d like to go get lunch at the ramen shop Bokuto won’t shut up about, if you’d like to stay the weekend with him at the VRBO he’d already rented on a beautiful little lake.

(He won’t tell you he’d chosen that one specifically because there was both a lake and a hot tub present, meaning he’d get to see you in your swimsuit hopefully more than once, but still.)

He becomes desperate to get your attention solely on him, and while you’ll be surprised, you won’t give it too much thought. Kiyoomi’s always been a little strange, and if he wants to further your friendship, you wouldn’t put up a fight.

But then he’s also scowling when you bring up the name of any other man, even when you’re alone – talking about any of your friends or any of his teammates gets him clenching his fist so hard his perfectly manicured nails dig into his palms, sometimes even pressing hard enough to draw blood.

You’ll notice his discomfort, the way he tenses up, how his voice gets terse and he talks less than normal, and when you ask him about it, he’ll only bite out an I don’t want to talk about another man with you. It’s cryptic, kind of, and it’ll take you aback, but you’ll respect his wishes, mentally noting how odd his behavior is.

And really, that’s how it’ll all progress – you’ll write off Kiyoomi’s strange, possessive behavior, which only makes him further push the envelope, not allowing you to talk about another man in his presence, or even look at them or stand close to one. It’s too much, and it’ll make you uncomfortable, but Kiyoomi’s too far gone.

And frankly, before you pluck up the courage to actually seriously confront him about it, it’s too late – your mouth is already being covered with the chloroform rag, your body going limp and landing in his arms, the sound of him deeply inhaling next to your hair and the low whimper he lets out making you dread when you’ll awaken even more.

He just wants your attention on him, and even more than that, he can’t accept the idea of you leaving him – you’re close, you’re friends, even though the word makes him spit, and he won’t let you leave him. You aren’t allowed to, he won’t let you. So don’t even bother trying.

Controlling

Tying into his more possessive traits, Kiyoomi slowly begins morphing into someone you hardly know.

He becomes blinded by his obsession with you, allowing himself to become more and more omnipresent in your life, worming his way into every little aspect of the way you live, from who you spend your time with to the clothing you wear. Though he’s not particularly subtle, the beginnings of his more controlling behavior will actually spark up long before he realizes how he feels for you.

Much before he’s come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t mind waking up with you wrapped in his arms every morning, he’s telling you that you really should consider waking up at a more reasonable time. It doesn’t matter if you’re a chronic oversleeper, or if you rise with the sun every morning – you’re always doing something wrong, really, and Kiyoomi will point it out to you.

(This is done in a genuine effort to get you to healthier, though. It doesn’t really feel like it when he’s criticizing you for your lack or overindulgence in sleep, his words snarky and cutting, but the motivation behind his prodding into your sleep schedule is to make sure that your body is getting the appropriate amount of rest. To make sure that you’re taking care of yourself, really – because Kiyoomi simply doesn’t trust that you know how.)

Long before he realizes that he wants to press kisses against the column of your throat and feel your soft, warm pulse underneath his lips, Kiyoomi recognizes that you don’t take perfect care of your skin. You could always use a better moisturizer, a better toner, take more time in the mornings and evening to make sure your skin is glassy and smooth and soft.

(He won’t insinuate that you’re ugly, of course, because Kiyoomi is many things but not a liar. But that doesn’t mean he won’t make comments about how he thinks you’ve gotten more pimples recently because your creams are expired, dropping skincare recommendations on you unsolicited and without batting an eye. And when they arrive on your doorstep the next day, shipped with the fastest service possible that you know costs nearly double the regular speed, you can’t even truly get mad at Kiyoomi – after all, his skin is perfect, and maybe he does know more about skin care than you do. The least you could do is try the new products, right? It would be rude not to.)

He’s always been a bit controlling about how he wants things done, but where you’re concerned this is only amplified – it’s a response to caring about you more than anything. He loves you, feels such deep, horrible yearning for you that he feels he must have a say in your life. He’s a successful man, with the last puzzle piece of his life missing being a sweet, loving wife who dotes on him and he on her in return.

And perhaps it’s a coping mechanism to make up for all the years of feeling ostracized, having minimal friends and even less romantic pursuits, finding himself suddenly feeling the pressure to make sure that everything is absolutely perfect because can’t fuck up what he has with you.

He’s become too dependent, too reliant on your presence in his life, and he becomes all-consumed and paranoid at the thought of accidentally doing something to dissuade you from wanting to spend time with him. He won’t change himself for you (or, at least, not too drastically – just enough to keep you interested in him, just enough to keep you in his life), but Kiyoomi is putting every possible effort into making sure that everything goes according to plan.

Expensive dinners are meticulously analyzed, dark brows furrowing at each potential obstacle as he mentally rehearses for the date.

(He’ll order to smoked fish fillet, and you’ll have either the pasta or maybe the salad. But wait. Is it rude to recommend the salad to you? Would you perceive it as a comment on your weight? He wants to see you eating more vegetables, but he doesn’t want you to think he finds your body displeasing – absolutely not, not when he spends most mornings with a hand pressed against the shower wall, water mixing with sweat and dribbling down the curves of his back, other hand feverishly pulling and tugging at his cock, your name slipping between his lips like some sort of prayer.)

He's planning out who will attend your wedding, the seating arrangements, the colors and flower choices, even what your dress will look like and how you’ll style your hair. (It sounds sweet, really – except that it isn’t, because if things don’t go exactly how he’s expecting them to, Kiyoomi will panic, worry eating away at him because no no no! Everything needs to go according to plan, otherwise things will fall apart and you’ll look at him with disappointment and just the thought is making it hard to breath and he needs to see you right now and reach out and touch you and hear you say his name fuck fuck fuck -)

He becomes overly concerned with every little behavior that you exhibit, always making a comment on this or that, his eagerness for your approval (and your obedience) making it difficult for him to notice the way you roll your eyes or how you hesitate, slightly offended at the way he tells you to stop eating like you’re poor, chew slower.

Everything is done with the intent of trying to better your relationship, to make sure the two of you are as compatible as possible, but the execution will leave you often times feeling as if he’s purposefully belittling you, your irritation and anger growing but then tapering out when he looks at you with those eyes.

It’s hard to stay mad when you’re nearly his only friend, the authenticity in his voice when he says that he loves you making it hard to stay mad at one of your closest friends. Just don’t say that – it’ll have his eye twitching, something ugly clawing at his chest because in what fucking world are you two just friends?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

As a general rule, Kiyoomi does not handle jealousy well. He’s always been an envious person, but once his attachment to you forms and he becomes aware of just how badly he needs you – both emotionally and physically – his jealousy only increases, his intolerance of other people greedily sucking up your time lowering monumentally.

Because really, that’s what it is, isn’t it?

Other people – worthless, unknown, people who don’t even really know you like he does – wanting your time and attention all for their own selfish, gluttonous desires. It’s disgusting, frankly, how these people think they have any right to see your smile, to hear your voice, to feel your hand brushing against their own when you’re handing something to them.

(And oh, what an experience that is – Kiyoomi’s entire body stiffens up when he feels your skin against his, his mouth feeling dry and his pupils dilating because god, you’re so soft and warm and he’s never felt this urge before – the urge to reach out and take more, to keep touching you and feel his way up your arm, to press against the curving bones of your collarbone, to thumb over the plains of your ribcage, to take a handful and squeeze what he’s sure are two very, very soft and supple breasts… Just the thought has him breathing heavily, staring at you with this look that makes your skin crawl ever so slightly, the intensity and the concentration nearly scaring you.)

His possessive streak is bad enough that he finds himself actively seeking out men who may be interested in you when he’s in public with you – you’ll be happily chatting away, animatedly waving your arms as you tell him about the latest episode of your show you’ve been watching, and while he wants to be listening, to give you his full, undivided attention and watch the way your mouth moves when you speak, how your eyes light up, hear how you occasionally say his name, the lilting Ki-yoo-mi making his knees weak, he can’t focus.

Instead, he’s glancing around the cafe you’re sitting in, mentally noting every man and what they’re doing – there’s a brunette in the corner with his laptop open, what looks like email after email being fired off with rapt, quick fingers flying over his keyboard.

An irrational pang of fear shoots through Kiyoomi – do you ever receive emails at such a rapid pace? How often do men email you, and is truly as professional as you claim? How well do you know the mind of a man looking at you as nothing more than a walking pussy?

Another man is sitting near the fireplace, his phone in hand a scowl sitting across his features. He’s practically yelling into the receiver, telling off what Kiyoomi presumes to be his secretary because of some misplaced papers. Kiyoomi winces, grinding his teeth and clutching onto his coffee cup tighter because has any man ever yelled at you like that? Have you ever been screamed at, wrongfully blamed for something, or have you ever cried because of some horrible, lousy man?

(Kiyoomi isn’t a particularly violent person, but the mental imagery of leaving the man’s face purple and blue makes something warm and fuzzy and good settle in his chest, a sense of satisfaction and a rush of adrenaline nearly making him dizzy.)

Even the cashier has Kiyoomi on edge – he’s smiling like an idiot, greeting each customer with that infuriating, chipper tone of his, and it’s immediately making your coffee partner irritated, wondering with only the smallest big of insecurity whether you’d like that more – someone more outgoing, someone more friendly, someone less difficult than him.

Every time he's with you, the constant feeling of sizing up the other men in the vicinity is always weighing him down, the fear that you could potentially lose interest in him and instead develop an attraction to someone else leaving his paranoid and quite frankly scared – you wouldn’t leave him, would you? You wouldn’t abandon him, would you?

The thought is enough to make him guide you towards a less crowded area, back towards his apartment, back to where it’s just you and him – how it should be.

Kiyoomi knows he shouldn’t have let you talk him into coming to the supermarket. There’s a reason he pays for his groceries to be delivered to him – it’s too busy, too loud, too many unaware people walking around with no regard for personal space or respect. It’s irritating, really, but you’d been looking at him with those pearly eyes and fucking pouting, and how could he have possibly said no to that?

Not when you were saying his name with that low tone of yours, practically purring it, making it nearly impossible for him not to snap and tangle his fingers into your hair, to pull you as close as physically possible and suck hickey after hickey into the sensitive, delicate skin of your neck. He’d been a goner the moment you’d brought it up, and it’s only now, as he’s standing at your side in the bread aisle, that Kiyoomi feels the full regret of his decision.

After all, the rather attractive blond man at the end of the aisle certainly hasn’t slipped his notice – the man’s tall (though not as tall as Kiyoomi, of course), decently muscular (though Kiyoomi knows he has much more definition in his quads, the lines dancing along his thighs and calves drool-worthy compared to the stranger’s), and staring rather intently at the shelved loaves in front of him.

It makes Kiyoomi’s eye twitch; he’s purposefully placed himself between you and the stranger, hoping that this vantage point blocks as much of the man from your view as possible. You’re too engrossed in your selection process to really notice, Kiyoomi knows, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying, the nagging voice in the back of his head urging him to minimize your chances of even acknowledging this mildly attractive stranger.

He’s still got that familiar unimpressed look in those dark eyes (mixed with a touch of adoration as he watches you bite your lip and furrow your brows, the sight pulling at his heart and almost, almost making him forget all about his jealousy), and that look only darkens as he hears footsteps on the linoleum flooring behind him.

He moves closer to you, opening his mouth to tell you that you should just grab the nearest loaf and leave, but the man beats him to it. His voice is timid, scared, even, and for just a split second it leaves Kiyoomi feeling smug – for all this man’s physical attractiveness, surely you wouldn’t want such a meek, submissive man. Not when you could have someone like Kiyoomi – someone stronger, more masculine, more dominant, more of a man.

The man’s question is innocent, all things considered – he reaches towards the loaf of bread you’d already stashed away in your shopping cart, pointing a finger and asking where did you find that?

Immediately Kiyoomi’s stiff, every muscle in his body going taut because no matter how you react to the man’s question, he won’t like the result. Your mouth parts into an adorable little ‘o’ that gets Kiyoomi biting his lip, before you smile and point towards the opposite end of the aisle, answering with a chipper, oh-so-fucking-cute response of right down there!

Kiyoomi’s brows knit together as the man thanks you, moving forward to go in search of the loaf you’d guided him towards. As the man passes, those dark eyes settle on his figure, leaving him to pick up his pace, the heavy weight of Kiyoomi’s stare making him noticeably uncomfortable.

As soon as the man is out of earshot, Kiyoomi snatches your wrist, his grip tight and making you nearly wince, his other hand reaching out to grab the loaf you’d been eyeing. Come on, we’re leaving, is all he says, walking with purpose in the opposite direction of the man.

You’re out of the grocery store before you can blink, Kiyoomi slipping his credit card back into his wallet and guiding you towards his car. You’re confused, really, and as you blabber on about how he didn’t need to pay for your groceries and ask about what’s gotten into him, Kiyoomi can only usher you into the front seat, throwing the grocery bags into the trunk and taking a final glance around him. The man seems to still be in the store, and Kiyoomi clicks his tongue, a small pang of relief racing through him.

As he settles into the driver’s seat and puts the car into reverse, he glances over at you, soaking in the sight of you in his car with his old sweatshirt on. His lips quirk up at the edges, the smile small, before stepping onto the gas, driving away from the store and trying to forget the sight of your smile being aimed at someone else.

He grips the steering wheel hard, focusing on the sound of your voice to calm him – your voice saying thank you for the ride, Kiyoomi, you’re the best.

(A sound replaying over and over and over in his head later that night, with the too-bright screen illuminating your photographed face and casting shadows over his naked body covered in a light sheen of sweat. The best, huh?)

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Really, as soon as Kiyoomi realized that his feelings for you were something so much deeper than he could ever imagine, he’d begun planning for your eventual relocation to his home. There’s a variety of reasons why he’s so eager, so insistent: it’s easier, and it makes more sense.

Because really, while Kiyoomi doesn’t want to steal you away, he doesn’t really have much of a choice, does he? You’re too independent for your own good – you’re always going out and doing things, seeing people, putting yourself in a position not only of meeting potential love interests, but also one of danger.

Kiyoomi rationally knows that you’re strong and can make informed decisions, but there’s a part of him that slowly grows to doubt your abilities. It’s not that you’re incapable, but more like you aren’t the most qualified to make choices about your own health and life.

And really, doesn’t it make more sense for him to guide you? Kiyoomi, who is successful, wealthy, the pinnacle of health and fitness, and much more calm and collected than you. Surely he knows better – and you’d agree, wouldn’t you?

You always seem to support his choices, laughing and telling him that he’s so predictable and logical whenever he rants about his teammates and general annoyances. You always sound so in awe of him, the praise and tone going directly to his head, making his palms feel a little clammy and his voice getting a little hoarse because oh, being seen and complimented by you feels very, very good.

And so really, it only makes sense that Kiyoomi steals you away – he’s already controlling, but he isn’t with you at all hours of the day, and can you really be trusted to be constantly making smart, responsible decisions every waking moment?

You don’t know what’s best for you, and in order to have you in peak health and keep you utterly, completely his, this is the only way. But to Kiyoomi’s credit, he gives you ample opportunity to willingly come to him. His attempts to ask you out are, objectively, not particularly romantic, but his requests for you to stay the night are met with little resistance from you.

It’s typical, after all, for you to stay over at his place in his spare bedroom after you’ve drunk just a bit too much, sleeping off the tipsiness because Kiyoomi will be damned before he lets you out on the road in the wrong state of mind.

(Not for the safety of others, of course – solely for you, because if you were to get injured or, god forbid, die, Kiyoomi genuinely thinks he may never recover, the pain and guilt of losing you driving his mad with grief. Besides, you look very, very enticing all tangled up in his spare sheets, your pretty body so scantily clad in the t-shirt he’d loaned you and a pair of workout shorts that ride very, very low on your hips. Enticing enough to have him standing in the doorframe of the room, entirely motionless as he watches you slumber, swallowing thickly and not letting his eyes drift from your form for sometimes hours on end, just watching and waiting.)

But then those requests to spend the night start happening more days out of the week than you’re comfortable with, happening multiple nights in a row, so much so that you’re starting to spend more time at Kiyoomi’s place than your own – and so when you start denying his requests, he resorts to one final tactic.

Of course, it doesn’t feel good to be unscrew a few things under your bathroom sink as he ‘uses the restroom’, but it’s necessary. When you call in a panic later that day about how your apartment is flooded and your landlord is furious over the water damage, Kiyoomi will try his best to be sympathetic, to not sound as flat and mildly pleased when he offers to let you crash at his place for a few days until it all gets sorted out. He’ll mess with your piping first, then your thermostat.

(He’ll tell you on the phone that losing your heating during the height of winter isn’t a joke, I don’t care how many blankets you have you’ll still freeze to death – and who’ll have to organize your funeral? Me, so don’t be selfish.)

Then he’ll go so far as to start stealing things out of your apartment – of course, he’s always been a bit heavyhanded in ‘borrowing’ your things (mostly inconsequential things that he knows you wouldn’t notice, like little knick-knacks or pairs of clean socks – things that make him feel more connected to you and are the perfect size to fit underneath his pillow at night, of course), but then he starts looting away more serious items. Your books go missing, your jewelry, cups from your cupboards, even going so far as to steal your laptop or your speakers or anything else he knows you’ll miss.

And when you’re running to him and telling him that someone’s targeting your apartment, that you’re feeling unsafe, that you think someone’s been repeatedly robbing you and breaking into your apartment, he'll only sigh and tell you that you’d be stupid to not live with him for a while, that you’re practically asking for death by staying in that tiny little thing you call an apartment for any longer.

And in the event that you’re still planning on living on your own after all these attempts to force your dependence on him, Kiyoomi will see no other option – having you live with him is like his own personal heaven, and he’ll be damned if he loses the feeling of falling asleep under the same roof as you, of hearing your pretty snores and seeing the peaceful expression on your face as you slumber.

You’re just too damn perfect, and so you really, really shouldn’t be too surprised when Kiyoomi’s got the rag held over your nose, his words cold in your ear as he tells you to stop struggling, you’re only making this harder. After all, he’s made himself perfectly clear – it’s not his fault you didn’t pick up on the signs.

As a captor, Kiyoomi retains a lot of his mannerisms from before stealing you away. He’s still a bit harsh with you, his tongue biting and cold, but the difference becomes that Kiyoomi doesn’t bother trying to hide the nature of his feelings anymore.

You’d been aware that his interest shifted from a more platonic to romantic nature sometime along the way, but now there’s absolutely no way to misinterpret his actions – not when he’s resorted to making you sit so close to him on the couch, those dark eyes expectant when you don’t immediately shuffle into his side. He’ll stare for a while, before sighing, like it’s all some big chore, then grabbing you and forcing you to practically sit in his lap, all the while grumbling about you being so damn difficult, aren’t women supposed to love cuddling?

He’s making you take all your meals with him, forcing you to sit at the modest wooden dining table, the rather bland meal of white rice, fish and a roasted, unseasoned vegetable looking less appetizing with every day.

(He won’t let you cook, however – his protective tendencies show most when it comes to you being in the kitchen, if only because he doesn’t trust you to not injure yourself. There’s just too many possibilities – you could cut yourself, burn yourself, use the cheese grater or the potato peeler to tear off a layer of skin, you could squeeze lemon juice into your eyes or get jalapeno residue at your waterline. There’s just too much that could happen, and while Kiyoomi would absolutely love to have you entirely dependent on him if you were to become injured, the idea of knowingly letting you hurt yourself makes something bitter tinge in his mouth, his legs getting restless and his fingers twitching because he needs to do something to prevent that from happening.)

He’s curating a wardrobe for you, making sure to dress you in his favorite colors, rich fabrics, comfortable designs, things that he thinks will make you happy but still fit his tastes. (And besides, you’ve always complimented him on his own fashion choices – surely you’d trust him on this too, right?) There’s lots of complimentary colors and designs to match his own clothing, enjoying the way you two look right when you’re together, a smile gracing his lips and prompting him to twirl a lock of your hair around his finger, bringing it up to his lips and letting his tongue dart out ever so quickly, just to catch a small taste of you.

He’s controlling, always dictating what you do, what your plan for the day is while he’s gone, but it’s always done with the intention of trying to keep you safe and what he hopes will make you happy.

He’s investing a large portion of his very generous salary to getting the best supplies of any hobbies you have (as long as they revolve around music, art, anything that couldn’t possibly hurt you), always demanding you show him the progress you’ve made that day. It’s a desire to get you to interact with him, but it also makes pride swim in his gut to know that you’re getting better using the things he bought for you.

(And perhaps, there’s even some small part of you that’s improving to impress him… Just the thought makes him gulp heavily, having to shift his pants ever so slightly because the idea of you wanting to impress him, to seek his approval, to make him happy gets him hot under the collar.)

Life will become very monotonous with him. It’s a routine, with any deviation planned out in advance, Kiyoomi finding comfort in the order and consistently. It helps quell the anxiety stirring in his gut when he’s away for tournaments or away-matches, his knee always anxiously bobbing as he imagines what you’re doing.

He’ll whip his phone out nearly ever five minutes, tapping into the multitude of cameras he has set up around the apartment just to keep an eye on you, visibly relaxing when he sees you tucked up into bed, stepping out of the shower, or even reading on the sofa.

(He’s harsher than normal when Hinata bounces up and asks what he’s looking at, his words dripping in an extra layer of venom as he tells his fellow spiker to get away from me, it’s a private matter. Because he’ll be damned if he lets anyone see you in any sort of intimate, raw way – you’re for his eyes only, and Kiyoomi would rather cut off his left hand than let the redhead get even a glimpse of you.)

Kiyoomi is omnipresent, a trace of him present in every aspect of your life, and while it’s exhausting, humiliating, enraging, you’ll eventually grow tired of trying to rebel. He’s a patient man, but you can only handle so many derogatory comments, so many failed escape attempts (he has the best, most up-to-date security measurements around the apartment, of course) before you decide it may be better to simply accept this as your new fate.

After all, Kiyoomi isn’t that bad, right? You’d been friends for years – you know he’s a good person, and perhaps this is just a lapse in his judgement. Maybe he’s not thinking clearly. Maybe he’ll lose interest in you, or decide that what he’s doing it wrong.

You’ll cling onto the hope, repeating the mantra over and over in your head, but by the fifth year of living under his lock and key with a baby nursing at your breast, it’ll be very, very difficult to pretend that this isn’t your reality.

So really, it’s in your best interest to just accept him, to accept this – you’ll be happier this way. He promises.

PUNISHMENTS:

In general, Kiyoomi is actually remarkably patient with you. Somewhere deep down, below all of the twisted, dark manifestations of his feelings, he does truly love you. And while his controlling behavior and the way he expects you to give him all of your time, attention, energy, and focus is exhausting and at times dehumanizing, Kiyoomi never truly wants to hurt you.

And as a result, it’s unlikely that he’ll ever lash out in a way more substantial than verbally. He’d never physically hurt you, as seeing you with even the slightest discoloration or bruise makes him near inconsolable, anger seeping into every part of his body because you absolutely cannot be hurt, not when he’s the one who’s supposed to be your perfect, caring, protective partner.

He won’t take away your basic rights, either – though, in all fairness, they’re effectively gone once he realizes the depth of his feelings for you. He forces you to spend all your time with him, share meals and wear the clothing that he picks out for you, and so aside from forcing himself to be present while you relieve yourself or perhaps feeding you with his own hands, there really aren’t too many personal rights that he could take away even if he wanted to.

Kiyoomi does have a tendency to be a bit mean when he gets frustrated or afraid, however. You’ve always known this about him – his snarky personality is what initially drew you to him as a friend, but there’s something more cutting and biting about the way it feels when he’s looking at you with a mix of such devotion and anger, the love pooling in those dark eyes scaring you even more than the way they crinkle at the edges, wrinkling dotting his forehead as he frowns and scoffs at you.

It’s hurtful, really, when he makes comments about things he knows you’re insecure about – perhaps your weight, your smile, your curves, your laugh, your intelligence, anything and everything because he needs to make you understand how you’re making him feel, how it hurts him just as much as it hurts you.

It’ll make your eyes sting, the venom in his voice enough to make you crumple in on yourself, and it’s only after Kiyoomi’s left and calmed down enough to breath normally again that he realizes just how truly devastated his comments make you. He’s softer, after that, approaching you with shaking hands and a tone that’s laced with something almost akin to fear, calling your name and pretending that it doesn’t slice through something soft and vulnerable and weak inside him when you flinch at his touch.

He’ll be kinder after that, spoiling you with your favorite foods (even the unhealthy ones, which would normally never be available to you, what with Kiyoomi’s obsession with keeping your diet squeaky clean), watching hours upon hours of your favorite movies and shows, even material purchases of new clothing and expensive jewelry.

It’s not enough to truly make you feel better, but as time passes and the realization that Kiyoomi is truly all you have in this lonely penthouse apartment of his, you’ll grow to appreciate it, even if his words still echo in your head.

But really, what primarily sets Kiyoomi off is your disobedience – his controlling tendencies are so ingrained into him by the time that he’s stolen you away permanently into his home that he simply cannot handle when you aren’t utterly compliant with his every whim and wish.

In his fantasies of you living with him and staying by his side, fueled by possessive need, you’re always so eager to please, doing anything and everything you can to make Kiyoomi happy. And when you contrast this idealized version of your behavior, it’s a rude awakening for him that you aren’t truly happy with him yet, that things aren’t as perfect as he wants them to be. And so, as a defense mechanism he lashes out, spitting out words and lies that make both of your hearts hurt.

But truly, what really warrants the term ‘punishment’ is what happens when something even bigger happens – when you hurt yourself. It doesn’t even have to be purposeful; it still results in utter, blind panic consuming him, his heart racing in his chest and a cold sweat dripping at his brow because you’ve somehow managed to cut your thumb while he was at practice.

It makes him see red, desperation tinging his movements, making his hands tremble and his feet practically flying as he rushes you into the bathroom, applying too many anti-bacterials and wrapping your thumb tightly enough to nearly cut off the circulation. It’s pure, unadulterated dread that seeps into his bones, a panic like he’s never felt before, and this leads to the most extreme reaction Kiyoomi will have to your behavior – that is, he doesn’t like slipping the pill into your food, but your body needs time to rest. You need time to rest. He needs time to simply hold your limp, unconscious body in his arms, clutching onto you like a lifeline and pressing you as tightly against his body as possible just to prove to himself that you’re here, that you’re alive, that you haven’t left him.

Kiyoomi doesn’t necessarily like drugging you, but it’s the only way to keep you from hurting yourself again for the next day or so, the only way to make sure you don’t have a repeat offense.

