#cell phone stun gun

[lightasthesun]

Comprehensive Lexicon Guide for First-Time SW Fic Readers:

Flimsi/Flimsiplast = Paper

Flimsiwork/Datawork = Paperwork

Stylus = Pen

Datapad = Tablet

Comlink/Comm = Communication Device/Phone

Binders = Handcuffs

Chronometer = Clock

Spectacles = Eyeglasses

Chrono = Watch

Conservator = Refrigerator

Caf = Coffee

Nerfburger = Hamburger

Blue milk = Milk (literally blue)

Hubba chips = French Fries

Sweet roll = Doughnut

Flatcakes = Pancakes

Tabac = Tobacco

HoloNet = World Wide Web

Holovision/HoloTV = Television

Holodrama/Holovids = Movie/Videos

Holocamera/Holocam = Camera

Holomap = three-dimensional map

Holojournal = Newspaper

Holocube = Picture frame

Holotable = Projector

Holoscanner = X-ray machine

Holojournalist = Reporter

Flatholo/Holograph = Photograph

Sonic Damper = Active Noise Cancellation

Refresher/Fresher= Bathroom

Sonic Bath = Bath

Sanisteam/Sonic shower = Waterless Shower

Hydrospanner = Wrench

Hydro Flask = Water Bottle

Power Cell/Energy Cell = Batteries

Authorization Chip = Decryption key

Datatape = Disk

Datastick = Flash drive

(Personal) Com Code = Phone number

Datachip = SD Card

Synthflesh = Synthetic skin

Glowrod = Flashlight

Sparkstick = Match

Slugthrower = Gun

Slug = Bullet

Vibroblade = a blade that can vibrate at high frequencies, increasing its cutting power and penetrating ability (tactical knife)

Rangefinder = Rifle scope

Turbolaser = Cannon

Ion pike/Vibropike = Spear

Electro Staff = Stun baton

Blaster = Pistol/Rifle

Stun Blaster = similar to a Taser

Landspeeder/Airspeeder/Speeder = Car

Turbolift = Elevator

Slideramp = Escalator

Starfighter = Fighter jet

Rotorcraft = Helicopter

Hoverpack/Jetpack= Jet pack

Speeder Bike = Motorcycle

Skylane = Traffic lane

Railspeeder/Hovertrain = Train

Power Chair/Hoverchair= Wheelchair

Windscreen = Windshield

Podracing = Car racing

Dejarik = Chess

Sabacc = Poker and Blackjack combined

Galactic Rebels = Combat simulator

B'shingh = Dungeons and dragons

Jizz = Jazz music

Wailer = Singer (ie. Jizz Wailer)

Cantina = Bar or Pup

Para Sailing = Paragliding

Aurebesh = Alphabet

Credits = Money

Sleeping Pallet = Bedroll

Naming Day = Birthday

Youngling = Child

Galactic Basic Standard/ Basic = English

Medkit/Medpac = First aid kit

Hypo = Syringe

Medic/Healer = Doctor

Medcenter = Hospital

Bactapatch = Bandaid

Nanoweave = Fabric

Transparisteel = Glass

Plastifoam = Packing material

Durasteel = Steel

Plasteel = Plastic

Duracrete = Concrete

Slicer = Hacker (slicing = hacking)

Identikit = Passport

Minder = Therapist

Synthleather = Vinyl

Viewport = Window

Cooling Unit = Air-conditioning

Honeydarter = Bee

Slythmonger = Drugdealer

Spice = Drugs

Stimpill = Caffeine pill

Power Socket = Plug

Cutters = Scissors

Cycle = Day

Standard Cycle = 24h

Standard Week = 5 days

Standard Month = 35 standard days

Standard Year = approx. ten months

Tenday = literally ten days

Cigarras/Smokes = Cigarettes

Click = Kilometer or 'a moment'

Parsec = a unit of distance

Tweezers/Clanker/tin head/tinnie = Droid

Separatist = Seppie

Promise Ring = Wedding Ring

Body Glove = Jumpsuit

Slicksuit = Wet suit

Civvies = Civilian clothing

Carbonite = a metal alloy used to freeze a person in a state of hibernation

Hyperdrive = device that allows a starship to travel faster than lightspeed

Moisture vaporator = device that can extract water from the air, commonly used on tatooine

Glareshades = Sunglasses

Gasser = Gas Oven

Repulsorlift = technology that can create an anti-gravity field and is used for levitating heavy objects

Heating unit = Heater

Utility Droid = Roomba

Sunbonnet = a Clone trooper helmet

Bad Batcher = a defective Clone Trooper

Banthabrain = birdbrain/ a stupid person

Bantha fodder = waste of space/nonsense

Blast! = word of exclamation

Blasted! = s.o in anger or annoyance

Blaster-brained = dimwitted

Blaster fodder = cannon fodder

Blast off = Piss off

Brainless = Stupid

Bug/Bugger = used to refer to Geonosians

Forceforsaken = godforsaken

Full of Poodoo = full of shit

Poodoo = Shit

Kriff = Fuck

Jedi scum = derogatory term for jedi

Kark = derogatory expletive

Larty = LAAT/i gunship

Laserbrain = insult

Meat droid = derogatory term for Clone Troopers

Redrobes = Palpatines guard

Rookie/Shinie = newly recruited Trooper

Scum = insult to refer to bounty hunters/rebels

Sharpie = Sharp-witted

Sithspawn/Sithspit/Hellspawn! = expletive

Sleemo = Slimeball

Son of a bantha = insult

Wizard! = Cool

Spaced = dead

Hutt-spawn = Bastard

Karabast = exclamation of dismay

Stang = Crap

Buckethead/Bucketbrain = derogatory term for Stormtroopers

Bucket = Helmet

Nat-born = Natural Born

Roger Roger = affirmative/copy that

Droid poppers = EMP grenade

Sitrep = short for situation report

Backwater Planet = any planet that isn't part of the core system

Holocron = device that can project a three-dimensional image of a person/object and is used for communication or entertainment.

Kessel Run = a risky Operation. Commonly used as a metaphor in impossible situations.

Thermal Detonator= device that can create a powerful explosion like a grenade or bomb

Ray Shield/Energy Shield = creates a (protective) barrier

Rebreather = device that allows a person to breathe underwater or in toxic environments

Phrases:

Wild goose chase = wild bantha chase

That's bantha shit = that's bullshit

As slippery as a greased Dug = untrustworthy

Credit for your thoughts = penny for your thoughts

Cut the poodoo = cut the crap

to get your gills in a twist = get upset about something

Holy mother of meteors = holy mother of god

Oh my skies/ Oh my stars = exclamation of surprise

Stars' end! = exclamation of disbelief

What in the blue blazes = exclamation

When Geonosis freezes over/When it snows on tatooine = extremely unlikely

Who pissed in your power supply = who pissed you off

Blast it = damn it

By the maker = exclamation of surprise

Great karking Dragon = expression of disbelief

Lothcat got your tongue = equivalent of 'cat got your tongue?'

Sod it = expression of frustration

[starmapz]

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

[charnelhouse]

Thinking of ghost as a dad makes me think of red taking her toddler son shopping for Halloween decorations and seeing a skeleton and the sweet boy is pointing and bouncing up and down like “it’s dada!”

A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox). Pure fluff. This ask made me curl up with joy.

She’s a little late. Only ten minutes and it could be anything: traffic, an additional errand, a parking lot shoot-out. Simon’s fingers twitch as his cell phone sits on the coffee table.

It’s only ten minutes.

Ten. Minutes.

He’d lost her in Ecuador for four fucking days, and she’d been fine. Well, relatively fine. Alive.

She can survive anything. He knows this. He feels this. But he cannot shake the belief that one day, his past will catch up to him and take her away. 

Don’t be a fuckhead, Simon. If it’s anyone’s past, it’s going to be mine. 

That makes me feel better, duchess. 

We’re sharing the burden, babe. Lucky for this kid, he’s got two spec ops, hot-ass parents. 

Yah really love a finger gun, don’t you? 

It’s called levity, dude. You’re too damn broody. 

“Don’t call her.”

Simon startles before side-eyeing Johnny, who is spread out on the far end of the couch. “I wasn’t gonna,” he growls defensively. 

“You’re staring at that phone like it’s a bomb.”

“She’s late.”

“She’s running errands with your enormous toddler. Yah know how hard it is to lift that kid? Try wrestling him into a car seat. Took me half an hour.”

Simon scowls. “Of course, I know. I do raise him.”

Johnny wiggles his eyebrows. “He takes after me.”

“Yeah, my enormous son is definitely your kid, tiny.”

“I’m six fuckin’ feet. Thank yah very much.”

“You’re still here?” 

Simon twists around to see Red standing in the doorway. She’s got their son on her hip and an orange plastic bag in her other hand. She leaves him breathless. Her skin dewy, her hair falling in her face. Stunning in a way that burns him. He still wants to shove her over a table and wreck her, but that desire is now weighted with something far more tender. She’s carried his baby.

He knew she’d be a good mother, but he didn’t expect her to excel at it so...perfectly. She can handle a tantrum and peel a man’s skin off.  She can silence him with a look.

“Simon said I could stay for dinner,” Johnny declares.

“I did not,” Simon refutes as he stands, rolling his shoulders. Their son’s tiny lips peel apart into a toothy grin, he claps his chubby hands together. 

“Dada,” he squeals as he opens his arms. 

Ghost smiles back, unable to blunt the joy that unfurls in his chest. Sometimes it’s all too much. 

“He got you something,” Red says as she places him on the floor. When she straightens, she presses her hand to her lower back. “Jesus - that kid is heavy. Remind me to stop having your babies.”

“Uhuh,” Ghost says dutifully. “Of course.”

She’d threatened to leave him a thousand times when she was giving birth. Their son’s head had not been easy to deliver. 

Red pulls something from her bag and hands it to their son, who waddles toward him. Simon crouches and sweeps him up in his arms. The boy squeals again delighted. 

“What have you got there?” he asks as he nuzzles his nose into the down of his son’s head, the soft velvet curls. He smells like Red’s perfume.

“Dada!” he giggles as he lifts a plastic skeleton. Soap barks with laughter. 

“He saw it in the store and lost it,” Red says as she walks toward them, placing a hand on the boy’s back. He shakes the skeleton before hugging it close. “Kept calling it dada. Got a lot of weird looks.” She cocks her head, her tongue darting over her lower lip. “I just wanted everyone to know that I’m getting it from a really hot skeleton.”

“Yah got a filthy head, Foxy.”

“You don’t even live here, Johnny.”

“Dada,” his son murmurs as he burrows his face into Simon’s throat. The skeleton is clutched against his chest, and he feels the boy relax, his damp, milky breath puffing against him as he nods off. 

Simon clears his throat, blinking a few times. There’s a raw snag of emotion in his throat that he can’t seem to swallow. Simon tries to pull the skeleton from the boy’s hands to look at it, but his son yanks it closer. 

“Typical,” Red remarks, her lips quirking in amusement. 

“What is?” Simon smirks because he already knows.

“Do you know how hard it is to shake you off when you’re asleep? It’s like being spooned by a bull slash octopus.”

“It’s true,” Johnny interjects in an empathetic tone. “Remember Siberia?”

“That was a life and death situation!” Simon snaps. “Sub-zero temperatures.”

Red’s eyes widen, her expression intrigued. “Give me the details, Johnny, and I’ll make you dinner.”

[doublene]

Things Jack has thrown instead of used

A cell phone

Pepper spray

A stun gun

An actual gun. Twice.

[tobiasdrake]

How strong is Mr. Mark "Hercule" Satan in the manga? From what I know, in the anime we see him either vanish or use the afterimage technique (forget which) and I think dodge bullets - is that in the manga too, or he is just meant to be at the peak of real-life human ability (like the guys Kid Goku and Krillin fight in the preliminaries of the World Tournament)?

Peak of human ability. Within human limits, Mr. Satan is the world's greatest martial artist.

Right off the bat, he's identified by martial arts lore guy Yamcha as the martial arts champion of the world. The Cell Games reporter, known in the dub as Jimmy Firecracker, corroborates this statement at the tournament.

The anime hypes him up by pulling multiple buses and ripping phone books in half. However, in the manga, the Cell Games start like right after Mr. Satan steps out on-panel for the first time and gives his speech. Goku and the others have one chapter to wrap up the revival of Shenron and then it's off to the tournament.

The first we see of what he can really do is when he steps into the ring, bringing with him a tremendous demonstration of his power.

Jimmy's right. This is very impressive.

Uh. Within human limits.

It's just that we're a bit beyond that baseline by this point.

Incidentally, a common misconception for Mr. Satan is that he won the 24th Tenkaichi Budokai leading up to the Cell Games. He did not. The Tenkaichi Budokai was cancelled after Piccolo nuked the island it was held on, and wouldn't be revived until after the Cell Games.

That said, he did compete in it after the Cell Games, and he did win the gold.

This is a very easily confused plot point, so much so that even the Daizenshuu gets it wrong and pegs the 24th as having just happened five days before the Androids activated.

But although Mr. Satan was the world champion, he was not the champion of that tournament. Not yet.

All indications seem to be that Mr. Satan won the 24th legitimately. No tricks, no shenanigans, no fooling around. The punch machine records Satan at 137 points of... whatever measurement they're using.

It's just a couple points under the all-time record set at the 24th, also by Mr. Satan.

This slightly lower reading is probably due to the, uh, changes in his workout regimen since the 24th.

We never get to see this tournament, but we get a glimpse of it and its structure through its contestants. A few of the contestants at the 25th are veterans from the 24th, coming back to try and take another crack at the champ.

Satan is the leader of this pack, having won his championship belt in a stunning final bout against Jewel that left the announcer underwhelmed and disappointed.

Goku and his rivals have absolutely ruined this man for standard human-level martial arts. They've raised the bar so high, Mr. Satan couldn't possibly compare.

Though, by Gohan's estimation, Videl's outgrown him too.

Had the 25th not had all these aliens and gods and warlocks cluttering it up, there's a real chance this tournament would have ended in Videl dethroning her father in the finals. Something I would dearly pay to see.

As far as dodging bullets, I think the closest he comes to that is when these two idiots attack Buu.

When he scurries out of the way of this RPG they fire at Majin Buu. Though we don't see how far he got, as he momentarily vanishes from the manga following this blast. Perspective remains on the attackers reloading and firing on Buu some more while Satan makes his way to their position under cover of tunnel vision.

The actual gun that's shot at him in this fight hits its mark. But also it was a shot from behind so he couldn't have dodged it even if he could dodge bullets.

So I'm gonna call that "inconclusive" on whether he can dodge bullets. By battleboard logic, I'm sure escaping the RPG is an incredible feat. Mr. Satan is only peak human but, like, so is Batman. He's within human limits, but "human limits" can be extremely flexible in animation.

This is the same kind of thing as when cartoon characters dodge lasers.

And that's Mr. Satan's career in a nutshell. He's the biggest fish of a small pond (except for his daughter who's outgrown him). Talented and formidable in his own right, supremely impressive within his weight class, but woefully out of his league.

[sykesandskittles]

CHAPTER TWO

Harlow

Harlow

AT NINE-THIRTY ON THE DOT, Talia is at my door, and she looks incredible, as always. She’s wearing a black strapless dress that shows off the butterfly tattoo right below her collarbone, and a pair of high-heels that make her at least two inches taller. She’s carrying a sequined clutch that only looks big enough to hold her phone.

She frowns at me. “You’re not wearing that.”

I glance down at myself and shrug. I’m wearing jeans, my cleanest pair of tennis shoes, and a sweater that’s kinda cute. It’s not as fancy as her dress, but it’s not as casual as my usual outfits, at least.

“There wasn’t a dress code on the invitation,” I point out.

With a sigh, Talia pushes into my room. “Hi Emily,” she says, waving at my roommate, who is sitting on her bed with her laptop, headphones covering her ears. Emily waves, then goes back to whatever she was doing.

Talia goes straight to my tiny closet, tearing through it like a woman on a mission. She pulls several things out, looks at them, then puts them back with a huff—until, finally, she finds something. She holds a short, maroon dress up to me, eyeing it critically. “Are your legs shaved?”

“Yeah. I shaved them yesterday before we went to the beach.”

“Good.” She pushes the dress into my chest. “Put this on while I find some shoes.”

I take the dress. “This dress is two years old. It’s way too small for me now.”

In the past two years, I’ve gained about fifteen or twenty pounds. And I don’t hate it, honestly. I know you’re supposed to want to be skinny, but I’ve always liked my curves, and the extra weight has never bothered me.

But shoving that twenty extra pounds into this dress is like asking me to stuff a rolled sleeping bag back into its sack. Some things are just impossible.

“Perfect,” Talia says. “It’ll show off your assets. Now, hurry. We’ve got to go.”

With a sigh, I tug the dress on just to prove how wrong Talia 's vision is. But once the dress settles into place, it actually doesn’t look too bad. It’s tight, but it props my breasts up nicely, making them look far more perky than they actually are. The only downside is that the dress is really short, so half my ass is hanging out. But whatever. It’ll work for a couple of hours.

Talia steps back, and looks me over, head to toe. “Minimal makeup, but you can get away with that. You look gorgeous.” She shoves a pair of black strappy kitten heels at me. “Now let’s go. It’s going to take at least ten minutes to get across campus.”