You hadn’t meant it – really, you swear you hadn’t – when you’d left the shower curtain a little too open. The water wasn’t supposed to be splashing out and leaving a puddle directly outside of the tub.

You know how Kiyoomi gets – irritated by the mess, those dark eyes clouding and frustration settling across his features because you’re so damn clumsy, can’t you notice when the shower curtain’s wide open? As you glanced at the clock sitting against the stark white walls of the bathroom, you bit your lip. He would be home any minute now from practice, surely needing to be in the exact space you currently were, aching to get every bit of sweat off his skin.

The towel clutched in your hand wasn’t absorbing as much as you needed it to, the gray already turned a dark, near black color despite how much water was left on the tiled ground. Cursing, you sat back on your heels, resigning yourself to needing to dirty another one and having to deal with Kiyoomi’s multitude of questions.

But as you shifted your weight, hands braced against your thighs to sit up, the sudden impact of the back of your head against the edge of the marbled countertop make you cry out, the stinging sensation followed by a dull thud making you collapse down. Clutching at the injured area, tears pricked at your lashes, body curling up into a feeble position despite the water now absorbing into the freshly clean clothing you’d just changed into.

Your vision was hazy, everything looking warped and bent, and you only very distantly hear the sound of the multitude of locks on the front door opening, Kiyoomi’s grumpy I’m home resounding through the apartment. His footsteps are heavy as he wanders through the rooms, slowly growing in speed and weight as he begins worrying, unable to find you.

But you do hear when he gets to the bathroom doorway, wide gaze catching sight of your curled-up form and the slew of curses falling past his lips as he immediately drops his bag and stumbles down to you. You’re clutching your head and through your bleary eyes you can see the way all color has drained from his face, eyes blown wide.

He doesn’t bother asking what happened as he scoops you into his arms, adrenaline coursing through him and forcing him to run through the apartment to your shared bed, settling you down as gracefully as possible. Before you can orient yourself he’s already pressing cold cloths against your scalp, shoving thermometers into your mouth and compulsively checking your pulse points, terror still running through him.

He’s muttering under his breath, what sounds like your name mixed with mantras of she’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay, though it sounds less like a statement and more like a hope.

It doesn’t take long for you to slip into unconsciousness, only being awoken a while later by Kiyoomi’s thumb stroking at your cheek, his eyes red and watershot, as if he’d been crying. Drink this, he tells you, holding a glass of what looks like water out to you.

When you don’t move, he grimaces. Please.

Your sips are slow, your head feeling like cotton, and Kiyoomi watches with baited breath, a hand still placed high on your thigh over the covers of your shared bed.

Those dark eyes are still fixed on you as you lean back, sudden exhaustion rolling through you, your own eyes fluttering closed once more. It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been out once you wake up, but it’s early morning now, from the looks of the barred window, and as you slowly come back to consciousness, trying to ignore the sharp pain in your head, you notice Kiyoomi standing at the end of the bed, seeming to loom over you.

He doesn’t say much, only rushing forward to grasp at your hand and once more check your pulse, sighing with relief when it comes back steady and normal. He doesn’t let go for a long time, still silently staring, watching the way you squirm and wince as your headache throbs. And when you eventually wander out of the room that night to see him making dinner, you won’t bother asking why the calendar shows that two days have passed, nor why there seems to be a thick rubber padding on every desk, table, and counter corner you see. It’s not worth it, really, because you already know the answer.

And as Kiyoomi spots you, the small smile that spreads across his lips makes your skin crawl, your thighs shifting weight as the lacy panties you know you didn’t have on previously tickle against your skin.

Sit down, love, dinner is ready.

And he can only smile when you do, something flickering in his heart at the sight of you looking at him with wide eyes, all confused and pretty and so very pliable. Sure, your concussion is no small injury, but the way you’d been sleeping so soundly in his bed, the smallest snores slipping past your lips and your body seeming to mold against his when he’d pulled you against his chest made him almost grateful for your clumsiness.

Stupid girl, he chides to himself. This is why you need me, can’t you see?

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

While Kiyoomi himself isn’t inherently dangerous, what makes him such an intense yandere is his blatant disregard for hiding his feelings from you. He doesn’t care whether you see how deeply obsessed with you he is, whether you become aware that he wants nothing more than to keep you with him forever and ever.

Kiyoomi is resourceful and follows through with his plans and goals, so once you’ve gotten his attention, you can kiss any ounce of freedom goodbye. He’s controlling and possessive, and it’ll almost feel like you aren’t even yourself anymore, but Kiyoomi will always be there - looking down at you with an impossible to read expression, before a small flush will coat his cheeks and he’ll gently flick your forehead, telling you that he loves you and that he’s happy to have you with him, where you belong.

Of course, it’s not like you have a choice in the matter, but there’s something deliciously pleasant about pretending that you want to be here, something that makes his heart race and blood rush to both his cheeks and between his legs.

Kiyoomi is a tricky case, because your initial friendship with him and the odd charm of his strange idiosyncrasies will leave you naively blind to the way he slowly devolves into a deeper and deeper state of obsession. You can’t see the way he begins losing himself, all his time and focus beginning to shift only to you, and by the time you truly realize just how far gone he is, it’s too late to get away from him.

Because Kiyoomi has thought of absolutely everything – it’s practically impossible to get away from him, and really, can you so easily disregard years of friendship once the warning signs become clear? Are you so inhuman and cold as to pull away from your closest friend once he starts acting strange?

Perhaps you’re the crazy one here – a sentiment that Kiyoomi will only encourage if it means getting you to touch him, if it means you saying yes to spending the night at his apartment, if it means you say yes when he tells you that pregnancy would suit you.

But really, it doesn’t matter – after all, you’re Kiyoomi’s now, and absolutely nothing will change that.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere sakusa #yandere kiyoomi sakusa #_haikyuu #_kiyoomi sakusa #_lee's profiles

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redislazy · 24 hours ago

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Deadly Attachments, Chapter 05

<< Chapter 04

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

Word Count: 7,318

Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

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"Do you know who the leader of Aegis is?” Price asks, his voice low and direct.

You're seated with Task Force 141 in the main room of your makeshift base, the air thick with the smell of strong coffee and tactical gear. Maps and intel reports are strewn across the table, the faint rustling of papers filling the silence. Price leans forward, a serious glint in his eyes as he waits for your response.

You shake your head, feeling a pang of frustration resurface. “No one really does. The leader’s kept their identity hidden, even from most of their own people. Only a few high-ranking lackeys know anything, and they’re the ones who dish out orders to the mercs under them. It’s… compartmentalized.”

Price exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair as he considers this. “Figures. Bastard’s running a whole operation from the shadows.”

Soap’s brows knit together as he glances around at the team. “So what? We take down a few agents, and they just keep popping up like cockroaches. We’d be at this forever.”

Gaz nods in agreement. “The only way to cut them off for good is to go after the one running the show. Take out the leader, and Aegis would crumble from the top down.”

A heavy silence falls over the room as the reality of it sets in. Ghost’s eyes flicker toward you, his gaze unreadable. “You’re saying we need to hit the head of the snake,” he says, tone even but grim. “Find whoever’s pullin’ the strings and make sure they stop for good.”

You swallow, feeling the weight of their words. They make it sound simple, but the truth gnaws at you. Aegis’s leader is more than just a face or a name—they’re a shadow, always out of reach. Tracking them down would be like chasing smoke through the dark, nearly impossible. But it’s what you’ll have to do if you want the target on your back to disappear, if you ever want a chance at being a free, independent mercenary again.

You sigh quietly, thinking over the task ahead. “It won’t be easy. They’ve built their whole operation on staying hidden, letting others take the heat and make the moves.”

Price’s gaze softens, a rare moment of understanding. “We’re not saying it’ll be easy. But you’ve got an advantage the rest of us don’t—you’ve been inside their system, seen how they work. You might be our best chance at getting close enough to flush ‘em out.”

You nod slowly, feeling both the pressure and the strange, growing sense of resolve. This mission was more than personal survival now; it was a matter of closing a chapter that’d haunted you, taking down the very organization that once counted you as their own. It would be hard, maybe harder than anything you’d done—but the path ahead is clearer, and for the first time in a long while, you have a sense of purpose.

“So,” Price says, a determined look passing over him as he glances around at the team, “we go all in. Aegis’s leader is our endgame. Let’s find this threat hiding in the shadows.”

Gaz clears his throat, breaking the determined silence that’s settled over everyone. He leans forward, eyebrows knit together in a frown. “Alright, but where do we even begin with this?” He looks to Price, then over to you. “If she worked with Aegis for ten years and still doesn’t know who’s running the show… it’s like we’re chasing a ghost.”

Price crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on the wall for a moment as he thinks. “You’re right—it won’t be easy. But every organization, no matter how secretive, has a trail. It’s just a matter of finding the cracks, the weak spots in their setup.” He glances over to you, his expression firm but steady. “And you might know where to start looking.”

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the weight of their eyes on you. “They’ve always kept the hierarchy vague, even for those working in it for years. Only the most trusted agents deal directly with whoever’s at the top. Orders trickle down through a few of those loyal yes men, but they don’t leave much of a trail.”

Ghost’s voice cuts through, calm but edged with skepticism. “So we’re sifting through shadows. Fine. But if we know who their high-ranking lackeys are, maybe we can press them hard enough to get to the top.”

“Problem is,” you reply, feeling the familiar frustration at Aegis’s elusive nature, “even their lieutenants aren’t easy to track down. They’re careful, and most of them use proxies or intermediaries. Aegis is designed to protect the leader’s anonymity at all costs.”

Price nods, absorbing the information. “Then we take it one layer at a time. Start with any connections we can find. Places Aegis is active, recurring contacts, anything that can get us closer."

Gaz sighs, running a hand over his face. “Even with that, it could take months, years even, to get anything solid. And if they know she’s working with us against them, they’ll close ranks tighter than ever.”

You clench your jaw, knowing he’s right. Aegis’s leader wasn’t just running an organization—they’d crafted a fortress of secrecy, one that you never even questioned back when you were part of it. The odds feel almost impossible. Yet, a part of you feels a strange, stubborn determination settling in.

“If we want to dismantle Aegis for good,” you say slowly, meeting each of their eyes, “we’ll have to be as relentless as they are. I know it’s hard to track them down, and I know it seems hopeless. But if there’s one thing I learned in all those years, it’s that they get comfortable in their own secrecy. And that… that’s where we’ll find them. Somewhere they think we’ll never look.”

Soap grins slightly, trying to lighten the mood. “So what you’re saying is, we go on the world’s hardest game of hide and seek?”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but there’s a spark of agreement there. “Something like that,” he mutters. Then, to you, he adds, “Just don’t think you’re going at this alone.”

You nod, taking a steadying breath. For the first time, you have allies—ones willing to dig as deep as it takes to uncover Aegis’s secrets. You’d spent a year running from them, dreading the target on your back. Now, with Task Force 141, it’s different. Now, you’re not just trying to escape—you’re going to hunt them down, piece by piece, until there’s nowhere left for their leader to hide.

Captain Price looks around at each of you, a steady resolve in his gaze. “We may be staring at a pile of scrambled intel right now, but HQ’s got the resources and expertise to make sense of that damned hard drive. Once they break through these files, we’ll have a clearer picture of what Aegis is planning and where they’re vulnerable. This hard drive’s our way in, so we sit tight, let them do their part, and be ready to move the second we have actionable intel. We’ve got the edge now, so let’s use it.”

A quiet determination settles over the team, and you feel a renewed sense of purpose, knowing the next step is coming into focus.

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A week after the intense mission in Istanbul, everyone gathers in the briefing room, pouring over the latest intel reports the team itself has gathered while waiting for HQ's findings. The progress is disappointing—Aegis has gone quiet. Their network seems to have retracted, pulling resources and high-ranking members out of sight. It’s almost as if their encounter with Task Force 141 spooked them into hunkering down.

Price studies the map in front of him, a frown etched deeply into his face. “Looks like Aegis is trying to play it safe. They’ve pulled back any valuable assets. Istanbul’s gone cold.”

Soap leans back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “Almost like they’re on to us, yeah? As if they know we’re here sniffin’ around.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ghost says, crossing his arms. “They’ve always been good at keeping just out of reach.”

Price nods slowly, looking at each of you in turn. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. We’ve scoured every lead we had in Istanbul, but if Aegis is keeping low, we’re just spinning our wheels here.”

“So we pull out?” Gaz asks, sounding a little reluctant.

Price’s jaw tightens before he lets out a resigned sigh. “Aye. We regroup back at the main HQ, review the intel, and see what we can dig up once we’re back on our own turf. If Aegis resurfaces, we’ll be ready.”

You feel a mix of relief and frustration. On one hand, the thought of leaving Istanbul without a clear victory is disheartening; on the other, the relentless days and nights have worn you thin. You catch Ghost watching you from the corner of his eye, and you know he hasn’t forgotten your exhausted misstep on the last mission. Maybe pulling back isn’t the worst idea.

Price stands, dismissing the team. “Pack it up. We're flying in two hours.”

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Back on British soil, the familiar surroundings of the main base bring a strange sense of comfort. The hallways are quieter than the bustling streets of Istanbul, and the air feels less charged with tension. Still, the unresolved mystery of Aegis hangs over you all like a dark cloud.

You spend most of your first day back debriefing and sifting through what intel you gathered in Istanbul. While the team disperses to their respective quarters that evening, Price calls you into a conference room where Ghost is already waiting.

“We’re going to regroup, assess what we’ve got,” Price begins, looking between the two of you. “But while we’re back here, I want you both digging into anything that could link to Aegis. Old contacts, forgotten leads, even whispers you’ve heard from your past. We can’t let them slip through our fingers just because they’ve gone quiet.”

Ghost nods, his gaze focused and unreadable as ever. You feel his presence beside you, a constant reminder of the grudging partnership you’re both locked into. He’s quiet as Price outlines the plan, but you can sense the intensity beneath his stoic exterior.

When Price finally dismisses you, Ghost falls into step beside you in the hallway.

“You know what this means,” he says, his voice low and measured.

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“No more running on empty.” His tone is pointed, and you feel the weight of his earlier frustration still lingering in his words. “If we’re going after Aegis, I need you sharp, not half-dead from a lack of sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but his stare holds steady, and for once, you’re out of comebacks. Maybe he’s right. Istanbul was close, too close. If you’re going to face down Aegis, you need to be ready, fully prepared.

With a resigned sigh, you nod. “Fine. I’ll be ready.”

Ghost’s eyes linger on you for a beat longer than necessary, as if assessing whether you’re being sincere. He gives a curt nod, satisfied. “Good. Then let’s get to work.”

The hunt isn’t over yet—far from it. But with Task Force 141 at your side, and your resolve steeled, you feel a strange flicker of confidence. Aegis can try to hide, but they can’t run forever.

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When you’re shown to your quarters, a small, amused smile tugs at your lips. It’s the same room you were kept in last year, back when Kozlov’s case threw you headfirst into the chaos of the SAS and Task Force 141. Back then, this room had been a cage, a place where they held you in custody as both a suspect and a temporary asset, neither trusting you nor willing to let you walk away.

But now, stepping inside, the feeling is… different. It’s strange how much can change in a year. You’re still an outsider, technically speaking—still a mercenary with your own agenda and your own grudges to bear. But here, under the weight of the memories of that tense alliance with the SAS, you feel the difference. You’re no longer here out of necessity or suspicion. You’re here because you’re needed, a part of something that, in its own way, feels like it might actually have your back.

You drop your bag on the bed and scan the room, a flood of memories filling the empty space. The walls feel less confining now, less like they’re pressing in to remind you of every questionable choice that brought you here. There’s a strange warmth in knowing you’re trusted enough to roam freely this time, not a captive but an ally.

Leaning against the doorframe, you let out a quiet laugh. If someone had told you a year ago that you’d be willingly working with Task Force 141 again—especially Ghost, of all people—you’d have called them insane. But here you are, and even though the threat of Aegis looms just as dark and dangerous as before, you feel a sense of resolve settling in your bones. For the first time, the title “ally” doesn’t feel like a chain; it feels like a choice.

With that, you toss yourself onto the bed, letting yourself sink into the familiarity of it, not as an outsider or a prisoner but as someone who has fought with them, earned her place beside them—even if, at times, it feels like you’ve only just managed to keep up.

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Days slip by in a steady rhythm, quiet and uneventful—a rare stretch of calm that you hadn’t anticipated but can’t help appreciating. There’s no immediate mission, no dire orders waiting in the wings. You almost don’t know what to do with yourself without the constant pressure of survival and strategy weighing on your shoulders.

It’s a welcome change, really. For once, you have time to simply exist in one place without fear of attack or the ever-present anxiety that Aegis might be around the corner. Here, in the heart of the SAS base, you know they won’t get to you. Not with the layers of security, the trained eyes watching every corner, and the presence of Task Force 141 keeping things in check. You hadn’t realized just how exhausting it was to live with that constant threat on your back—how much it had worn you down until now, when you could finally breathe a little easier.

And the days of rest are doing their work. The wound on your shoulder, a stinging reminder of that reckless call during the last mission, is healing steadily. At first, the pain had flared up with every movement, a sharp reminder of the risk you’d taken for Ghost. Now, though, the ache is dulling, settling into a faint throb that only bothers you when you forget it’s there. You’ve been able to patch it up, tend to it properly, and let your body rest—something you haven’t allowed yourself in far too long.

In a way, it’s ironic that the safest you’ve felt in years is here, surrounded by soldiers who were once ready to interrogate you, in a base that was once meant to hold you captive. Yet, with each day that passes, you feel yourself easing into this strange routine, letting down your guard little by little. The thought of Aegis creeping closer doesn’t linger as it once did; for now, you know you’re out of their reach. As long as you’re here, protected and hidden within these walls, they can’t touch you.

Every so often, you catch yourself almost… enjoying it, this sense of quiet security. It’s unfamiliar, this feeling of not having to look over your shoulder or map out an escape plan. For once, you can simply heal, both in body and mind, without the shadow of Aegis looming close. And as strange as it feels, you allow yourself to embrace it, even if it’s only for a little while.

You’re making your way through the base, aimlessly wandering to pass the time, when the low thud of weights and the soft hum of grunts from the training area catches your attention. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you follow the sounds, your steps quieter as you approach.

And there, across the room, is Ghost—his focus entirely on the barbell in front of him as he lifts it with practiced strength. He’s shirtless, a rarity you’ve never quite had the opportunity to witness, and for a second, you’re almost stunned into place. The soft sheen of sweat glistens on his skin, tracing the defined lines of his muscles as he moves, each lift accentuating the raw strength in his arms, chest, and shoulders. He’s a fortress of a man, each muscle honed and cut, but it’s not just the sheer size of him—it’s the quiet, unwavering power in the way he works, every motion controlled, almost methodical.

Your gaze trails from his shoulders down to the faint scars that mar his skin, stories etched into his body that you know only hint at what he’s seen. His biceps flex with each lift, veins standing out against his forearms, and you can’t help but let your eyes linger. There’s a pull to him, this silent allure that makes it hard to look away. You’re drawn in by the way he moves, powerful yet careful, as though he’s attuned to every shift in his muscles, every beat of his own strength.

And the mask—he’s still wearing it, a reminder that even here, stripped of nearly everything else, he still keeps part of himself hidden. There’s something strangely endearing about it, almost funny in a way, that he’s still clinging to this one piece of armor. But it adds to the enigma of him, this contrast of being both revealed and guarded, and the sight makes your stomach flutter in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Your eyes wander over the expanse of his shoulders, tracing the lines of his tattoos that weave across his skin. They’re intricate, dark swirls of ink that curl over his biceps and up along his forearms, striking against his skin in a way that only adds to his mystique. You can’t help but feel a sense of awe at how the designs accentuate the muscle beneath, each tattoo seeming to carry its own story—a past he never talks about but is forever etched into him.

The ink follows the contours of his arms, slipping beneath the mask of sweat and shadow as he moves, and you realize how each mark, each line, only amplifies that unapproachable air he carries. The tattoos make him look even more dangerous, more untamed, yet there’s an undeniable allure to them, a kind of dark art that keeps you captivated. You’re struck by how fitting they seem on him, how seamlessly they blend with the person he is—enigmatic, guarded, and quietly powerful.

As he lowers the barbell and finally catches sight of you, you feel yourself snap back to reality, heat rising in your cheeks when you realize just how openly you were staring. He tilts his head slightly, and you catch the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes, half hidden behind the shadows of his mask.

“Somethin’ interestin’?” he asks, his tone low but edged with a challenge.

Your heart skips a beat, but you somehow manage to keep your cool, shrugging as casually as you can. “Just admiring the…artwork,” you reply, unable to stop the hint of a grin from tugging at your lips.

He huffs softly, grabbing a towel and running it over his arms, brushing over those very tattoos you were just admiring. “Didn’t peg you for a fan,” he mutters, but there’s a spark in his eyes, as if he finds it amusing that you’re drawn in by something so personal to him.

You feel a flicker of nerves as you meet his gaze, aware of the way he’s watching you now, the barest suggestion of a smirk pulling at his lips. It’s like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you, and there’s something undeniably thrilling about it.

Caught off guard by your own thoughts, you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle under your breath at the absurdity of it. Here you are, shamelessly ogling the one person who’s probably lectured you the hardest about staying sharp. And yet, there’s something about seeing him like this, so intensely alive and real, that makes it hard to think about anything else.

You raise an eyebrow, recovering just enough to give a smirk. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Always do,” he replies, a faint challenge in his eyes. He grabs a towel, running it over his arms and chest before casually throwing it around his shoulders. His gaze stays on you, unreadable, and you feel a pang of nerves twist in your stomach.

“Well, I’d hate to disturb your… intense routine,” you manage, trying for a light tone even as your pulse quickens.

He only grunts, but there’s a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth that suggests a smile. “Could use a spotter next time,” he says, deadpan, though his eyes hold a hint of mischief.

It’s a simple moment, laced with more tension than you’d expected, but there’s something unmistakable in the way he looks at you—something that leaves your heart thudding a bit faster as you return his gaze.

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Later in the day, you and Ghost are in the operations room, pouring over files and databases, the air thick with tension. Hours have passed, and the list of potential Aegis operatives and higher-ups sprawls across the screen. You’re deep in focus, building a list of names when Ghost leans over your shoulder, his usual presence looming a little closer than necessary.

“Gonna check the background on each name?” he remarks, voice laced with skepticism. “Doesn’t do us much good if they’re not active in the field anymore.”

You close your eyes for a moment, suppressing the urge to sigh. “Yes, Ghost, I know what I’m doing. This is just a preliminary list. I’ll get to backgrounds in a second.”

“Preliminary doesn’t mean sloppy,” he mutters, and you swear he’s leaning even closer. “Miss one detail, and we’re back at square one. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

You turn to glare at him, trying to ignore how close he is. “I’m not being sloppy. I’m gathering leads. You could always give me five minutes to breathe without hovering.”

He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms with that infuriatingly stoic expression. “Not hovering. Just making sure we don’t waste time on mistakes. Aegis doesn’t let anything slip, so neither should we.”

“Oh, I get it.” You sit back, crossing your arms with a smirk. “You’re just this nitpicky with everyone, yeah?”

Ghost’s gaze narrows. “If you’re looking for me to tell you ‘good job’ for half-finished work, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

You roll your eyes, leaning in with a playful, challenging grin. “You know, you’re awfully invested in how I do my job. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just trying to spend more time with me.”

For a second, he looks taken aback—just for a split second before he schools his expression. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself to focus, go right ahead.” He steps back, but his eyes are still fixed on you with that intense, unyielding look. “This isn’t about me, it’s about doing it right.”

You let out a small laugh, tilting your head at him. “Uh-huh. So you’re hovering because you don’t want to spend time with me. Got it. This is about quality control, not about you caring so much about what I’m doing that you can’t stay away. Makes sense.”

He doesn’t reply at first, just lets out a low, exasperated sigh, but you catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the edge of his mask. “Believe what you want, but if you screw this up, I’m not pulling you out of the mess.”

“Because you’d just hate to see me fail, wouldn’t you?” you tease, leaning back in your chair with a challenging grin.

“Failing’s not your issue,” he replies, his tone smooth. “Getting distracted is.”

“Oh, really?” You mirror his expression with a raised brow. “Last time I checked, you’re the one causing the distraction.”

Ghost huffs, crossing his arms, and his gaze is unwavering. “If you spent as much time working as you do trying to rile me up, you might actually get something done.”

“Maybe I just work best under pressure,” you reply, shrugging with mock innocence.

“Then consider this a performance review.” He pauses, his voice softer but still with an edge. “For the record, I’ll be watching.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes but feeling the lingering warmth of his gaze. For all the back-and-forth, the tension between you doesn’t feel quite as sharp. It’s there, but lighter, laced with something almost fun, a reminder that even amidst the mission, you’re not just rivals but two people with a shared drive.

Just as the tension between you and Ghost reaches a lull, Soap bursts into the room, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Oi, lovebirds, wrap it up!” he announces, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “We’re headin’ out tonight. Pub in town. Price gave the go-ahead, so consider it an order to blow off some steam.”

You blink in surprise, barely processing Soap’s words before he adds, “Come on, we’re all going—no excuses.”

“Pub night, huh?” Ghost’s voice has a rare note of interest, and he actually seems…enthusiastic? His gaze flickers to you, the edge in his expression softening. “Been a while since we had a proper night out.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to picture him in a more casual setting. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d enjoy a pub crawl, Ghost.”

He shrugs, crossing his arms. “I don’t mind a pint every now and then. Especially after dealing with you.”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “Well, the feeling’s mutual,” you retort, but there’s a warmth to it. Maybe it’s the idea of seeing a different side of him outside the usual grind.

Soap grins, nodding approvingly. “That’s what I like to hear. Now go on—get yourselves outta those uniforms and into something halfway decent. We’re out the door in an hour.”

As he leaves, you catch a flicker of amusement in Ghost’s eyes. “Guess we better not keep them waiting,” he says, his tone almost teasing.

You tilt your head, still a bit surprised by his openness to the idea. “Guess I’ll have to see what ‘relaxed Ghost’ looks like.”

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. “Don’t get your hopes up. But maybe you’ll see me a bit more…human.”

It’s a surprising statement from him, one that lingers as he gives you a nod and heads off to get ready, leaving you with a sense of anticipation you hadn’t expected.

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The pub is warm and bustling, a far cry from the quiet and regimented SAS base. The dim lights, hum of chatter, and scent of wood polish mixed with spilled beer create an atmosphere of easygoing revelry. You’re seated with the team at a table near the corner, where Ghost and Price lean back in their seats, both relaxed yet observant. You glance at Ghost, surprised by how much more at ease he seems here. There’s still an edge to him, but he doesn’t look like he’s on guard in the same way.

Soap, on the other hand, has made it his mission to kick off the evening with as many pints as he can get his hands on. He slams his drink down on the table, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Right, here’s a thought for you lot,” he says, his Scottish accent thickening with each drink. “If a merc like you could get Ghost to crack a smile, that’d be somethin’ of a miracle.”

Gaz raises an eyebrow, grinning. “I’d say we’ve got better odds of winning the lottery.”

You smirk, nudging Soap’s shoulder. “Please, I think I’ve done that already. He’s just hiding it under that mask of his.”

Ghost narrows his eyes, though there’s a hint of intrigue. “Careful what you wish for. Smiling from me might send you running.”

Soap grins mischievously, leaning in as if he’s about to share a grand secret. “You know, mate, I reckon you’d look downright charming if you let loose a little. Flash those pearly whites, give the ladies a thrill.”

Ghost shakes his head, deadpan. “The day I take advice on charm from you, Johnny, is the day hell freezes over.”

Price chuckles, raising his glass. “Don’t think there’s anyone here who’d survive if Ghost suddenly turned on the charm.”

Soap raises his glass in agreement, a wicked glint in his eye as he points it at you. “Oi, what about our resident mercenary? Bet you’ve got a right bloody wild side we haven’t seen yet, eh? All that time sneakin’ around with Aegis—you must have some stories.”

You roll your eyes, pretending to think. “Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Gaz smirks, chiming in. “What, afraid to tell us? Must be some top-secret stuff. C’mon, give us a little taste.”

You shrug with a mischievous smile. “Only if Ghost spills his secrets first.”

All eyes turn to Ghost, who gives the barest shake of his head, clearly unimpressed. “Secrets? You lot wouldn’t last a minute with half of ‘em.”

Soap snorts. “Oh, big man’s too mysterious for us, is he?”

Ghost glances over, voice low but steady. “If you’re keen to learn, there’s plenty I could teach. But somehow I don’t think you’ve got the spine for it, Johnny.”

The table erupts into laughter, and Soap throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Easy, Ghost! I’ll pass on the torture sessions, thanks.”

Grinning, you look over at Ghost, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Ghost. You think he could handle it?”

Ghost meets your gaze with that intense stare, and there’s the faintest flicker of mirth behind it. “Not a chance.”

Price chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Here’s what I’m curious about,” he says, looking at you. “You keep trading barbs with Ghost like it’s second nature. Takes a special kind of person to keep up with him.”

You tilt your head, a playful glint in your eye. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

Soap cackles, slapping the table. “Oh-ho! Listen to that, Ghost. She’s got your number.”

“Is that right?” Ghost replies, his tone dry.

You lean in, unphased. “You can try and intimidate me all you want, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Ghost looks at you, one corner of his mouth tugging up in the faintest hint of a smirk. “For now.”

Gaz laughs, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “See, I knew it! We’ve got ourselves a real daredevil here.”

“Right,” Soap says, raising his glass high. “Here’s to this mad lot—ain’t a soul here with sense, and thank God for it.”

Everyone raises their glasses, and even Ghost gives a small nod of approval as he lifts his drink. You clink glasses, the laughter and ribbing reminding you that, somehow, you’ve found a place among this group of misfits.

As the night goes on, the drinks flow and the banter gets bolder. At one point, you lean back with a mischievous glint in your eye, glancing over at Ghost. “Alright, I’ve got a question for you. Be honest—is Ghost really your name? Or is it just to keep everyone guessing?”

There’s a pause as the whole table goes quiet. Soap nearly chokes on his drink, barely containing his laughter as he looks between you and Ghost. “Oh, aye, that’s a good one!” he says, slapping the table. “Imagine his ma callin’ him Ghost. ‘Time for supper, Ghostie boy!’”

Gaz bites back a grin, chiming in. “That's sounds a little bit too accurate, no?"

Price chuckles but keeps his face straight. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there,” he says in a low, amused tone, glancing knowingly at Ghost.

Ghost just stares back at you, his expression as closed-off as ever, though you could swear you see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You’re asking all the wrong questions,” he replies coolly. “Keep dreaming, though. Might even let you think you’re getting close.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat with a half-smile. “Fine, keep your mystery,” you say, as if you’re letting him win the round. “But one day, I’ll get it out of you.”

The table erupts in laughter, and Soap shakes his head, giving you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Good luck, lass. Took me years to even learn his favorite color.”

You laugh along with the others, but as the night settles, it hits you: they know things about Ghost that you’re nowhere close to finding out. If you want to be someone he trusts, someone he’d share even the smallest parts of himself with, it’s going to be a long journey.

But, sitting here with the team, sharing laughs and drinks, you think maybe, just maybe, that’s a road you’re willing to travel.

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The walk back to base is quiet, the night air crisp and cool after the warmth of the pub. The team trails off one by one to their respective quarters, with Ghost hanging back to make sure you make it to yours. You’re a bit buzzed, not quite unsteady, but everything’s a touch softer at the edges, and you can’t help but notice how large his presence feels next to you as he walks silently, hands in his pockets.

When you finally stop at your door, you fumble a little with your keycard, squinting as you try to slide it into the card reader. You can feel Ghost watching, arms crossed, probably waiting for you to admit defeat and hand him the keycard, but you’re determined to manage it on your own.

Of course, in your tipsy state, your balance betrays you. You stumble, and before you even realize it, Ghost’s hands are on your shoulders, steadying you as you fall back against him. His touch is firm and unyielding, but there’s something… soft in the way he keeps you close, ensuring you don’t lose your footing completely. You blink, surprised by the solidness of him, and he doesn’t step away immediately. His expression is unreadable, eyes shadowed beneath his mask, but his hands don’t move from your shoulders.

Without thinking, you tilt your head back, squinting up at him. “Oh, look at you, all grumpy as usual.”

“Grumpy, huh?” he replies, one brow arched beneath the mask, his tone teasing but laced with something else.

“Yeah, always brooding, always scowling. What’s your deal?” You poke lightly at his mask, as if you were trying to pry something out of him. “You’re always hiding something, aren’t you?”

His hand moves to your face, cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. His gaze drops to your eyes, studying you more intently now, like he’s taking in how badly you’re buzzed, how off-kilter your thoughts are. His fingers linger there for a moment longer than you expect, his touch gentle yet possessive. For a heartbeat, it feels like the world has shrunk to just the two of you, his presence overwhelming and solid, his mask hiding everything but the emotion in his eyes. It’s an unspoken understanding, but it also feels like something more.

You don’t pull away. Instead, your eyes stay fixed on his, and the alcohol loosens your tongue even further. “Why do you always look so grumpy?” you murmur, half-joking. “You really think you’re that scary, huh?”

He chuckles, low and rough, breaking the tension. “Maybe it’s just how I look,” he answers, but there’s an amused gleam in his eyes now, something different from earlier.

You shake your head, not letting him off the hook so easily. “No, you look like you’re hiding something. But you don’t need to, you know?”

There’s another long pause between you, his thumb still brushing against your cheek, and the closeness has your breath catching in your chest. You can’t quite place what it is, but something shifts in the air, something that makes your heart race faster.

Leaning in just a little, you murmur, “You know… you’re actually really handsome, Ghost.”

His eyes widen just the slightest bit, the expression behind his mask shifting into something unreadable, but it doesn’t stop him from holding you there, his hand still cupping your face. “Is that so?” he murmurs, voice deeper now, amused and almost… pleased?

“Yeah, you’ve got that whole mysterious, dark vibe going for you,” you say, your gaze drifting down to his chest as you sway slightly on your feet. “Don’t let it go to your head, though,” you add with a half-smile, trying to lighten the moment, “but it’s true.”

There aren’t many moments you’ve seen Ghost without his mask—just enough for you to count with your fingers. Mostly, it’s been during meals, those rare occasions when he’s forced to shed the barrier between him and the world. You can’t help but notice each time he does; how could you not?

The first time you saw him without the mask, you felt a jolt of surprise. His face was striking in ways that you hadn’t expected—strong, sharp features that seemed carved from stone. His jawline was all hard angles, his eyes intense and deeper than they seemed when half-shaded by the mask. But what drew your gaze more than anything was the scar on his left cheek, a thin, pale line running down just shy of his jaw. It looked like a relic from some old battle, faded but unmissable, giving his face a harsher, almost haunted edge.

And yet, that scar softened something too. It hinted at a history, at moments he’s endured that you could only guess at. You’ve never asked him about it—he’d probably shut down if you tried—but each time you’ve seen his face, you’ve memorized it just a little more. His gaze always flickers away when he catches you looking, but you can’t help noticing the smallest details: the faint crease between his brows when he’s deep in thought, the way his mouth barely tilts when someone cracks a joke he finds halfway amusing. He always brings the mask back up quickly, as if remembering the distance he needs to maintain.

Each time he lifts that mask, you feel as if you’re glimpsing something guarded, something that only a rare few have ever seen. And even though he never lets you linger on it for long, the memory of his face—scar, guarded eyes, the subtle but undeniable humanity there—lingers with you.

His fingers tighten just a fraction, his grip still gentle but more assertive now, like he’s grounding you in this moment. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies, the playful edge to his voice now tinged with something else. Something closer to appreciation, or maybe… curiosity?

Before you can say anything else, his thumb drifts slowly, tracing the line of your cheekbone, then gliding downward until it rests just at the corner of your mouth. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of the glove, so close you can almost imagine his bare touch, imagine the weight and warmth without the barrier.

He studies you with an intensity that makes your pulse race, his gaze drifting from your eyes to where his thumb hovers over your lips. His gloved hand is careful but certain, as if he's savoring each detail. Slowly, his thumb meets your bottom lip, light enough to make you shiver, but there’s a sense of restraint in the gesture, like he’s letting himself test boundaries. He brushes along the edge of your bottom lip in a slow, careful sweep, almost as if he’s mapping it out, savoring the softness beneath his touch. He’s close enough that you can see the way his gaze darkens, focused entirely on you, on the way his thumb drags so gently across your lip. Each pass is deliberate, his touch achingly slow, as if he’s caught somewhere between curiosity and something deeper—something he won’t admit, not out loud.

His fingers trace down your jaw, but his thumb stays at your mouth, brushing with a gentleness that makes your heart pound, your breath catching just slightly at each delicate movement. You feel his eyes watching the way your lips part under his touch, as though he’s fascinated, as if each soft curve and line of your mouth is something he’s committing to memory.

The air between you is thick with the weight of things unspoken, a tension you can’t ignore. His touch remains tender but holds a barely restrained intensity, his thumb finally pausing at the center of your lip, resting there like he’s weighing his next move. His gaze is fixed there, as if you’re some intriguing mystery he can’t help but explore. You stand frozen, unable to process the moment. Nobody has ever touched you like this, like you’re an enigma trying to be deciphered. Nobody ever bothered to.

You close your eyes, accepting the strange intimacy of his touch. Your heart beats fast, your hands almost clammy, but you don’t want to pull away. Almost instinctively, you let your lips press softly against his thumb, giving it a light, chaste peck.

You slowly open your eyes, searching his face for a reaction. Did that small gesture bother him? Make him angry? Maybe you went too far. But the moment your gaze locks with his, your doubts crumble. His eyes are dark, intense, almost... possessive. Longing. This isn’t the Ghost you know—the one who watches you with cold, calculating eyes, ready to nitpick your every move, sometimes even with a hint of regret, as if he thinks bringing you back here was a mistake.

Right now, he’s looking at you differently. He’s looking at you like you’re somebody. Like you mean something. Like you’re not just a piece on this chessboard that everyone else is playing.

He’s seeing you.

And it terrifies you.

As if snapping yourself from a dream, you take a quick step back, chuckling awkwardly to break the tension. “Remind me never to drink with you lot again.”

Ghost seems to snap back to reality at the same moment you do, but there’s a flicker of frustration in his eyes, a strain in how his jaw clenches. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. Instead, you take a slow breath, grounding yourself as best you can, then slide the keycard through the reader with a soft beep.

Before you step inside, you glance over your shoulder at him, catching that dark, unreadable look he wears all too well. “Thanks… for walking me to my room,” you murmur, trying to sound casual, like nothing strange just happened.

He nods, barely a movement, but there’s something in his silence that feels heavier than usual, as if he’s holding something back. He lingers for a split second before turning, walking back down the hallway, his steps fading into the distance.

Once the door shuts behind you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You lean back against the door, then slowly sink down to the floor, pulling your knees up and resting your forehead against them. Your face is practically burning. Just a few simple touches, a look, and yet here you are, feeling like everything you thought you knew has shifted. It’s hard to explain what exactly happened, even to yourself. But whatever it was, it’s left your heart pounding and your mind spinning with thoughts you can’t quite put into words.

A soft, bewildered smile plays on your lips as you sit there, alone in the quiet, feeling both terrified and somehow… happy.

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cherryblossomshadow · 2 days ago

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[Images 1-3 ID: Screenshots of an email from the ACLU, reading

The results of the election are in: Donald Trump will be the 47th President of the United States.

I know these results create fear for many, particularly those whose communities have been most targeted and threatened by the President-elect’s extreme rhetoric and policy proposals. If President-elect Trump comes for our communities, he’s gotta get past all of us.

President-elect Trump has been crystal clear about his plans to deport one million immigrants every year and target the enemy within – which, for Trump, means anyone who disagrees with him. He is dead serious about seeking retribution against his political opponents and deploying federal law enforcement to shut down protests and muzzle dissent. Guided by Project 2025, we are sure he will try to make good on those promises.

He and the administration officials he will put in place will work to attack the rights of LGBTQ people, implement archaic and cruel immigration policies, undermine press freedoms, and make it harder for Americans to vote.

It is not hyperbolic to say that this president presents a clear and present danger to our democracy.

But here at the ACLU, we’re clear-eyed about the chaos and destruction a second Trump administration will cause to our nation. We’re done with the hand wringing. We won’t be admiring this problem. Instead, we are ready to take action the minute Trump takes the oath of office.

The fact is, we’re familiar with fighting a Trump White House.

One week into Trump’s first presidency, we were the first organization to challenge his Muslim ban. And when the administration sought to include a citizenship question on the 2020 census, the ACLU took that fight to the Supreme Court and won. It was our litigation that stopped the inhumane practice of separating immigrant families at the border.

The ACLU filed 434 legal actions against the first Trump administration’s illegal and cruel actions – and we are prepared to fight again with the organization’s full firepower.

There is not a doubt in my mind that the ACLU is ready to meet this moment:

We have a detailed playbook that breaks down exactly how to fight Trump’s Project 2025 agenda.

We have plans in place to litigate, legislate, and mobilize for reproductive freedom, immigrants’ rights, LGBTQ rights, racial justice, and all civil rights and liberties – in the courts, in Congress, and in the streets.

We have a nationwide network of affiliates that uniquely enables us to take our fights local and build firewalls against the worst of Trump’s policies in every state across America.

Quinn, here at the ACLU, we play the long game. We’ve been around for 105 years. We’ve seen 19 presidents come and go. With your support, we will vigorously defend your right to protest and speak against our government. Especially when that government attacks our civil liberties and civil rights.

The next four years will be challenging, but we’ll be ready on day one. You can count on it. We’re counting on you, too.

In solidarity,

Anthony Romero Pronouns: He, him, his ACLU Executive Director

/end ID]

[Image 4 ID and source: Screenshot of the wikipedia article for the American Civil Liberties Union, reading

The ACLU's current positions include opposing the death penalty; supporting same-sex marriage and the right of LGBT people to adopt; supporting reproductive rights such as birth control and abortion rights; eliminating discrimination against women, minorities, and LGBT people; decarceration in the United States; protecting housing and employment rights of veterans;[6] reforming sex offender registries[7] and protecting housing and employment rights of convicted first-time offenders; supporting the rights of prisoners and opposing torture; upholding the separation of church and state by opposing government preference for religion over non-religion or for particular faiths over others; and supporting the legality of gender-affirming treatments, including those that are government funded, for trans youth.[8][9]

/end ID]

Yes, I am an ardent hater of today's "if you feel powerless, don't forget that you can donate :))) even though you can barely feed yourself :)))" culture, where the average person has no power or agency to fight for what they believe in beyond stumping up cash.

Yes, I am going to remind y'all anyway that the American Civil Liberties Union is there to fight for your rights and they could use your support if you have any to spare. If you subscribe to their newsletter they send you regular updates on what they're doing to fight Drumpf and his force of fascist fuckwits.

#u: villainessbian #i describe images #us politics #us elections #2024 presidential election #aclu #american civil liberties union #donald trump #trump administration

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envolvenuances · 3 months ago

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as the masculine woman who wasn't allowed to use the girl's bathroom in school and to this day have straight women prefer to stand than sit next to me at the bus or question if it's "appropriate" to have me in school staff teaching teenagers. the only "gaslighting" in this is the pretense that it is either a new phenomena or increasing because of The Trans Question being divisive in current gringo politics. when it's classic lesbophobia that always existed and honestly if you ask me things have been improving. but then I do feel like transphobia itself is a restriction of homo/lesbophobia against the mostly visibly gender non conforming of us.

#straight women hate lesbians and bisexual women #sometimes straight women who are a bit of tomboys are also targeted by it #poor women are typically more likely to be masculinized in these manners because we are already seen as dangerous and capable of doing hard #work or taking abuse. sometimes this class aspect gets conflated with specific racial and ethnic groups #to the point where honestly I call most of the mistrust other women have against me 'lesbophobia' but it is likely some comes from me still #having a clearly class marked accent and fashion sense. and the fact I call myself a white mestiza but everyone can tell I have black blood #and that's a problem in itself #like this is all such basic lessons on the world and oppression I learnt this shit at 6 when I first got beat up for being too masculine #why are we pretending it's 'complicated'?#your privilege makes you biased against minority women. I don't know if based on class race or sexuality but fix your shit #women bring scared of me never made me a man #but this is also why I do have a lot of sympathy for trans men and can understand and accept if that's the path they choose #for me it was always straight women who were traitors...#.txt

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luckyladylily · 5 months ago

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So a few months ago there was the discourse about would you rather meet a man or a bear in the woods. I didn't want to touch it while the discourse was hot and everyone dug in hard because those are not good conditions for nuance, but I waited until today, June 1st, for a specific reason.

I'm not going to take a position in the bear vs man debate because I don't think it matters. What is really being asked here is how afraid are you of men? Specifically, unexpected men who are, perhaps, strange.

People have a lot of very real fear of men that comes from a lot of very real places. Back when I was first transitioning in 2015 and 2016, I decided to start presenting as a woman in public even though I did not pass in the slightest.

I live in a red state. I knew other trans women who had been attacked by men, raped by men. I knew I was taking a risk by putting myself out there. I was the only visibly trans person in the area of campus I frequented, and people made sure I never forgot that. Most were harmless enough and the worst I got from them was curious stares. Others were more aggressive, even the occasional threat. I had to avoid public bathrooms, of course, and always be aware of my surroundings.

I know how frightening it is to be alone at night while a pair of men are following behind you and not knowing if they are just going in the same direction or if they want to start something - made all the worse for the constant low level threat I had been living under for over a year by just being visibly trans in a place where many are openly hostile to queer people. You have to remember, this was at the height of the first wave of bathroom law discussions, a lot of people were very angry about trans women in particular. My daily life was terrifying at times. I was never the subject of direct violence, but I knew trans women who had been.

I want you to keep all that in mind.

So man or bear is really the question "how afraid of men are you?", and the question that logically follows is "What if there was a strange man at night in a deserted parking lot?" or "What if you were alone in an elevator with a man?" or "What if you met a strange man in the woman's bathroom?"

My state recently passed an anti trans bathroom bill. The rhetoric they used was about protecting women and children from "strange men", aka trans women.

Conservatives hijack fear for their bigoted agenda.

When I first started presenting as a woman the campus apartment complex was designed for young families. The buildings were in a large square with playgrounds in the center, and there were often children playing. I quickly noticed that when I took my daughter out to play, often several children would immediately stop what they were doing and run back inside. It didn't take me long to confirm that the parents were so afraid of "the strange man who wears skirts" that their children were under strict instructions to literally run away as soon as they saw me.

"How afraid are you of a strange man being near your children?"

I mentioned above that I had to avoid public bathrooms. This was not because of men. It was because of women who were so afraid of random men that they might get violent or call someone like the police to be violent for them if I ever accidentally presented myself in a way that could be interpreted as threatening, when my mere presence could be seen as a threat. If I was in the library studying and I realized that it was just me and one other woman I would get up and leave because she might decide that stranger danger was happening.

Your fear is real. Your fear might even come from lived experiences. None of that prevents the fact that your fear can be violent. Women's fear of men is one of the driving forces of transmisogyny because it is so easy to hijack. And it isn't just trans women. Other trans people experience this, and other queer people too. Racial minorities, homeless people, neurodivergent people, disabled people.

When you uncritically engage with questions like man or bear, when you uncritically validate a culture of reactive fear, you are paving the way for conservatives and bigots to push their agenda. And that is why I waited until pride month. You cannot engage and contribute to the culture of reactive fear without contributing to queerphobia of all varieties. The sensationalist culture of reactive fear is a serious queer issue, and everyone just forgot that for a week as they argued over man or bear. I'm not saying that "man" is the right answer. I am saying that uncritically engaging with such obvious click bait trading on reactive fear is a problem. Everyone fucked up.

It is not a moral failing to experience fear, but it is a moral responsibility to keep a handle on that fear and know how it might harm others.

#I don't even know how to tag this #rape mention

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picturejasper20 · 7 months ago

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Wow... people having to identify themselves to a government because of they are part of a group that is seen as ¨other¨ or because they want to learn about a certain topic...where i have seen this before...

I don't know... maybe what it is considered one of the biggest red flags in steps of dehumanization of groups, mainly minorities?

Btw, this is what the people behind KOSA are trying to impose in all the United States of America.

[Image ID: News politcs article about USA politics that says ¨Kansas governor passes law requiring ID to view acts of 'homosexuality' online, vetoes anti-LGBTQ+ bill¨ /.End ID]

Link to the article: https://www.advocate.com/politics/kansas-veto-age-verification-gender-affirming-care-abortion

Edit: Since this gained more notes, for those who don't know KOSA is, it is a USA bill that was reintroduced on May 2023 (last year). It is called ¨Kids Online Safety Act¨ (KOSA for short). It has been introduced and reintroduced for a while now since 2022. It is meant with the intention to ¨protect kids¨ by restricting their use of internet by pushing age restrictions and people having to present their ID to use internet or access certain websites, quite similar to the Kansas state bill that got passed. Many groups and people have criticized this bill for the potential censorship it can come with it and do more harm to the kids than help them. Possible censorship that has been suggested this bill can bring is LGBT+ content, politics and news, mental health search, political and social opinions in general (adults included). What is more, it has been put into question the possible invasion of privacy for both minors and adults by having to share an identification to use certain websites. That people could get censored or doxxed by doing this.

As for the bill itself, there was a hearing earlier today in the Senate. ( April 17th-Wednesday). It could take a while before it gets voted and has to pass different stages. Then it would take months (18 months) to be implemented if it gets passed.

I'm not American myself, so i'm not sure how much i can do about this. What i do recommend is making calls to senators and people involved in pushing this bill to make clear your disapproval of it. Try sign petitions or just telling others about it.

Some sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kids_Online_Safety_Act https://www.stopkosa.com/ https://www.badinternetbills.com/ https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/02/dont-fall-latest-changes-dangerous-kids-online-safety-act

Website to keep track of the KOSA bill movements and cosponsors of the bill:

#kosa bill #stop kosa #kosa #lgbt #internet #USA #tumblr

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yuujispinkhair · 9 months ago

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okay questionable thoughts… Hybrid Tiger Sukuna… But… what if we gave him catnip? Cus I’ve seen videos of it working on tigers and I’m a bit cray cray-

Oh nooo!!! This drives me all kinds of FERAL!! I wrote the following in a horny daze lmaoo. I would give so much to be Tiger Hybrid Sukuna's owner who gets that gorgeous tiger-cock ;) Thank you so much for sending me this!!

Tiger Hybrid!Sukuna x Reader (female). 18+, smut, rough sex, creampie, mentions of breeding + risk of pregnancy if reader gives Sukuna more catnip in the future, dubcon on both sides, drugs. Minors don't interact. Divider @/hitobaby

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who is usually so in control, acting all aloof and majestic. But you give him catnip, and he loses all that control. You thought it would be cute to see him loosen up and become more playful, but you didn't expect him to become so wild.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who tackles you to the floor with a needy growl. Who presses you down with his heavy body, his large tail swishing from side to side excitedly, his pupils blown wide, his hot spit dripping down onto your neck. And his large bulge growing hard against your ass.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who loses his ability to talk in the state he is in now and just growls and purrs while he nuzzles his nose against your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, his lips and tongue and sharp canines leaving their marks on your skin while he ruts against you, needy like never before.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who scares you a bit when he goes crazy like that. This big, strong half-tiger, with those strong muscles and the sharp teeth and claws. And with that huge, strong cock. But your fear mixes with arousal, and you find yourself hoping your tiger will claim you thoroughly tonight.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who isn't even in the right mind to undress you but just tears at his and your clothes, ripping them to shreds in his primal need to mount you.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who pushes his hot, fat cock between your wet cunt, coating himself in your arousal, grunting and growling wildly against your neck while he ruts his throbbing tiger-cock against your heated cunt.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who bites your neck when he pushes his leaking cock into your dripping cunt, groaning loudly against your skin, instantly starting a punishing rough pace of fucking you. Mounting you so wild and hard right there on the floor.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who is so sexy like that, out of control, wild and feral like never before. More animal than man. Who snaps his hips fast and erratically, purely driven by his animal instinct to fuck and breed and fill a mate with his potent seed.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who holds you down and keeps his teeth on your neck while he fucks all his tiger-cum deep into you. Growling loudly while he mates you as if you are his fertile tigress.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who makes you lose control, too, pushing your ass needily against him, wanting all his hot seed and the feel of his heavy balls slapping against you. Making you squeal loudly when you cum all over his fat tiger-cock.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who pulls out of you with a low groan and then kneels on the floor behind you with a blissed-out expression on his beautiful face, not as feral anymore but still high on the catnip. His gorgeous cock softening but still glistening with your creamy juices and his milky seed, his dark pink tip still swollen.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, whose whole muscular body trembles lightly as the effects of the catnip wear off. Whose long, pretty tail is twitching suddenly when those glowing red eyes bore into yours with a dangerous glint in them.