Thankfully, the residence halls here don’t have curfews, otherwise, we’d be fucked. We make it across campus in record time, but that’s because I’m practically running. The campus is dead at night and darkness seeps into every corner, so the unease I feel is pretty intense.

I’m so anxious, I barely notice the cold wind coming off the ocean. I’m just determined to get to Rush House, clutching my pocket-sized stun gun the entire way. I only shove it into my small purse once we see the spire of the old house jutting up over the student affairs building.

The house is just as dark and mysterious as I remember, and a shiver rolls down my spine as we walk past two gnarled gargoyles that flank the walkway leading up to the porch.

As we get closer, I can see there’s someone dressed in a tux standing at the door. He eyes us as we walk up. “This is a private event,” he says just as we mount the top step.

I pull out my invite and hand him both pieces. He glances down at them, then looks up at me. “Name?”

I hesitate, and Talia nudges me. “Harlow Anderson and Talia Langley.” His gaze shifts to Talia , and there’s a second when I think he’s going to turn us away. But instead, he holds out a basket that has a pile of cell

phones inside. “Phones aren’t allowed,” he says by way of explanation.

Talia pops forward, dropping her cell phone into the basket, then snatches mine and puts it in the basket, too. I open my mouth to say something—namely how ridiculous there is no cell phone rule is—but the guy opens the giant oak door, and Talia is already pulling me inside.

The second I step over the threshold, into the foyer, I suck in a breath. The outside of the house is creepy as fuck, but the inside isn’t much better. It’s giving…Haunted Mansion. Wide sweeping staircase, dark hallways, oversized portraits. Wealth practically drips from every antique surface. I’m betting the vase in the foyer alone would fetch a fortune on Marketplace.

Talia and I are guided to the right, and into a large room, where everyone is gathered. Right outside the doorway, there’s a sign on a pedestal that reads, “Silence past this point.”

I grab Talia 's arm, and make a face, like what the fuck? She just shrugs and continues walking deeper into the room. Someone with a tray hands us each a glass of champagne, which I tip back and drain immediately, grabbing a fresh glass before the guy can walk away.

Talia gives me a look, but whatever. If I’m going to make it through the next couple of hours, then I’ll need to be comfortably numb. It’s the only way.

We stop at the edge of the room, and I scan the large, elegant space. Expensive-looking paintings hang on the walls in gold frames, and there’s a crystal chandelier suspended in the center of the room. Everything about this ancient house screams wealth, privilege, and the elite.

My gaze shifts to the faces surrounding me, and the first thing I notice is the fact that there are so few guys here. This room is filled with girls, probably all ExU students, each more stunning than the last. They’re all wearing designer dresses paired with chunky jewelry, and Gucci purses slung over their bony shoulders. I feel like I’ve tumbled down the rabbit hole and landed in some kind of couture ad.

Heels clack on the hardwood floor as the girls walk around, completely silent, sipping their drinks. Some stand in groups, while others look like they’re making an effort to be seen–strutting elegantly, champagne in hand, chins tilted upward.

Thump. Thump. Thump .

I can’t see where the sound is coming from, but on the other side of the room, four cloaked figures emerge, filing into the room—the same mysterious figures from last night. But this time, they’re not wearing the gold masks.

The second they enter, there’s a renewed energy in the air. The cloaked figures fan out, dispersing into the crowd–and as they pass each girl, their gazes linger, like they’re assessing each person individually.

Um.

I lean into Talia .“What’s happening?”

She shrugs without looking at me, her eyes glued to this odd thing unfolding in front of us.

I try to make out the stranger from last night—the one with wintery brown eyes. But I never saw his face, and these guys all look similar—huge, broad-shouldered, and they all walk with the confidence that comes with being born into wealth and privilege.

I wonder if these are The Omens that the website mentioned.

I take two large gulps of my champagne, tilting my head back, and closing my eyes as the bubbles slide down my throat. I’m already feeling a bit lightheaded from the first glass, so things are moving along nicely. A couple more drinks and I may even forget why I’m here.

One can only hope.

I hold up my empty glass and lean over to Talia . She’s barely even touched her drink. “I’m going to hunt down more champagne,” I say a little louder than I intend.

Talia elbows me. “Shhh. My God, Harlow , are you trying to get us kicked out? Go and come back quickly.”

With a nod, I scan the immediate area and spot a guy with a tray moving toward the center of the room. Nice. I start after him, like a lioness stalking a gazelle on the Serengeti. Wobbling a little on my heels, I weave my way through the patches of fellow college girls, keeping those tall champagne flutes squarely in my line of vision.

I’m halfway to my fresh glass when a wall of muscle appears in front of me. A wall that’s encased in a long, navy blue robe. Up close, I can see the hood is separate and made of a velvety black material–no idea why I fixate on that small detail.

Glancing up, up, up, I gulp audibly when I catch a glimpse of the Wall’s face—classically handsome with a cut jawline, straight nose, dark, wavy hair, and those light brown eyes that cut into me with such raw intensity, it makes my heart skip a beat. Or maybe it just stops completely. Either way, I feel a bit faint.

This is the guy from last night. I know it instinctively.

I take a step back to give him room to pass, but in the process, I teeter on my heel and start to go down. He catches me by the arms, and steadys me, his long fingers gripping me tightly, almost painfully.

“Um, t-thanks,” I say. But his hands linger on me, and his eyes are narrowed, his lips pressed into a hard line. He looks…angry, almost like he doesn’t want me here.

Before I can even feel a twinge of embarrassment, though, someone bumps into me from behind, shoving me into the angry stranger, my front pressed into his rock-hard chest. He barely moves, so it’s like being pinned against a slab of granite. A warm slab of granite that smells faintly like the ocean.

I push against his chest to separate us. “S-sorry.”

With a quirk of his full lips, he dips his head and speaks directly in my ear, “You’d better watch your step, Little Rabbit. In this house, there are vipers everywhere.”

I swallow a wisp of air .

Little Rabbit? Vipers?

My mind works overtime trying to figure out what he could mean, but I come up blank. So I open my mouth to ask him, but he’s already walking away, being swallowed up by a bunch of girls trying to get his attention.

I manage to grab the champagne I was after, but as I make my way back to Talia , I notice everyone in the room is looking at me, their gazes following me from under a sea of fake lashes. The distinct vibe of disapproval trails my every step.

When I get back to Talia , she’s standing next to another girl, talking in low tones behind her glass—I’m guessing so she isn’t seen breaking the rules. The other girl is wearing a satin navy-blue dress that falls mid-thigh and shows off her long, gold-tinted legs. She has an easy smile, and it looks like Talia and her have already made friends. Talia has always been that way. She could make a life-long friend while standing in line at the post office.

The girl smiles at me, flashing a row of perfectly white teeth.

Talia leans into me. “This is Wyn. She was just explaining all of this to me.”

I nod and force a smile at Wyn, still a little shaken by my encounter with the angry guy. I ball my hand into a fist to stop it from trembling.

Wyn comes over to stand next to me, so I’m sandwiched between her and Talia . We huddle a little, holding our glasses up to our mouths so that we can whisper.

“Hey,” Wyn says. “Welcome.”

“Thanks,” I responded, my voice barely audible. “I’m Harlow . ”

“Oh, wow, that’s a unique name,” she says. “Don’t worry. If they catch us talking they’ll just come over and tell us to stop. They won’t kick us out.”

Bummer. Getting kicked out is the best-case scenario at this point.

Wyn lifts her perfectly manicured brows. “We saw you talking to Noah Sabastian a minute ago.”

Noah. So that’s his name.

“Yeah, I almost trampled his foot.”

“He’s one of the four Omen boys, and every girl in this room is after him,” she says.

Well, that explains the tsunami of dirty looks that came roaring at me a few minutes ago.

I scrunch my nose. “Not sure why they’re after him, but whatever. To each their own, I guess.”

Wyn smiles. “I mean, aside from his fuck-me face, he’s insanely rich. He owns this house, and he has more power at this school than the fucking Dean. So, yeah…”

Damn.

I’m not sure what to say to that, but thankfully, I’m saved from having to reply. A young guy in a suit walks to the center of the room, and thumps

on the floor with a carved stick, re-creating the same thump, thump, thump

from before.

The silence in the room grows thicker, expectant.

“The Omens will now make their selections,” he intones, his deep voice echoing off the dark, wood-paneled walls. Excited chatter ripples like little waves throughout the room, breaking the spell of silence. No one says it explicitly, but I guess we can talk now.

“Oh, shit,” Talia squeaks. “It’s happening.”

I take a sip of my champagne and turn to Wyn. “What are they selecting? ”

“They’ll each choose a consort for the upcoming academic year.” She spreads her hands, gesturing to the room. “That’s what this whole Preference Ceremony is.”

I blink. Did he just say consort?

What in the middle ages is happening here?

If they start sacrificing people, I’m leaving. Period.

I half-turn to Talia and pull a face, like, did you just hear what I just heard? But she doesn’t even see me. Her gaze is fixed on what’s happening with this guy thumping his stick, trying to bring everyone to attention. She’s always been really into this kind of thing. Cliques. Groups. Clubs. You name it, and if it’s considered cool, she wants to be a part of it.

I’ve clearly lost Talia , so I turn back to Wyn. “So what happens after they make their selections?” I practically gag on that last part, because you’d think we were talking about lobsters in a tank. Not actual people.

Wyn doesn’t have a chance to answer, though, because immediately after the guy makes that announcement, all the girls assemble themselves, gathering in the middle of the room. Wyn directs us to join as well, even though we’re not really a part of whatever this is.

The four Omen boys step up onto a wooden platform and stand in a line, shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped behind their backs. Masters of the universe. Kings of their domain.

Noah snags my attention first, and I can’t help but replay our last interaction in my head—the warmth of his breath brushing across my cheek, his hand squeezing my arm just a fraction too tight. I swallow, and suck in a long pull of perfumed air, trying to calm the anxiety pooling in my stomach .

Talia homes in on my discomfort. “What’s wrong, babe?”

I blow out a breath and drum up a reason, pulled from the plethora of my insecurities. “I don’t know, I guess I just feel out of place here.”

“Why?” Talia scoffs. “Because these people are rich? Who cares? You’re cooler than anyone here. You know, you really need to start that positive affirmation journal I gave you.”

Journals have never really been my thing. Why write my emotions down when I can just bottle them up inside, and wait for them to ferment? Drunk on my own pain. Sounds perfect. I doubt my therapist would agree, though. I can practically hear him in my mind.

This is a new beginning, Harlow . Put the past aside, and be brave.

I thread my arm through Talia 's. If I’m brave, it’s because she’s here with me. No matter the situation, she’s always on my side, always encouraging me. She’s the one person in my life—besides my grandmother

—who truly loves me.

I glance back up at the platform, shifting my gaze to the two guys to Noah’s right. They have similar features, so they must be brothers— Dark, classically handsome, both with long hair that falls to their shoulders

Then there’s the guy to Noah’s left—incredibly tall, with dark hair and an expression that looks like a permanent scowl, and if the breadth of his shoulders is any indication, then he must be built like a brick house under that robe.

One thing they have in common, though—they all look like trust fund kids. Like they all have kidnap insurance and throw beer cans off their yachts.

“So, who are these guys?” I ask Wyn.

“Noah Sabastian ,Nick folio, and those two are fraternal twins— Nicholas and Jolly Karlsson. They rule the Burning Crown.”

I nod, shocked that Wyn is being so forthcoming. Maybe she figures our presence here is approval enough to let us in on the basics. Whatever her reason, I’m just happy someone is explaining things.

My eyes shift back to the guys, and I study them. “They look douchey.” Sexy, undoubtedly toned under those robes, with faces like that? Yeah, no thanks. Guys like that are always more trouble than they’re worth. Universally.

“You’re not wrong,” Wyn laughs. “but they’re also worshiped around here. Their families practically own the school. Their last names are on

every building on campus.”

It’s meant to make them sound impressive, but somehow it just makes them even more douchey. College guys being worshiped? Ugh.

Wyn continues, “Noah is the oldest, so he’ll choose first.”

And almost like Wyn had summoned him, Noah steps forward. I watch with curiosity as he recites something—in Latin maybe—looking down into the sea of girls. There’s a buzz of excitement, like they’re all waiting with their breaths held, hoping to be chosen as prom queen.

Wow.

But as I look around, I realize how important this ceremony is to everyone here, and I feel bad for judging this whole thing so harshly. This ceremony is a crazy concept to me, but hey, it takes all kinds, right?

With a less critical eye, I study the faces of the girls surrounding me. We all have our weird things, right? And everyone wants to be the chosen one, singled out amid an ocean of beautiful faces. Plucked from the shadows.

Well, everyone, except me.

I’ve been there, done that, and have the emotional scars to prove it. I’m perfectly content in the shadows.

But I shouldn’t color everything with my own experiences.

I’m contemplating that when everything suddenly goes still, and the room falls back into silence. A hundred pairs of eyes slowly turn in my direction. I just blink back at them, confused. What’s happening? It isn’t until Talia nudges me that I realize why they’re all staring. Noah is still standing on the platform, his Dark Brown eyes locked on one target.

Me.

[i-am-xp-64]

The big mission.

The goal: rescue lim and blow up the incer mental hospital

The mission guys: jett and monster

The enemy: -dr Albert Morgan-

Part 4

Monster jumped in the cell, it was empty, the two guards were dead on the ground, the walls are bloody and the door is broke open, maybe lim able to escape the guards and now in the building..?

This is surely, fucking disgusting..

Monster look around for clues, the chains were on the floor broken and some of the places on the walls were have hitting marks on it

Looks like lim gone insane when they tried to do the death test

Before even a thought, monster hear sirens, she quickly hide and not be seen, the guards seem to go to a ordered place, maybe lim is in bigger trouble now, or did Jett got caught and now they looking for them

Monster take out the radio-phone and call on Jett

Jett..lim is not here, what's up with you?

Jett?..JETT answer me!!

No answer, just glitching noises, but then a dark voice answer the phone

𝐉𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬, 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲..

Monster stunned for a second, that doesn't sound like Jett at all

What the..who is that?

𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭..𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧.

Him, he got Jett and now is after lim, Dr Albert drop the radio-phone on the ground and step on it and broke it, then he turn to his guards

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥..𝐢𝐦𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Don't you dare hurt them!

Jett screamed while being dragged out the room

I swear if you touch them I'll end you!!

I promise!

You'll regret it!!

Jett's words to Dr Albert Morgan

Albert Morgan stand on the room, close the computer and take the gun on the table

He fill the gun's charger with seriousness on his face, then he grabbed his report radio and make an announcement

-𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞h

-𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞..𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞.-

-𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐲.-

This is doesn't seem good, does Dr Albert will kill lim?? We'll see..

To be continued

(Jett and Dr Albert belongs to @weirdsillycreature and monster belongs to me)

[givehimthemedicine]

"they hurt you" / lab zapping and sa coding

so the sa-coding of the lab electrical punishments has been discussed but I just wanted to do a quick side post on the fact that we never actually see El get zapped.

but it's not like that's something they don't wanna show onscreen - we see it with One, Eight, Ten and Terry. but when it comes to El, we keep seeing it almost happen:

I'm about to post a big analysis about El lab csa subtext (how much is allegory and how much is subtext we can talk later) but I was like ok, they keep showing this NOT happening to El, so is that a strike against the idea? does this indicate that she lives under threat but hasn't actually had anything happen yet?

well, we know that various forms of zapping are very connected to the word "hurt"

then there's this. which like we've all said, can't just be about One getting zapped. it's far too weighty. besides, her knowing about the zapping isn't some Hail Mary revelation to pull out in this moment because they already talked about it earlier.

and El saying she and One are alike also tends to imply, but isn't a concrete statement, that she actually has been "hurt".

so has she? (I have a more support for it in my big post unfortunately. but right now I'm just addressing the hurt/electricity thing specifically)

yes she has, according to El's own dialogue in 2x7. when El says "I've killed," they provide the following two flashbacks:

2 quick observations.

I get that they're going for very snappy (ha) editing here, but they show only the neck-snap guy, and that was the guy who brandished the stun gun at her. they don't show wall-slam guy

in the brain melt clip, interestingly they DON'T show Connie. they do have time for a close up, but they choose MP dude instead.

and then we get this:

that clip of the orderlies dragging little El is the only one they put as support for "they hurt me."

she doesn't say they were going to - she says they did. so I am forced to conclude that El has, at some point prior to this lab scene, actually been zapped (so, "zapped").

but I have more questions.

if the orderly brandishing a stun gun constitutes "hurting" her, doesn't having a bunch of guns pointed at her count even more? El's so traumatized by seeing Connie shoot Benny, that she does that finger-gun thing with Mike - and yet that's not the greater thing to flash back to?

ah but now let me complicate it further - that clip is NOT of the orderlies she killed.

the killing happens in the cat version, seen in 1x3. the one they put here is from the 1x2 version, where El just gets locked in the cell and cries. it's not even the same two guys. the threat of a zap is still there because both have stun guns, but nothing really happens this time. they give her a rough shove into the cell, but that's it.

so the "hurt" being referred to is something which applies to even the non-stun-gun-brandishing orderlies. so beneath the surface, it's not about the actual guns / stun guns, or mere threat of harm, at all. this is something that has happened but which they declined to show.

idk, the fact they focused on the MP instead of Connie, even though she's the main antagonist of that scene; and on the stun-gun orderly instead of her actual first kill... like. did you just wanna lean in the more male/phallic direction both times? is that it?

because you already know how Choices are made with practically every stun gun / controller shot. and like. the imagery of stun guns hanging off the orderlies' belts is. rather.

hey. don't.

and just to round things off - idk what the current consensus is about the origin of those two phonecalls Joyce gets in s1 but there's just something about....

smth smth the thing about how Joyce's dialogue on the phone matches up with her conversation with Brenner in that one scene... ah yes this scene

idk man 😑🔫

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Born Under A Bad Sign

Masterlist

*3rd Person POV*

Dean was on his cell phone, leaning against his car. He was fidgeting, clearly upset. "Ellen, it's me again. Any chance you've heard from her?" Dean asked into the phone. "What about Sam? Has he heard anything?" He asked then Ellen replies and he sighs.