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who growls at you, "Never do that again!" And when you ask him why, he glares at you and is like, "Because who knows what I'll do next time. Maybe I'll breed you until you have my cubs."

++ Tiger Hybrid Sukuna, who calms down again when you tell him you are ok, and he didn't hurt you. Who finally purrs when you scratch him behind his ears and at the base of his pretty tiger tail and promise him that you won't give him catnip ever again, even though you quite enjoyed his wild side.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n #tw hybrids #tw pregnancy #tw dubcon #tw drugs

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that-sarcastic-writer · 2 months ago

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A Ballad of Lost Souls

Eric Draven (2024) X f!reader

Summary: what happens when two lost souls find each other? Cling to each other? Love could be a very dangerous drug indeed. You and Eric meet during rehab.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, brief handjob, hair pulling, choking, size difference, size kink if you squint, bit of inexperienced!reader, Eric is actually a sweetheart, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of substance abuse, addiction, mentions of suicidal thoughts, this movie is dark what do you want me to say

Reader has tattoos, but has no further specifications, y’all get to be tattooed girlies today, you’re welcome

WC: 5.7K I’m sorry

Inspo creds @kingkat12, she also posted an Eric fic with the same concept and some of the elements of this story like some of the dialogue bits were inspired after reading hers. Please give her some love! She’s a great writer

A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT ME. idc, I love Eric okay, stfu. I just had to write him. He just needs love man. That’s all. I want to give him love. So here you go. I might make a part two if there’s enough interest. When I tell you the Eric fic supply is LOW, I’ve never seen one so LACKING. So I just had to yk? Enjoy and don’t cancel me alright.

You didn’t often dwell on the past. You had a live in the moment kind of mindset. You didn’t know where you’d be tomorrow so you made the best of the moment. But sometimes, you wondered just where your bad decisions were taking you. You didn’t mean to end up here, in this awful bubblegum pink sweater and sweatpants, surrounded by people who didn’t care why you were here, or if you got better or not. The disappointed words of your mother played in your head, and the angry words of your father hammered in the back of your head. You were a fucking disappointment, and that’s why you were here.

You thought about ending it. This mess your life had become. It wouldn’t be too hard to find a razor around here if you truly tried. Who would miss you anyway? What even was the point of it all? By day two you couldn’t take this shit anymore. And then you saw him in the yard. You were almost entranced by him. He was so tall, he towered over everyone he walked past, you couldn’t imagine how ridiculous you would look standing next to him. You could see his ink cover his hands and fingers, and you wondered just how far the ink traveled. You were intrigued by him, he was quiet, morbidly so, he didn’t say a word to anyone, no matter how much they pressed or tossed him around, he just stared. Whether it was the doctors, the counselors, the guards. He always chose silence. And he always had this look of defiance, of apathy, he took everything with a locked jaw and deadpan eyes. And that intrigued you.

Should you try to entertain anyone in this facility, let alone the loner covered in tattoos? No, absolutely not. But lord, something about him drew you in.

You caught glimpses of him for a few days, in the cafeteria when you walked past him to your table, maybe he thought you didn’t notice, but you caught him turning his head to watch you walk by. One time, your eyes met, they were a pretty shade of green. It was brief though, as soon as he realized you caught him, his eyes were in front of his plate, but not before you managed to flash him a tiny smile. Welcoming, playful.

Eric remembered that.

The next time you saw him was out in the yard. They encouraged exercise in this place, for some dumb reason. The most people did around here was stand in a corner, feeling completely miserable under the scorching sun. But much to your surprise, after some time walking around the yard you found Eric, lingering by the gym equipment. It wasn’t much, just a pull up bar and that was barely tall enough to accommodate him. No weights, of course, because someone could hurt themselves, or someone else with them. It wasn’t much, but you couldn’t help but watch as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, revealing even more tattoos going up both of his arms. You stood in a corner like a fucking weirdo, watching as he did pull up’s, as best as he could having to bend his long legs to accommodate the short bar. Why were you just staring at this man you’ve never even spoken to? Of that you had no clue. But you couldn’t take your eyes away. He had his back to you, but even under the material of his white t-shirt you could see the muscles in his shoulders tense, his arms flexing with each pull. And you could only I magine the true sight of him. Sweat dripping down his forehead, lips pulled between his teeth as he did each pull. God, you felt like such a pervert. You shouldn’t be eye fucking him like this, but you couldn’t help it, something about him twisted the most secluded corners of your mind.

Ultimately your trance was cut short, since it didn’t take long for a group of guys to take interest in whatever Eric was doing and went straight to push him around some more. You frowned, almost upset by the sight of him getting tossed around and hazed like this. You couldn’t hear what was happening, but Eric had his head down, chest heavy as he clenched his fists at his sides, but he otherwise did nothing. You didn’t care, any fucks you still had to give were gone the moment your parents and your ex-boyfriend conspired to send you here. You were about to walk over there, not caring about what weird opposite sex rules this place had. But when you started walking, Eric did too, getting shoulder checked as he pushed his way past the group of guys. You felt awful, you wanted to say something to him, but you were frozen when he walked past you, his green eyes shooting a quick glance at you, a bit of curiosity laced in them. But you were more focused on how his shirt was clinging to his sweaty chest. And just like that he was gone.

The next time you saw him was during a group meeting that afternoon. You were almost disappointed at first when he didn’t show. You sulked into your seat for the first minute or two, upset you wouldn’t get to see him today again. And then you saw him. His expression as apathetic as ever, like he would rather get beat up than sit through this bullshit. His hair was soaking wet, small droplets of water still falling from the tips of his raven hair. Great, now the image of him in the shower was ingrained into your brain. As if you didn’t feel filthy enough.

You bit your lip softly, sitting up as he sat across from you, his expression blank with disinterest as his tattooed fingers played with the hem of his pink sweater. You weren’t paying attention either, you were more entertained by the way his long legs spread open as he slouched on his chair, taking as much space as possible. You thought about how nice it would be to sit on his lap. You glanced at his hands, they were huge. How easily he could grab a hold of your ass, or hold you still by your neck. How his long fingers would feel so deep inside you. You thought about how easily he was doing those pull ups, and you thought just how easily he could hold you down, throw you around to as he pleased with you. Truly, you would happily let him use you. You could feel heat rush to your face as you crossed your legs, trying your best to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. Why were you lusting so hard over him? You didn’t even know his name.

Almost as if he could hear your pounding heart, Eric looked up to find your eyes lingering on him, one leg crossed over the other tightly. He tilted his head with curiosity, and his fingers twitched around his sweatshirt as your eyes met. He didn’t feel like looking away this time. The longer his hooded eyes were on you, the more nervous you became. You could feel your breath hitch in your chest as his eyes burned you. You only looked away when the counselor said your name, followed by stares.

Shit, were you supposed to say something?

You opened your mouth, immediately closing it as you had nothing to say. You didn’t even hear the question. You pursed your lips and shook your head lightly. The counselor sighed softly and looked to the girl beside you instead. It was common for most people here to refrain from speaking so he didn’t think too much about it. But when your eyes found Eric again, there was a small hint of amusement in his eyes, a ghost of a grin tugging at his plush lips. For the first time since you’ve been here, you saw something other than disinterest on his face.

Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him.

~~~

You pulled your lips into a disappointed pout as you searched around the cafeteria for his black mullet, not being able to find him. And here you thought today would be the day you finally spoke to him. You were about to sit at the nearest empty table when you found him. Even sitting down he stood out. You smiled to yourself, your heart pounding in your chest with anticipation. You looked around for guards, none were paying particular attention to you so you did it.

He lifted his head slightly to glance at you, a quick second before his eyes were back on his plate. You saw the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. You smiled to yourself.

“I like your ink.” Were the first words out of your mouth. You said them in one breath, afraid he would get up and leave. His eyes lifted from his hands to meet yours, his eyes then fell to your own hands, one of them covered in distinct patterns and colors from your wrist up to your fingers. He wondered what else you were hiding under your sweater, like him.

“Hm.” He gave you a small nod, his plush lips pulled between his teeth in a way that had you clenching your thighs. “I like yours.”

You smiled, the first genuine one since you’ve gotten here.

“I have more.” You whispered, leaning close to him, like it was some secret only for his ears to hear. His eyes flickered with amusement and he gave you another hum, his eyes now looking everywhere they could in hope of finding said secrets.

“Me too.” His lips curved up the slightest bit as he lifted one of his sleeves up enough to reveal more tattoos going up his arm. Your eyes lit up as you excitedly leaned down closer with the excuse of getting a closer look. Your proximity was certainly way too close for this facility.

Leaning impossibly close to him without actually touching him, you looked up at him and with a playful smile you pulled down the collar of your sweatshirt to reveal more designs along your collarbone, the rest of the design hidden by your sweater as the colors continued down your shoulder.

“But don’t tell anyone.” You chewed on your bottom lip, trying to hide your smile. He gave you what sounded like a chuckle and he shrugged.

“Who would I tell?” Though his face remained expressionless, his eyes had a glint that mimicked your eagerness, he welcomed your proximity. “Here he comes.”

You were confused by his words and you opened your mouth to question him as he sat back, his head lifting in the direction behind your head.

“Males and females can’t sit together!” One of the guards, one you had noticed had a particular thing with Eric shouted, roughly grabbing the back of his chair to force him up on his feet.

“Huh? Wait, why are you taking him?” You talked back to the guard. “Hey, he didn’t do anything! I was the one that sat here. I—I’ll move. Don’t be such an asshole! Leave him alone!” You tried to help, even going as far as standing up but the guard was already taking the new owner of all of your attention away. Your heart sank as you watched the guard shout at him as he dragged him away.

He had managed to turn his head back for a second, and when your eyes met, he half smiled at you. He was almost proud of the fact that you tried to stand up for him. “I’m Eric!”

You smiled.

~~~~~~

“Found you.” You skipped into Eric’s room, finally seeing his door open.

You hadn’t seen him since you got him in trouble at their cafeteria the day before. You got in some trouble too. You had a one on one meeting with a counselor about your choice of words and your “temper” but it was nothing more than just a slap on the wrist. Truly, you felt worse about getting Eric in trouble more than anything. You didn’t mean to, you just wanted to talk to him. He must have gotten punished because you didn’t see him during gym hour. You leaned against the doorframe as he turned around to find you. Curiosity filled his otherwise empty eyes, and a glint of amusement replaced the usual apathy in his gaze.

“I never left.” He answered with a shrug as he shuffled through the mess that was made of his artwork. Sketch papers were scattered all over his room, torn off the walls. Perhaps after getting in trouble during lunch they used that as an excuse to go through his room.

“I’m sorry for getting you in trouble.” You expressed with genuine regret, shooting back a glance to the hallway before inviting yourself into his room. Much to the protest of the rational voice in your mind. You looked at the floor as you almost stepped on a piece of paper, you happily picked it up, admiring the black charcoal coating the page before you set it on his bed.

“Is that why you’re here? To apologize?” Eric asked almost cynically as he glanced over at you, not moving from where he stood.

“Well yeah. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” You said sheepishly, a bit intimidated under his intense gaze. There was always a look of defiance in his green eyes, determination even. He gave you a sarcastic hum, which made you roll your eyes.

“Why did you yell at the guard? You got in trouble too, didn’t you?” He asked lowly, his head slightly tilted as he searched for that little thing you did around him, when you clenched your hands at your sides, or your thighs on your seat. His eyes irked with amusement when your fingers twitched at your sides and your lips parted open.

“‘Cause… You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do anything, or say anything. And everyone around here always pushes you around. It’s fucked up.” You answered quietly, daring to meet his eyes. He pulled his lips into a small pout and nodded slowly. His silence was always so nerve wracking to you.

“Yeah, so?”

You scrunched up your face, sighing heavily at his questioning. What did he what you to say? You didn’t know why you cared. You shrugged, picking up another piece of paper by your feet. You half glanced at it as you spoke.

“I dunno.. I just.. Oh my—” You cut yourself off as you gave the drawing in your hand a proper look. You narrowed your eyes, giving the drawing a closer look, and your jaw fell open. It looked like you, your hair falling over your face, dark scribbles covering your body symbolizing the unknown designs on your body, the only intelligible one being the patterns on your collarbone, the same one you had shown Eric. But what truly caught your eye was that you were in fact, completely nude. Truly, his imagination surprised you, he had imagined every curve of your body well, despite not having seen any part of it.

Based on your flustered expression, Eric could only assume which drawing you had picked up. He swallowed, his cheeks flushing pink being caught red handed. But he didn’t look apologetic, at all.

“This what you do in your spare time? Draw naked girls?” You asked with big eyes, the still working rational part of your mind screaming alarms, but a part of you also filled with excitement at his perverted mind. Almost as if you were on his mind as much as he was on yours.

He shook his head. “Just one.” He answered with a shrug, a challenging look in his eyes.

Either you walked out right then and there, and that would be that, or you would go all in. He was trying to figure out which one it would be.

“You are very talented, this is—” You dragged your tongue over your lip as you walked closer to him, catching glances at his other artwork. Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached him, his gaze making you shudder. He said nothing as you stooped in front of him, now having to tilt his head down to meet your gaze. God this man was so goddamn tall. “You could totally sell this for some money.”

“But,” you continued, swallowing hard as you looked up at him, and the way his green eyes looked at you made your mind all fuzzy. God, you haven't felt this euphoric since you got here. This rush of adrenaline made you dizzy, but you pushed through it. “I see one flaw in your creativity.”

“Oh?” He bit down on his plush lip, head tilted with curiosity. You hummed and nodded, daring to bring your fingers up his chest. His breath hitched in his chest, but he said nothing.

“I fear you don’t have the full picture. My tattoos are more than just a scribble of ink.” You stated matter of factly, making him breathe out a small laugh.

“Sorry. I work with what I have.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to ignore the feeling of your hands itching up his chest.

“Maybe I should give you more to work with?” Your hands found the back of his neck and you instinctively stood on the ends of your toes, itching to get closer to him.

Eric glanced down at you, his eyes lingering on your own for a split second before glancing at your parted lips, soft breaths escaping you as you anxiously waited. He didn’t have to think about it, he didn’t want to. His mouth was on yours so hard you whined. His large hand found your hair, tilting your head back to meet your lips better.

You weren’t sure when you ended up against the nearest wall, your legs wrapped around Eric’s slim waist as he held you up. You were right, he could hold you up like you were nothing. Truly, the oversized clothes you were forced to wear didn’t do him any justice. You wondered what he was hiding under his sweatshirt.

His lips were messy on yours, his heavy breaths joining your soft whimpers. You were so caught up in the delicious feeling of his mouth claiming yours and his hands touching everywhere he could, you didn’t hear the loud voices of guards calling your name and patient number. Reality dawned on you when you heard shouting down the hall for everyone to get out of their rooms. You patted Eric’s shoulder, forcing your lips away from his.

“Eric—Eric.” You said his name with urgency, making him look at you, eyes filled with greed as he chased your lips. “I have to go. I don’t want to get you in trouble again.”

He nodded after a second, setting you down on your feet after pressing one last kiss to your lips. You had a stupid smile on your face as you successfully sneaked out his room, the guards being distracted as they probably ransacked some poor bastard's room like they had done Eric’s. You glanced behind you as you hurried down the hall, catching a glimpse of Eric peeking his head through his door. He smiled. And it made your heart race.

You could not wait to see him again.

~~~~~~

“Eric!—” You slapped your hand over your mouth, attempting to quiet the desperate sounds leaving your mouth. But the way his tongue lapped at your sensitive clit and his long fingers rubbed against that one spot within your walls that had you squirming.

You didn’t mean to end up in this position, ass naked on top of one of the washing machines in the laundry room, with Eric on his knees and his face between your thighs. Truly you didn’t, you knew you would be in a lot of fucking trouble if you got caught. But the way his lips claimed yours, his tongue lacing with yours, his large hands grabbing at every part of your body like he didn’t know which one he craved to touch more. He just wanted you so fucking bad, your kisses and little rubbing here and there for the past few days wasn’t enough for him, or for you.

“I wanted to taste you so fucking bad.” He muttered against your clit, a groan rumbling in his throat when you pulled at the hairs on the back of his head, inadvertently holding his face closer against you. Not that he minded, he would stay here, with his fingers scissoring you open until you dripped on the surface underneath you.

“Please—fuck. That feels so good.” You didn’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good. Not that you had much experience in this area, but this sure felt right.

Eric wrapped his free hand under your thigh, pulling you to the edge, closer to his mouth. He lapped at your pussy like he needed it, like it was the air in his lungs. The sounds leaving his mouth as your juices seeped around his fingers were almost as filthy as yours.

You felt like such a slut, chasing his mouth with your hips, heaving like a bitch in heat, and quietly begging him to grant you your release, as quiet as you could be with his fingers so deep and his tongue drawing delicious circles around your clit.

“Just like that baby… Just like that.” Eric mumbled, his fingers slipping and crooking against that perfect spot.

Your release was so sudden, and it hit you so hard you were shaking, sobbing violently into your hand. Your head was thrown back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. Eric dug his fingers into your thigh, his tongue slipping into your hole when his fingers left you.

“Shit—Eric—” You gasped, your thighs shaking as you weakly reached to grab his face.

With a grunt he peeled himself from the warmth of your thighs, he stood to his full height before leaning down to capture your lips. The taste of yourself lingering on his tongue made you moan. Disoriented, you reached down to rub where his cock was straining against his sweatpants. He groaned into your mouth, his large hand flew to catch your wrist.

“It’s okay.” He gave your lips a soft kiss as he pulled your hand away. You gave him an adorable frown, your mind still spinning from your orgasm.

“But you—” He pressed another kiss to your lips, shutting you up. He moved his lips to your neck, latching on to that one spot that had you whining. Neither of you cared if everyone saw the mark he left.

“We’ll have time for that.” He mumbled against your skin. The way he slurred the words made your breath hitch. “Right?”

He pulled back to meet your eyes, blinking slowly as he waited for your response. You licked your lips softly, breath soft as you thought, how could he still question it. You were past the lusting. This was something else. You needed more of him, and it wasn't just sex you were craving. You wanted every part of him, even the parts of himself he didn’t want.

“Of course.. This isn’t.. Can’t you tell? What you do to me. I’ve never..” You couldn’t even form the right words, your mind still fuzzy with all these feelings you had no name for. You didn’t need to explain. Whatever it was, Eric felt the same. And he smiled, he genuinely smiled. And what a pretty sight that was.

“We should go.” He pressed his lips to the side of your head, smoothing down your hair and fixing your sweater. “Can you stand?”

You half nodded, gasping when he set you down on your feet and you instantly leaned on him for support. The sly smile on his face made you want to slap him. But deep down, you wanted to smile too.

~~~~~

The next time you saw Eric, he was walking down the hallway, his tall frame towering over the majority of people he walked past. He wasn’t hard to find. You bit your lip, unable to contain your excitement as you hurried after him. Your fingers brushed his, and almost as if he knew your touch by heart, he wasn’t startled, he didn’t flinch either. When he turned his head, his eyes grew big at the sight of you, the corners of his lips curving into a tiny smile. You flashed him a whole smile, unapologetic about how happy it made you to see him. Your obsession with him over the past two weeks wasn’t something you could explain, you knew it probably wasn’t healthy. But when were you ever known for having healthy coping mechanisms? You found something that filled you and you clung to it.

“Where are you going?” You asked him quietly as you walked beside him. He walked slower, but didn’t look at you much, as not to bring unwanted attention to yourselves.

“Laundry room.” He said quietly, his eyes dropping to meet yours. And you shared that knowing and malicious look. You couldn’t hide the smile on your lips. This time of day usually meant you could sneak off for a little while since most patients were having their once a week visitor, or phone call, which meant less guards were in every corner.

“I’m supposed to be out in two weeks.” You told Eric in between kisses, his lips trailed your jaw as his hands grabbed at your ass.

“I’m out in four.” He answered as he pressed you against the nearest wall. He grabbed your face between his large hands, pulling you to meet his eager mouth. You whined, fists clenched around the front of his sweatshirt. You couldn’t go two weeks without seeing him, you would go fucking mad.

“I don’t want to wait a month to be with you.” You breathed out, your chest heavy as the words left your mouth. “I’m supposed to go back to my parents when I get out. They agreed to take me in to follow my treatment, but I don’t want to go. They’re the ones that put me here.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” You barely heard him as he spoke, almost as if the words pained him, broke something deep inside him. It broke something in you, too.

“You can come with me. I have a little place and some money saved. It’s not much but.. If you want.. We could.. We could try something for real?” You trailed off, afraid he would reject you. It was one thing to mess around in here, where neither of you had anything else, anyone else to cling to, but this being anything other than a desperate bond by two lost souls was a different story. Outside of these walls, he could find anyone else, he didn’t have to keep the broken girl he fingered in a shitty laundry room.

“I would like that. I would like something real, with you.” His words were soft, as were his hands holding your face as he pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed out a laugh of relief. “Fuck this place. We’ll do it tomorrow, during shift change. There’s a vent up here that leads to the yard.”

You pulled him down by his sweatshirt, your lips crashing against his. He laced his fingers in your hair as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You welcomed it, lips parting as you locked your arms around his neck.

“Eric.” You said his name softly in a quiet plea. He opened his eyes to find your desperate gaze. He told himself he wanted to be better, he knew you deserved better, but when you said his name like that, when you looked at him like that. He was no better. “I don’t think I can wait anymore. Please, I… I need…”

“Need what?” His words were coated with arousal, he knew fucking well what you meant. But he wanted to hear you say it.

“Fuck—” You kissed his lips roughly, any sanity and restraint you might’ve once had, completely. You can’t trust an addict to have good self-control, now could you? “Take me. I’m yours, just take me.”

“Fuck.” Now it was his turn to lose his sanity. He gave your lips one last kiss as he squeezed your cheeks between his fingers, licking your lips before he spun you around to face the wall. “You’re a sweet girl, don’t forget that. I swear I will fuck you properly on a bed, with flowers and shit.”

His words were rough in your ear as he pressed his lips to your jaw, his hands making quick work of pulling down your sweatpants and panties. They pooled around your ankles as he kicked your legs open as far as they went.

“I like carnations.” You gasped as the cool air hit your exposed cunt. You heard him chuckle beside your ear.

“Those are pretty. They’re pretty like you.” He hummed as he brought two fingers up to your lips. You happily took them in your mouth. Eric almost moaned at the sight. One of these days he needed to have you sucking his cock. One of these days.

Eric pulled his fingers from your lips and with a kiss to the back of your head, he sunk his coated fingers into your hole. Your mouth fell open, your forehead falling against the wall. You were instantly chasing his fingers, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you happily rode them. You didn’t know how he did it, how he could have you dripping around his fingers in a matter of a minute or two. You were clawing at the wall, silent moans spilling from you when he pulled his fingers from you. He watched almost proudly as your slick coated your thighs.

“Can I take this off?” He asked quietly, tugging at the hem of your sweater. You made a humming sound, as best as you could. As if he needed to ask. Eric was happy to rid you of your sweater, more happy to find more hidden tattoos going all over both of your arms. He craved to find every single one of your tattoos, and kiss every one. But he knew it would be best to be quick.

His own sweatshirt met the same fate, and with a kiss to your cheek, he grabbed one of your hips as he pulled down his sweats enough to free his cock. A groan left his lips as he dragged his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. You gasped, not being able to see him, but already knowing he was big.

“Let me know if it hurts, hm? I’ll take it easy, I promise.” He pressed his lips to your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent as he slowly sank himself into you. Only his tip was in and you could already feel the sting of his cock stretching you wide open.

“Fuck. Fuck, oh my god—” You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers clenching around nothing as he slowly filled your further, inch by inch.

“It’s okay. You want me to stop?” He asked, shushing you softly as he sat still, allowing you to adjust to the burning feeling of his size. Fuck, you should have known someone as tall as him would be this big. Somehow, it didn’t occur to you.

“No. ‘m okay. Keep going.” You reached behind you to touch him, your fingers gracing over the side of his face. He nodded into your neck, one of his hands sneaking to the front of you to play with your clit to ease you as he sank into you until his hips rutted against your ass. He sat still, speaking filthy words into your ear until you were whimpering, needing to feel more. “Eric, please.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. His pace was slow at first, slow strokes that allowed you to revel in the feeling of his cock in and out of your walls. But as you both began to grow desperate, pathetic sounds leaving your lips and groans of pleasure leaving him, his pace picked up. It was grueling, how he fucked you against that wall. You braced yourself with one hand, the other holding his face behind you as he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“Fuck, I have been dreaming about this since I saw you. You always looked so pretty when you looked at me.” He whispered in your ear, his hand wrapping around your hair as he forced your head back, exposing your neck. You cried out, his roughness making you clench around him. He cursed, covering your mouth with his large hand. “I need you to keep it down for me, baby. You don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

You shook your head, doing your best to contain the sounds he was pulling from you. His hand slowly left your mouth, trusting you could keep your sounds to a minimum. You bit down on your lip, eyes squeezed shut as his cock split you open. You swore you had never been this utterly fucked out, so cock drunk before. You had never needed anyone so badly. You had never felt so strongly about anyone. You had always found something to cling to, pain, tattoos, in your more miserable and recent years—drugs, and now him. But him? This feeling he gave you, it was like nothing you had ever felt before. You wanted to hold on to him until your final breath of air left your lungs.

“I wanted this—you—so fucking bad. I needed to have you.” Eric grunted, lips latching on to that spot on your neck where the previous hickey he had left was starting to fade. “I’m so crazy about you, no amount of rehab could fix me.”

You moaned at his words, letting them sink in. He was down so bad for you, probably as much as you were. Two addicts, seeking refuge in each other, craving this adrenaline, it was a kick you had never felt before. It was a kick only lust and passion could bring. And he ignited that deep within your soul.

“Me too.” You panted, lips parting in ecstasy as one of his tattooed hands loosely wrapped around your throat. Fuck, the way his whole hand covered your entire neck made you gush all over his cock. “I’ve never wanted anyone this bad. You—ah!—I need you all the fucking time.”

“Then you can have me,” His fingers squeezed your throat tighter, his thick cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your fucking cervix. “All the fucking time. Forever.”

Tears filled your ears as you could feel your release near, your thighs shuddering as you felt your legs start to give out. Eric was quick to press you further against the wall, his back flush against your chest, sweaty forehead pressed against your cheek as his cock rutted against you, over and over, until you were chanting a string of uh-uh-uh’s, your mind too overcome with the pleasure he was giving you to even speak.