"I swear, it's like looking for my dad all over again. I'm losing my mind here." Dean exclaims. "No, I've called her a thousand times, there's nothing but voicemail. I don't know where she went, or why. (Y/n)'s just gone." Dean said, upset, then his cell phone beeps. "Hang on." He said and he holds up his phone and shows another incoming call - (y/n)'s cell. He answers it.

"(Y/n)? Where the hell are you? Are you okay?" He asked, panicked. "Hey, hey, hey! Calm down. Where are you?" He asked after a few moments. "All right, don't move, I'm on my way." He said while (y/n) hangs up the phone slowly, looking numb. Her knuckles are bloody.

Dean drives to reach (y/n), passing a sign reading TWIN LAKES, while he was on the phone with Sam. "Yeah, I found her. Nah, I got this. J-Just go to the Roadhouse or Bobby's. I'll bring her back." he said and he hangs up.

Minutes later, he arrives at the hotel and parks, then gets out. Inside the motel, he walks frantically down a narrow hallway, checking door numbers until he reaches room 109. He knocks. "(Y/n), it's me. (Y/n)!" Dean shouts and he tries the door - it opens.

Inside, (y/n) hadn't moved, still sitting numbly on one bed. "(Y/n)? Hey." Dean said as he goes over to her. "Hey, Dean." She said in a quiet voice and Dean kneels beside her.

"Are you bleeding?" He asked once he sees her knuckles. "I tried to wash it off." (Y/n) said and Dean sees that her shirt was covered in blood, he gropes at it, searching for a wound. "Oh my God." He whispers.

"I don't think it's my blood." (Y/n) said. "Whose is it?" Dean asked as he looks up at her. "I don't know." She replies. "(Y/n), what the hell happened?" Dean asked, worried and scared, and then (y/n) finally looks up at him. "Dean. I don't remember anything." She said, fear etched over her face.

Some later, Dean returns to the room, carrying a grocery bag. (Y/n) had changed clothes and was looking a little less out of it. "What'd you find out?" She asked him. "You checked in two days ago under the name Richie Sambora. Of course, I think the scariest part about this whole thing is the fact that you're a Bon Jovi fan..." Dean said and she scoffs at him.

"Dean." She said, flatly. "Your room's been quiet, nobody's noticed anything unusual." Dean said. "You mean no one saw me walking around covered in blood?" She asked him. "Yeah. That's what I mean." Dean said.

"Then how the hell did I get here, Dean? What happened to me?" (Y/n) asked, confused and angry. "I don't know. But you're, you're okay, and that's what matters. Everything else we can deal with." Dean said. "Oh really? 'Cause what if I hurt someone? Or worse?" (Y/n) asked, panicked.

"(Y/n)..." Dean said, exasperated. "What if this is what John warned you about?" She asked. "Hey, whoa, whoa, come on, let's not jump the gun here. We don't know what happened. We've just got to treat this like, like any other job. What's the last thing you remember?" Dean asked her.

"Just me, you and Sam in that motel room in West Texas, going out to grab some burgers, and..." she said and Dean's brow furrows. "West Texas? That was, that was over a week ago." He said to her. "That's it." (Y/n) said, shrugging, and Dean looks at her, stunned. "Next thing I knew I was sitting here. Bloody. Felt like I'd been asleep for a month." She replied.

"Okay. Retrace your steps. The manager said you left yesterday afternoon and he never saw you come back, so..." Dean said and he pulls back the curtain and finds a bloody fingerprint on the window. "Hey." He said and (y/n) looks over at it.

The duo walk outside the motel, it's daylight, but raining. "Recognize anything?" Dean asked her. "Not really." She said as they go towards a parking garage out back. "Wait." She said once she stops. "What?" Dean asked and (y/n) points at the garage.

"I think I was here." She said. "You remember?" Dean asked and she shakes her head. "Not really, it just...feels familiar, you know?" She said and Dean shrugs, and goes to the nearest garage. (y/n) looks over to the second one and points. "Try that one." She said and Dean tugs on the padlock.

"Okay." He mutters and he starts to think of ways to open it. "Wait." said (y/n) and she digs in her pocket, frowning. She pulls out a key and gives Dean a significant look.

Dean opens the padlock with the key, raising his eyebrows at (y/n). He pulls the garage door open to reveal a filthy, beat-up VW Beetle. "Oh, please tell me you didn't steal this." Dean said, disappointed, as (y/n) fidgets. They go into the garage and open both doors of the car, (y/n) on the driver's side. She touches the wheel and shows Dean her stained finger.

"More blood." She said and Dean points. "(Y/n). Back seat." He said and (y/n) reaches down, picks up a blood-stained knife that sticks to the floor of the backseat. She stares at it. "You think I used this on someone?" She asked Dean. "I'm not thinking anything." Dean said.

(Y/n) looks around, rubs the knife handle off on the inside of her jacket while Dean picks up a pack of cigarettes. "Okay now this is disturbing. Come on, (y/n), this couldn't have been you. Had to have been someone else, somebody who, uh..." Dean said and he sniffs the pack. "...smokes menthols." He said as (y/n) digs around and picks up a piece of paper.

"Here. Gas receipt. Few towns over." She said as she holds the receipts up.

Sometime later, they pull up in front of a small gas station and Dean looks over the receipt while (y/n) looks around. "All right. Receipt's for ten gallons at pump number two. You getting any, uh, any goosebumps yet? God, this looks familiar, deja vu vibes?" Dean asked her and she shakes her head, quietly. "Maybe someone inside'll remember you. Come on." Dean said and they get out of the car.

They go into the convenience store and the clerk looks up in shock, then anger. "You. Outta here now, I'm calling the cops." The clerk yelled and Dean and (y/n) look at him, shocked.

"You talking to her?" Dean asked the clerk, confused but also angry as he didn't like the tone this guy was giving her. "Yeah, I'm talking to her. Bitch comes in yesterday, stinking drunk, grabs a forty from the fridge, starts chugging." The clerk said and Dean glares at the clerk. 

"Okay, buddy. One: watch your mouth. Two: this girl? You sure?" Dean asked and the clerk nods as Dean turns to (y/n). "You're drinking malt liquor?" He asked. "Not after she whipped the friggin' bottle at my head." The clerk yelled.

"This girl?" Dean said, still confused. "What, am I speaking Urdu?" The clerk asked, annoyed. "Look, I'm really sorry if I did anything --" (y/n) tried to explain but the clerk shakes his head.

"Tell your story walkin', girlie. Po-po will be here in five." He said as he picks up the reciever. "Wait, wait, put the phone down." Dean said as the clerk stops then Dean turns to (y/n). "(Y/n), go wait in the car." He said and she looks at him, confused. "But Dean --" she tried to argue but Dean yells. "Go wait in the car!"

She sighs and then leaves as Dean turns to the clerk. "Okay, look, man. I just want to talk to you, that's it. Okay?" He said and the clerk hangs up. "Now, when she took off yesterday, which way did she go?" Dean asked him.

"Why don't you ask her?" The clerk asked, annoyed. "'Cause I'm asking you. Now please, you'd be doing me a huge favor." Dean said. "Oh, do you a favor? Well, that is what I live for. You know, your girlfriend didn't pay for the booze. Okay? Or the smokes, which she also illegally lit up." The clerk said and Dean's eyes widen a bit.

"You saw her smoking?" He asked him. "Yeah. Chick's a chimney." The clerk said and Dean clears his throat and pulls his wallet out, then places some bills on the desk. "This, uh, ought to cover it." He said and the clerk looks at the money for a moment. "Hmm. It's, uh, it's coming back to me now. She took two packs." He said and Dean sighs as he pulls out more money. "Of course she did." He mutters and he pats the man.

"She went north. Route 71, straight out of town." the clerk replied and Dean nods, then grabs two candy bars and leaves with a smirk.

Dean was driving down a dark road, while (y/n) was staring out the window. "What's going on with you, (y/n)? Hm? 'Cause smoking, throwing bottles at people, I mean, that sounds more like me than you. I mean, I've seen you drunk...and you're more of the happy and giggling type of drunk." Dean said as (y/n) sits up, straighter.

"Dean, wait, right here. Turn down that road." She said, quickly. "What?" Dean asked. "I don't know how I know, I just do." She said and Dean turns down a back road and onto a private property. It is a large house with plenty of emergency lighting and security cameras outside.

"Whoever lives here, I'd say they don't like surprises." (Y/n) said as she looks over the house. "Should we knock?" Dean asked. "Yeah. I guess." She said and they get out of the car and head to the front door.

Dean knocks on the front door while (y/n) pokes around the corner. "Hey Dean." She said as she waves her flashlight at a window. It's broken, the ledge covered in shattered glass. "I'm surprised the cops didn't show. Place like this you'd think it'd have an alarm." Dean said as (y/n) finds a disabled alarm on the wall. "Yeah, you would." (Y/n) said as Dean looks at it then at her.

They go into the house to see that the floor is covered in broken glass and scattered items. In a back room, they come across a body on the floor. "Hit the lights." Dean said and (y/n) turns the lights on as Dean kneels behind the body.

He places a hand on it and turns it over; it is a middle-aged man with a deeply cut throat; he is dead, his eyes staring. Dean puts a hand over his own mouth while (y/n) looks horrified. "Dean, I did this." She whispered, devastated. "We don't know that." Dean said, firmly.

"What else do you need? I mean, how else do you explain the car, the knife, the blood --" (y/n) exclaims. "I don't know, (y/n), why don't you tell me?!" Dean asked her, angrily, but then he calms down. "Look, even if you did do this I'm sure you had a reason, you know; self-defense, uh, he was, he was a bad son of a bitch, something!" Dean said as he pats down the body. "He doesn't have any ID." Dean said and (y/n) looks at a closet.

"I need your lockpick." She said to him. "What?" Dean asked her. "I need your lockpick." She said again and he hands her his lockpick. She takes the lockpick and opens the double-door closet in the room.

Inside the room, one wall is covered in firearms, the others in charts and clippings. "Holy....Either this guy's a Unabomber-" he said. "Or a hunter." (Y/n) finished as guilt started to grow in her chest. "Dean, I think I killed a hunter." She said, shocked and Dean looks up and sees a security camera near the ceiling. "Let's find out." He said, as he points at the camera.

Later, (y/n) was sitting in front of the desktop computer, Dean standing behind as she cues up the security tape. "Here we go." Dean said.

On the tape, (y/n) was fighting the same man who lies dead on the floor behind them. The fight moves off camera and (y/n) drags the man back into the frame; she kneels, pulls the man up against her legs, and slits his throat. (Y/n) stares in shock as Dean pulls back from the screen and stands straight, looks at (y/n), who looks down. 

Minutes later, (y/n) was still sitting at the computer desk, staring at a page in her hand. Dean bustles around behind her, cleaning up. "How do you erase this? Huh?" Dean asked but (y/n) doesn't reply. "(Y/n), come on, I need your help." Dean said, desperate.

"I killed him, Dean. I just broke in and killed him." (Y/n) said, in fear. "Listen to me. Whoever this guy is, he's a hunter. Which means that other hunters are going to come looking for his killer, which means we've got to cover our tracks, okay?" Dean said and (y/n) holds up the paper. "His name was Steve Wandell. This is a letter from his daughter." She said, tearfully.

Dean looks from (y/n) to the letter, then makes a decision. He grabs the CPU, lifts it above his head, and smashes it to the floor, stomping it with his boots for good measure. Dean looks at (y/n), still sitting there despondent, tosses a rag to her. "Wipe your prints, then we go." He orders and she looks at him then nods.

Later that evening, (y/n) precedes Dean into the motel room. "All right, we get a couple hours sleep and then we put this place in our rearview mirror." Dean said while (y/n) folds her arms across her chest, upset. "Look, I know this is bad, okay? You gotta snap out of it." Dean said but she doesn't say anything. "(Y/n), say something!" Dean exclaims and she turns to him.

"Just get some sleep and leave in the morning? Murder, Dean. That's what I did." She said, upset. "Maybe." Dean said and (y/n) scoffs. "Okay? Hey, we don't know...shapeshifter!" Dean said, looking for anything. "Oh, come on. You know it wasn't, you saw the tape. There was no eye flare, no distortion..." she said.

"Yeah, but it wasn't you! All right? I mean, yeah, it might have been you, but it wasn't you." Dean yells at her. "Well, I think it was." (Y/n) said as she sits down on the bed. "I think maybe more than you know." She mutters.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked and she sighs. "For the last few weeks I've been having...I've been having these feelings." She replied and Dean walks to the bed to sit opposite of her. "What feelings?" He asked, softly.

"Rage. Hate. And I can't stop it. It just gets worse. Day by day, it gets worse." She said, sadly. "You never told me this." Dean said and she gives a slight shake of her head. "I didn't want to scare you." She said and Dean nods, slaps her knee, then stands up. "Well, bang-up job on that." He said.

"Dean, the yellow-eyed demon, you know he has plans for me and for Sam. And we know that he's turned other children into killers before, too." (Y/n) said. "No one can control you but you." Dean said and (y/n) scoffs.

"It sure doesn't seem like that, Dean, it feels like no matter what I do, slowly but surely I'm, I'm just becoming..." she stops. "What?" Dean asked. "Who I'm meant to be. I mean, you said it once yourself, Dean. I gotta face up to who I am." She said. "I didn't mean this!" Dean exclaims, angrily.

"But it's still true. You know that. John knew that too. That's why he told you, if it ever came to this..." (y/n) said and Dean shakes his head. "Shut up, (y/n)." He said, firmly. "Dean, you promised him." (Y/n) said to him. "No. Listen to me. We're gonna figure this out. Okay? I mean, there's gotta be a way, right?" Dean asked, desperately.

"Yeah there is." (Y/n) said and she takes a handgun from her duffel, and shoves it at Dean. "I don't wanna hurt anyone else. I don't wanna hurt you. Or Sam." She said as a tear runs down her face.

Dean looks down at the gun (y/n) is handing him. "You won't. Whatever this is, you can fight it." Dean said to her and her eyes starts to tear up. "No. I can't. Not forever. Here, you gotta do it." (Y/n) said and they stare at each other for a long moment; then (y/n) grabs Dean's right hand and places the gun in it.

Dean doesn't move, but just stares as (y/n) in shock, who was shaking and upset. "You know, I've tried to hard to keep you safe." He said, tears welling up in his eyes, and she nods. "I know." She said and Dean shakes his head. "I can't. I'd rather die." He said and he drops the gun on the bed and shoulders past (y/n).

"No. You'll live." (Y/n) said and she picks up the gun as Dean turns to face her. "You'll live to regret this." She growls and she pistol-whips Dean, who falls to the floor unconscious.

An insistent knocking wakes Dean up. He looks around to realize that he is on the floor of the motel room; the motel manager, who has been knocking, opens the door. "Hey. It's past your checkout." The manager said as Dean gets up, groggily.

"What?" Dean asked. "It's past checkout, and I've got a couple here needs your room." The manager said and Dean looks over to see an embarrassed businessman with a hooker. "Yeah, I'll bet they do." Dean mutters then he turns to the manager. "What time is it?" He asked. "Twelve-thirty." The manager replied.

"That girl who was with me, have you seen her?" Dean asked him. "Yeah, she left before dawn in your car, and you should have gone with her, because now I'm gonna have to charge you extra." The manager said and Dean rolls his eyes in annoyance as he digs in his wallet. "Oh, son of a..." Dean mutters. "It's just policy, sir." The manager said as Dean hands him the money.

"I need to use your computer." said Dean. "Now, why would I let you use my computer?" The manager asked.

Later, the manager was counting a stack of cash, as Dean talks on the phone behind him, in front of a desktop computer. "Hi, uh, so sorry to bother you, but uh, my daughter snuck out of the house last night and, uh, went to a Justin Timberlake concert." Dean said then he pauses for a moment before he answers. "What? Yeah. No, Justin is quite the triple threat. Uh, anyway, she's not back yet, and, and I'm just, I'm starting to worry." He said.

"Right. Yeah, I know, girls just wanna have fun. But see, (y/n) is uh uh uh, a diabetic, and uh, if she doesn't get her insulin, I just, I have to find her. Please, I'm begging you." Dean pleads as he types on the computer and end up on the website. "Yeah, no no no, I"m on the website right now, I just need to activate the GDS in her cell phone." He said and he enters a password; his GPS screen shows the name Dean J. Mahogoff, mobile phone number 785-555-2804

"Yeah, right there. Duluth, Minnesota. Yeah, that is a long way to go for a concert. I appreciate your help." He said and he hangs up.