“I want you to come on my cock so fucking bad. I need it.” Groans fell freely from his chest as he once again slipped a hand to your swollen clit. The pressure of his rough fingers made you gasp, your throat closing under his grip. Your release hit you so hard you were sobbing, though mostly muffled by his tight grip. Tears fell down your cheek as your orgasm left you a shaking mess. You had never felt this way before—so overcome with pleasure you cried.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. Good girl.” The hand on your throat left to wipe at your tears, soothing you as you came crashing down.

Eric fucked you through your release, frantically chasing his own. His name left your lips with praise, sobs of your remnant pleasure as he pushed you to the point of overstimulation. But it wasn’t until he felt his own release near that he pulled out of you. Without saying a word, he grabbed one of your hands and wrapped it around his thick cock, his own hand guiding yours up and down his slick length, sweet praises leaving his lips until he was spilling himself.

Heavy breaths and pants of exhaustion filled the small laundry room, the air smelled like sex, and the remnants of your forbidden times were left as evidence. Eric eventually spun you around to face him, a soft smile on his lips. You had only ever seen it once, after he ate you out days ago. It was rare to see Eric smile, but you made it a vow to yourself that you would always make him smile like this.

“How fucked up are we? Finding comfort in each other like this. Did it ever cross your mind?” You said softly as Eric helped you dress. He was bending down to grab your sweater and he stood up to his full height, towering over you, and his eyes were laced with an indescribable feeling.

“When I first saw you, I didn’t know what it was, but I was so drawn to you, I looked for you everyday, and I thought I would go mad if I didn’t have you. And right now, I can tell you it’s not just lust. I’m entranced by you, I need you all the time. And if there’s one thing I learned from this fucking place is that you have to latch on to something, otherwise you’ll drown.”

You were speechless, nothing but your soft breaths could be heard. A smile fell on your lips and you leaned into his chest. Eric sighed softly, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close to his chest, he’d be damn if he ever let you go anywhere but here.

“Addicts will be addicts, no matter how much they try to fix us. But it’s not always to drugs we’re addicted to.” You sighed softly, closing your eyes as you sank into the feeling of his arms. “This feeling? I never want it to stop.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He mumbled into your hair, in his head reminding himself of your limited time, but he refused to let you go just yet. “Forever, right?”

“Yeah, forever.”

#eric draven x reader #eric draven smut #eric draven 2024 #Eric Draven #the crow 2024 #the crow

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starmapz · 2 months ago

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wolf in sheep's clothing || s. gojo

❦ satoru gojo x female monster hunter reader || werewolf au

❦ oneshot

❝ most parents tell their children stories of fake monsters to scare them into staying in bed at night. your father told you stories of real monsters to train you for your career hunting them. it's that career that brings you to a small town reporting disembodied limbs and missing people. it's here that you spend your days flirting with the cute coffee shop owner with stunning blue eyes during the day, while your nights are spent setting traps and preparing silver bullets. of course, life has a funny way of making things complicated, as your day life and night life begin to collide unexpectedly. ❞

❦ content ; 18+ only. contains explicit content. f!reader. little bit of angst. hurt/comfort. graphic depictions of violence and death. use of guns and bear traps. rough sex. dominant!gojo. feral!gojo. neck kissing. nipple play (f! receiving). biting/marking. oral (f! and m! receiving). fingering. spitting. throat fucking. choking. implied edging. manhandling. unprotected. hair pulling. dirty talk. dacryphilia. use of pet names (detective, sweetheart, pretty girl, gorgeous, love). praise. creampie. stomach bulge. cervix mention. restraint (using hands). impact play. mating press. doggy. overstimulation. sort of monsterfucking? descriptions of minor medical procedures. no use of y/n. happy ending. kinda porn with plot? gojo's a lovable dumbass <3.

❦ words ; 22.4k.

masterlist

It’s not unusual for your phone to ring in the dead of night. Such is the life of owning a private investigation firm.

It is, however, unusual for that phone to ring.

Your eyes flicker to the landline that rings in place of your cell phone. You keep it paid and connected for the more gruesome side of your business. Sure, you do take regular jobs, after all, you have to keep the bills paid, but the true purpose of your business is a far more dangerous practice.

Your fingers glide along the smooth plastic of the phone as you answer with your name.

“Hey there, um, I’m hoping I’ve reached the right number.”

You sit upright in your chair, pulling your feet down from your desk. “That depends. What service are you looking for?”

“I- well-” the masculine voice on the other side of the phone stammers, at a loss for words. “I don’t know, honestly. I was referred by Higuruma.”

The man can’t see the way your brow raises at the sound of your former client’s name, intrigued. “Go on.”

“I own a forestry business. A week ago my employees began disappearing. The cops can’t seem to find anything and I’m down twelve employees,” he explains. “This morning I found- uh-” he hesitates again. “I found limbs.” His voice is hushed, as though he believes you’ll pin the crime on him.

“Sounds like my kind of job,” you purr over the phone, pulling out a pen and notepad. “My rates aren’t cheap,” you warn.

“I’m… aware.”

“I assume you aren’t in the city.”

“No,” he confirms, giving you the name of a small town a couple of hours away. “I’ll pay for your hotel.”

“Great,” you confirm. “I’ll see you soon.”

With a dramatic clang, you replace the phone in its rightful spot, gather your belongings, and grab your briefcase. Popping it open, you evaluate your options. Given the time of year, you pack an extra case of silver bullets and tuck your gun into its shoulder holster beneath your brown leather jacket before taking off.

–

Sunlight warms your skin as you exit your client’s office. It’s clear he’s aware that he’s likely dealing with something he’s never seen before and he’s reluctant to admit many of the details. You don’t often get clients who aren’t nervous, between the inherent danger of your job and the situations they’re likely in. Not to mention the hefty fee you demand.

Your client had given you permission to take a look around the property, as well as the location of the limbs, though he wasn’t willing to join you. Again, not unusual. Nothing jumps out at you about the property itself apart from the remote location. You assume in the early mornings and dead of night as employees are getting into work or leaving, they’re likely coming across their assailant with little to no defense.

The sight of limbs doesn’t bring you the same horror as it does your client. Throwing on your leather gloves, you shift the disembodied arm to get a better look at just how it was severed. Sure enough, the telltale sign you were expecting to find is there.

Bite marks beyond the size of even the largest bear, flesh torn so viciously no animal could have done it.

A werewolf.

The closest thing to a malicious animal. With the full moon having just passed and the season turning from winter to spring, it’s not unusual for the beasts to begin popping up, specifically ones that are unable to keep themselves under control.

With the sun still high in the sky, you figure there’s no use waiting around in broad daylight for a monster to show up and head back into town. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows everyone and you’re certain you stick out like a sore thumb. There seems to be one central road with most of the businesses laid out along the street and houses and motels extending off of the street on either side.

It’s a cute little town. In another life, you could picture yourself settling down and enjoying somewhere like this, maybe owning a bakery or a small tourist shop of some sort.

But your dad raised you to kill monsters. Not bake bread.

You shake your head at the thought, perusing the nearby shops until you come across a small bakery and cafe, which sounds pretty good right about now. Maybe in another life you could have worked here.

A small bell rings above your head as you enter the shop. The overhead lighting is warm along the autumn brown walls with deep red accents. Fresh-baked buns and other treats line the shelves along the walls and a counter extends along the back of the shop. Stools line one half of the counter and a couple of tables sit along the far wall. There’s a comforting sort of air to the shop as the smell of sugar, wheat, and coffee paint your lungs.

A small smile pulls at the corners of your lips as you make your way to the counter. The shop is empty as far as you can tell, which makes sense for mid-afternoon in such a small town, though you can faintly make out shuffling sounds in a back room.

Barely a moment later, a tall man clumsily makes his way out of the back room with a tray of fresh pastries, still hot from the oven, laid across it. The pastries smell of cinnamon and saccharine sweet sugar, though not as sweet as the man himself looks.

White hair cascades over his head, falling just past his eyes, which are the most enticing shade of blue you’ve ever bared witness to. He’s tall, shockingly so, and his bicep muscles pull the fabric of his pale blue button-up taut in a way that has you shamelessly staring.

“Sorry, didn’t hear the bell!” He apologizes, setting down the tray on the counter and brushing his hands off on his apron. He runs a hand through his hair in an effort to get a better look at you. “You’re not from around here,” he comments, eyes trailing just as shamelessly across the length of your body.

Well, now this trip got a little more interesting.

“I’d take it you don’t get many tourists here…” you trail off, your eyes flickering to his name tag. His name is scribbled in messy handwriting. “Gojo.”

“Can’t say we do,” he confirms, a smirk donning his sharp features. “Can I interest you in something sweet?” You catch the not-so-subtle connotation laced in his words as he leans forward with his palms splayed over the counter and a smug grin.

Returning his smirk with a lidded expression, you tilt your head. “What did you have in mind?”

There’s a shockingly bright gleam in his eyes as though he’s thrilled you’re playing along. He has a sort of boyish charm to his happiness. “Well,” he hums to himself, turning away from the counter to pick up a powdered donut. “I think you might be a fan of our custard-filled donut,” he grins, his voice lowering somewhat as he continues, “they’re my personal favorite.”

As he holds the donut, he squeezes it and the white filling oozes from the holes his fingers make. The double-meaning behind his words isn’t lost on you as you roll your eyes with a scoff.

“Does that one work on every woman who comes walking in here?” You ask snidely with a raised brow.

“Guess not,” he chuckles somewhat bashfully, taking a bite of the donut himself before setting it down on the counter. “I’ll take that one off the list.”

“Good call,” you agree. “You’re lucky that wasn’t your first line with me, I would have walked out.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry about that,” he chuckles, “give me another chance?”

You can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of your lips. “Alright, Gojo.”

He grins, an infectious laugh rumbling his chest as his muscles pull the fabric of his shirt taut. “Great! Now, how’s an apple fritter or a cinnamon bun sound?”

“You know what, an apple fritter sounds great,” you agree, “oh, and a coffee please!”

“You got it, take a seat.”

The white-haired man turns away from the counter, washing his hands of the powdered sugar and custard from earlier as he busies himself with your drink and donut.

“Oh, shouldn’t I pay first?”

His head flips around as he shoots you the most handsome smirk, eyes crinkling at the corners happily. “Nah, I owe you for my shitty joke,” he chuckles.

You take a seat at one of the stools at the counter, curiously watching the man make your coffee. He moves deftly, flipping cups and switches with practiced ease and a calm expression you find yourself admiring.

It’s impossible to deny that he’s handsome, maybe even too much so for his own good given his horrible attempt to seduce you, though it was harmless in the grand scheme of things. All in all, he actually seemed rather sweet, much like the shop.

“Alright, one coffee, cream and sugar, and an apple fritter. On the house, of course.”

He flashes you that dashing smile, watching happily as you take a bite of the fritter. When your eyes light up and you tilt your head, his smile widens to a grin.

“This is good,” you tell him with a satisfied hum. “Did you bake it?”

He nods. “An hour or so ago.”

“Great suggestion,” you compliment between bites. “Maybe start with this one next time.”

He chuckles again, momentarily avoiding your gaze. “Noted.”

Comfortable silence falls over you both as you make your coffee to your liking, before bringing it to your lips. “You know, I’m starting to think your talent is wasted on a shop in such a small town.”

“Yeah?” He grins, perking up. “As much as I’d love to bring my shop elsewhere, I uh, don’t think I’m suited for the city.”

With a tilt of your head, you hum questioningly.

He just shrugs, glancing off to the side.

Ignoring the way he dodges your question, you change the subject. You’re not about to push a stranger for a response. “Wait, your shop? Do you own this place?”

He nods. “I have help on the weekends but otherwise it’s just me.”

“That’s impressive,” you comment, watching the way he perks up again at the compliment. He has a horribly puppy-like quality about his unabashed happiness that makes you want to pinch his cheeks. That, coupled with his striking blue eyes and gorgeous white locks- you might just be getting a bit ahead of yourself here.

Enjoying the bitter taste of the coffee in your hands, you take a moment to bask in the silence, letting Gojo return to his work. As the man busies himself with cleaning up and moving pastries between ovens, you pull out a folder with information on the case you’re working on.

Returning from the back room of the bakery with a fresh batch of donuts, the shop owner eyes you curiously. “What brings you out here anyway?” He asks as he begins shelving the fresh donuts.

“I’m a private investigator,” you tell him without looking up from your papers. It’s only a partial lie, mostly the truth in reality. Besides, it’s not like the average person believes in monsters.

His brows raise in surprise. “And here you thought I was the impressive one?”

You shoot him a glance, a light blush dusting your cheeks. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” you brush his words off, keeping your head down to hide the obvious effect he’s had on you. Apparently you don’t hide your blush well enough, though.

“Not sure I believe you, detective,” he comments slyly, your cheeks further heating up as you’re unable to hide your smile.

“Not a detective,” you correct him. “Are you like this with all of your customers?”

He chuckles, though it comes out somewhat in the form of a scoff. “I think the old ladies would have my head if I called them anything aside from ma’am.”

You wrinkle your nose playfully. “I’ll have your head if you call me ma’am.”

“Detective it is,” he grins playfully as he finds a spot across from you again. He toys with the string for his apron as you narrow your eyes at him, but you don’t mind the nickname in truth so you let it slide. “So, looking into the disappearances, I’d take it?”

“Private Investigator, Gojo,” you scold him for prying, but he doesn’t let up as he grins at you.

“Nothing happens ‘round here, sweetheart. If you were looking into anything else, I’d be shocked.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair in exasperation. It’s clear that Gojo isn’t letting up, and in reality this side of your job doesn’t demand confidentiality, but you still don’t love to go around discussing details.

“Yeah, I’m waiting for night to fall to go back to work,” you admit, returning your gaze to the handsome man who’s now sitting at the counter across from you, pen in hand as he writes down numbers you can only assume have to do with the shop.

Unexpectedly, his oceanic blue eyes meet yours, swirling with something you aren’t able to identify. He almost looks nervous? “Night?” He repeats after you.

“Yeah…?”

“Alone?”

You roll your eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

His eyes widen as he realizes his words came across offensively. “No, I- I’m sure you can! I just-” he pauses, running a hand through his mildly disheveled hair. “Just be careful, yeah?” He sighs.

You tilt your head, your brow knitting together momentarily as you contemplate his words and mannerisms. Slowly, you nod, deciding to crack a joke to lighten the mood. “This isn’t Twilight Gojo, it’s not like there are sparkly vampires and pretty wolves out there to hurt me. Maybe a fox or deer, though.”

Gojo fumbles suddenly, his pen falling to the floor. He mumbles a curse under his breath, sighing as he picks it back up, clicking it twice. “No, no. ‘Course not.” He agrees, not looking you in the eye as he scribbles something over his notepad.

Huh, tough crowd. Odd.

“Listen, I’ll be fine,” you assure him.

He shoots you a half-baked smile, the atmosphere of the room suddenly strangely tense and you feel the need to escape.

“I should probably go,” you hum, glancing at the time on your phone.

“Oh?” Gojo seems somewhat surprised despite the sudden change in the air between the both of you. Regardless, he shoots you a more genuine smile. “Well, thanks for dropping by. I’d love to see you again.”

You pause, examining his features mid-way through shoving your documents into your bag. He seems serious and the odd tension is beginning to dissolve, so you let your shoulders relax, the tension slipping from them easily as the comfortable silence returns while you contemplate his words.

“I’ll drop by when I have some time,” you agree, smiling. The gorgeous blues of his eyes light up as you agree.

“See you around, detective.”

–

Flipping your flashlight towards the small painted marks you left on the ground earlier where the severed limbs had been laying earlier, you note that they’re now gone. Either someone found the crime scene, or the wolf assumed someone was onto him and cleaned up after himself.

Your grip on your pistol tightens as you point both it and the flashlight around the scene. The wolf is clearly experienced. There are no tracks, either pawprints or shoe prints, left behind and no blood either.

It’s strange, for a wolf so experienced to suddenly start causing problems in such a small town. You would have thought this would be an easy hunt, some new wolf that didn’t know what they were doing getting messy, but clearly that wasn’t the case.

Opening your bag, you grip the flashlight between your teeth and pull out a number of traps.

You set up a number of bear traps, careful to make a note of where you’ve placed them, before also setting a dart trap with a tripwire in small clearings, alongside a number of cameras.

Deciding you won’t get very far for the night if you haven’t already found evidence, you head back to your motel to get some rest.

–

The next few days are quiet. No traps are triggered, the cameras only trigger for the occasional rabbit or deer, and for that reason you find yourself conducting some interviews with the locals during the day before finding yourself at the bakery again.

The shop was much busier on the weekends you found, which makes you happy to see that it isn’t always so empty there, but it also left Gojo’s attention split between the shop and you. Of course you don’t mind, but you’re growing to enjoy his company, and even seek it.

Despite his unideal first impression, he’s a great conversationalist and undeniably attractive. You don’t make a habit of hooking up on the job, especially when you’re only here for a short amount of time, but it’s nice to not be so alone for once.

You expect it to be busy when you enter the shop on a Saturday, but to see multiple staff and nearly every table taken is unexpected. You order a coffee from a young girl at the counter, catching a glimpse of Gojo’s silvery white hair in the back room and smiling to yourself, deciding to take a seat. Maybe you can find a moment to talk with him later.

Setting yourself up in the corner, you pull out your laptop and a number of files as well as a recorder. Now that you’re able to plug the interviews into your laptop alongside some headphones, you can evaluate whether you missed any sign that someone may have been lying to you.

Going through the audio footage multiple times, while crossing all of your data together to see if everything matches, your day slips away from you and before you know it, the only light keeping your work table illuminated is that behind the counter.

So caught up in your work, you don’t even realize what time it is, nor that both young employees in the front have just said their goodbyes to the cafe’s owner after checking again if he’s sure he doesn’t want them to kick you out.

He’s sure.

You lift your head to your handsome counterpart as he pulls out the chair across from you with a smirk and slowly sets his large hand on the back of your laptop, pushing it down. Sitting behind your laptop, you can now see two plates with sandwiches on each. You blink up at Satoru, tilting your head.

“I didn’t order-”

“I know,” Gojo interrupts matter-of-factly with a warm smile. “But I also know you got here around-” he glances at his watch “-eight hours ago and haven’t eaten a thing.”

“Oh.” Your lips purse, continuing to form an ‘o’ as it dawns on you that you have been here that long. “Um- let me pay-”

Gojo shakes his head, smirking. “We’re closed. Consider it on me.”

Your gaze moves between the sandwiches and the smirk pulling at Gojo’s lips. His eyes sparkle in spite of the growing dark circles under his eyes after a long day. His hair is slightly more disheveled than usual and his apron is draped over the chair behind him. You don’t like to see him tired, but the disheveled look is surprisingly sexy on him. The blue shirt he wears has a couple of buttons undone and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, muscular forearms an easy distraction for your tired mind.

You don’t even mind that he catches you staring as he clears his throat with a satisfied smirk. Blinking, you return to the present and glance around the shop as it occurs to you just what he’s said.

“Wait, you’re closed? Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I should get out your-”

Leaning forward on those muscular arms, he sets a veiny hand on your forearm. “Stay, detective. Consider this paying me back for taking my extremely valuable corner table.” He grins with lidded eyes.

He’s all too easy to give in to and you sit back in your chair, accepting the plate he pushes towards you. Letting your shoulders fall to your side, you pick up the sandwich, observing it quietly before taking a bite, your brow raising cheerfully. “This is really good, Gojo.”

“Satoru.”

“Hm?” You stare at him quizzically.

“My name. It’s Satoru.”

You smile, grateful for not only his hospitality but his presence as well. Though the folks around the town are friendly enough, you really are thankful for his company. You don’t get to keep many familiar faces around in your line of work and bounce from location to location so quickly that any relationship you form isn’t particularly meaningful. You can’t help but feel as though you don’t want this to be the same.

Maybe it’s selfish to feel that way, but you can’t help it. Satoru’s presence is a respite from the harsh world you live in, one that’s free of the worries of what monster will sink its teeth into you next.

“Well in that case, Satoru, this sandwich is really good.”

His eyes light up with mirth as he grins. “I’d hope so. I make a living off of ‘em.”

Casual conversation finds you both easily as you fall into your usual routine of chatting with the handsome baker. It’s as though time stands still when you’re with him, suspended in a moment of contentment.

“How’s your case coming along?” He inquires curiously as he stands with both empty plates, eyeing you from behind the counter.

You sigh in exasperation. “It’s not. Everyone I’ve spoken to has an alibi or their story matches enough that I don’t think it could be them.”

Returning to his seat, Satoru curiously eyes the notes laid out across the table. “Well it’s not her,” he laughs as he points at a photo taken of an older woman.

You blink questioningly at him. “She’s cheating on her husband. If she was gonna murder someone, it would be him.”

You playfully smack his hand. “That’s awful, Satoru.” You reprimand his terrible attempt at a joke.

He grins cheekily, looking over other photos of people from around town. Come to think of it, his help could be useful if he knows everyone. “Is there anyone around here I should be talking to?”

Something flashes in Satoru’s eyes, gone so quickly you wonder if you imagined it. Hesitation? “Honestly, no.”

You grimace. “No one makes you think they might…?”

He shakes his head, a strand of snow white hair falling over his eyes. “Nah. The folks here are older for the most part anyway, a bit beyond kidnapping and murder.”

You run your hands over your face in exasperation. “This is easily the worst time I’ve had on a job.”

He pouts playfully, leaning over the table on his elbows. “C’mon, at least you have handsome company.”

“Real subtle, Satoru. Humble.”

“What can I say?” He grins, a proud look on his features.

You can’t help the smile that mirrors his as you give in to his incessant playfulness. In truth, it’s a breath of fresh air from the knowledge that hidden beneath your jacket lies a pistol loaded with silver bullets.

He’s a respite from the reality that you could very easily be devoured by a werewolf if you miss any details. Of course, you’re confident in your abilities but that is the reality of your line of work.

Still, as you look over the photos of nearly everyone in the town that you’ve spoken to, you’re somewhat at a loss. Werewolves don’t make a habit of hunting far outside of their homes, so it wouldn’t make sense for it to not live nearby. After all, werewolves aren’t like real wolves. They can’t live with ease in the forest, they still yearn for a real bed and human company.

You have explored the idea that maybe it is mostly feral, but you should have caught a glimpse of it on the cameras if that’s the case.

“It’s been nice,” you mumble after a moment’s silence. Gojo tilts his head, gorgeous blue eyes glinting in an almost inhuman way, but you suppose he likely gets that comparison a lot given just how striking his eyes are. “I mean… Having you around.”

Sitting straight, he smirks. “Gonna fuel my ego so easily, sweetheart?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.”

He gets to his feet suddenly, extending his hand to you. You tilt look up at him quizzically. “C’mon. Let me take you out.”

Your cheeks heat up as you struggle to hide your smile and take his hand. Satoru grins easily, attempting to tug you along. “Wait wait, let me clean up!” You insist, giggling to yourself.

Satoru groans chidingly, staring at his watch as though you’re taking up his time. Once your bag is packed, you attempt to sling it over your shoulder, only for the man at your side to intercept and throw it over his shoulder.

You shoot him a thankful grin, taking his hand again and letting him lead the way out. “Where are we going, anyway?”

He glances back at you, his eyes glinting inhumanly again. Your eye twitches as you wonder whether you imagined it or not, pushing aside your doubts. Satoru is sweet to you, you have no reason to doubt him.

“There’s really only one place still open,” he smirks, batting gorgeous white lashes at you with a smirk.

“If you say your house or something stupid-”

“Ouch, first of all,” he chuckles at how low you expect him to go.

You scoff impishly. “Need I remind you of the donut incident?”

His cheeks heat up as he scratches the back of his undercut. “No need,” he chuckles. “Anyway, there’s an ice cream place a couple of blocks away that’s open late.”

“Taking me for ice cream, Mr. Gojo?”

“I mean, my house is open as-”

You smack his arm mischievously and he laughs heartily, the sound rumbling through his chest. The sound spreads warmth through your veins and you inadvertently find yourself walking closer to him.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Mostly,” he shrugs, unapologetic as he eyes your ass, though you decide to let it slide this time.

Turning the corner, a single shop with the lights still on comes into sight. The street is filled with broken neon signs and you recognize your motel just down the street, one of the few businesses with signs still lit. ‘Vacancy’ glows at the end of the street, a sight that feels like it may have been eerie without Satoru at your side.

Focusing on the little ice cream shop, you realize you were here yesterday interviewing the owner. She was a kind older woman, just as most of the townsfolk had been, although you had paid little attention to her occupation.

Getting a better look at the shop, you realize the decor is 80s themed, or more specifically it hasn’t been updated since then, although it seems well maintained and cared for. Blue striped walls and a cloth overhang welcome you into the dainty shop, soft serve machines lining the back and buckets of ice cream in a freezer at the front.

“Satoru, it’s good to see you, son!” The woman exclaims. He grins, greeting her in return. They exchange casual niceties and you realize Satoru likely does have a good idea of who everyone is if they’re all coming in and out of his bakery as much as today would have you think. “What can I grab for you?”

Satoru motions towards you as you gape up at the menu.

“The soft serve’s the best, sweetheart.” He purrs, leaning into your ear as he loops an arm easily around your waist. The contact sets your heart racing, keeping you warm in the cool shop.

“I’ll have- uh- the salted caramel soft serve, please,” you smile politely at the elderly woman, who pulls out a cone and begins to swirl the ice cream into the cone, handing it to you. She doesn’t even take an order from Satoru, repeating the process with ice cream so blue you can only assume it’s cotton candy or something similar as she hands it to the man.

Heading up to the counter, you pull out your wallet to pay. Satoru clicks his tongue, pulling your wallet straight from your hands and holding it well over his head as he pays with his other hand.

“Satoru! Give it back!” You giggle, hopping in an effort to reach it, but between his height and his lanky wingspan, you’re nowhere close to retrieving your belongings.

The kind woman across the counter chuckles in delight, her eyes shut and wrinkling at the corners happily. “Enjoy, darlings.”

You smile thankfully at her, resting a hand on Satoru’s very built chest that has you reeling mentally as you reach for your wallet. Grinning at you, he finally relents, handing it back to you. “I invited you out, you aren’t payin’,” he reprimands you with lidded eyes that flicker down to your lips as he gets closer to you.

Taking your wallet back and shoving it in your coat pocket, you smile gratefully at him. “Well, thank you, then.” Eyeing his ice cream, your brow furrows. “What flavor did you get?”