In Minnesota, at a bar, Jo begins scrubbing the bar and saying goodnight to some customers. "Good night, thank you." She calls out as (y/n) enters and clears her throat while Jo had her back to her.

"Sorry, we're closing up." Jo said. "How about just one for the road?" (Y/n) asked and Jo turned to face her, not looking welcoming. "Well, you're about the last person I'd expect to see." Jo said and (y/n) gives a small smile at this.

"Well, I guess I'm full of surprises. So can I get a beer?" She asked. "Sure. One beer." Jo said and she brings a bottle of beer over and sets it down on the bar firmly, then turns away, bustling over cleaning up the bar. 

"So how'd you find me?" Jo asked. "Well, uh, it's kind of what we do, you know?" (Y/n) said. "Speaking of we, where's Dean and Sam?" Jo asked her. "Couldn't make it." (Y/n) replied as she comes up tot he bar.

"So what're you doing here, (y/n)? I mean we didn't exactly part on the best of terms." Jo said and (y/n) nods. "Right. Um, well, that's why I'm here." She said as had takes off her jacket. "I kinda -- I wanted to see if we could square things, you know?" She said.

As (y/n) takes off her jacket, Jo notices a circular burn mark with a short line through it on (y/n)'s forearm. "That looks like it hurts." Jo said as she gestures towards the mark. "No. Nah, just, just had a run-in with a hot stove." (Y/n) said, brushing it off.

"So you were saying something about squaring things?" Jo asked. "Yeah. Um...Look, I know how you feel about my dad and John. And I can't say I blame you. They were obsessed--consumed with hunting. And they didn't care who got caught in the cross-fire. And I guess that included your dad. But that was my father. That's not me." (Y/n) said to her.

"What about Dean? Or Sam?" Jo asked. "Oh Sam is nothing like his dad. But Dean's more like John than Sam, but h--" she stops once she sees the look on Jo's face. (Y/n) chuckles a bit. "Boy. You're really carrying a torch for Dean, aren't you?" She asked and Jo scoffs, uncomfortably.

"I'll take that as a yes. It's too bad." (Y/n) said as she smiles tightly. "'Cause see, Dean, he likes you, sure, but not in the way you'd want. I mean, maybe as kind of a...a little sister, you know? But--romance, that's just out of the question, he--he kind of thinks you're a schoolgirl, you know?" (Y/n) said then she let's out a laugh while Jo raises an eyebrow at her.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Jo, I -- I'm telling you 'cause I care." (Y/n) said. "That's real kind of you, (y/n)." Jo said. "I mean it." (Y/n) said and she places a hand on Jo's shoulder. "I care about you, like a sister." (Y/n) said, a smile that didn't seem like her own, and Jo immediately felt uncomfortable.

"Maybe you should leave." Jo said to her, firmly, and (y/n)'s smile falters then she looks down. "Okay." (Y/n) said and she removes her hand off of Jo's shoulder and stands to leave. Jo turns to face the bar, leaning on it heavily, when suddenly (y/n) reappears, grabbing her from behind and manhandling her.

"(Y/n), get off me! (Y/n)! Get off me! Let go!" Jo shouts, frantically. She closes her right hand on a beer bottle, but before she can hit (y/n) with it, (y/n) grabs her wrist and slams it onto the bar, shattering the bottle. 

"Jo, Jo, Jo." (Y/n) said, trying to calm her but it wasn't working. (Y/n) shoves Jo around until she faces the bar and pins her there, left hand over her wrist.

"(Y/n), no! No! Please! Please!" Jo screams before (y/n) slams her forehead into the bar, knocking Jo out, and she lifts her carefully to lie on the bar. "It didn't have to be this way. Maybe it did." (Y/n) mutters before she gives an evil grin.

Sometime later, Jo begins to wake up to (y/n) tying her up in a sitting position to a wide wooden post. "What the hell is going on? What are you doing?" Jo asked. "So what exactly did your mom tell you about how your dad died?" (Y/n) asked her.

"You're not (y/n)." Jo growls and (y/n) let's out a small chuckle. "Don't be so sure about that. Answer the question." (Y/n) said but Jo says nothing. (Y/n) sighs heavily and goes around to the other side; she sits in front of her, leaning in, her expression shifting to one of open concern. She pulls out a large knife and strokes her face with it.

"Come on. It's me. You can tell me anything, you know that. Answer. The question." (Y/n) said, slowly. "Fine." Jo growls. "Fine." (Y/n) said. "Our dads were in California: Devil's Gate Reservoir. They were setting a trap for some kind of hellspawn. John and (father's name) were hiding, waiting, and my dad was bait." Jo replied amd (y/n) laughs.

"That's just like my dad and John. Oh, I'll bet they dangled Bill like meat on a hook. Then what?" (Y/n) asked her as she gets up and goes around to stand behind Jo. "The thing showed up. John got too eager, jumped out too soon, got my dad exposed, out in the open. (Father's name) tried to stop John but he was too late. The thing turned around...and killed him." Jo said as (y/n) leans in from behind Jo.

"Hmm. Not quite." (Y/n) said and Jo's brow furrows. "What?" She asked. "What? Oh. See, it hurt him. It didn't kill him. You really don't know the truth, do you? I bet your mom doesn't either." (Y/n) said and she sits facing her again, and leans in close.

"Know what?" Jo asked. "You see, Bill...was all clawed up. Was holding his insides in his hands. He was gurgling and...praying to see you and Ellen one more time. My dad pleaded to John about getting Bill some help but John... killed Bill. Put him out of his misery like a sick dog." (Y/n) said and Jo begins to sob.

"You're lying." Jo said, sobbing. "I'm not. It's true." (Y/n) said the she leans into Jo's ear. "Dean's daddy shot your daddy in the head..." (y/n) said in a quiet sing song voice. "How could you know that?" Jo asked her. "I hear things." (Y/n) said Nd she stands up and stabs the knife into the pillar, just above head level.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Jo asked her, tearfully. "Like Daddy like daughter. You're bait. Open up." (Y/n) said and she shoves a knotted rag in Jo's mouth and ties it around her neck. "That's a girl." (Y/n) said then the door bursts open and Dean enters, gun out.

"(Y/n)!" He yells and (y/n) grabs the knife from the pillar, her calm expression shifting to one of desperate panic, and places the knife at Jo's throat. "I begged you to stop me, Dean." (Y/n) yells, sounding more like herself. "Put the knife down, dammit." Dean shouts at her.

"I told you I can't fight it! My head feels like it's on fire, all right?! Dean. Kill me, or I'm going to kill her. Please. You'd be doing me a favor! Shoot me." (Y/n) said, frantically, as she turns to face Dean, arms spread. "Shoot me!" She shouts.

Dean stares at her, gun steady, then he looks at Jo out of the corner of his eye. "No, (y/n), come on." Dean said and he turns away, lowering the gun. "What the hell's wrong with you, Dean? Are you that soft-hearted towards me that you'd rather let Jo die?" (Y/n) asked and Dean turns suddenly, flinging water from a flask at (y/n); the water hisses and steams as it strikes her and she screams in pain. 

"That's holy water, you demonic son of a bitch!" Dean yells and (y/n) raises her head; her eyes are the solid black of a demon's. Dean flings more holy water at her, making her growl. Then she turns and runs, bursting through a window and fleeing. Dean takes the knife and cuts Jo free then she pulls the gag out of her mouth as Dean runs towards the shattered window. 

"She was possessed?!" Jo exclaims and Dean turns and stares at her for a moment, then leaps through the window. "Dean!" Jo shouts but Dean was gone.

Dean and Possessed-(y/n) stalk each other through a dim, crowded warehouse, each with a handgun. During the following they never see each other directly, instead hiding stealthily behind piles and boxes and shouting at each other. "So who are you?" Dean asked her. "I got lots of names." (Y/n) replied.

"You've been in (y/n) since she disappeared, haven't you?" Dean asked and (y/n) let's out an evil chuckle. "You shoulda seen your face when you thought she murdered that guy. Pathetic." She spat. "Why didn't you kill me? You had a dozen chances." Dean said. "Nah, that would have been too easy. Where's the fun in that? You see, this was a test. I was gonna posses Sam but I thought (y/n) would be better. Wanted to see if I could push you far enough to waste (y/n). Should've known you wouldn't have the sack. Anyway. Fun's over now." (Y/n) said.

"Well, I hope you got your kicks. 'Cause you're gonna pay hell for this, I'm gonna make sure of that." Dean growls. "How? You can't hurt me. Not without hurting your darling (y/n)." She said as Dean was putting his gun away then pulls out the flask of holy water. "See, I think you're gonna die, Dean. You and every other hunter I can find. One look as (y/n)'s dewey, sensitive eyes? They'll let me right in their door." Possessed-(y/n) said and she gets up, heading outside; Dean follows.

They are on an open-air dock. Once Dean is out in the open, looking around at the water. (Y/n) steps out, takes aim, and shoots Dean, hitting him in the shoulder. Dean is knocked into the water with a splash and (y/n) stalks to the edge and peers over where Dean fell; not seeing him in the water, she smiles.

Little later, Jo is walking quickly through the docks, a flashllight in one hand and her cell phone in the other; she's calling Dean, and his voicemail picks up. "This is Dean. Leave a message." His voice said and Jo hangs up the phone, with a sigh of frustration, and continues searching.

Moments later she calls again, and this time hears Dean's ringtone coming from below her, by the water. She runs down to where he is lying unconscious at the bottom of a ramp. "Dean! Dean!" She exclaims and he wakes with a groan, coughing; he's completely wet. "Take it easy." Jo said to him as he shudders and groans in pain.

"Where's (y/n)?" Dean asked with a groan. "I don't know, I've been looking for you. Come on, get up." Jo said and she helps him to stand, and he leans on her heavily, groaning, clutching his shoulder, as they walk back to the bar.

Dean was seated at a table, gripping the edge with his right hand as Jo digs the bullet out of his left shoulder. He groans loudly. "Don't be a baby!" Jo said to him. "God!" Dean groans as she continues to dig into his shoulder. "Almost. All right, got it. Got it." She said as she drops the bloodstained bullet in a glass of clear alcohol.

Dean takes a few healthy swigs from a bottle of whiskey. "God, you're a butcher." Dean said. "You're welcome." Jo said, sarcastically. "All right, are we done?" Dean asked. "Would you give me two minutes to patch you up? You can't help (y/n) if you're bleeding to death." Jo said. Dean takes another swig as Jo continues layering gauze and tape over the wound.

"So, how did you know? That she was possessed?" Jo asked him. "Uh, ah, I didn't, I just knew that it couldn't have been her." Dean replied and Jo looks down.

"Hey, Dean." She said.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"I know demons lie, but...do they ever tell the truth too?" Jo asked and Dean looks over at her. "Uh, um, yeah, sometimes, I guess. Especially if they know it'll mess with your head." He said as he takes another swig. "Why do you ask?" Dean asked Jo gives a nervous look at him before she takes a deep breath.

"Nothing. Doesn't matter. So do you have any idea where she's headed to next?" She asked him. "Well, so far he's been going after the nearest hunter, so...closest one I know lives in South Dakota." Dean said. "Okay good, I'm done. Let's go." Jo said and Dean starts Dean stand up 

"Yeah. You're not coming." Dean said. "The hell I'm not. I'm a part of this now." Jo said. "I can't say it more plain than this. You try to follow me and I'll tie you right back to that post and leave you here. This is my fight. I'm not getting your blood on my hands. That's just how it's gonna be." Dean said and he turns to leave.

"Wait." Jo said and he turns back, and she hands out a prescription pill bottle. "Here. Take these, they'll help with the pain." She said. "Thanks. I'll call you later, okay?" Dean said and he leaves the bar. "No you won't." Jo mutters to herself.

That night, Dean drives down a dark stretch of road and dials a number on his cell.

Elsewhere, a phone rings several times, until (y/n) cuts the phone line running outside the house.

Dean looks at his phone and sighs. "Dammit." He mutters then he dials another number. "Hey, Sam. It's me. We've got a problem." He said.

(Y/n) walks slowly up the steps to the house and knocks on the door. A second later, Bobby opens it and grins then laughs with pleasure. "(Y/n)!" He said as (y/n) bares her teeth in a smile. "Hey, Bobby." She said.

"It's been a while." Bobby said and (y/n) grins sheepishly. "Well, come on in." Bobby said and she enters slowly, glancing at the ceiling, and Bobby shuts the door behind her.

They walk together into his study, which is dimly lit and covered wall to wall with stacks of books and papers. "So what brings you?" Bobby asked. "Working a job nearby, and thought I'd stop in and say hey." (Y/n) said.

"Well, where's the boys?" Bobby asked and (y/n) chuckles. "Oh Sam's at a library, researching, and Dean...probably holed up somewhere with a girl and a twelve pack." (Y/n) said as Bobby goes into the back room.

(Y/n), left alone, eyes the ceiling again. "Oh yeah? She pretty?" Bobby asked as (y/n)'s eyes cloud over black for a moment. "You ask me, he's in way over his head." She said, then her eyes go back to normal as Bobby returns with a beer in each hand; he hands one to (y/n).

"Well, it's good to see you." Bobby said and he raises his bottle. "To John and (father's name)." Bobby said. "To Dad. And John." She said and they toast and swig the beer.

(Y/n) turns to look up at the ceiling again but as she swallows the beer she spews suddenly, choking, falling to her hands and knees, coughing and gagging painfully.

Bobby sips his beer, unconcerned. "What'd you do?!" (Y/n) asked in a panic. "A little holy water in the beer. (Y/n) never would have noticed. But then, you're not (y/n) are you. Don't try to con a con man." Bobby said and he slams his fist into (y/n)'s face, knocking her out.

Later, (y/n)-demon is tied to a chair, before a fire and under the Devil's trap. Dean smacks her in the face to wake her up, Sam standing behind him. "Hey." Dean said to her and (y/n) looks up and sees the painted Devil's Trap. Dean and Sam look up too.

"Dean. Back from the dead. Getting to be a regular thing for you, isn't it? Like a cockroach." (Y/n) sneers then she turns to Sam. "Hello, Sammy." She said with a smile. "How about I smack that smartass right out of your mouth?" Dean asked. "Oh, careful, now. Wouldn't want to bruise this beautiful face." (Y/n) said.

"Oh don't worry, this isn't gonna hurt (y/n) much." Dean said as Sam picks up a bucket. "You, on the other hand..." Dean said as Sam tosses a bucketful of holy water on (y/n)-demon, who sizzles and roars. 

"Feel like talking now?" Dean asked, angrily. "(Y/n)'s still my meat puppet. I'll make her bite off her tongue." (Y/n) said, spiteful. "No, you won't be in her long enough. Sam." Dean said and Sam begins to read in Latin while Bobby stands on the side, watching.

"See, whatever bitch-boy master plan you demons are cooking up? You're not getting (y/n). And you're not getting Sam, either. You understand me? 'Cause I'm gonna kill every one of you first." Dean yells as (y/n)-demon struggles painfully, then throws back her head and laughs maniacally. Sam cuts off in surprise while Bobby looks at this, confused.

"You really think that's what this is about? The master plan? I don't give a rat's ass about the master plan." (Y/n) spat and Sam continues reading but it seems to have no effect on (y/n)

"Oops. Doesn't seem to be working. See, I learned a few new tricks." she said then she lowers her head and begins growling in Latin. As she does this, the fire behind her flares and the room shakes as she continues. 

"This isn't going like I pictured! What's going on, guys?" Dean asked and Sam goes over to (y/n) and sees the mark in her forearm. Bobby's eyes widen as he comes over and gets a closer look at the arm as (y/n) continues to chant. "It's a binding link! It's like a lock! He's locked himself inside (y/n)'s body!" Bobby shouts.

"What the hell do we do?" Sam asked him, frightened and worried. "I don't know!" Bobby yells and (y/n) throws back her head and screams.

The shaking walls and ceilings begin to crack, breaking the protective circle. (Y/n)-demon's eyes are black as she lowers her head. "There. That's better." She said and she jerks her head left and Bobby and Sam go flying. She jerks her head right and Dean goes flying, landing heavily against the far wall.

The holy water flask falls from Dean hand and he flinches in pain from his shoulder. (Y/n) rips free of the restraints and stalks over to Dean. "You know when people want to describe the worse possible thing? They say it's like hell." She said as she kneels in front of Dean, fisting her left hand in Dean's shirt and clocking him hard with a right jab.

Dean grabs onto (y/n)'s shirt with his right hand. "You know there's a reason for that. Hell is like, um..." she said then she hits Dean again as she thinks. "Well, it's like hell. Even for demons." She said and she hits him again as Dean becomes groggy and starts bleeding heavily from his nose.

"It's a prison, made of bone and flesh and blood and fear." (Y/n) said as she hits Dean again; then she grabs his head, holding it steady. "And you sent me back there." She growls and Dean realized who was possessing (y/n).

"Meg." Dean sneers and (y/n) smirks. "No. Not anymore. Now I'm (y/n)." She said as she hits him one more time; then digs her right thumb into Dean's bullet wound, making him growl in pain. "By the way. I saw your Dad there - he says howdy." She said as she digs into Dean's wound further and he screams out.

Dean tries to pull (y/n)'s hand away, groaning in pain. "All that I had to hold onto, was that I would climb out one day, and that I was going to torture you. Nice and slow. Like pulling the wings off an insect." She said as she shoves Dean's grasping hand away. "But whatever I do to you, it's nothing compared to what you do to yourself, is it? I can see it in your eyes, Dean. You're worthless. You couldn't save your Dad, and deep down...you know that you can't save your brother or your little girlfriend. They'd have been better off without you." (Y/n) said and she rears back to hit Dean but suddenly her fists stops.

She turns to look at her fist and tries to move it but it was like an invisible force was preventing her. "What--" she starts to ask when she leans her head forward and let's out a groan then clenches her teeth. "Stop...stop it." She growls to herself and Dean stares at her, realizing (y/n) was trying to fight back. "Stop. It!" (Y/n) growls, loudly, then Sam grabs her arm while Bobby comes up and presses a hot poker into the mark on (y/n)'s arm.

She screams in pain, then screams again as black demon smoke billows out of her and up the chimney. Dean pulls himself up painfully as (y/n) falls back, then comes to herself and looks around. "(Y/n)?" Dean said and she looks over at him.

"Dean! I-I'm so sorry. I-I-I tried to fight back..." she said, breathless as Sam kneels next to her. "It's okay." Dean said as he starts to collapse and Sam looks her over.

*(y/n)'s POV*

I was sitting behind Bobby's table with an icepack on my arm, Dean is on the other side of the table groggily holding an icebag to his face. "By the way, you really look like crap, Dean." I said, cautiously. "Yeah, right back atcha." Dean remarks as Bobby walks in slowly, looking concerned.

"What is it, Bobby?" Sam asked him. "You three ever hear of a hunter named Steve Wandell?" Bobby asked and Dean and I share a look. "Why do you ask?" Dean asked him. "Just heard from a friend. Wandell's dead. Murdered in his own house." Bobby said and I swallow then look down.

"You wouldn't know anything about that." Bobby said as he looks, mainly, at me and Dean. "No sir, never heard of the guy." Dean said and I turn to him. "Dean--" I said but Dean turns to me. "Good. Keep it that way. Wandell's buddies are looking for someone or something to string up, and they're not going to slow down to listen to reason. You understand what I'm saying?" Bobby said to us and we nod.

"We better hit the road. If, uh, you can remember where we parked the car." Dean said to me as we stand up. "Here. Take these." Bobby said and he hands all three of us a small metal charm.

"What are they?" Sam asked him. "Charms. They'll fend off possession. That demon's still out there. This'll stop it from getting back up in ya." Bobby said as he looks between the three of us. "That sounds vaguely dirty, but uh, thanks." Dean said. "You're welcome. You three be careful now." Bobby said. "You too." I said as I smile at Bobby. Bobby looks back at me seriously, not returning the smile, and I frown and look away.

At the door, Dean tosses the icebag back to Bobby, who smiles a little at him. 

That night, Dean was driving down a dark stretch of highway. Sam was in the backseat and I was in the passenger seat, frowning quietly. "You okay? (Y/n)? Is that you in there?" Dean asked me, concerned.

"I was awake for some of it, Dean. I watched myself kill Wandell with my own two hands; I saw the light go out in his eyes. I-I tried to fight for control but...I couldn't." I said, sadly. "That must have been awful." Sam said, sadly. "That's not my point. I almost carved up Jo too." I exclaimed then I turned to Dean. "But no matter what I did, you wouldn't shoot." I said to him.

"It was the right move, (y/n). It wasn't you." Dean said. "Yeah, this time. What about next time?" I asked him. "(Y/n), when Dad told me...that I might have to kill you or Sam, it was only if I couldn't save you. Now, if it's the last thing I do I'm gonna save you." Dean said and I look over at him and give a small smile towards him.

After a pause, Dean laughs softly. "What?" I asked him. "Nothing." Dean said. "Dean, what?" I asked and Dean smirks. "(Y/n), you -- you like, full-on had a girl inside you for like a whole week." Dean said then he laughs then Sam chuckles as well.

My frown cracks, and I laugh with them. "That's pretty naughty. And kinda hot." Dean said and I, playfully, scoff at him then punch his un-injured shoulder. "Shut up!" I said and we laugh as we drive on.

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Break In

Note 1: Requested by an anon a while back. I got inspired after waking up at 3 am and started writing. Then accidentally purged my inbox before I could copy the actual request. Note 2: This is set in the same storyline as Bruce Wayne's Sweetie (I think indirect sequel is the wording I'm looking for) Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batfleck) x GN!Reader (referred to as Sweetie instead of y/n) Warnings: Mediocre writing skills, Bruce's anxiety over Sweetie, swearing, good ole b&e, mentions of murder, mentions of child abuse, switching POVs. I'm so sorry.

"Of fuckin' course this happens on a Monday." Sweetie swore under their breath as they drove back towards their bakery. "Just don't get pulled over, dummy."

They were almost home when they realized they'd left their cell phone and wallet in the bakery. They didn't like being late monitoring Bruce's patrols. As it was, he had already been on patrol for about an hour.

Little did Sweetie know, as they parked in their usual spot behind the bakery, that the silent alarm had been tripped.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Bruce had just left the scene of a store hold-up turned to murder, determined to find the killers before the end of the night.

After he was securely in the Batmobile he noticed the alert that someone had tripped the silent alarm to Sweetie's bakery.

"Alfred, has Sweetie shown up yet?" He questioned, a tinge of worry in his voice. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Sweetie was the type of person to stop and help turtles cross the road and has come home late with a stray kitten before.

"No, sir, I haven't heard from them. But you know it's not unusual for them." Alfred's response would've almost reassured Bruce.

But after what the Joker did to Dick years ago, and after what he had seen at the convenience store tonight, Bruce couldn't shake the dread in his stomach.

He decided to track their phone, just to be safe, it was one of the things they'd agreed to shortly after he revealed that he was Batman to them. That along with a new security system that was connected directly to him and the GCPD.

Fear squeezed Bruce's heart when he saw that Sweetie's phone was still at the bakery and he immediately began racing towards the bakery. Hoping he wouldn't be too late.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Sweetie hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary at first but when they opened the back door of the bakery, they heard a slight rustling noise further into the bakery. Grasping the stun gun Bruce had given them Sweetie moved as silently as possible towards the light switch. When they flipped the lights on, though, the sight before them nearly shattered their heart.

A child. Couldn't be older than 13. He was crouched down by the front display case, which had been pried open with the crowbar at his side next to a dim flashlight, and was wolfing down a loaf of bread that was baked just that afternoon.

Sweetie could see the all too familiar signs that they had personally experienced. Clothes that were in just good enough condition to keep authorities from being notified. A couple of bruises at various stages of healing that could easily be dismissed as normal childhood occurrences, but Sweetie knew better. He was staring at them like a deer in headlights, trying to figure out how to escape.

Pushing back tears that had surfaced along with the memories of their own shitty childhood, Sweetie broke the silence.

"You know that bread won't fill you up very well. Why don't you take a seat and I'll make you a bowl of stew?" They said in a tone that was both gentle and let the kid know that they weren't taking no for an answer.

Sweetie walked around the still-frozen kid, behind the counter. They noticed the register was untouched, as was their wallet which was sitting on the shelf below.

They remembered the silent alarm and put in the code to let the police know it was a false alarm. They then spoke with an officer on the store's phone and assuring him that they had just doubled back to retrieve their phone and wallets and forgot about the alarm.

But knew if Bruce had seen the alert, he wouldn't be satisfied until he showed up and talked with them face to face. Sweetie turned and faced the kid who'd finally stood up but still looked ready to bolt.

"Actually, why don't you join me in the kitchen. You can tell me what you do and don't like." With that said, Sweetie walked into the kitchen and breathed a silent sigh of relief at the sound of the kid reluctantly following them.

The last thing either one of them needed was for Batman to come barging in and scaring the shit out of an already terrified kid.

Sweetie made sure to position themselves between the kitchen door and the kid while they got everything together to make stew.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Bruce found himself wishing the Batmobile to move faster or at least for the bakery to not be on the other side of Gotham. The longer it took for him to reach Sweetie, the more terrified and enraged he became. If anything happened to Sweetie, the person responsible would be given no mercy.

"Sir, it would seem that the alarm at the bakery has been classified as a false alarm." Alfred's voice interrupted Bruce's dark thoughts. As Alfred read off the officer's notes on the phone call. Bruce noted that while it did sound like something Sweetie would do, he didn't believe it to be the case.

He was still going, as far as he was concerned, Sweetie had claimed false alarm under duress.

Once he finally reached the bakery, he couldn't get inside fast enough. He didn't notice the lights were on until he busted open the back door.

He was very confused when he didn't see anyone in the main area. Especially after spotting a crowbar on the floor next to a flashlight and Sweetie's phone on the counter.

Then he heard noises coming from the kitchen and followed the sounds as quickly but quietly as he could. He didn't want to risk the perp harming Sweetie if they were a hostage.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"When's the last time you had a proper meal, kid?" Sweetie asked casually while chopping up a carrot for the stew.

"I get free lunches at school." The kid mumbled.

Sweetie had learned that once the kid had realized they weren't going to hurt him, he had taken on a surly demeanor that almost made them laugh. They knew the kid was putting on a tough act and they knew why. Their brother was the same way.

"My dad kept a lock on the fridge that only he had the key to. During the summer my brother and I only ate peanut butter sandwiches, instant ramen, and whatever candy bars we could shoplift." Sweetie informed the kid, which seemed to get his attention. "And if he caught us with a stolen candy bar or trying to get in the fridge, he had this paddle he made at the lumber yard he worked at for a while. It had been painted blue and wrapped in blue tape. He'd made us watch as he wrote our names on it in Sharpie. My brother tried hiding it once, my dad just used a bat on him until he revealed where he hid it. Sure it was a plastic one, not a real one but still."

Sparing a glance over their shoulder at the kid, they could see the look on his face that confirmed what they already suspected.

"Do you like celery?" They asked, changing the subject for a moment. After getting his answer, Sweetie resumed making the stew.

They heard the kitchen door open and based on the gasp and scrambling noises coming from the kid's direction, they already knew who it was.

"Batman. I'm making stew." They said, looking up at their lover's masked face which was now contorted in a look of surprise and confusion. "Would you like to join me and….what's your name anyway, kid?" They asked turning towards the boy who was now standing in the far corner of the kitchen, gawping at The Dark Knight.

The boy's eyes slowly turned towards them and his jaw moved a couple of times with no sound coming out before he managed to choke out a single word.

"Jason."

[kkvqwrites]

Team Building

The 141 attend a team-building exercise at Price's request.

Word Count: 589

Characters (in order of appearance): Johnny "Soap" Mactavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Captain John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley

A/N: This is short and to-the-point, but I thought the idea was goofy and fun. Low stakes, no angst, just a silly day off for the 141 boys. Hope you enjoy!

The afternoon sun beat down on their heads as the four soldiers met in the parking lot of a strip mall.

"An escape room? Really?" Soap raised an eyebrow. "Are we in the right place?"

"We are - and it's gonna be great," replied the captain. "It's good for morale."

"It's our day off, Cap." Gaz didn't look up from his phone as he spoke. "Morale would be best served by a day at the pool or a pub trip." The captain swiped an exasperated hand down his face.

"Put that bloody phone away - this is exactly why we're doing this. On the battlefield we need to be in the moment and thinking as a unit; this is the perfect exercise to get us there. And besides, Laswell found something called a groupon." He opened the door and ushered the three pouting grown men into the lobby.

_____

"You can't be serious," came Ghost's voice. It was the first time he spoke all afternoon. Behind him, the sergeants echoed his protest.

"You heard me," came the captain's booming voice, drowning out the groans. "No weapons, no cell phones. We figure this out the old-fashioned way." The men reluctantly handed over phones, guns, knives, and one grenade ("You never know!" said Soap). None of the soldiers looked happy about it, but all complied. Gaz and Soap complained the loudest, but Ghost preferred to seethe silently. He found it was better to shut up and get it over with when Price had one of his "fun" ideas.

The setting: a room made to resemble a medieval dungeon that wouldn't be entirely out of place at a child's birthday party.

The objective: brew a potion in an enchanted chalice that will enable the magic mirror to grant a boon. The "boon" being escape from the medieval dungeon and a fun t-shirt. After the teenage employee finished explaining the premise, he locked them in the suffocating room with a rhyming poem of cryptic instructions.

"Right, then," said the captain, rubbing his hands together. "Let's get to it."

_____

The bickering began almost instantly.

"Cap, I think you're overthinking this; there isn't a vial of "moon water" in the cabinet for the spell. I think we need to take the moonlight essence and stir it into the water to make the potion," Gaz reasoned.

"No, no, it specifically says moon water - Soap! Stop mixing random shit together!" The sergeant rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me for thinking outside the box! Won't happen again! 'Course if I had my knife I could pick the lock and get us out of here!"

"That defeats the spirit, Mactavish!"

"Yeah Johnny, the spirit."

"Awa' an bile yer heid, Gaz. Fuckin' suckup."

"Language!"

"Sorry, sir."

Ghost's eye twitched. There was no clock in this room, but it felt like it had been hours listening to the back-and-forth. He'd made an effort to stay busy trying to find the pieces to the "magic chalice" but his patience was rapidly wearing thin. He looked back at his teammates, three grown men arguing in earnest about which gemstones to add to the potion to enchant the mirror for their next clue, and suddenly an idea struck.

Without thinking, he grabbed the pistol he kept on a calf holster and shot the shitty plastic padlock right off the door.

The room went silent behind him. He turned and saw the stunned gazes of the others, all frozen in the middle of assembling the chalice.

"What?" he asked. "I escaped."

[msbigredmachine]

TARGETS - 21 - The Decoy

Roman Reigns is an agent in the secret organisation The Authority and one of the world’s deadliest assassins. When he crosses paths with a mysterious woman during an assignment, he makes a life-changing decision that switches his role from the hunter to the hunted.  (AU Espionage Story)

TARGETS MASTERLIST

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

Seventy-two hours later

0047 hrs

Providence, Rhode Island

Xavier Woods rolled his eyes for the hundredth time, wondering when the hell he was going to get out of this shithole. Ever since the attempt on his life a couple of months ago in Las Vegas, he'd been hidden away in a bunker in an elusive Courthouse in Rhode Island, where he would remain in custody until the process for his entry into the Witness Protection Program was concluded. Unlike the lavish comfort of the hotel suite at the MGM Arena, this place felt like a fucking prison. Being miles away from civilization, there were no distractions for Xavier to indulge in. No cable, no PS5, no Wi-Fi, and shitty cell phone reception. He was under watch twenty-four hours a day and he felt like he was about to go apeshit. Why the fuck was it taking weeks to move him into the Program anyway? Especially if they knew his life was in grave danger?

Outside, his door was manned by four FBI Agents, all of whom were lounging and reading day-old newspapers. A fifth agent rounded the corner with two boxes of pepperoni pizza in his arms. "About fucking time, I'm starving," one of the agents said, throwing aside his newspaper and opening one of the boxes his colleague set down on the table.

The sound of an alarm suddenly rang all around the Courthouse, interrupting their meal. The Agents instantly dropped their pizza and jumped to their feet, hands reaching for the guns in their holsters. Suddenly, one dropped to the ground, unconscious, a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his neck. The other Agents raised their weapons to attack, but how did one aim at an unseen target? Left with this disadvantage, another fell. And another. And another. Within seconds all five men were down, out cold.

Xavier shot to his feet as he heard sounds of a scuffle outside his door. Suddenly it burst open and a Courthouse guard ran up to him, looking harassed. "Follow me sir," the big, burly looking man said with a heavy Southern accent. "I've got orders to get you outta here."

Xavier's eyes widened, fear coursing through his veins as he recognized the huge man immediately. This was the absolute last person he expected to see here. And this was the absolute last person he wanted to take him. "You gotta be fucking kidding me." Backing away, he whirled around and sprinted away, searching frantically for the imaginary way out.

The guard rolled his brown eyes, his accent transforming instantly. "Why do they always want to do it the hard way?"

As he spoke, Roman whipped out his gun, the butt of the weapon cracking over Xavier's head and knocking him out where he stood. Roman caught him before he hit the ground. "Fucking arrogant, slimy piece of shit," the guard murmured, dragging the prone body of Woods to the vent grill in the corner of the room. He used a screwdriver to unscrew the corners and stuffed Woods through the small space. As he followed behind, Roman pitched a timed grenade back into the room. A gift for the Feds, if you will.

Several FBI Agents had arrived at the scene as backup, and they took their command positions outside Xavier Woods's bedroom. The leader raised his hand in a signal to lead the charge into the room. They threw open the door, rushing in when they saw a small object roll towards them. They felt the impact of the explosion before they could decipher what it was. All of them fell to the floor, stunned and temporarily blinded by the percussive grenade, but alive. Barely.

Worried, Jasmine spoke into her earpiece. "Spice to Aquaman, I heard an explosion. Are you okay?"

"Why are you Spice and I have to be called Aquaman?"

"Because, doofus, my name is an actual spice and you look like Jason Momoa. Where are you? Did you get the cargo out?"