“Superkid.”

Wide-eyed, you stare at him. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” he pouts in mock offense.

You can’t help the laugh that bursts from your chest as the handsome man beside you, your date, orders arguably the most embarrassing flavor. Somehow the man competently running a successful bakery and cafe is the same one standing before you with a boyish pout and a mouthful of the bluest ice cream you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“It’s good!” He insists, brow furrowed. “‘Sides, she ran out of my usual yesterday.”

“Your usual? What’s that, cotton candy with sprinkles?”

His eyes narrow. “Mochi,” he insists as he tugs you along to a bench just outside the store, pulling you down alongside him. He rests an arm over the back of the bench around your shoulders, nudging you to lean into him.

He’s warm despite not having a jacket in the autumn air. It’s not overly cold, but he certainly runs hot based on the heat radiating from his body.

“Moving on from my taste in ice cream,” Satoru remarks with playfully narrowed eyes, “tell me about yourself. What made you want to be a private investigator?”

“My dad was one,” you begin, staring out at the empty streets of the small town. The area near your bench is lit only by a streetlight a short distance down the road and the glowing neon of a busted sign for a pharmacy that closed hours ago. “He used to bring me along on trips with him from time to time, so it came naturally,” you explain most of the truth, only leaving out the portion about monsters and strange creatures. He doesn’t need to know that part, it’s safer anyway.

“He used to bring you with him?” He asks, somewhat bewildered. After all, it’s not exactly the most child-friendly job.

“Times were tough,” you shrug.

Taking that as a sign to quit pushing, Satoru nods.

“What about you? Have you always wanted to bake?”

He chuckles. “Nah, it just came naturally and was sorta to spite my parents.”

“Spite them?” You tilt your head up at him, admiring the sharp curve of his jaw.

“Gojo Corp. My parents own it, I was supposed to take over,” he frowns, fixing his eyes on the street light.

“In Tokyo?” You gasp, having not made the connection between his last name and the massive corporation.

He sighs. “That’s the one. I was meant to take over but that’s just… not for me. There were some other things that made it tough but either way, baking comes naturally to me so it just made sense,” he explains with a shrug. He stares down at the ice cream in his hand, eyes glimmering with the memory of his past.

“I think the bakery suits you,” you tell him. “You clearly have a talent for it.”

He chuckles, an easy smile finding his lips as he rolls his shoulders backwards and relaxes. “Thanks.”

As he speaks, you catch a glimpse of his tongue and lips and have to hold a hand over your lips in an effort to stifle your laugh, but your date feels your body shake with the held back chuckle.

“What?” Narrowed eyes examine your expression as he watches you burst out into a fit of giggles.

“Your, um, lips.”

He blinks inquisitively at you before the realization hits him. “They’re blue,” he deadpans.

“They’re blue,” you confirm between giggles.

He sighs in exasperation, unable to hide his embarrassed smile. “God, I didn’t even think about that.”

“No, no, it’s nice. It matches your eyes. It’s like lip gloss,” you simper.

“Great,” he groans with an unamused expression, though the glimmer of joy in his eyes tells you otherwise. Even as he attempts to be unimpressed, he can’t help the laughter bubbling in his chest. Conversation, spending time with one another, silence, it all seems so easy in his presence.

As the night grows late and the elderly lady bids you goodnight as she closes her shop, you’re reminded that you’re here for a reason and glance down at your watch. “I should get going. I need to do some work,” you tell Gojo.

His eyes flash with disappointment, but he nods. “Let me walk you to your motel?”

“How gentlemanly.”

He grins, offering you his bicep. You take it happily as your cheeks heat up. Of course you don’t want the night to end, but you can’t miss your chance to do your work.

As you reach your door, Satoru turns to you, taking your other hand in his. Lidded eyes glimmer as they rake your figure, hungry and eager. A shiver climbs your spine like lightning as heat pools in your stomach. Although goofy and carefree, there’s something undeniably alluring about Satoru.

“You know, detective,” he purrs as he leans in closer to you, eyeing your lips. “You haven’t interviewed me yet.” He takes a step forward, resting his hands on your waist as he examines the way your body molds to his, pliant to his suggestive touch.

“Is that so? I seem to remember asking you some questions at dinner,” you tease, playing his game.

“I’m pretty suspicious, you should see my taste in ice cream,” he insists, eyes flickering to your lips hungrily. His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you closer, his warmth radiating against your skin.

“That is pretty suspicious,” you agree, tilting your head to give Satoru access to what you both yearn for. His lips capture yours, moving softly as his sugary taste invades your mouth. He deftly wraps an arm around your lower back, one hand raising to cup your face as he deepens the kiss. His tongue explores your mouth as he tilts your chin with his thumb. You slide your arms up his chest to his neck, loosely wrapping them over his shoulders.

You press your thighs together, a light gasp escaping your lips when Satoru pulls away. His pupils are blown, the blues of his eyes nearly invisible behind their lust-filled glimmer.

He examines your expression, searching for something, anything, whether it’s denial or an invitation. He hopes for an invitation.

“Satoru?”

He hums.

“My key card. Back pocket.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he groans, sliding his arm from your waist to squeeze your ass before he pulls the card from your pocket. You let your fingers explore his undercut, fisting a handful of his hair when the door behind you swings open and Gojo pushes you in, pressing you against the closed and locked door. His lips don’t leaves yours as your bag slides off his shoulder to the ground with a thump.

“Jump,” he commands into your lips, voice darkened with lust. You hold tight around his shoulders, jumping into his arms as he supports your thighs with strong arms when you wrap your legs around his waist.

Finally parting from your lips, he presses sloppy and eager kisses up your jaw before nibbling on the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. He pulls a whimper from your lips, that one sound acting like fuel to the fire that is Satoru. His teeth sink into your neck, breath coming out in huffs as he stumbles to move you to the bed.

You gasp at the feeling of his teeth marking you, raking your nails down his clothed back. You move to unbutton his shirt, eyes raking the length of his toned figure. He’s muscle as far as the eye can see, far more built than you can possibly imagine for a baker.

His chest heaves with want as he leans back down, gripping the sheets beside your head in his fist. He runs his tongue once soothingly over the mark he’s left on your neck, returning to your lips.

He slips his hands under your jacket before pausing, confusion flooding his features. “Is that a gun?” He asks, breathless.

Sitting up on your elbows, you shuffle out of your jacket and unbuckle your holster. “I’m a PI, Satoru.”

“Right. Yeah, sorry.”

You set it aside carefully, examining the way Gojo seems somewhat shaken by it but one look at the tiny tank top that’s the only layer between him and your chest has that dark look flooding back into his eyes.

He moves slowly, almost teasingly, as his fingers hook beneath the straps of your tank top, slipping them off your arms before sliding the tank top over your torso. He lets out a terse breath, admiring your curves and the way the moonlight flooding the room glistens on your gorgeous skin like glass.

“Shit, I’m one lucky man,” he whispers, letting you pull him down for a sultry kiss before exploring your chest with his lips. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you moan as he nibbles and sucks on skin, leaving marks all across your chest until he reaches the swell of your breasts.

Like a beast let loose, his teeth suddenly sink into your plush skin, pulling a cry from your lips in surprise at the feeling. Even more so as it feels good when the warmth of the flat of his tongue soothes the pain so gently afterwards. He looks up to you to make sure he hasn’t truly hurt you, before continuing with his ministrations as he sucks your nipple between his lips.

His tongue swirls the sensitive hardened bud, your moans like music to his ears that drive him on as he flicks your other nipple with his free hand. Your name leaves his lips in a moan when you tug on his hair. Completely drunk on you, lidded eyes lift to meet yours. He admires your blissful expression only for a moment before moving upwards to capture your lips in a kiss.

“Do me a favor, detective,” he mumbles against your lips, his breath fanning your face between each word. “Take my belt off.”

You do as you’re told, not needing to look at what you’re doing to tug the leather strap from its buckle and let it drop to his feet. You follow suit with your own clothes, pushing your pants down to your ankles and kicking them off.

“Good girl,” he purrs in your ear, nibbling on your lobe momentarily as he easily undoes your pants, pulling them to your ankles before tossing them aside. You use the opportunity to wrap your legs around Satoru’s waist and tug him closer. He shoots you a lustful grin, wasting no time in grinding his hardened length against your soaking wet core.

Moaning, you press your thighs into Satoru’s sides, bucking your hips in an attempt to relieve the pooling heat growing steadily in your core, soaking your panties. “Shit, you’re wet for me, sweetheart.”

“Shut up, S’toru,” you whisper breathlessly, bucking your hips again. Leaning over your figure, he grins as he watches your eyes roll back when he grinds his pulsing cock against the swollen lips of your cunt again.

“Make me,” he taunts in a low, almost animalistic, growl.

You waste no time carding a hand through his hair before gripping a fistful of snow-white strands. You push his face down until he’s eye to eye with the wet spot pooling in your panties. Satoru breathes in shakily, eagerly licking a stripe up your clothed pussy.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he breathes, hooking two fingers beneath the fabric as he attempts to pull it aside, ripping it in the process. “Oops,” he mumbles unapologetically, pulling what remains of the material off and tossing it aside.

“Wh-”

Before you have the opportunity to question him, he dives in like a man starved, a long and skilled tongue ripping a gasp from deep in your throat as you arch your back beneath him. Satoru’s tongue moves deftly deep in the chasm of your cunt as he explores your folds, pussydrunk eyes watching your every reaction to see what makes you squirm.

You wouldn’t have imagined the baker of a small town in the middle of nowhere to have the tongue of a god, but he may as well be ruining all other men for you already.

Plunging his tongue deeper into your entrance, he nudges your clit with his nose, eliciting a loud moan from you as you gasp his name like a mantra, one fist tightly holding his head flush to your core while your other fist grips the sheets.

The way Satoru moves his tongue sends you diving quickly towards an orgasm, the knot in your stomach binding and tightening every second as your thighs tighten around his head. He groans at the feeling, tugging your thighs down with strong arms until you’re completely at his mercy, unable to do anything but buck your hips.

No man has ever eaten your pussy quite like Satoru and he knows it. With one last slow ministration, he pulls his tongue from within your core, licking his lips with a pleased hum. He pulls back only for a moment, eyes focused on your expression as he spits onto your cunt, blowing on your entrance like the tease he is.

“T-Toru-” you gasp, arching your back further. He grins, dipping back down to suck your clit so perfectly you almost come undone right then and there. When your whole body jolts from sheer pleasure, he lets go with a pop before using the flat of his tongue to bring you back to the edge, slower.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans against your clit, moving one hand from its place holding down your thigh to run his pointer and middle finger through your folds, coating them in your slick as you whimper at the friction. “Cum on my fingers,” he goads before licking one slow stripe up your clit.

As you whimper out his name while writhing beneath him, he takes the opportunity to slip one finger in your cunt, curling it as he watches how you arch and squirm so pliantly for him. His middle finger easily glides into your core with a squelch that has Satoru groaning against you, setting your entire body alight. With two long fingers, he curls them until he finds the spot that has you singing his name, your eyes rolling back as you cling to him, to the sheets, to anything your fingers can find.

“Sa- toru-” you babble, earning a groan in response when you tug on his hair. “‘M so close.”

“Let go, gorgeous,” he purrs, the vibration of his voice sending electricity up your spine as he quickens his ministrations. The knot in your stomach tightens and with one final ‘come hither’ motion, applying just the right amount of pressure to your g spot, your orgasm crashes over you like a wave. Your whole body trembles in his grasp, your legs quivering around his head as he works you through each jolt, each wave, of your release as you whimper helplessly.

Laid out so pretty beneath him, he can’t help the pussydrunk grin he shoots you, resting his cheek against the plush of your thigh. “I could get used to hearin’ you scream my name,” he comments slyly, getting to his feet and giving you no time to come down from your orgasm.

You yelp when he grabs you by the ankles, tugging you to the edge of the bed. You’re too blissed out to notice the way his pupils glint in the moonlight as his voice lowers, suddenly dark. “On your knees,” he commands with a smirk.

You obey, entirely pliant to his touch and too fucked out to resist his dominant commands. Your lidded gaze doesn’t leave his as he eyes you needily, palming his erection through the tent of his pants.

You waste no time as you free his cock from the confines of his pants and boxers, letting both fall to his ankles on the floor before you as his cock stands alert. Your eyes widen as you take in the angry red of his cocktip, leaking and twitching for you. He’s long, and thick, protruding veins pulsing with need that goes straight between your legs, already dripping for the man before you.

“Look ‘t me,” he growls, letting his tongue glide over his lips as you run the flat of your tongue up the base of his cock, flicking the slit. He hisses, his head falling back in pleasure as he lets you tease him, swirling your tongue around his tip erotically. His mouth falls open, panting heavily with lust.

In truth, you could tease him for hours if it meant getting to see the way his body shivers and jolts with your touch, but with each minute movement, you know he’s one step closer to fucking your throat himself.

Bringing your hand up to the base of his shaft, your fingers not meeting as they around his thick length, you pump your hand up and down painfully slowly as you purse your lips. Smirking, you place a teasing kiss over his frenulum, pulling a guttural growl from the man.

Gojo’s fingers tangle in your hair, fisting it as he moves you back to his fat cock. “Don’t be a tease, gorgeous,” he groans, positioning his fat cock against your pursed lips. “Now be good,” he instructs. You whimper as you hollow your cheeks, sinking down on his cock and swirling your tongue around it.

“Shit,” he pants out a moan, not daring to let his eyes leave yours. You moan around his length as he finds the back of your throat, and just like that whatever restraint he had snapped. Like a predator staring his prey down, his hand in your hair pushes you into the mattress as he holds you still. Sinking his cock into your throat, he tests your limits as saliva slips down your chin, tears forming in your eyes.

“Good girl,” he praises as he gives you a moment to adjust, pulling back to let you breathe with whatever restraint he has left. Gone as quick as it came, he snaps his cock back into your throat, prodding the back of your mouth and ignoring your gags, meanly using your throat for his pleasure.

His grip on your hair loosens and you use the opportunity to bob your head forward, moving in time with his thrusts as tears stream down your cheeks from the way you choke on his girth. Satoru growls, darkened eyes admiring the way you look up at him through fluttering lashes.

Satoru’s thrusts speed up, growing relentless as he approaches his high, his cock twitching as his thrusts grow sloppy. He releases your hair as he reaches his climax, holding your hollowed cheeks gently as his cock jerks between your velvety lips, his seed seeping down your throat.

“Swallow.” He pants out commandingly, tilting your chin to watch you better. A hint of a smirk pulls at the corners of your lips as you follow suit, your throat contracting around his member. His entire body jerks with the feeling of your throat closing before he pulls out. You loll your tongue out for him and he grins.

“Shit, you’re hot,” he whispers with a hint of disbelief, shaking his head. As you catch your breath, he leans down to kiss your cheek gently in a stark contrast to the way he roughly used you moments ago. He follows suit with the other cheek, kissing away your tear before using his thumb to wipe away the trails left behind.

Pulling you up carefully by your waist, he sets you on the edge of the bed, tilting your chin up to him. “Not too rough, sweetheart?”

“No, just fuck me already, Satoru,” you goad, pulling him down by his neck to capture his lips in a kiss. Your pussy is already pulsing in need of him and you aren’t about to waste any time when you’re still absolutely dripping for him.

He pulls back an inch only to chuckle slightly. “You’re gonna drive me crazy, y’know that?” He draws your lower lip between his teeth, gently biting down as he easily picks you up without disconnecting your lips and plops you further up the bed. With your head now on the pillows, he lines himself up at your entrance, pulling back only to look to you for consent.

Your hips buck involuntarily as you nod your head when you feel his tip brush your clit. Whimpering, you hardly hear the way his voice lowers again, growing commanding and impatient. “Words, detective.”

“Y-yes, Satoru,” you mumble breathlessly, gripping his shoulders tightly. He’s gentle at first as he glides past your puffy lips, biting his lower lip with a sharp canine. He’s slow as he sinks in, filling you up as he stretches your walls around his thick member. He’s slow to bottom out, sure not to lose control as he lets you adjust to his size.

He leans down to kiss your neck, nibbling softly in the tender area he’s already bruised a harsh marking into your skin. When you whine, he laps at it softly and places a gentle kiss on the purpled skin. Leaning over you, he holds himself up with his elbows and whispers in your ear. “Y’ take me so well, pretty girl.” His white hair drapes down over his forehead, tickling the sensitive skin he’s marked.

Just as he whispers such sweet songs in your ear, he begins moving and elicits a moan from you with his slow ministrations. His cock brushes your g spot with each and every thrust that sends you reeling as pleasure climbs your spine and pools deep in your stomach.

When you throw your head back with a whimper of “T-Toru don’t stop- please-” he absolutely relishes in the way you beg, setting his senses alight with need once more. Holding himself up on only one elbow, he runs his thumb over your lower lip, pleased when you part them willingly for him, taking his thumb between your lips and swirling your tongue around it with a moan.

Satoru groans gutturally, pulling his thumb from your lips with a pop and swiftly pulling out of you.

“What-?”

You don’t have time to finish your question as he flips you onto your hands and knees, pressing your upper body into the pillows before his hand lands on your throat. You have half a mind to wonder if you feel something sharp dangerously close to your pulse, but the feeling’s gone before you can think too hard on it and you’re too fucked out to care either way.

Placing gentle pressure against your throat, he holds you in place by your neck and positions himself behind you again, prodding your entrance with his tip. Without warning he slams into you, nudging your legs wider apart for him until he can reach your cervix, bullying his cock into you.

Your toes curl, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as he restricts your air, pleasure and pain mingling so deliciously as you teeter dangerously close to the edge. “I’m- hah- close,” you babble, gripping at the sheets beneath you for purchase.

“Give it to me,” Satoru moans, cock jerking within you. “Wanna feel you cum ‘round my cock,” he pants, relenting on your throat as he moves his finger up to his lips, wetting it and sliding his hand up your stomach, hissing as he feels the bulge of his thick length bulging in your stomach.

His slicked finger finds your clit as he rubs circles around the hardened bud in a practiced motion, pushing you closer and closer to your climax when it hits you like a tsunami. Your body writhes, legs quivering as you struggle to stay arched while Satoru’s name pours from your lips.

“Toru- T-Toru, god I-”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he coos, continuing to fuck you through your high as he chases his own. You squirm at the overstimulation as your cum forms a ring around his base, but he holds your hips firmly in place with a bruising grip as he picks up his pace. His nails dig into your skin, strangely sharp until he begins to grow sloppy and with one final thrust, unloads into your dripping cunt, painting your walls white.

He pants as he falls over your arched form, placing gentle kisses along the bottom of your spine.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that?”

You chuckle breathily at his kind words. “You’re not so bad yourself, Satoru.”

“I think I was starting to like Toru, actually,” he whispers against your back, inhaling through his teeth as he pulls out. He stands back for a moment, watching your body slump to the bed as his cum leaks from your pussy, glistening illustriously in the moonlight.

Tiredly, you flip to look at him with a lazy smile. Satoru leans down, caressing your cheek before sliding his hand down to the swollen marking at the base of your neck. Your eye twitches, giving away how tender the skin is.

“I’m sorry, love,” he mumbles, kissing the skin with soft lips.

“It’s alright Toru, I can hardly feel it,” you smile reassuringly at him. Of course, you have yet to see just how marked up your entire body is.

Satoru hums, capturing your kiss-swollen lips with his in another soft kiss. “Is it bad of me to want another round?” He growls dangerously as his breath warms your face.

“Give me a day at least,” you laugh playfully, still feeling the effects of his bruising grip on your hips.

He smiles against your lips, but pulls back to grab a towel and get you cleaned up. When he returns, he’s careful to be soft and gentle with you, kissing your thighs as he cleans up the liquids leaking from between your legs.

He tosses the towel aside, standing with a furrowed brow as he stares around your motel room. His eyes trail from the deep red of the old blinds to the tacky forest green comforter you lay on.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I-” he pauses, seemingly gauging your reaction as he examines your expression carefully. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you tonight.”

You blink in surprise. You’d honestly expected him to return to simply flirting at the bakery and keeping casual sex on the side. It’s not like you’re from here anyway, it doesn’t make sense to pursue anything more than casual, but the look on his face tells you otherwise.

You shouldn’t get attached, either, you have a job to do and you should be heading there now. Hell, you should have been heading there an hour ago. By all accounts, you should let go of Satoru and forget this ever happened.

Your eyes rake his body once, admiring the peaks and valleys of his sculpted abs and the sharp edge of his collarbones, landing finally on his face. He’s deathly serious for once, the knit of his brow such a cute sight that you’re not sure you can resist him anyway.

Besides, you would be lying if you said he didn’t just dick you down better than anyone in your life.

That aside, he’s handsome and sweet, has his life figured out and the idea of having feelings for him isn’t that absurd. You’ve spent a fair bit of time with him over the course of the week and everything felt easy with him.

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “Then stay.”

His eyes light up, swirling with galaxies of mirth and calm as he pulls his boxers back on and sits on the edge of the bed. “And for the record, I’d like to take you out.”

“Didn’t we just go out?” You ask, though you aren’t opposed to going out again.

“For dinner, not a sandwich I made or ice cream.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your features. “I’d love that. Are you sure you don’t want to add bright green ice cream to the menu for our next date?”

“I’d sooner take a bullet to the chest,” he pouts, playfully sticking out his lower lip. The blue has been long gone since before you got to the motel, but you can’t resist teasing the poor man.

He runs a hand through his mussed hair in an attempt to fix it to no avail, getting to his feet to pick up your shirt and toss it to you to sleep in. You pull it on over your torso, crawling under the covers and holding them up for Satoru to get into the bed beside you.

“Tomorrow night? For our date?” He asks through a yawn, pausing suddenly. “I uh- wait, no, I have to work late tomorrow for a catering order on Monday. How about Monday night?”

“Sounds good to me. Will I still see you tomorrow?” You ask as he settles in with you, tugging your body to him by your waist until you’re flush to his stomach.

“I won’t leave without saying bye.” He kisses your forehead. “‘Sides, you can join me early if you want. Sit on the counter while I prep,” he suggests, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

You wrinkle your nose. “Sounds unsanitary.”

“I’m capable of cleaning, detective,” he snorts with a playful roll of his eyes that you can’t see. He kisses the crown of your head once more, lingering for a moment.

“Give me a half hour before you leave, I’ll come with you.”

“Wanna eat you out in the back room,” he mumbles into your hair through a yawn.

“That sounds unsanitary.”

He sighs dramatically. “Maybe.”

Comfortable silence falls over the both of you as your consciousness begins slipping, warm in Satoru’s arms. It’s the first time you’ve had the time and luxury to enjoy someone’s presence like this in a long time, and you’re thankful to be safely enveloped in his embrace.

“Goodnight, Toru.”

You’re met with his soft snores, held tightly to his chest. He feels like heaven.

–

Although your plans have moved back a day, with no movement spotted on the cameras you set up, you likely didn’t miss anything last night.

Trailing a small distance behind Satoru with a yawn, you aren’t sure you mind either way. As the sun rises and gleams off his snowy locks, you can’t help but admire him. His skin seems to glow, a smile set into his features and he walks with a pep in his step. He’s almost ethereal in the radiance of the warm morning sun.

He swiftly unlocks the door, locking it behind you and throwing his apron over his head. You pause at the counter as he ties it behind his back. Taking note of your hesitation, he smirks as he pulls you around the counter by your hand.

Easily lifting you to sit on the smooth surface, he plants a kiss on your forehead. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to the massive purple bite mark he’d left on your neck, something he seems all too proud of.

“So what’re you catering?” You ask to create conversation, struggling not to yawn. You may be on a job, but it doesn’t mean you have any reason to be up this early normally.

“Catering?” He asks, realization dawning over his features. “Oh-! Right, sorry. It’s just a business lunch but they requested enough sandwiches that I’ll need to stay late for the buns to bake,” he explains as he begins turning on appliances and getting the shop ready for the day.

You hum, not fully registering his words as you feel dangerously close to dozing off. “Do you have help today?” You query.

“Yeah, one of the part-timers should be here in about an hour.”

“I’m glad you don’t need to run this all alone.”

He slows his work for a moment, blue eyes examining you quietly. “Why’s that?”

You shrug, idly kicking your feet. “It’s a lot of work for one person. You deserve to be able to take a break.”

He straightens his posture as he grins at you. “You worried about me, detective?”

“You’re ruining the moment, Satoru,” you yawn, rolling your eyes as he kisses your nose. Returning to his work, he pulls out risen dough prepped yesterday and sets it to the left of you on the counter.

Whether it’s because you’re tired, horny, or both, who knows for certain, you can’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away from his muscular forearms as he kneads and works the dough into the shapes he desires.

Catching you in the act, Satoru chuckles. “You’re fuckin’ my arms with your eyes, sweetheart.”

“I’m not gonna stop now,” you mumble with a smile.

A faint tint of pink dusts his cheeks and he chooses to distract you by booping your nose with his flour-covered finger. You wrinkle your nose, playfully shoving his hip with your foot whilst you wipe the flour from your skin with the back of your hand.

The morning is quiet as Satoru works with practiced ease while you bask in the light that filters through the large front windows. You begin to fight off your drowsiness when you’re handed a coffee with just a bit too much sugar, something you’ve noticed the white haired man has a habit of doing.

With each sip, the caffeine coursing through your system brings you back into the waking world, just in time for one of the part-timers to knock at the door.

Flipping around to face the door, you hop down from the counter as Gojo asks you to open it for the young man. He’s dressed somewhat similarly to the shop’s owner sans apron, though you suppose that’s likely waiting for him. He has spiky black hair and a rather unamused expression.

His brow lifts when you unlock and open the door for him. “You’re looking different today, Gojo.”

“Ha ha,” Gojo rolls his eyes. “Grab your apron, the buns in the back are just about ready to go in the oven.”

The boy shoots you a more earnest smile after giving Satoru a hard time, which you return. As the young boy heads into the back, you turn your attention back to the white-haired baker.

“He’s got spunk. I like it.”

“All three of ‘em are like that,” he tells you with a smirk, though his eyes shine proudly as though he’s looking at his own kid. “Good kids, though. They work hard.”

You smile, glancing at your watch. “I’ve got some work to do. I’ll drop by tomorrow morning after you open.”

“Sure, love. Be ready for our date tomorrow night.”

With an excited nod, you pull him to you by the apron, capturing his lips in yours. “See you later, Toru.”

“Careful out there, detective!” He calls after you.