A heavy sigh followed. "Fine. Aquaman to Spice. Affirmative. The cargo is in my possession," was Roman's reply, "We move now. Watch my six in case anyone's trailing me."

Jasmine quickly shut the titanium suitcase containing the laptop and communications kit and moved over to the driver's seat, gun cocked and ready for any hostiles. Roman emerged through the rolling smoke, Woods slumped and unconscious over his shoulder. "Well, that was a mess," Jasmine smirked, putting her gun away.

Roman rolled his eyes. "It worked, didn't it?" He dumped Woods in the back seat, sitting him upright so he would look like he was asleep. Roman jumped into the passenger seat. "Let’s get the fuck outta here."

Jasmine revved the engine and they drove off.

—---------

Xavier slowly opened his eyes and was met with yet another fist in his face. Roman and Jasmine had taken him to an abandoned duplex in the outskirts of Providence to interrogate him. They had been in there for a while and so far, he wasn't saying a word, and it was pissing Roman off.

Jasmine watched as he laid into Xavier again, the man's dreadlocks flying as his head snapped backwards in a painful-looking angle. "Roman, what are you doing?" 

"I'm working." Another punch.

"You're going to kill him," she pointed out.  

"That was my left hand, sweetheart. Take a seat. We'll be done in a minute."

Jasmine sighed out loud. She knew she was bearing witness to another episode of the Samoan at his most blood-thirsty, but now was not the time to be reckless. "Roman, stop."

He ignored her. He squatted in front of Xavier and roughly patted his cheek. "Hey! Woods, wake the fuck up and look at me."

Xavier didn't seem to have heard him. Instead he was staring at Jasmine, his battered gaze traveling up and down the length of her delectable body. Roman raised his eyebrow, incredulous. “Is this piece of shit eyeballing my girl? Woods! I said look at me! Are you going to tell us why both our bosses want you dead or not?"

Xavier finally turned his attention to Roman. His hands were tied tightly behind his back, as were his legs, and was at the mercy of two deadly assassins. But he remained as defiant as ever, almost as if despite the precarious position he was in, he still had the upper hand. Spitting out the blood from his mouth to the side, he glared at Roman. "If you kill me, you got nothin’," he taunted.

"Oh, nothing would give me more pleasure than blowing your fuckin’ brains out." Roman stood back up and shook his head, losing patience. Jasmine checked her nails lazily as she spoke. "He does have a point, Roman."

Roman leveled his girlfriend with a glare. "You think you can do better?" he challenged, thrusting his gun at her and making an exaggerated sweeping gesture with his free arm. "Go ahead. Let’s see how much information you can get out of him."

Jasmine uncrossed her ankles and pushed off the wall with a smile. Both men's eyes were on her. "I'm not going to need that," she waved Roman's gun away, and looked over at Xavier with slanted, seductive eyes and an even more seductive smile. Roman's dark eyes narrowed as he realized her little plan, and he felt his blood boil and his fingers itch.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Without waiting for her to respond, he grabbed her arm and dragged her away from Xavier and led her to a corner. Roman rounded on her, his face like thunder. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he hissed loudly. "You're going to seduce him? In front of me?"

Unbelievable! "Are you fucking kidding me? Now is not the time to be jealous!"

"What? I should just stand there and watch while you shove your tits in his face? Did you fuck him while you were with him? Is that what happens every time you've got to take out a motherfucker? Fuck him before you take him out?" Roman was livid. How many other men had put their hands on her, before and while they were together? How many had she allowed?

"This is literally not the time for this. Can you let me do my job? Huh?" she asked, rubbing her temple impatiently.

"I am only showing concern! You were his date that night. He put his hands on you then, and I am not cool with that."

“Seriously? Are you gonna stand there and tell me that in all the years you’ve been doing this, you’ve never fucked a couple of women to get the job done?” Jasmine challenged, “Look me in the eye and tell me that.”

Roman chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I was single then,” he defended lamely.

"That’s highkey the most asinine thing I’ve ever heard!" Jasmine snapped through gritted teeth. He was being exasperating. "I know you're tense right now and want answers, but do not take it out on me. Now take a break and let me handle this. As you know by now, I’m very good at what I do, and I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Do you?" he muttered under his breath, and he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. 

Jasmine glared at her boyfriend, unable to mask her hurt. She shut her eyes, calming, centering herself, and when she opened them again, she was cool, professional again, but there was an edge to her tone as she replied.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that to me," she told him curtly. They stood close, the air between them heated, tense. "I'm going back to talk to the hostage. When you're certain you're not going to make a fool of yourself, come back in. And you better not get in my way with your bullshit." She turned her back on him before she knocked his fucking lights out for disrespecting her like that. He wasn't the biggest person she had encountered before, not by a mile.

Roman watched her stomp away, his shoulders sagging with resignation. Yes, it was silly and immature of him, and it seemed like they were wasting time. But he just couldn't shake off the inkling in the pit of his gut that there was more to this situation they were facing. Woods was being too calm, too confident for his liking, and it felt like he and Jasmine were playing right into his hands.

Xavier smirked when Jasmine came back into his view. "Trouble in paradise?"

Her smile was gorgeous. "Forgive my partner over there. He's a bit...assertive." She reached up and pulled out the band holding her hair, letting the fair tresses fall around her shoulders. Xavier's eyes widened, and for the first time since his abduction, he looked a little nervous. She slowly approached him, her hair down, her slender body swaying, beautiful fingers on the buttons of her blouse. She looked absolutely ravishing.

"Xavier..." she uttered his name softly, "Xavier, we don't want to hurt you."

"We don't?" grumbled Roman.

"Roman, behave. We just want to ask a few questions, Xavier."

She moved behind him, her hand lazily trailing the chair, fingertips brushing his shoulder. She heard his breath catch as her fingers traced his chin, then his cheek. "We are aware of just how…controversial…you are. You've stepped on a few toes...pissed off some people. We understand that. All we want to know is why our bosses want to kill you, at such a high price for that matter."

She was close. She knew by the way Xavier's jaw clenched. He was struggling to hold tight, to remain stubborn. Roman was struggling as well. He gripped his gun tighter, his finger on the trigger, ready for anything.

Jasmine leaned down behind Xavier and let her slender hands slide down his chest, her face close to his ear, "That's all we want to know, Xavier. If you cooperate, all of this will be over. You have my word."

She waited for a response, then her eyes narrowed when she heard a chuckling sound, which she realized was coming from Woods. Standing upright, she looked at him in confusion and saw his head thrown back, laughing his head off. Jasmine and Roman glanced at each other. Something was wrong.

"Do you really think I'm going to fall for the tacky burlesque moves, sweetheart?" Xavier said, still laughing, but his eyes held a knowing, dangerous glint. "You're hot as hell, but not that hot, Jasmine...or is it Tatiana?"

Jasmine froze, staring at him.

"You tell me, Jasmine," Xavier went on. "Why would The Authority and F.L.O.R.A. come after little old me?" His grin spread at their widened eyes. "Yeah, I know exactly who both of y’all are. Of course you wouldn't know what’s really going on. Let me ask you another question; did you think your companies didn't know who each of you were? Did you think they appreciate this little romance y’all got going on, hmm? Did you really, Jasmine? Roman Reigns?"

Roman crossed his arms and glared at Xavier. Alarm bells were ringing in his head. But he couldn't quite point out why, and it unnerved him. "I knew you recognized me at the Courthouse," he said quietly. His hands were burning now. Aching for a kill.

"But how?" asked Jasmine, completely puzzled, "He's never seen you before!"

"Oh, but I have. They showed me your photos when they brought me in for this job." Xavier continued talking, sounding braver by the second. "You two are worrying about the wrong person. I'm not the one your companies are collaborating to take out."

Jasmine went pale. "Collaborating?"

Roman felt a chill course through his spine. The pieces were slowly coming together. "The hit in Las Vegas was a set-up," he said, turning to a stunned Jasmine. "This whole fucking thing is a set-up. It was never about Woods, babe. It was about us."

"Right you are, Reigns! Fifty points to Gryffindor! I'm not the target here. I never was. You are. Both of you. The Authority and F.L.O.R.A. realized your relationship could compromise them all, so they doubled up. They’ve been working together for months, trying to eliminate you both. And thanks to me, they're going to succeed and I'm getting the payday of a lifetime and my golden ticket outta this god-forsaken shithole of a country!" 

He grinned evilly at the two assassins. "So, with that being said, I hope you two have made peace with your Maker because you, my friends, are about to die."

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

Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

I've given up on the tag list. But please leave comments, I still love comments! ❤

[fangirl-forever3000]

Another take one what could've been...

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

The tension between these two is palpable. 

"So, you went to school with Yeon Jin. Tell me, did you approach me on purpose?" he asked. 

"Yes," she answered. And a moment later, before he could look away dejectedly, she said, "No. Yes and no."

"What?"

"I knew who you were when I first saw you. But it wasn't my plan to run into you at the Go club. I just went there to play a game or two."

Giving her a confused look, he motioned for her to keep talking. She had his interest piqued since the first moment he laid eyes on her. He might as well listen to everything she has to say.

"You were playing at the club at the same time as me, that is all. I saw you there and then I changed my plan. You would've been an easier way to get to your wife."

Every interaction with Dong Eun would automatically etch itself into his brain, and this was no different. Do Young stood there looking at his soon-to-be ex-wife's unfortunate victim. His mind traitorously screamed, "You're planning on leaving Yeon Jin just for this?! Good choice! Good riddance!" He stared at her and asked, "So you really do it? Backstab naive men, make them cry, and ruin lives?"

"Yes. I told you so already. You chose to not back off," she reminded him.

He did something he has never done in his life. He pleaded with her. Just to hear her side of the story, which he knew would be nothing but the truth. "Butakheyo (please). Tell me. Tell me everything. I am ready to hear it. I braced myself." 

He motioned to the bench nearby and they sat down together.

She looked at him deadpanned and spoke, "I speak from experience. Even if you have braced yourself for something like this, it will hurt you. It will hurt you a lot."

"It won't hurt me more than it hurt you. Mianhe. I should correct myself. More than she hurt you."

For the first time in forever, Dong Eun was stunned by this man's actions. Up until now, for her, he had been predictable. Keeping wary of her surroundings and who she was talking to, Dong Eun decided to tell him everything. About So Hee. About her. About all the 'bullying', when in fact, it was simply plain abuse.

Whilst they were talking, they both suddenly became aware of the fact that they were being watched. Closely watched. They pretended to keep talking but prepared themselves mentally for the unexpected. Not moments later 3 hitmen appeared out of the shadows and went straight for Dong Eun. 

The first hitman burst through the backdoor, and she quickly grabbed him and used his momentum to throw him over her shoulder. She kicked him in the stomach as he tried to get up, knocking the wind out of him. A couple more straight kicks to his chest, stomach, and to his shin made sure he would not get up for a while.

The second hitman came at her with a knife, but Dog Eun was too quick. She disarmed him and used his own knife against him, slicing his hand, and his leg and finally nicking him close to his neck. All the while Do Young tried to fight off the third guy and kept an eye on the first one, knowing that he would not get up so soon, courtesy of his fighting counterpart. The third hitman knocked him in the back of his head, forcing him to lose his senses momentarily. 

The third hitman was more prepared, and he had a gun. Dong Eun dodged his first shot and used a nearby tin cover as a shield. Do Young meanwhile, got up and saw her getting shot at. He panicked. All the while, she tossed the shield at the hitman, knocking him off balance, and then tackled him to the ground. Using his own gun, she shot him in the leg twice, put one in the first hitman's arms, and used the gun butt to toss all consciousness out of the second one. 

Needless to say, they all ran tucking their tails between their legs. The only plus point was that one of them dropped his cell phone and was too disoriented to realize it. 

As Do Young lay on the ground, gasping for breath, he looked up to see his newest fascination standing over him. She may be bruised and battered, but she is alive and well. She had just defeated their assailants with ease, her clothes now stained with blood and she offered him a hand up.

"You saved my life," he said, still a little stunned.

She smiled softly in her patented way. "Yes, I did."

"Wae? (Why?)"

"Wae? Wae jeogui gajang gakkaun saramui saengmyeongeul guhaneun sarami issseupnikka, Do-Young ssi? (Why? Why does anyone save the life of a person close to the enemy, Do Young?)"

He shook his head, wary of her motives. He had an idea. He had been having it for a long time. Somewhere deep inside Do Young's consciousness, he hoped that he would be right.

"Ttaemun dangsineul johahaeyo (It's because I like you)," she said, her eyes sparkling with cold behavior and partial amusement.

Do Young couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You saved me because you like me?" he repeated, acting incredulous and being truly satisfied. He had been right. Now, of course, he could rid himself of the little insecurity he had developed with regard to a certain young doctor he had seen her roam around with.

Dong Eun shrugged. "Why not? You're an interesting person, and I enjoy a good challenge. Plus, it's always more fun to have someone to play baduk with. And let's not forget our dear darling Yeon Jin."

He didn't know what to make of her words. Was she being sincere, or was this just another one of her games? He decided to play along, for now. Just until he could get a hold of this woman's mind. He had a feeling that this was sincere. Little did he know that he was right. It was probably the most truthful thing she had said out loud in a long, long time.

"Is that the only reason why you like me? My Go playing skills? Or is it my wife?" he asked the first part chucklingly and the latter with a face that made it look like he had just tasted something disgusting.

"Anniyo. It's your mind that attracts me. And your heart - though it may not be clean and clear, is relatively pure. And of course, forgive me if it sounds objective, but then there's your face. Plus, it's an added benefit for me; to see Yeon Jin slowly lose everything."

For a moment he stared at her. And then Ha Do Young laughed. He actually laughed. No one apart from his daughter had been able to make him laugh. "Your answers are always unexpected."

She shrugged as if it meant nothing.

"You really like me?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical and amused. "I find that hard to believe, considering you've been trying to get revenge on my soon to be ex-wife and friends for weeks now."

She shrugged. "Well, you're not them, are you? And I changed my mind about you a long time ago. You and Ye-Sol are never going to be harmed at my hand."

"Why? Wouldn't it be the perfect revenge?"

"No. My fight for revenge is with Yeon Jin. You are innocent, and your adorable daughter is even more so. Plus, you are being lied to. That makes you someone who got hurt. Not someone who did the hurting."

"You know?" he asked offended and disbelievingly. Ha Do Young lived in a world where pride mattered a lot. And the fact that Dong Eun knew about his wife's continued indiscretion before he did and that she told him to his face that Ye Sol wasn't his, made a little dent in his well-tamed ego. It was a blot on his picture-perfect life and he didn't particularly enjoy it.

"Yes. It was not that hard to figure out once I realized that you aren't colorblind."

"And there's only one another ass we all know who is..." he said finishing her sentence for her.

They sat there in the night's silence. Their presence keeping the other soft company. After what seemed like an eternity, he turned to her and asked, "What can I do?"

Dong Eun looked at him as though he was mad, but kept her impassive face on the front. "Mwo?(What?)"

"I said, what can I do to help?"

"Stay away, for starters. And take your kid away too. I don't want Yeon Jin using her as a chip."

"That's it?" he asked her as though he had just taken an arrow to the heart. And he had, metaphorically speaking, of course. Do Young had genuinely thought she would either ask him for help or at least let him help her. Granted, he was Yeon Jin's husband; he could just turn around and go tell her everything he knew about Dong Eun's plan. But he decided against it. She didn't know that, not yet.

"Yes. That's it. The less collateral damage I have to worry about, the faster will I rest."

"Can I not join the hunt?"

"I already have an executioner. I don't need another," she said straight to his face.

"You're the queen, the one who calls the shots. You have an executioner. But do you have a minister? I could be him. I could be your minister," he said, offering his services to destroy the remaining 4.

Dong Eun looked at him and replied, "Don't you know? If the queen goes down, so does her minister?" She motioned to the cell phone and said, "Judging by this, your wife is already trying to have me killed. Who knows, if you join the hunt, you might accidentally be the next target."

"I can handle her just fine. Plus, I have scores to settle with them. It will be easier and more fun for all of us if you just let me on board."

"Scores?"

"I don't like being lied to. Or being manipulated," he said pointedly referring to her actions and those of who he had to refer to as his wife.

Looking at his whiskey eyes, she said, "You want to join? I'll let you in. I will. When the time is right, I will."

"Fine," he said, setting his chin straight. "But I'll be keeping a close eye on you."

She laughed, a sound that sent shivers down his spine. A feeling he realized he had enjoyed. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

"Why not now?"

"I'm going to make their lives a hundred times worse; do what they did to me - break their bodies, their mind, their soul... You shouldn't be around for that. Just pray that they go to heaven when they finally do die, otherwise, their lives here would just be hell."

"Sure. Just promise me one thing. When you finally get to Yeon Jin, you will call me. Me and not that executioner."

She nodded and wondered internally if his words were the result of jealousy or the need for revenge for being cheated on and lied to.

"Say, if I give you access to my resources, would you teach me to play baduk like you?" 

She laughed once more. Her mind sent generated the notice that in his presence she smiled and laughed more than she did with anyone else. "Sure. I'll teach you."