–

For the first time in days your motion cameras are set off. Sitting at the edge of the forest with your flashlight held between your teeth, you kneel over your briefcase, loading your second gun with silver bullets to add to your holster. You strap a silver dagger to your thigh, covering yourself in dark leather in an effort to conceal your presence.

Shutting the briefcase, you pocket some extra silver bullets and toss the briefcase aside, making a mental note of where it’s stashed.

The forest is deathly silent in the dead of night. Even birds and bugs don’t seem to dare to interrupt the cool still air of the night. Once you’ve broken the treeline and entered the first layer of trees, you move carefully in an attempt to avoid disturbing the brush at your feet. Your flashlight flicks off as you rely on the moonlight, gun loaded and finger on the trigger.

Keeping your back to the trees, you keep your eyes steady as you move towards the camera that was triggered. You had already pulled the footage before arrival, but it didn’t give you much to work with. You could faintly make out the shape of a paw before the footage cuts out.

Approaching the camera, you now see why. With a frown, you pick up the crushed electronic, flicking on your flashlight to get a better look at it. Punctures through the lens tell you that claws were used to damage it. Looking it over, you aren’t able to make out any saliva or blood that you could test, but you figure you can get a better look at it later, pocketing the small device.

Turning the flashlight around the small clearing, you can’t find any other signs of the wolf you’re hunting and your wire trap is still set. Grimacing, you flick the flashlight off and begin the slow and careful journey to the clearing where you had first investigated the disembodied limbs.

A loud bark-like yelp suddenly sounds where your bear traps are, shattering the forest’s silence as suddenly birds erupt from the trees and the night seems to come to life. Using the noise as an opportunity to move faster, you shine your light through the trees and dash towards the wolf.

Flashlight held tightly in your hand directly above your pistol, you shine the light at each bear trap, but in spite of the cry of pain, your monster is nowhere to be found.

When your light comes to rest on the furthest trap, you notice it’s been triggered and fresh blood drips from its teeth, fur wedged between its metal jaws. You smirk, striding easily towards the trap.

As far as you’re concerned, the wolf is finished. You’ll run DNA on its hair and blood and track it down once you have its identity. The hard part is finished.

Pulling a vial from your belt, you take a sample of the blood, using tweezers to grab a sample of hair and shoving them both into your pocket.

With that taken care of, you take a moment to examine the fur yourself. The fur is white as snow, an unusual trait for werewolves, especially those that don’t retreat to a home at night, which you can’t make the assumption that this one does based on what you’ve observed of the townsfolk.

Shining your light across the rest of the clearing, nothing else catches your eye so you reset the trap, cover it in leaves and debris, and head back to your hotel to run tests.

–

Waking up on your own time in the morning is refreshing after the previous night, although you would take an early morning with Satoru any day over a late morning alone. It’s hard to shake the feeling of missing his arms around you.

In truth, you feel selfish for seeking him out and wanting him by your side. You aren’t terribly far away, but if you were to pursue something with him, you would still be long distance. Not to mention how often you travel for work. You frown at the thought. You’re also only a few hours from completing your job realistically, the blood sample has almost finished processing and although you should be happy to be nearly finished with another job, there’s a pang in your heart at the idea of leaving Satoru behind.

Maybe you should quit pursuing him. Leaning over the desk of your motel, staring at the processing blood sample, you chew on your lip. Maybe today should be the last time you visit him, to lessen the pain of leaving. Either way, you need to speak with him.

Throwing on your holster under your jacket, you make your way towards the cafe a few blocks away. It’s a Monday, which you’ve noticed is slow for Satoru, and although it’s selfish, you’re grateful to see him standing alone behind the counter, staring blankly at the wall.

A small bell rings overhead, pulling his attention to you.

“There she is,” he grins at you, leaning forward against the counter on splayed palms. “Your usual, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you grin, smile faltering as you fiddle with the zipper of your jacket. “Hey, um, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Sensing the seriousness of the discussion from your tone, Satoru’s expression falls flat, worry flashing through his gorgeous irises.

“Listen, I don’t think I’ll be in town much longer.”

He frowns, averting his gaze. “Got a lead?”

“Something like that,” you hum, sighing. “I don’t want to lead you on when I’ll be leaving soon. You’re a great guy Toru, and you deserve-”

“How far?”

“Hm?”

“How far is the drive?” He asks, continuing to lean forward on the counter. Given his tall stature, it looks somewhat uncomfortable, but he doesn’t budge.

“About three hours,” you shrug.

“Then you’re not getting out of our date that easily,” he grins.

Wide-eyed, you give him a surprised stare. It’s then that you notice that he looks… Unusually tired. There are dramatic dark circles beneath his eyes and beads of sweat form at his forehead, his chest rising and falling quickly.

You may not truly be a private investigator by trade, but given that it’s your business’ facade, you do have the required skills to be one.

And in this moment, you know Satoru is hiding something. He’s sweating bullets, avoiding your gaze, and most noticeably, he won’t move.

“What’s going on, Satoru?”

“Hm?” He hums nonchalantly, tilting his head as he forces a bright smile. You see right through him, taking a step forward as your eyes rake his figure.

“Why are you sweating?”

“It’s hot in here,” he lies, avoiding your gaze as your brows pull together.

“Do you wanna lie to me again?” You accuse, too confident in your ability to see through him to be worried that your accusation is baseless.

His jaw tenses, teeth grit as he clicks his tongue. “I’m not lying, detective. I’ve been in front of the oven all morning.”

You examine his eyes when he finally meets your gaze. They’re steely, determined. Yet another expression he wouldn’t need if he was telling the truth. You straighten your posture, eyes trailing along the walls of the bakery. For him to be so nervous, you had to be missing something.

Taking a couple of steps, you pace in a small circle as you look over your surroundings, making a mental note of exits and weapons as you mentally prepare yourself to pull your gun should you need it.

Has he been playing you this whole time?

Surely not, after all, you hadn’t noticed anything particularly animalistic about him, it was usually easy to tell for someone like you. He would have no other reason to hide anything, unless he was hiding the wolf. Could one of the part-timers be it? You hadn’t met any besides Megumi and hadn’t bothered to interview anyone beyond the adults given that the tooth and claw markings you had noticed were on the larger side, but it is possible, you suppose.

You let your shoulders fall as you exhale. You may not have known him long, but you do know that Satoru isn’t the type of man who would kill someone. Certainly not twelve someones. There’s no reason to distrust him, surely.

“Just a coffee I guess,” you order, eyeing him over once before you turn to head to a seat at the coffee bar. “Sorry, Toru. You just… don’t seem yourself. My work got the best of me,” you excuse yourself with a sigh, rubbing at your temple. God, it’s barely morning and you can already feel a headache coming on.

Satoru leans over the bar to set your coffee down, an easy smile returning to his face. “S’alright, sweetheart. Just had a long night of prep.”

“Oh yeah, how did the catering order go?” You ask, taking a sip of your coffee.

Satoru keeps his palms splayed over the counter as he leans forward while he chats with you. “Pretty good. I’m having Megumi drop it off for lunch, but the order’s all good to go.”

You nod, distracted once more by his veiny forearms, planted firmly in front of you.

“So the uh- the disappearances. You found a lead?” He asks, busying himself with cleaning the surface in front of you.

You eye him, brow furrowing. Now he sounds nervous too. “Yeeeah. I should have it figured out by noon.”

“That’s great. You must be excited,” he comments, shooting you a brief smile before he returns to cleaning the counter in front of you. You hum as he tosses the rag aside, stumbling awkwardly as he brushes his hands off on the apron against his thighs.

The air between you hangs in an uncomfortable balance. You can tell something is off, but you can’t place what it is.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, you let the feeling go once again as Satoru grins up at another customer. Pulling out your phone, you pull up the number of your client to send an update, occupying yourself with that as Satoru takes the order of an older gentleman.

You glance up as the baker returns from the back of the shop with something fresh for the man, just in time to see something that makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

You move slowly, standing up from your seat and moving your hand under your jacket, letting your palm rest on the loaded gun in your holster. You grip it tightly, eyes wide as they come to rest on Satoru when the older man walks out of the bakery.

“Satoru.” Your voice trembles, something you mentally berate yourself over. You’ve never hesitated in this line of work. You’ve never needed to. Not when you’ve seen the remains of those who did hesitate. You don’t normally have that luxury. “What did you do to your foot?”

He pales, swallowing heavily as his eyes flicker to your hand hovering over what he knows to be your gun. “I fell,” he lies through his teeth.

“You fell,” you repeat his words as he nods blankly.

Your free hand drops to your belt, gripping your flashlight. Satoru’s eyes follow your every action intently, his chest rising and falling quickly as though struggling not to pant.

A click punctures the air as the flashlight comes to life and you shine it in his eyes. They gleam and reflect the light in an undeniably inhuman way. You shut your eyes for a moment, processing just how much of a fool you’ve been.

He’d been playing you since the beginning. You wonder if he knows your gun is loaded with silver bullets. You wonder how long he knew you weren’t a private investigator.

“You fell,” you repeat again, lashes fluttering as you meet his gaze again, flashlight lowered. “What are the odds you fell in the forest?”

He doesn’t respond, his pupils mere pinpricks.

“Your cast,” you question further, taking a step closer to glance at the massive boot around his leg. “Is there much left of your leg under there?”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

Your gun clicks and Satoru stumbles a step backwards as you draw it.

Even with a gun to his head, he looks beautiful. He looks like heaven, images of his body wrapped around you glued to you like the sweetest honey. You suppose in your line of work, you shouldn’t expect to find someone so seemingly perfect for you. Someone willing to drive three hours just to make things work.

At the end of the day, you live a life where monsters are real and love is a fairy tale. What kind of cruel irony is that?

“There’s enough,” he replies, strained.

“They’re intended for bears, y’know. Not wolves.”

Vocalizing it makes it seem so real, and clearly he knows the charade is up as he finally averts his gaze, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as he exhales heavily. “I’m not who you’re looking for.”

You scoff. “You’ve been playing me since I got here and you expect me to believe that?” Your hand shakes as you continue to hold the gun up to him. You’re not sure if you can go through with firing it if it comes to that.

You suppose you may not have a choice if it’s you or him.

“I was never playing you.”

“Then what do you call this?” You ask, motioning between the two of you with your chin.

Slowly, he brings a hand up to card it through his hair. He inhales sharply. “I didn’t realize what you were ‘til I saw your gun. By then though-” he pauses, examining your eyes before he stares at the trembling gun you hold out to him. “I’d already caught feelings.”

Your jaw trembles and you grit your teeth. A muscle in your arm twitches and you disarm your gun with a click, shutting your eyes again as you groan. The silence in the air is palpable, the dullest of knives could cut the tension between the both of you.

Your hand falls down to your side. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Satoru? I- I can’t-” you rub your non-dominant hand over your face, trying to make sense of the situation you’ve gotten yourself into.

Even if you were just a private investigator, Satoru still played a dangerous game getting so close to you. He still played you like some sort of toy, which undeniably hurts, but worse still is the fact that your heart aches for his touch still. It aches for his kindness, even if it comes with a side of cockiness. It’s all so undeniably him and draws you to him.

Your heart aches for a monster. A creature responsible for the deaths of many of his own townsfolk, his own customers. What a fucking mess. What a fucking joke.

“It wasn’t me,” he repeats again, his tone now tinged with concern, bordering on desperation.

You shoot him an incredulous look. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that. I’ve interviewed everyone here, I’ve done my due diligence. If it wasn’t you then what were you doing out there last night anyway?”

“I know and I don’t know who it is but-”

“So you have no alibi and no proof that it’s someone else? What a fucking joke.” You scoff in disbelief, heading to the counter to pick up your bag and phone. Shoving your phone in your pocket and hauling your bag over your shoulder, you turn towards the door, leaving Satoru standing in complete and utter guilt, at a loss.

“Listen, please, I was looking for proof that it was someone else-”

“Satoru!” You interrupt him, raising your voice as you turn back to stare at him in disbelief. “For fuck’s sake stop lying, I need to go fucking-” you make a hand motion in the air, searching for words.

What do you need to do? You can stop the DNA sample, for one. But then what? You can’t cover up the evidence, some monster hunter you would be if you covered up after Satoru and returned to your client empty-handed.

Yet… you don’t want to kill him. You’re not even sure you can. Not after seeing such a gentle side of him. He claims it’s not him you’re after, but how are you meant to trust his word? He’s a killer, and he played you. So why does it hurt to think of killing him?

“I- I can help, it wasn’t me, I promise!” He raises his voice to match yours, stumbling another step forward on his cast with a visible wince as he pushes himself.

Shaking your head, you turn away again. “I need to go figure out what to do.” Your mind is rattling with frustration that you fear will turn to red-hot anger if you’re here any longer.

You can hear him shuffling behind you as you reach for the door. “No, no, no- detective please, I-” His hand comes to rest on your arm in an attempt to keep you from leaving.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Gojo!” You hiss, eyes full of malice as you turn towards him. Hurt flashes through his eyes, but he drops his hand shakily, finally letting you leave as your anger bursts through the seams of your composure.

When you’re long out of sight, Satoru hobbles slowly back to the counter, splaying palms over the surface as he stares down at his hands. With teeth grit and eyes shut, he groans. The image of your gun pointed square at his forehead is burned into his brain as he wondered if he could have done something differently to prevent this from happening.

No, at the end of the day, he’s just a werewolf who was naive enough to fall for the exact person out to kill people like him. With eyes shut tight, he rakes his fingers over the counter until his hands are balled into fists beneath him.

He lets out a sigh, long white lashes fluttering open finally. He frowns as he takes in the sight before him. Eight long trails are carved through the wood of his counter, freshly dragged through the grain by the claws of a predator.

Stumbling back, he stares at his hands, having not realized his claws were out.

Is he truly no better than you make him out to be?

–

As the afternoon sun washes over you, you return your pistol to its holster and sigh, running both hands over your face. Beginning a slow trek back to your motel, you decide the best course of action is to clean up after yourself and leave. You’re compromised and at the end of the day, it’s better to hand this off to someone else. You’ll have to deny payment, but you can make suggestions. Someone who won’t hesitate.

Your hand falters even as you reach your door. You don’t want to be an accomplice in Satoru’s murder. It doesn’t matter how much he lied and led you off-track. To some degree, you care about him.

Maybe even more than you’d like to admit.

Unlocking your door, you toss your jacket and holster aside.

“Fuck!” You toss your bag carelessly, letting it slam against the wall with your laptop. You can only imagine the scolding you would be getting from your father if he knew what was going through your mind.

Your eyes flicker to the tests you were running, now complete. It doesn’t matter anymore. You found your wolf. Unfortunately he’s caring, charming, and you’re hopelessly into him.

Laying back on the motel bed, you shut your eyes and curl into yourself, letting sleep take you.

–

The snap of a bear trap fills your ears as you set off the first trap you need to clean up from a safe distance. Your brain is foggy with doubts and frustrations and despite the setting sun keeping you warm, a shiver runs up your spine.

You sigh, tossing a rock at the next bear trap and dragging it along the ground with you. Even in broad daylight, the forest seems to hold its breath. There’s no rustling of leaves surrounding you, the birds are silent, and there’s no idle buzz of insects. It’s almost as though it’s taunting you for your naivety in believing the wolf hidden right in front of your eyes.

You toss the rock, letting the third trap snap shut. The sound pierces the air and the forest shudders. Picking up the trap’s chain, you drag it along with the other two.

The walk back to your wire trap is a slow one, burdened by the traps in your arm and the pit in your stomach. You almost feel sick to your stomach at the idea of turning down a job. Exhaling heavily, you wonder if Higuruma will recommend you to a client again after this nightmare.

Probably not.

You’ll have to pay back what was already paid to you. Likely pay for the motel as well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you lean down to disarm the wire trap. As the wire loosens and you begin to coil it up, rustling nearby catches your attention.

You lift your head, scanning your surroundings, but nothing in particular seems out of the ordinary. Likely a fox or a deer. Probably no big deal.

You finish coiling up the wire and tug the traps along, heading to the next site where you had traps set.

When you reach the bloodied trap, you stop, staring at it. Within the forest it seems the only lively area is right over the trap as flies buzz and lower themselves over the bloodied steel trap. You take a step back and toss a rock, letting it snap again.

It’s eerie, the sound of the snapping metal in an otherwise silent forest. Staring down at it, a shiver runs down your spine. You hadn’t seen it in daylight yet, but with the amount of crimson coating the jaws of steel, it must have done a hefty amount of damage. Enough to make you feel guilty.

Fuck, even after everything he pulled, you still feel guilty.

Yanking the chain of the trap, you toss it over your arm with the rest.

Stupid. So stupid.

Turning to the next trap, something catches your eye. It’s a split-second, but you see a flash. Blinking, you back yourself carefully up to the tree behind you, hand hovering over your pistol.

You had to be imagining things. Or maybe it’s just some harmless animal. A coyote or fox.

Still, you don’t let your guard down, slowly surveying the area.

“Satoru?” You question, keeping your voice low. You’re met with the sound of rustling, and another flash of eyes.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest as thoughts race through your mind. Were you so foolish that not only did Satoru slip past you unnoticed as the exact creature you’re hunting but you also didn’t believe him when he was telling the truth?

Well, you’re fucked now.

You pull your pistol from the holster, snapping it in the direction of your new assailant as he slips between trees before you with an eerie grin. He’s human, for now, but his eyes tell you all you need to know.

“So you’re the lil’ monster hunter they sent after me, huh?”

The man’s stature is tall, similar to Satoru’s, though he carries himself with menacing pride. Raven hair falls over his eyes, emerald green and filled with confidence. A tight black shirt is pulled taut with every step he takes, very little of his broad shoulders and muscular torso left to the imagination. His lips quirk upwards into a smirk, a scar at the edge of his lips the only sign he’s ever taken damage in a scuffle.

“Y’know, you reek of wolf. Woulda thought they’d send someone a bit better at their job.”

You swallow in an effort to hide your wince as he hits you right where it hurts. Steeling yourself, you remain silent, focusing your narrowed eyes on him as you evaluate your target while he taunts you.

He’s confident you won’t hit him if you shoot now, that much is clear. He wouldn’t stand at such a close range if he thought you could hit him. It means he’s fast, and he’s clearly muscular too. That doesn’t leave much for weaknesses, but he’s cocky enough that at some point he’ll surely slip up and you’ll find an opening. It’s always like that with the overconfident ones.

“Not so talkative now, are we?” The tall man chuckles, taking a step towards you. Dropping the chains of the traps dangling from your arm, you discreetly shuffle to allow yourself room for an exit, all of your instincts kicking in at once.

You were so caught up in your anger with Satoru that you didn’t prepare for this. Your dagger is on the side table in the motel room. Your extra bullets are in the pocket of your other pants. Your extra gun is on the bathroom counter.

Your gun has ten bullets remaining.

It’s enough for a young or inexperienced wolf, but he’s smarter than that. He’s been watching you, he’s waited until your traps are all disarmed. He’s waited until you’re alone and vulnerable without your weapons. He’s cunning.

“Countin’ your bullets?” He sneers, taking another step towards you. He holds his hand out in front of you, sharpened claws decorating the tip of each finger as he counts aloud. “Two, four,” green eyes flicker up to your face as he smirks, “six, eight, ten.”

You slip around the tree, giving yourself an exit route, but the wolf moves too quickly and he’s blocking the area you had mapped for yourself. He’s been hunting you the whole time, right under your nose.

“Poor thing. No way out n’ only ten bullets,” he chuckles darkly, rolling his broad shoulders back. His eyes narrow. “Let’s see what ya got f’r me, hunter.”

He dashes forward, so quickly that your heart nearly leaps from its cage as you barely manage to duck and roll beneath his claws. They collide with the tree behind you and he snarls, pushing off of the bark as he bares long fangs at you.

Shit, he’s not even transforming. He doesn’t even consider you a worthy opponent. It’s almost humiliating, not to mention the genuine fear coursing through your veins for the first time in a long time. Doubly humiliating.

Keeping a careful count on your bullets, you know you need to devise a strategy. As the man lunges forward, you grab one of the disarmed bear traps, launching it at him as you grapple around a tree trunk to avoid his jaws.

The wolf recovers quickly and turns on a dime to follow you. Firing off a shot, you force him to veer away.

“One,” he growls in a low chuckle.

He’s playing with his food. You’re better than this and you know it.

Inhaling, you take a breath to level your head. The wolf peers down at you like prey from a tree above and you know you have to catch him off-guard if you want any chance at living through this. That, or you needed to find a way out.

Your chest rises and falls heavily with each breath as you keep your eyes locked on your target.

With your gun held steadily in front of you, you feign making a dash for your mapped escape, grateful when your assailant takes the bait and you’re able to double back in time to grab the three disarmed traps piled on the ground.

His head tilts curiously, focused on your movements.

With the ends of each trap’s chain held tightly in your hand, you divert his attention with a carefully aimed shot that chips away at the branch just above his head as he ducks out of the way. The fact you weren’t aiming at him goes unnoticed, you think.

“Two,” he growls.

Not taking your eyes off of him, you deftly hook the chains together.

As he darts forward, you slide beneath him, firing off two shots in an attempt to make yourself look desperate. In reality, you are, but you need him to know that.

Either way he’s too fast and the bullets go flying past him.

“Four,” he hums, turning on his heel to launch himself at you from off a tree with claws outstretched.

Another bullet flies through the air, careening past him, but he twists and manages to slice his claws through your arm.

Hissing through your teeth, you tighten your grip on your gun, letting your adrenaline carry you forward.

Exhaling through your nose, you lift your gun again, the branch that you’d previously shot now directly behind your enemy again. Three more bullets fly out, two hitting the branch squarely while the other zips by the raven-haired man.

“Eight,” he grins, eyes narrowing as he herds you back against a tree trunk.

Two bullets left to make your escape. Your only chance.

With your back to the wall, you wait for the wolf to dive forward, shooting your ninth bullet straight for his head. He dodges to the side at the last second and your last chance opens up. You take your chance, putting your gun back in its holster as you fling the chained traps up at the branch you’d been shooting. The weight of the traps manages to pull the branch down behind you, just as you’d hoped it would.

The crackling of the branch snapping sounds off louder than any gunshot as it crashes down behind you. You hear a surprised huff, followed by a growl as you run for the treeline.

Your chest heaves, adrenaline coursing through your veins as it keeps your focus from the crimson that stains the sleeve of your torn jacket. The sting of his claws is nothing in comparison to the humiliation of this hunt, but worse still is the dread that tears at your chest when you hear the rustling of steps behind you.

They’re too fast. He’s too fast. You pull your gun back out, but it’s no use. You have one bullet left. You’re dead and the wolf knows it.

He tackles you to the ground, a pained grunt parting your lips as his full weight pins you to the ground.

He grins, one set of claws digging into your shoulder as he pins you down, forcing you to drop your gun, while his other clawed hand is held steadily at your neck. “So y’r the best they got, huh?” He chuckles darkly.

You let out a pained gasp as his claw pierces the skin of your neck. Your eyes shut tight as you wait for death to come, when suddenly his weight is lifted from you.

Your eyes shoot open at the sound of a pained yelp and all you can see is a flurry of white fur as your assailant is sent flying straight through a tree. If the sound of the branch snapping was louder than a gun, the sound of the tree snapping in on itself is like thunder. You recoil from the noise, pushing yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at what’s happened.

Fur as white as snow decorates the figure standing in front of you from head to toe, a long tail swaying back and forth as its ears point straight towards the other wolf. Though his features are primarily that of a wolf, when he turns his head towards you, the shimmering blue eyes that find you are undeniably those of a worried Satoru.

You can only stare, hand still gripping your gun as Satoru stands over you protectively, balling his clawed hands into fists.

As the other wolf gets to his feet, he chuckles in amusement, spitting blood in the dirt. “Knew I smelled another wolf on ya. Didn’t know it was the Gojo kid.”

Satoru’s ear flicks as he growls. “What do I call you, then?”

“Fushiguro Toji,” the mutt answers as he pushes himself to his feet.

Satoru straightens slightly at the name, but he shakes his head, steadying himself to take on the wolf. He barely looks steady at all, and that’s when you realize just what’s hampering him.

Of course, his leg. The cast has held steady, somehow managing to stay on even in this form, although he’s trying to stay off of it, balancing precariously. He’s down a limb and you’re down to your last bullet, all the while Toji has a few splinters and that’s about it.

Well, shit.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you take cover in an effort to evaluate the situation as Satoru snarls at Toji, now taking the form of a lupine. He stands just as tall as Satoru, his pelt as dark as his raven hair.

“What’s some rich heir doin’ out here anyway?”

“What’s the father of the year doing out here?” Gojo rebuttals, a prideful smirk crossing his canine features.

With a furious bark, Toji leaps at Gojo in time for you to duck behind a tree. The way Toji fights tooth and claw against your savior isn’t like how he fought against you. He dashes around, bounding off of trees as he attempts to confuse and out-speed Satoru, who only lashes out his claws when necessary in an effort to defend himself.

Still, you can’t help but feel as though to some degree, Satoru is enjoying this just as much as Toji clearly is. A twisted smirk dons his fanged mouth, curling upwards as he slams a forepaw into Toji, sending him flying through the trees.

With Toji temporarily down, you make a dash for the branch that you had pulled down earlier, gritting your teeth as you keep an eye on your peripherals while you attempt to untangle the traps.

As you fiddle with their chains, Satoru barks out a warning as Toji leaps forward again, landing them both in a tussle. Tooth and nail collide as barks, growls, and whimpers pierce the air to your left while you desperately fumble with the traps, though you fear it may be of no use.

Swallowing hard, you roll out of the way when Toji’s claws extend towards you, but Satoru drags him back. Your heart pounds hard in your chest as your ragged breaths come quicker at just how narrowly you’re managing to escape the feral wolf.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, waiting for the wolves to separate for a moment as Toji resets himself for an attack that Satoru fends off easily. Now with an opening, you slink back over to the bear traps, when a shrill yelp suddenly pierces the air, pulling your attention to the wolves.

Satoru’s shoulder is caught in Toji’s jaws, blood trickling out from under his fangs as neither wolf moves. Satoru’s blue eyes are wide as Toji’s claws lift, a snide grin curling at his lips even as he holds Satoru down with his teeth.

BANG.

The forest grows silent again. The birds and insects have long fled, the deer and foxes peer from between the brush in an effort to catch a glance at what’s happened. The wind no longer whistles and the trees hold their breath.

Your chest heaves as you lower your gun.

“Ten,” you mutter just loud enough for Toji to hear as his emerald green eyes find you for the final time. Blood trickles down between his eyes and around his snout, dripping down his jaw into Satoru’s fur beneath him.