Looking at each other in twilight's beauty, he came to realize fully why she was doing what she was doing. Before he could control his mouth he said, "Can I see them? Your scars?" She stared him down for a good minute or two. Just as he was about to apologize, she rolled up her sleeve to reveal a network of scars; the first of many.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. He had known that she was a warrior ever since he spoke to that nobody of a woman - that Hye Jeong, but seeing the physical evidence of her battles, of his wife's torture, was something else entirely. He reached out tentatively, tracing the raised edges of one scar with his fingertips.

"It must have been painful," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers.

"It was," she replied, "but the pain is what made me stronger. These scars remind me of what I've been through and what I've overcome. It reminds me every day why I need to do this."

"I have scars inflicted by her too," he said, pointing across his chest - his heart. "But they're nothing compared to yours."

She looked at him with a mixture of surprise and respect. "Every scar tells a story," she said. "Yours is no less important than mine." And in that moment, they knew that they were stronger together than they could ever be alone.

a change in mood was needed. He suddenly remembered her words from an hour or so before. He narrowed his eyes. "What kind of fun? What you said earlier, about liking me, what do you mean?"

Dong Eun flashed a sly smile. "The kind that comes from testing each other's limits, pushing each other to be better, to making each other be human. To be able to truly feel. I think we could be quite the team, you and I."

"Well, thank you for saving my life," he said, standing up straight and brushing himself off.

She smiled. "Don't mention it. And who knows? Maybe we'll get to play together again sometime." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him to wonder what her true intentions were for the days after this. How would she get revenge? Most of all he wondered when he would see her again. And then he thought what he would say to her when he does see her. And how he would tell her that he likes her too...

[atearyamallari]

A Turtles Guide to Escaping Midtown Precinct South: Part Two

Click here to start at the beginning!

//

If you find yourself arrested by the NYPD and placed in a holding cell, don’t expect help from the police, don’t start a fight you can’t finish, and whatever you do, don’t panic.

Raph struggled against the four officers who dragged him into the police station. They had his arms locked between theirs so that he couldn’t move them at all. He kicked at their legs, trying to land a hit on their kneecaps, but these officers were well-trained and nimbly avoided his thrashing feet.

“When I get outta here, I’m gonna shove my feet so far up your asses, you’re all gonna be walking on crutches for weeks!” he yelled at them.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, freak,” one of them sneered.

They stopped at a processing desk, where a wiry, middle-age woman stood, accompanied by two armed police officers. One of the officers began patting down his clothes, starting at his chest.

“Hey!” Raph said, kicking about fruitlessly. “Get your hands –!”

Pain erupted in his side, cutting him short. A stun gun. Unlike the taser, which had locked up all the muscles in his body, this felt like a thousand tiny needles digging into his plastron. The pain subsided almost as quickly as it came, leaving him gasping for air.

The officers continued their search. “One cell phone, I think,” one of them said as they pulled out Raph’s shell cell from his belt, “and two… uh, whatever these are,” as he pulled out his sais. Having found nothing else, he ripped off his mask and sunglasses, too. As much as Raph would have liked to protest, he was still struggling just to breathe again. The officers handed his belongings to the woman, who placed them in a plastic bin, then the cops dragged him away to another room.

Ahead of them, Raph could see a wire cage with about ten other people inside. A police officer unlocked the cage and instructed the detainees to step back. The cops shoved him into the cage with enough force to knock him to the ground, and by the time he stood up and bolted to the door, they had slammed it shut in his face.

Raph banged his fists against the wire. “Let me outta here, right now!” he screamed. He knew that yelling at the police wasn’t going to increase the chances of them being nice and opening the door for him, but at this point, he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

“Talk to the judge, slappy!” one of the cops said.

“In the meantime, enjoy your stay at Midtown Precinct South!” another called back as they walked away.

The reality of his situation sank in. Locked in a holding cell with no way out. It wouldn’t be the first time, but the last time he was imprisoned he at least had his brothers with him to come up with an escape plan. Now, he was alone.

Well, not completely alone. Raph wearily glanced at the other detainees. Some of them looked like ordinary people, somewhat disheveled, eyes red and puffy from crying; a few of them had tattoos and mean mugs that screamed “gang members.” Outside the holding cell, a single police officer sat in a chair in the corner of the room with a copy of the New York Times in his hands. Everyone scrutinized Raph, their faces displaying a wide variety of expressions ranging from amazement to fear.

That was another thing that made his detainment different from the one on the Triceraton homeworld: he didn’t exactly fit in. Although no one said a word, he could practically read their thoughts – he was a freak, an alien, a threat.

One of the convicts, a large hulking man with tattoos on his fingers that read “PAIN,” finally got over his shock and stalked over to Raph, cracking his knuckles. “You’re a long way from home, ain’t ya, ET?” he said, smirking.

“Wow, never heard that one before,” Raph said, rolling his eyes. “You xenophobic types come with a script or somethin’?”

The man sloppily swung his fist and Raph dodged out of the way. He threw another punch, which Raph blocked with his forearm. It was enough to make the man lose his balance and send him crashing into the walls of the cage.

Raph quickly glanced at the officer in the room. He had opened his newspaper and was reading it with a bored look on his face. Weren’t cops supposed to break up fights between detainees? This officer didn’t seem interested in the chaos that was erupting in the holding cell, however. Not that Raph needed help defending himself; it simply would have been nice to know that someone else cared about his safety.

His attacker raised his fist again, ready to strike a third time. Suddenly, another convict shot out between them, arms outstretched to protect Raph. “Hey man, leave him alone,” he said.

The larger man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “Outta my way,” he growled. Then he shoved him aside, slamming him into the walls.

Heat grew in Raph’s chest. “Hey! Keep the fight between us, ugly!” he shouted. He lunged forward and landed a punch on the man’s sternum, another on his jaw, and a kick to the crown of his head. The hulking man teetered for a few seconds before plummeting to the ground.

A slamming noise came from behind. The police officer had hit his baton against the cage walls. “No fighting in there,” he warned.

“Oh, now you wanna get involved?” Raph grumbled under his breath.

Two of the other gang members helped the man up to his feet, and he brushed them off as if he were embarrassed that he needed help to stand. He glared threateningly at Raph and spat a mixture of blood and saliva at his feet. “I won’t go easy on you next time,” he said.

“Ooh, I’m shakin’,” Raph said. He was playing with fire by making a sarcastic quip like that, but he didn’t care. The longer he was locked in this cage, the more he itched for a fight.

The other detainee who had tried to defend him slowly pushed himself onto his feet, gripping the wire walls for support. Raph grabbed him under the armpit and helped him up the rest of the way. “You okay?” he asked.

The man wiped at the dribble of blood that leaked from his nose. “Yeah, I’ll be alright,” he said.

Raph felt a stab of pity. He doubted he’d get any help from the police officer, but nonetheless he asked him, “You mind getting some tissues for this guy or something?”

“It’s just a nosebleed,” the officer said. “He’s fine.”

There were a couple of choice words Raph had to say to the cop, but none of them were going to improve his situation, so he held back his tongue. Instead, he turned back to the man. “Thanks, by the way,” he said, “for stickin’ up for me.” If he were honest, this guy was about as useful as a pair of wet socks, but he wasn’t going to say that to his face. After all, this man seemed to be the only person there looking out for him, so he deserved to be treated with politeness.

“Don’t mention in,” he said. Then he stuck out his hand. “Norman Brooks, by the way.”

“Raphael,” he said, shaking his hand.

For a few minutes, they stood in silence at the edge of the cage, keeping to themselves and ignoring the side glances that came their way. Raph examined Norman, taking care to not make it obvious that he was staring, for lack of a better word. Norman was a scrawny black man who looked only a few years older than Casey, and he was dressed in a plain t-shirt and baggy jeans. Not the kind of person he would have expected to see in a cell.

“What do they got you in here for?” Norman asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Tax evasion, assaultin’ a police officer,” Raph said. “Existing. You?”

“DWI,” he replied. The disgust on Raph’s face must have been obvious because Norman quickly said, “Don’t give me that look. It was a technicality. I was at a party and had a few drinks alright? Next thing I know, I can’t find my wallet or my cellphone. I couldn’t get a taxi, a subway, a hotel… the only thing I had was my car.”

As he went on, he grew more and more agitated. “I wasn’t plannin’ on driving, I swear. I just needed a place to sleep it off, ya know? It was cold as shit; I had the engine running and the heater on so I wouldn’t freeze to death. A cop came by, took me out of my car, and arrested me. I tried explainin’ everything to him, but he wouldn’t fuckin’ listen, man. Said that sleepin’ in your car with the engine on was technically a DWI. I didn’t even know that was a thing! I promise, I’m not a bad person. Hell, I’m a financial advisor!”

“Hey, it’s alright. I believe you,” Raph said gently.

Norman took a deep breath to calm himself down. “Well, you know how it is. ‘That’s a bear we all gotta cross.’” He looked at Raph as if he were waiting for him to laugh. “You know, from MASH?” Raph shook his head. “You’ve never seen MASH? It’s one of the greatest shows ever made!”

Raph shrugged. “I’ve seen a few episodes on reruns, but I haven’t watched all of it. That show was before my time.”

Right after the words left his mouth, he regretted saying them. “‘Before your time?’” Norman said, peering at him. “Wait a minute. How old are you?”

Raph shifted uncomfortably under his persistent gaze. “Why do you care?” he said, making his voice as deep and tough-sounding as possible.

“You’re just a kid, ain’t ya?” Norman said solemnly. His expression softened to one of pity. “And the cops got you in an adult holdin’ cell. Figures.”

He said it like they had done this before. “Does that happen a lot?” Raph asked tentatively.

“More than it should,” Norman replied, leaning his head back against the wall. “Five years ago, they got my nephew for trespassin’ private property. Held him in an adult holdin’ cell for thirty-six hours. He was seventeen. And back when my daddy was a kid, same thing happened to him, only he was sixteen.”

Same age as me, Raph thought.

“That’s the messed-up thing about the world we live in, I guess,” Norman continued. “The people who see you as a monster never stop to consider that you might be a person, much less a child.”

“Hey, I’m not that young,” Raph said indignantly. “And I can take care of myself. I’ve been in tougher spots. Trust me, this ain’t all bad.”

“Judgin’ by that left hook, I’d say you’re tellin’ the truth,” Norman said. “But take it from me, kid: you don’t gotta go through this sh- stuff alone.”

Raph rolled his eyes at Norman’s poor attempt at self-censorship. “What happens now?” he asked.

“We wait, apparently,” Norman said. “The NYPD gotta process you in. Then you gotta wait to see a judge. Or they give you a ticket to go to court later. Either way, the police gotta take your mugshot and fingerprints before you get outta here.” He cocked up an eyebrow. “Not entirely sure if they’re gonna let the likes of you leave, though.”

“Yeah,” Raph murmured. That was something that had been eating away at the back of his mind this whole time. The chances of the police letting him out of their custody were slim. But he could think of one good reason why they’d release him – to hand him over to the man who had wanted to slice him open with a scalpel ever since they first met. Bishop. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Norman kept him company and made small talk, but Raph paid little attention to the conversation. His mind was preoccupied with the grimness of his circumstances. There was no doubt that his brothers were coming up with a way to bust him out, but it was anyone’s guess how long that would take them, or how successful they would be. Either way, he couldn’t afford to be a sitting duck. He would have to bust out as soon as possible. The best time to do that, he figured, would be when the police inevitably took him out of holding to take his photos and fingerprints. The only problem was that he didn’t know when that would happen. In fact, he couldn’t tell how much time had passed since the cops had brought him to the station; the holding room had no clocks or windows.

To his relief, he didn’t have to wait long. It seemed that only a few minutes had passed before a pair of cops came into the room. One of the officers stared down at Raph and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You ready to cooperate, ET?” he jeered.

“Sure,” Raph said through gritted teeth.

The other officer gave orders to the detainees to back up, then unlocked the holding cell and beckoned for Raph to step out. No sooner had he crossed the threshold than the cops slapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists and firmly held onto his arms. Raph took one last glance back at Norman as they escorted him out of the room. Although he had only known him for a few minutes, he felt horrible about having to leave him behind.

They walked down a dimly lit hallway towards the room where they had taken his belongings. Raph carefully observed his surroundings and mentally noted when they passed a camera, another pair of cops, then another camera. Finally, they entered a blind spot. The nearest officers were on the other side of the hallway.

Raph shoved into the cop on his left, knocking him to the floor. Before the cop on his right could react, he swept his legs out from under him. Then he bolted down the hall – or tried to, at least. He took only two steps before strong hands grabbed his ankle, nearly causing him to trip. One of the cops had managed to nab him. Raph pulled his foot free – just in time for a third and fourth officer to tackle him to the ground.

Between half a dozen cops yelling at him to stop resisting and his own grunts and screams, the hallway grew louder by the second. Out of nowhere, a bright, clear voice pierced through the cacophony. “Gentlemen! Get off of him, right now!”

Raph froze. He knew that voice.

Heels clacked against the tile floor and a civilian stopped right in front of his face. He craned his head upward to see who it was. Black pumps, a pencil skirt, a blazer – then a shock of bright red hair. “Come on, Mister,” said April. “Time to get your photo taken.”

Previous | Next

[nirvanawrites111]

My Right Hand Man Part 4 (Sub!Wooyoung x Dom!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Word Count: 2497

Pairing: Sub!Wooyoung x Dom!Reader

Tw: Drinking, mentions of gang activity/drug dealing, mentions of killing, someone gets shot, someone is held at gun point, heavy language

Wooyoung stares at the letters on the screen of the flip phone. His heart races to see this on his phone.

San: You need to kill that bitch and come back home. We can pretend as if none of this happened. Gangteez will gladly welcome you back home.

He's read this message repeatedly for the last thirty days. He knows he should have listened to you and left San in the past, but he couldn't. He loves his brother and his Gangteez family, so he wanted San to know he's safe.

Even though things haven't been easy, he picked you over his family for a reason. You were worth all of the risks. Even if running away meant it could have cost him his life.

Being with you is so much easier. He can fully be himself and indulge in his feminine energy without any judgment or critics of his manhood.

The power dynamics between you and him are everything he could have dreamed of. It's just one single problem, that is complicating things further.

Changbin.

At first, when he met Changbin, his red flags indicator went up immediately. Why would someone from the SKZ gang be here with you? Did someone hire him to take Wooyoung out, or you?

Wooyoung still can't shake the feeling he initially felt when he saw Changbin come into the hotel room with you. He knew from that moment that something had happened between you.

There was something there. A part of him feels something is lingering between the two of you. He can't decipher what it is, how Changbin looks at you when you talk to him, how his voice changes slightly when he speaks to you, or how he's always trying to be close to him. Whatever it is, Wooyoung can't stand it.

Something isn't right.

He doesn't want to assume that you two have been intimate since he's come back into your life. But, could it be possible?

"Changbin, stop making me laugh," You squeal.

Wooyoung slams his cell phone shut and shoves it into his pocket. His eyebrows rise, and he glances over at the kitchen area of the shared apartment among the three of you.

The two-bedroom apartment should be for you and Wooyoung, but somehow Changbin is still here.

You are wearing your favorite leopard lace cami and a pair of Wooyoung's black boxers. You look stunning to him. Your hair is braided and hanging down to your waist.

You have such a beautiful aura; that attracted Wooyoung to you.

But, his stomach drops when he sees Changbin move closer to you and lifts the spoon from the pot. He leans forward to blow on it to cool it off for you.

Wooyoung watches you open your mouth and close your eyes. His face heats up seeing his goddess being so comfortable, giggly, and somewhat intimate in front of him.

"Mmm, Binnie. This taste amazing," You moan just a little bit.

That is enough to send Wooyoung spiraling. He huffs and leaps off the couch. He charges into the kitchen and grabs your hand.

He safely pulls you away from Changbin's presence. You are his goddess, and he doesn't want to share you with him. Regardless of what he voiced to you at the club, he can't do it. 

"Woo? What are you doing, baby?"

Wooyoung sees your once-happy face drop into a concerned frown. It's not what he thought he would experience when he snatched you away from Changbin.

He wants to throw a fit, but decides to choose a softer tone with you. Even though being bratty could turn into something fun.

"Goddess," he stares at you deeply, and holds both of your hands. "We were in the middle of watching a movie. Let's finish it while Changbin finishes dinner."

Wooyoung smiles, and pulls your hands up to his lips. He kisses them gently.

"Okay, baby," you reply.

***

After a hearty dinner, Wooyoung falls asleep in your lap. You gently stroke his hair as you mindlessly stare at the television. You still can't understand why Wooyoung acted so strangely earlier.

"You want to go to the bar?" Changbin asks.

He's next to you on the couch, but there is a space between you.

"No, I'm good. Wooyoung is asleep, and I don't wanna leave him."

"He's a grown man. Actually, I forgot I bought a bottle of tequila. It's in my room. Grab two shot glasses for us."

You pick Wooyoung up and toss him over your shoulder. You head to your shared bedroom and place him in the middle of the bed. You pull the covers over him, and kiss him on the forehead.

"I love you, Woo," you whisper.

You close the bedroom door behind you. You walk back to the kitchen area to retrieve the shot glasses. A few shots of tequila won't hurt.

Changbin brushes against you and places the bottle of tequila on the counter. You look over at him, but he shrugs.

He pours the shots. You both raise them and clash them together. You down your shot, and it stings your throat. You groan at the taste.

"You know we're never getting back together, right?" You inform him. It should be obvious, but you want to be sure he knows where you two stand.