“Gojo,” Toji grunts, barely holding himself up, “don’t let those assholes take the kid,” and with that, his eyes lose their luster as he slumps forward. Satoru pushes his body to the ground, laying flat on his back for a moment as he catches his breath.

Your gun clatters suddenly to the ground as you scramble over to Satoru, kneeling hesitantly beside him.

“Believe me now, detective?”

You swallow hard, running a hand over the shoulder where Toji’s teeth sank in. He hisses, pushing himself up. Even sitting up, he towers over you in this form. Your every instinct tells you to run, all except for one, as your heart tells you that this man would never dare hurt you or anyone else.

Your lips part to reply but all you can manage is a shaky “are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” he grumbles, “but I’ll be fine. I’ll lick my wounds or whatever dog analogy you wanna use.” His ear flicks in amusement at his own lighthearted quip and you can’t help the relieved smile that spreads across your lips. “Are you okay?”

You quirk your head to the side in an effort to figure out what he could mean only to realize blood is still dripping down your arm from where Toji sliced you, not to mention the sting of his claws in your shoulder and neck. Adrenaline still courses through your veins, keeping the pain at bay for now.

“Oh, yeah. I can’t feel it right now.”

Satoru hums as he pushes himself up, pupils mere slits as he reaches for you. He may be a hulking and monstrous werewolf, but somehow he’s still so Satoru. His blue eyes are tired, but they glimmer with that familiar swirl of mirth that always seems to come out around you. He still carries himself confidently with an air of goofiness that lightens the silence between the both of you, although much remains unsaid.

Clawed hands delicately reach for the hem of your shirt, easily tearing a portion of the fabric off. He takes your arm carefully from your jacket, pulling it from the confines of the sleeve and wraps it around your wounds tightly. Thankfully, you still can hardly feel the pain.

“You should go to the hospital,” he grunts, sitting back on his haunches.

“I’ll be fine,” you brush him off, “you look worse than I do,” you comment, looking over several claw marks and the chunk torn from his shoulder, not to mention the blood coating his fur.

“Can’t exactly go to the hospital for things like this,” Satoru shakes his head. “I’ll stitch myself up later.”

“Let me do it,” you blurt out.

His head tilts. It’s such a dog-like movement it’s almost adorable. His ear flops slightly, tail twitching. “I thought you wouldn’t wanna be around me.”

“I was wrong,” you blurt out without a second thought. “You never lied to me, you never played me. I just didn’t listen.” His ears perk up, his tail twitching as though he’s struggling not to wag it. It’s hard to deny just how adorable he is like this.

In the same way that Toji grew more menacing covered in fur, Satoru somehow felt more like putty in your hands, unable to hide his emotions now that so much of his body language gave him away.

“I wanted to be honest with you,” he admits, “but I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“I wouldn’t have,” you agree, reaching forward to cup his cheek. It’s a foreign feeling, so covered in fur, but somehow familiar as he leans into your touch. “But I think I might be bad at my job,” you chuckle, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of your head. Pain jolts suddenly through your arm and you hiss, staring down at your blood-soaked upper arm. The blood was beginning to soak through the material of your shirt that was wrapped around it.

Pushing himself up on his feet, Gojo tests his weight on his broken ankle before making a move to pick you up. Werewolves heal unreasonably fast in comparison to humans, but you still don’t love the idea of him carrying you while in a cast.

“I can walk,” you insist. “Stay off your foot, Toru,” you push yourself up, glancing at his broken foot.

This time, he can’t help it. His tail wags. Like an excited puppy, it damn near knocks you over with the way it sways. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat as you have to side step to avoid his powerful tail.

“You really do like it when I call you that, huh?” You tease with a grin.

You’re certain he would be blushing if he could. “It sounds pretty comin’ from you.”

Though there are still things left unsaid, the silence that settles between you as you make your way back to the treeline is an easy one. You’ll need to come back for Toji’s body and the traps left behind, so you leave your briefcase behind as well. You can’t imagine many of the locals make a point of going to the forest anyway these days.

As you reach the edge of the forest and the town comes into view, something occurs to you.

“Why haven’t you changed back?”

Slits of pupils surrounded by oceans of blue flicker towards you. “My clothes are shredded.” He’s grinning at you, something of a suggestive grin on his wolfish face.

You can only groan at that. “How the hell do we get you to my motel then?” In truth, you aren’t sure you can afford to wait for night to sneak him through the town as your adrenaline is quickly wearing off. Between the blood loss and the pain, you’re growing more light headed by the moment.

“I could pretend to be a dog,” he suggests, but one look from you tells him otherwise. Even on all fours, he’s absolutely massive and he’s far too humanoid to ever look even remotely like a full canine.

Not to mention, you had been hired by someone in the town to hunt his kind. He couldn’t get caught.

You cast a glance at the setting sun, frowning.

“Go on ahead. I’ll catch up when it’s dark.” Clearly, he’s on the same page.

You shoot him a hesitant glance. “I don’t want to leave you behind,” you admit, voice nearly a whisper. The moment has a certain sense of déja vu as you think back to Satoru being unwilling to fuck you and disappear. You can’t help but feel as though you’re somehow betraying him by parting ways, even if it’s only for an hour.

His ear flicks as he examines your features, an understanding expression passing over his lupine features. “I’m not hurt too bad. Honestly your trap did more damage than Toji.”

Guilt floods your body at the reminder that his ankle was likely nearly torn from his body by a trap set by you.

“Stop worrying about it. We can talk later, get to the motel.”

You nod, making your way back.

–

Using your teeth to pull the final stitch of the second claw slice tight, you lean back in the chair at the window, draping your arm tiredly over your eyes. It’s not like you haven’t stitched yourself up before but it doesn’t make the pain any less daunting.

You jolt as someone knocks at the door, moving the curtain aside in time to see pupils flash.

Dashing to the door, you grab a towel and use it to twist the knob in an effort not to spread your blood everywhere given the current state of your hands.

Satoru ducks into the room, shutting the door behind you and glancing around until troubled eyes find you, slumping back in the chair. You look queasy, blood pouring down your arm and coating your fingers in crimson.

Glancing around the room, massive paws reach for a towel and you watch in awe as his bones jolt and twitch, shifting to a human size. His fur recedes into his skin, leaving behind only a bloodied mop of white hair on his head. He wraps the towel around his waist before turning to face you.

The bite mark on his shoulder doesn’t look anywhere near as bad now in this form, the injuries having shrunk along with his body. You suppose he was right to say his wounds weren’t as bad as they looked.

Your eyes shamelessly rake across his body after evaluating his wounds. For a werewolf, you’re almost surprised he doesn’t have more scars than the ones that will surely be left behind from Toji. His skin is nearly flawless, marred only by crimson stains that cover him from head to toe, drying strands of his usually snow-white hair together.

For how much damage you thought Toji did, he seems mostly unaffected.

You, on the other hand, look worse for wear.

With the towel wrapped soundly around his waist, he approaches you slowly, grabbing the chair across from you and moving it until he’s sitting before you.

“Let me help,” he insists. You don’t have the energy to fight him and give in immediately, handing him the needle and thread and a bottle of alcohol. With warm hands, he douses the wound in antiseptic, frowning when you flinch. He mutters a ‘sorry’ as you lean back and throw your other arm over your eyes. “You better not pass out on me, detective.”

“I won’t,” you grumble, taking a breath as the needle pierces your skin.

Satoru is surprisingly deft in his motions as he stitches you up, the first of the remaining two deep slices complete fairly quickly and with little blood loss in comparison to the ones you had managed to do on yourself. Not to say they were done poorly by any means, you had the skills necessary to patch yourself up, but doing so with one arm had proven to be a challenge.

“Why did Toji mention his kid? Was he talking about your employee or something?”

Satoru lets the questions hang in the air for a moment before replying. “He was,” Satoru confirms, replying with his own question that doesn’t seem to have a connection as far as you can tell. “What do you plan on doing after this?”

You hum thoughtfully, too tired to question his thought process. “Dunno. I don’t think I can call myself much of a monster hunter at this point.”

“Why not? You killed Toji,” Satoru points out.

“I guess,” you mumble, lifting your arm to stare at the ceiling. Even if you dealt the killing blow, it still felt like Satoru’s kill. You let the silence hang for a moment as Satoru works on your wound. “You know, even if it had been you, I couldn’t kill you.”

Your voice is meek as you admit this to him. He knows already, but the statement still hangs in the air, the tension interrupted only by a hiss as he continues his ministrations, giving his latest stitch a tug to pull it taut.

“Maybe that makes you a better monster hunter.”

You lift your head, carefully observing his expression. “How?”

“Not every monster is heartless,” he shrugs, brow furrowed as he keeps his gaze focused on his movements. “The world could use more people like you to look out for those of us that aren’t so bad.”

You blink at him, somewhat unused to the very serious but also very genuine advice he’s giving you. His usual goofy demeanor seems to be on pause as he finishes up the last stitch before taking an alcohol wipe to clean the wound once more, carefully running the wipe along the holes left by Toji’s claws in your shoulder and throat as well.

You can’t help but gasp as the alcohol burns on your arm. You inhale sharply, pushing through the pain. “Wouldn’t I be more of a monster lawyer then?” You chuckle, voice strained.

Satoru’s lips quirk up into a smile. “Maybe. I could get used to calling you ‘lawyer’ instead of detective.”

You can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your throat, keeping your arm held out for him as he wraps it in thick bandages. Once he’s satisfied with his work, you half expect him to turn tail and leave. You don’t deserve his kindness after lashing out at him, but in truth you know there’s more to what pulls you and Satoru together.

Despite the obvious differences between the both of you, there’s a strong connection that ties you both together already. One that you want to explore, one that feels forbidden. A monster hunter and a werewolf? It can never work. To make matters worse, even before the revelation of his secret, you already were on your way to end things just based on distance.

It just won’t work.

But still, you owe it to him to at least make things right before you leave.

“I’m so sorry, Satoru.”

“It’s alright,” he brushes you off with a grin. There’s no hesitation as he accepts your apology without a doubt in his mind. Bile rises in your throat as it becomes glaringly obvious just how much you don’t deserve this kindness. He only further proves the point as he takes a face cloth in one hand, pouring alcohol over it and wiping it over your blood-encrusted fingers to clean them. He’s so gentle with each movement that it makes your head spin.

Maybe that’s just the blood loss. You can blame it on that for now.

Shaking your head, your brow furrows. “No, no it’s not. I judged a book by its cover and that’s not fair at all to you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and even when you found out I was here to hunt you- or, well, not you but I thought I was hunting you- that didn’t change how you saw me and I should have extended that same courtesy to-”

Satoru’s thumb brushes your lower lip, effectively shutting you up as your heart palpitates. “I forgive you. We both kept secrets.”

Still, you can’t help the guilt that boils in your stomach as he’s so quick to forgive you.

“Oh! And while we’re airing secrets I should probably let you know my employees are all werewolves,” he grins as his expression turns to a cheerful one.

“What?” You gape in disbelief.

“Yeah. Megumi is Toji’s son. I took him and his sister in a while ago, something about Toji’s family rejecting them when his sister wasn’t a wolf. Dunno, Megs doesn’t talk about it much. Oh, and then the other two as well-”

He talks so casually you nearly have to pick your jaw up off the floor.

“I’m so bad at my job,” you groan, earning a laugh from Gojo. He has a funny way of easily flipping a serious conversation to a lighthearted one.

“Nah. You were right the whole time. You weren’t hunting me or the kids anyway,” he shrugs easily, taking in the scene around him as he finally realizes just how bloodied both of you are. “We should shower.”

You hum, leaning back in the chair again. He’s right, but your head is still spinning and your arm is throbbing.

“Tell ya what. I’ll shower, then I’ll grab you some food. It should help with the blood loss. You shower while I’m gone.”

You nod slowly, watching the bare-chested man get to his feet. “I have some sweatpants and a big shirt for pajamas in my suitcase. You can use those.”

He grins thankfully before disappearing into the washroom.

–

You’re surprised to find that Gojo has already returned when you leave the washroom, feeling refreshed albeit sore. Laid out on the table by the chairs you’d been in earlier is an assortment of pastries and sandwiches. It figures that nowhere would be open at this time besides corner stores, so he’d likely just pulled something together from the bakery. How he’s managed to hobble around so competently on a broken ankle is beyond you, even if werewolves heal faster than humans.

Satoru is in the clothing you’d offered him, a pair of sweats that ride up past his ankles and seem fairly tight at the waist, and a pink t-shirt pulled taut with each movement of his bulky upper chest. It’s a sight to behold and you can’t help but to smile.

Catching sight of you in his peripherals, his blue eyes brighten. “I wasn’t sure what you would want, so I-”

“You brought the whole bakery?” You chide, sliding down in the chair beside him.

“Well I left the custard donut behind, actually. So not the whole bakery,” he chuckles. “I’ve been told that one wasn’t my best.” His fingers card through his white locks, pushing stray strands of hair from his eyes.

“I dunno, I might have wanted to give that one a try,” you hum as you grin up at him through long lashes.

He scoffs, playfully nudging your uninjured shoulder. “Okay now I know the blood loss is a problem.”

You giggle, picking up a croissant and taking a bite with a pleased smile. “Thanks for doing this, Toru. I thought you would just pick up a snack from the corner store or something.”

“Have you checked out the corner store? Guaranteed you’d get food poisoning.”

You barely make it a quarter of the way through the spread of food he’s brought before leaning back in the chair with a wince. In an instant, Satoru’s at your side, finger running delicately over the bandages he’s wrapped as he searches for a sign that his stitches may have come undone.

“Satoru, I’m fine,” you mumble, weakly shoving at his chest. The man doesn’t budge as his hand trails down your arm, sending goosebumps up your skin from his feather-light touch. It sends a shiver straight up your spine, one that you’re certain doesn’t go unnoticed when you find yourself staring straight at pupils so dilated that the blues of his eyes are hardly visible.

Like pools of lust, they beg for your attention and you don’t stand a chance of resisting. That’s just the kind of effect he has on you.

Balling the fabric of the shirt he’s wearing into your fingers, you pull him down. He melts against your lips, electricity shooting between the both of you like lightning, followed by the thunderous growl that Satoru doesn’t bother trying to mask like the last time you had had sex.

Suddenly the biting, the marking, the guttural groans and near-growls and him effortlessly ripping your panties the other night all makes sense. Satoru didn’t lose control at the first smell of blood or on the full moon, he lost control to your intoxicating touch.

His fingers move from your arm to your waist and down your hips, before lifting you into his arms, large hands supporting your ass. He stumbles slightly on his broken ankle, dropping you unevenly on the bed with a charming laugh as he does his best to hold himself and you up on his ankle, failing somewhat. You can’t help but to laugh along with him as he crawls on top of you.

His lips are back on yours in an instant, and it’s in that moment that his self-control begins to slip away. He deepens the kiss, smirking when a whimper leaves your parted lips, swallowed in the landscape of his tongue.

Acting on instinct, he ruts his already rock-hard length against you, pulling a whine from your pretty lips at the delicious friction of his cock against your bundle of nerves. His eyes are a wildfire of lust when he pulls back, eagerly leaving kisses and nibbling on the uninjured sode of your neck. As any sense of control slips, each kiss grows sloppier and each bite grows harder, until you feel fangs graze your skin.

You gasp at the foreign feeling, securing your arms around his neck as he bites down on your shoulder. He wouldn’t dare break skin, even fucked out of his mind he would never intentionally bring you harm. As pain and pleasure mingle together, you drag your nails down his back.

A guttural groan leaves his throat as he continues to grind hard against your core, your slick soaking through your panties and driving his enhanced senses crazy. In a haze, he moves to grip your shoulder in an attempt to move you up the bed, but his grip on your arm causes you to yelp in pain.

Satoru goes rigid, completely frozen as his pupils narrow to pinpricks, taking in your expression before he realizes what’s happened.

“Shit, sorry baby,” he pants, eyes wide with fear. “I forgot, I promise I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, Toru. I know you didn’t mean it,” you reassure him with a smile as he creates a suitable distance between his hand and your arm, pressing a languid kiss to your forehead.

“I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt anyone,” he whispers, sitting back on his knees. The look he’s giving you tells you everything you need to know. He’s more than just desperate for you to believe him, he needs you to trust him.

People like Satoru don’t get chances at love. Werewolves are old wives’ tales, fake to the general public and the admission of monsters to most was enough to scare even the most open-minded people off. He counts himself lucky that you didn’t put a bullet between his eyes, but even in the moment he knew it wasn’t luck. Just like it wasn’t luck that he heard gunshots go off and rushed to the forest.

It wasn’t luck that Satoru was there for you.

Satoru wants to be there for you in more than just life or death situations. In fact, he’d prefer to be there for you mostly outside of those situations.

“I know you won’t. I trust you,” you breathe.

His toothy grin is still fanged, perfect rows of teeth bared in a sparkling grin in spite of the sharp canines that decorate his smile.

He’s gentler as he leans forward, parting your legs to make space for him between them. Gentle fingers trace your jaw, tilting it to give him the optimal angle to press soft lips to yours.

“Detective,” he whispers against your lips. His white lashes flutter as he rests his forehead softly against yours.

“Yeah, Toru?”

“Let’s try this.”

You pull back slightly to get a better look at him, amused. “Try what, Satoru? Sex?”

“No,” he chuckles breathlessly. “Let me make you mine.”

Your eyes widen. “Yours?” Your heart races in your chest, pounding at the confines of your ribs as though it stands a chance at escaping. “Toru, it’s my job to hunt you.”

“So? You’re under me right now, what difference does it make?”

“I-” you hesitate, glancing at the curtains of the motel room as though they’ve suddenly grown more interesting than the man in front of you. “I’m not really good at anything else, Satoru. I can’t quit, and what if you get caught? I work with other hunters.”

“I won’t get caught,” he mumbles against your skin as he continues his ministrations of leaving kisses along your jaw. He’s soft this time, each kiss more delicate than the last.

“What if you do though, Satoru? I’m serious,” you insist, gripping tightly to his shoulders in an effort to get eye contact. His expression hardens as he examines your expression.

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

You’re almost shocked by the solemnity of his voice. You want this just as he does but the odds aren’t in your favor and he doesn’t seem to realize that.

“I can’t put you or the kids at risk,” you pause, brow furrowing, “you shouldn’t have told me about them, by the way.”

“I trust you,” he shrugs, pouting, “you won’t put us at risk. You can visit us between jobs and if things work out, maybe we can move your office here.”

It’s a big ask, effectively a long distance relationship between an unlikely duo. It’s not like Satoru can uproot his life and leave the kids to fend for themselves but you can’t uproot your life for someone you met last week.

Still, it’s not unreasonable. It’s not like long distance is impossible given you’re only three hours away, and fuck, you can’t deny just how much you’ve enjoyed being around him for the past week. Even before you knew he was a wolf, you struggled with the idea of ending whatever it was between the both of you.

As if to help your decision, Satoru moves a warm palm over yours, lifting your hand to rest over his heart. It’s pounding, his chest not just warm but hot to the touch. Just the thought of you saying no has set his entire body on fire, stressed at the idea of your rejection.

Just for once, Satoru wants to be selfish. He hopes you’ll be selfish too.

“One condition, Toru.”

His eyes gleam hopefully as he leans in, listening intently.

“You owe me that dinner date,” you grin.

He chuckles happily, leaning forward to capture your lips once more. “Don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart.”

His hands are back on you in an instant, exploring every inch of your body with the fervor of a man starved. Something brushes your leg and you gasp, holding his shoulders tight.

“Y’ scared of the big bad wolf?” Satoru grins with lidded eyes as you stare past him at the fluffy white tail flicking back and forth wildly.

“That might be the cheesiest, most embarrassing thing I’ve ever heard,” you groan, rubbing your palms over your face.

“Get used to it,” he chides against the skin of your neck, nipping on the sensitive skin just above your collarbone, opposite your already very purpled hickey he’d left the other night. His hands come to rest on either side of your head as he leans over you, effectively pinning you to the mattress under his weight.

He mutters praise against your skin with each nip and kiss like a mantra, the feeling of your hips bucking desperately beneath him sending him spiraling once more into a lustful state of desperation.

Whimpers fall from your lips with each drag of his hardened cock against your soaked pussy, each moan sinful as you beg for more. You cling to his shoulders for purchase, ragged breaths and pants filling the cool air of the motel room.

With each roll of Gojo’s hips, his fingers grip the sheets tighter until claws are tearing through the fabric, a huff leaving his lips. You slide your fingers down his torso, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it up over his head. He obliges, tossing it to the floor across the room and leaning back to discard the sweatpants you’d lent him, careful not to hit his ankle.

With no boxers, he’s bare before you, a sight to behold as his cock stands at attention, tip flushed and angry with pre-cum spilling from the tip. He wastes no time in stripping you of your clothes as well, eagerly tossing your pants and shirt aside.

“Easy, Toru,” you warn as his clawed hand grazes your injury, but he’s careful this time, intertwining his fingers in yours as he passes control to you by flipping you on top of him.

Gojo would give anything to pound you into the mattress with his fat cock, but in relinquishing his control to you, he knows he won’t hurt you. He’ll be soft for only you.

The feeling of his length twitching beneath you pulls a gasp from your throat. Leaning forward on his chest, you cast a glance at the tail flicking wildly from where it’s curled on his left side, brushing your thigh every so often.

Veiny hands find your waist as he holds you in place while he bucks his hips upwards, pulling a ragged moan from your sweet lips. It’s then that you finally start moving and Satoru’s head falls back against the headboard in bliss as your slick folds coat him in arousal.

A groan tears through Satoru in time with your moan of his name as his tip grinds against your clit. His fingers hold you in a bruising grip, his claws dancing along the surface of your skin, though they never pierce you.

“Shit, Toru-” you breathe, glancing down as you line yourself up over his cockhead, lowering yourself onto him.

His jaw hangs slack with pleasure as your walls grip him tightly, fluttering with desire as you lower yourself slowly down on his length. Bottoming out, you brace yourself on his chest as you give yourself a moment to adjust to his girth that stings and stretches your walls.

“Fuck, y’re tight, baby.”

As the pain shifts to pleasure, you roll your hips, pushing off of his broad chest to gain momentum as you bounce on his cock. He sits back, his fluffy white tail twitching as he resists the urge to thrust up into you, allowing you to set the pace.

He fills you up so much that each bounce on his length causes your thighs to shake in bliss, the vibrations of your trembling sending pleasure straight through the man sitting beneath you. His cock jerks as your shakiness causes you to slow your ministrations and he can’t help it anymore as he holds your hips in place and fucks up into you.

Satoru wants control.

His pace is cruel, his cock tip brushing the depths of your cunt. Each thrust brushes your g-spot so deliciously as though he already knows your body inside and out, because he does. Satoru has memorized each and every one of your moans, burned into his brain to tell him exactly what you want and need, all from your first night together. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t make use of it.

The babbles of his name that fall from your lips are so pretty that he can’t help the way he roughly grabs your chin, tilting your fucked out expression to face him. The eye contact sends him into a frenzy, flipping you both once again to push you into a nasty mating press.

He’s careful of your injury as he presses your knees into your shoulders, his cock buried into your cunt as the new angle sends sparks of pleasure straight to your stomach, coiling tightly as your release nears.

“Toru- hah- please-” you beg him as you near your release and oh how pretty he thinks you look with pleading glazed eyes looking up at him. He loves to have you folded so beautifully beneath him as he fucks you relentlessly.

His own climax fast approaches as he pounds you into the mattress, letting out a guttural growl. “You take me so well, pretty girl,” he praises you, compliments falling from his lips so easily. “Love the way you say my name like that,” he continues lowly, lowering his head to press a sloppy kiss to your lips.

“‘M so close, Toru.”

“Atta girl,” he hums, running his tongue along the bruised skin on your collarbone as he leans over you further, reaching down to rub circles over your clit with the pad of his finger.

“Toru-!” You gasp as the coil in your stomach releases suddenly when he introduces the friction of his finger and your walls clench around him. A wave of pleasure crashes over you like a tsunami and you throw your head back into the pillows, scratching harsh red lines into the muscles of Satoru’s back.

He doesn’t slow his pace as he rides out the pleasure with you, feeling each wave of your orgasm as your walls squeeze him and milk his own orgasm from him, sending the same euphoria through his own body. His muscles tense and contract over you as he holds himself up, his body jerking and jolting in time with yours as he paints your walls with his cum, the mixture of both releases pooling and dripping down your ass.

Barely managing to hold himself up, he hisses from the overstimulation as he pulls his throbbing cock from your pussy, a ring of white coating his length. With a groan, he rolls to your side and off the bed to grab a towel. With a gentle kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, he cleans the pooling arousal from between your thighs and crawls back into the bed. Immediately, he pulls you into his chest, cradling you so softly you would hardly know he had you in a mating press moments ago.

You bury your face into his neck, giggling when you feel his tail brush your leg. “Do you have no control over that thing?”

“I do,” he hums, “but it makes you laugh so I’m not bothering.”

You grin against his skin, sweat-slicked skin sticking to his as you enjoy his presence in the afterglow of sex. The room is silent save for quiet pants and the occasional thump of Satoru’s tail against the bed.

As you both catch your breath and the air around you grows serene, the quiet thumps of Satoru’s tail eventually come to a halt. The arms that encircle you are no longer clawed, his teeth dulled in his somewhat parted lips.

He looks angelic like this, white hair mussed and lashes fluttering very lightly as your breath fans his chest. There’s a sort of charm to knowing that even if you can’t see it, there’s a happily wagging tail that isn’t all that metaphoric hidden deep within the soft man before you. It’s funny to think of him as a clawed and fanged monster when he’s as goofy and sweet as you’ve come to know him.

You know it won’t be easy to manage a relationship with everything working against you, but somehow you think it just might work. Maybe it’s knowing you can’t possibly go through worse than being attacked by another wolf, maybe it’s how safe you feel wrapped tightly in his arms as his legs tangle with yours, or maybe it’s the fact that you so selfishly want it to work, but you think a future with Satoru sounds like heaven.

If it means becoming a ‘monster lawyer’ or whatever silly idea Satoru would come up with, then you were willing to give it a try for him. Anything for one more moment tucked tightly into the valley of his chest.

masterlist

❦ a/n ; i honestly had a lot of fun with this one and hope you did too ♡ kinda obsessed with werewolf!gojo tbh. fangs make me feral or sm idk. anyways likes/reblogs/comments are always super appreciated! ♡ ❦ taglist ; @ackermendick

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