"Who said I wanted you?"

"You have been throwing yourself on me for weeks like a desperate whore. I love being a good obedient whore, but I'm taken."

"Don't flatter yourself. If I wanted, you to be mine again, I could get you back. I don't want to kill Wooyoung in the process."

"No, you can't. Yes, the old me would have already pegged you and had you eat my pussy while my boyfriend was sleeping. But, not this time. I've changed. Wooyoung really does mean a lot to me."

Changbin pours another shot. You two clash your shot glasses together, and you throw back your second shot. The tequila burns your throat a little less, but you know after a few, you won't feel it.

"What is it about him? Is it because you can pick him up and carry him?"

You laugh. "No, he's the love of my life. I can be my true self around him, and he sees me for who I am."

"So, how long do you plan to live like this with him?"

"Like what?" You pour another shot into your glass and toss it back. You walk back into the living room and curl up on the couch.

Changbin follows you and sits down on the other end of the couch.

"I mean, you're a drug dealer. You've been one since you were a teenager. You just gave up the game cold turkey to run away with him. I mean.. eventually, your money will run out."

"Ex-drug dealer. Also, you forgot Wooyoung is an accountant. We're good on money. Trust me."

"Alright. I'm glad you got it all figured out. But, what about Hongjoong? You're going to keep running from him?"

"My brother will handle it."

"Chan isn't going to do that."

"Chan isn't my only brother. You think I would put all my trust into you?"

"Damn, you don't trust me?"

"No. I don't know what your deal is. It's been thirty days, and Hongjoong hasn't sent anyone to kill me."

"What if he didn't have to send anyone? What if the person already lives with you and is waiting for the right time?"

***

"So, Wooyoung ran off with Y/n?" Yeosang glares at San and drops his food.

"Yeah, but I told Hongjoong she left a note. He doesn't know about Wooyoung."

"Fuck. Those two were fucking? I had no idea. We're supposed to be best friends, and he didn't tell me."

"Don't feel bad. He didn't tell me shit either. I found out by following them. Anyways, I'm trying to get him to come home. I have an idea where they went."

"Y/n and Wooyoung? I don't get that dynamic. It's so random. Like, I never got that vibe. I've hung out with a lot with them. They never gave that vibe."

"Apparently, they are into some weird shit. I don't want to think about it. But, I gotta get him back home and away from that bitch. Can you help me?"

"So, Hongjoong has no idea."

"Nope."

"Fuck. This is messy. I need to talk to Wooyoung. I've been calling him. Does he have a new number?"

"Yeah, I'll give it to you."

****

"Mmm.. goddess. You're so warm," Wooyoung says in a half-sleepy tone, and you wrap your arms around his warm body.

You kiss him on his cheek and wrap your arms around his waist. "Not as warm as you. I missed you."

Wooyoung turns around and faces you. You can see his dark eyes with the almost full moon reflecting on his warm melanin. "Goddess.. were you drinking?"

"Yes, I had a few shots with Changbin."

"Oh."

His pause makes you search his face. You are starting to see a bit of jealousy between Changbin and Wooyoung, which you wouldn't understand why Woo would even be bothered. You love this man with all your heart.

"You were sleeping, and I just wanted a few shots."

"I.. never mind."

"No, tell me, baby. What's wrong?"

"I love you and everything, but Changbin has to go. You said you haven't talked to your brother since you've been here. So, how do we know he is supposed to be here?"

"I know. But, we can't take any chances. What has San been saying?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Tell me. I can handle it."

"He says the only way I can return to Gangteez is if I kill you."

"I didn't know you wanted to go back to Gangteez."

"I don't. I just don't know what he'll do."

Bang.

You jump up out of bed and reach into your nightstand and grab your gun. You pull off the safety and run into the living room.  The front door is open, and you squat down.

"Goddess! No, come back!" You hear Wooyoung, but you aren't thinking about that right now.

You hear a car speeding off, but you see Changbin lying in your front yard. You run over to him and get down on your knees.

"Binnie, fuck. Are you okay?" You look at him, and you search for the wound. You lift his shirt and see that his side has been grazed. You take off your Cami and press it against his wound.

"Yeah, I'll be okay. Let's get in the house," Changbin groans.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know."

You help Changbin up, and Wooyoung comes with his gun.

"Woo, help me get Binnie in the house," you yell.

You stand up and help Changbin get up to his feet. You stare back at your apartment and see that Wooyoung is taking his precious time to come over to help.

He gets on the other side of Changbin, and you both get him on the couch. You grab your burner phone.

"No, don't call the police," Changbin lifts his hand.

"What are you talking about? You were shot. You need to go to the hospital."

"No, grab my phone off the table and call Loria. She will handle it for me. She's a doctor that does house calls."

"Binnie, what are you not telling me? No one is going to shoot at us for no reason. Have you been moving weight?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck. Binnie, this is not the life I want anymore, and you are making a decision for Wooyoung and me that we never approved of," You groan. You grab the phone and call Loria.

"Hola?"

You put the phone on speaker and bring it over to Changbin. He begins to communicate in Spanish with the woman, and then they end the call. You close the phone and put it on the coffee table. 

"Why are you moving weight? I take care of all three of us. If you needed money, why didn't you ask me?"

"I'm not yours, remember? That's not your job. Plus, I don't want you to take care of me. I gotta have my own."

"Look, you need to go back to the states. I can't have you dying on me," you say.

"No. I need to be here with you," Changbin shakes his head.

"No, you are going home. I don't know how shit works here and I don't want to get involved with the drug game. I don't speak the language, and I can't depend on you to translate," you reply.

"You don't tell me where I can and can't go. I'm here to protect you. You are fine. I'm the one who got shot."

"You are here to protect me from Hongjoong, not Cuban drug dealers. Why were they shooting at you? Have you been moving weight in this neighborhood?"

"No, closer to the city. But, look, I'll handle it."

You go back into your room and dial Bangchan. You know you only wanted to call him in case of an emergency.

"Yes, sister?" Chan asks.

"Changbin got shot, and he needs to go home."

"Changbin is with you? Why?"

"What do you mean why? He was here the day I came and said you sent him."

"I didn't send him. Actually, we haven't spoken since I sent you there. We actually are beefing right now."

"Why?"

"Because he thought I should have killed Wooyoung instead of helping you get your fairytale life."

"What the fuck?" you nearly drop your phone. Changbin has been in your house for a month, and he's been lying.

You run into the living room. "You've been lying to me this whole time?" You yell.

"What are you talking about now, Y/n?"

"Chan didn't know you were here. You lied to me."

"No, we gotta kill him now," Wooyoung lifts his gun and points it at Changbin.

"Wooyoung is the one who is fucked up. Not me. Wooyoung called San late one night saying how he made a mistake, and he's going to kill you," Changbin confesses.

Your mind is swirling at all the hints you didn't pick up between both of them. Who could you really trust? The doorbell rings, and you go over it.

"Hola, soy Loria. Donde Estas Changbin?" She says. You open the door and allow her to come in. She puts her bag on the floor and starts to communicate with him.

Your thoughts are becoming more irritating. You don't care about Changbin stalking you, but Wooyoung. Is he really regretting your relationship? Would he really kill you?

You grab Wooyoung's hand and lead him to the bedroom. You close the door behind him.

"You got five minutes to tell me everything," you fold your arms.

"Baby, he's not lying," Wooyoung replies.

Your whole world feels like it's being turned upside down. Has everything been a lie with Wooyoung?

Part 5-Final Chapter HERE

[cinewhore]

The Take Over - chapter one

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!reader

Rating: mature

word count: 2.6k

read the prologue

warnings: mentions of smut - nothing described. 

Summary: Linda Cosgrove is convinced something isn’t right with her husband. You and Marcus have a rocky morning. 

A/N: This is an Invasion of the Bodysnatchers AU. You don’t need to watch the film to understand what’s going on. Credit to the gif maker(s). No beta. 

It starts with Linda Cosgrove.

You try not to stir too much, pinned underneath Marcus’s body. It felt whole being with him again after being away from home for a week. Many folks still whisper about the blatant show of affection, one woman even going so far as to scold you after she witnessed Marcus grabbing a handful of your ass in the shoe store. You didn’t mind it, you were happy and that’s all that mattered.

You regard your husband in all his hazy glory, smiling at the little pout his mouth does when he’s asleep. You’re careful with your index finger as you run it down the middle of his forehead, shaping the sharp curve of his nose. The action tickles him, nose twitching in response. As your finger slips lower, you huff out a laugh as Marcus pecks your finger lightly before opening his mouth to chomp at it.

“Watch it!” you warn, trying your hardest to untangle yourself from his hold. Marcus doesn’t budge, lowering his head in between your neck and shoulder. He nips at your throat, running a hand up your stomach to tickle it. You squeal, thrashing around to avoid being attacked again. You turn so that your back is facing him, attempting to make it out of bed when you knock back against Marcus, taking in his morning wood.

You both stop, Marcus raising his eyebrows seductively when you crane your head to get a look at him. Shaking your head defiantly, you hold up a finger.

“No-”

“Baby, come on! I’ll be quick.” he whines, wrapping his arms tighter around your torso.

“Marcus, we are not gunning on hitting a new record right now. I’ve got work.”

The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 7:16. If you didn’t get a start now, you were going to be very late for your first appointment.

“You just got back and I’ve been lonely without you. My hand doesn’t feel as nearly as good as your pu-”

Your cell phone interrupts, the vibrating box nearly taking a tumble off the nightstand if you hadn’t reached your hand out quick enough to grab it. You press the green circle on the screen, holding the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Oh good, you’re awake. That’s a start.”

Janie’s voice mocks you as you bat away Marcus’s hands. He finally gives up, lying back down.

“I’m halfway out the door and I don’t keep the tab running when I’m at home, so I’m assuming this is an emergency?” you exhale, rolling your neck around to stretch.

“Uh, yeah. It kind of is.” Janie looks back into the waiting room of your office, a stunned woman sitting eerily still in one of the chairs. “Linda Cosgrove is here and she refuses to move unless she sees you.”

“You mean the Linda who says that Jesus is her only doctor and she doesn’t trust modern medicine because she doesn’t know what’s in it? That Linda?”

Janie sighs. “The same one.”

You glance at Marcus who has a scowl forming on his face. You shrug, shaking your head.

“Did she at least say what she wanted?”

“Something about her husband. She’s been muttering biblical nonsense since she got here. She was waiting in the parking lot when I arrived.”

You put a bit more pep in your step, almost toppling over as you slip your legs into your trouser. You didn’t partly blame Linda for being the way that she is, she hadn’t been exposed to anything else and it was hard to challenge the views of a person who raised that they were always right.

“Shit. Tell her I’ll be there in 15.”

“I’m keeping count. At 20 you owe me lunch.”

You don’t say anything else as you hang up the phone, tossing it on the bed. Marcus watches with a keen eye as you get dressed, lounging on the bed like some sort of Greek God.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for class?” you question him, paying special attention to the buttons on your blouse.

“It’s an online class later today. No rush.”

“God,” you make your way over to him, leaning down to get a kiss. “Why can’t we all be that lucky?”

“Well not everyone is a doctor, doctor.”

You mush his face affectionately. “Says the FBI agent.”

“Retired FBI agent.”

You stop and tilt your head, noticing the change in tone. “Do you miss it?”

Marcus holds your gaze a little before he breaks it, choosing to stare out of the window instead. You can tell by the way his jaw ticks that he wants to say more but ultimately, won’t.

“Sometimes.” he finally whispers.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the emotions at bay, not wanting to start an argument before you both head into work. It wasn’t an easy decision, packing up the once ever so glamorous life in the city and moving to a smaller suburb but this was a job offer you didn’t want to pass up. You got the opportunity to be over your own office, set your own hours and got paid a shit ton to do it. You and Marcus both toyed with the idea of starting a family and you figured this was the best place to do it.

“I should get going.”

Marcus chases after your touch but you pull back, opting to grab your coat and purse instead.

“Baby,”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be tonight but I’ve prepped dinner so you’ll just need to put it in the oven.” You give him your best smile but you could both see through the bullshit. He nods, eyes cast downward. “Have a great class.”

You exit without another word.

Linda looks up from the cross necklace tucked inside of her stubby fist, eyes hardened and rimmed red. You usher her back to the examination room, checking over her vitals Janie monitored earlier.

“It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Cosgrove. Janie said you really wanted to talk to me today?”

Linda nods so eagerly you were scared her neck was going to snap. You maneuver a stool from underneath the desk in the room, sitting directly across from her.

“What seems to be the issue?”

She sniffles and by instinct, you reach behind you to grab the box of tissues situated on the desk without blinking an eye. Linda takes a few from the box.

“It’s my husband. He ain’t right.”

“Ok..did he eat something? I know he works construction, maybe he was injured?” you probe your brain for likely causes.

“No, no! He’s not himself, he’s different.” Linda insists, her resolve slowly cracking. Perhaps he was harboring guilt? It wasn’t uncommon for those who commit adultery to feel the toll of their behavior physically but there was no way that you were going to even suggest her husband was cheating on her. It was of no business to you, anyhow.

You rummage through your coat pocket, pulling out a small tablet and pen. Flipping to a clean sheet, you steady yourself.

“Can you describe his behavior? Whatever seems abnormal, I’d like to take note of.”

Linda regards you with apprehension for a moment but stands down.

“Well, I wasn’t so sure about what I was seeing, but our dog, Champ, knows best. Champ won’t go near him and every time Joe comes home, Champ just loses his mind. Say what you want but there are two types of people who have good judgment and that’s our Lord in savior Jesus Christ and dogs.”

You nod your head to indicate that you were listening, furiously jotting down things that stood out to you. Oddly enough, you found yourself agreeing with Linda. Dogs had a sensibility that humans did not and if there were some shit happening, they would know.

“And well,” Linda lets a few tears slip out, dabbing at her eyes. “He just doesn't love me like he used to. Like I said, he’s different.”

You glance up from your notes, setting the items to the side. Hesitantly, you reach a hand over and rest it on her knee. Regardless of what was happening, a woman was in pain and you were the first person she turned to for help. It poked and prodded at your heart, nestling itself there and creating a need to see this through.

“Have you considered that there’s been a possible change in his mental state? If his moods are shifting-”

“He ain’t mental!” Linda hisses, swinging her knee so that your hand fell. 

“I wasn’t insinuating that he was, we just need to scope this out from all points of view, Mrs. Cosgrove.”  

“My husband is many things but he is not mentally unwell and neither am I! Why can’t you just listen to what I’m trying to tell you?! He’s hurtin’ and I need you to figure out what’s wrong with him and fix it!”

You try to regain control of the situation.

“Ok, ok. I’m just trying to understand, is all. I believe you, if anyone knows your husband best, it’s his wife.”

The wedding band on your own fingers burns at your own statement.

Linda’s eyes shift wide open. “You..do?”

“Yes, if it's bothering you this much there must be probable cause. How about you bring in Joe tomorrow and we’ll run some tests and get him looked at.”

Linda nods her head slowly, seemingly going over her schedule in her mind. “I can do that.”

You clap your hands together, standing from the stool. “Excellent! Janie will help you select a time that works for you and Joe. If anything urgent comes up, give me a call.”

Linda breaks out into a smile, the first one you’ve seen that wasn’t reflective of passive aggressiveness.

“Thank you, Dr. Pike.”

You return Linda’s smile with your own. “Anytime.”

Janie nudges her shoulders with yours as you both watch Linda exit the building. You scribble a note on your hand, grabbing some files off of Janie’s desk to get a quick overview of what the rest of your day looked like. A boring day, more or less.

“Should I just mark her down for a checkup?”

“For now, yes. Joe isn’t feeling like himself so I’ll just run a few tests to make sure he hasn't injured something we can’t see. If all checks out, I’ll recommend they see Dr. Narduzzi.”

Janie huffs out a breath. “I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to that.”

“Well, she won’t have any other choice.”

After a long day of examinations and meetings, you were more than thrilled to see your home come into view as you turned on your street. A few lights were on and you assumed Marcus waited up for you despite you warning him not to mess up his sleep schedule over you.

As you enter, you’re met with the savory aroma of a veggie lasagna, mixed with the buttery goodness of freshly baked garlic bread. Cutting the corner to the kitchen, your face lights up a bit at the sight of a clean kitchen table, complete with new flowers stuffed in a vase. Your husband sits at the head of the table, a few papers and his laptop in front of him. He peers up from his work, eyes decorated by his reading glasses.

“Marcus, why are you still up?”

It was well past 10 and you knew he liked to be in bed by now. Not exactly to sleep, as he liked to read a few chapters of a novel before snoozing.

“I wanted to eat with you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You haven’t eaten yet?”

“I mean I have, I just wanted to sit with you while you ate. I thought I’d get some grading down while I waited for you to come home.”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention. Wasting no more time, you put your things away and claim the seat next to Marcus, murmuring a small thanks after he makes a plate for you, topping it off with a glass of wine.

“Danny called.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he mentioned wanting to get together soon. I was thinking we could invite him and Sydney over for a game night or maybe dinner. Whenever you’re free, of course.”

You hum in agreement, taking a swig of wine to wash down your food.

The two of you continue to coexist in silence, only exchanging brief glimpses. The strain from this morning still weighs on your shoulders and you had no energy to try and correct it tonight. You had spent all day striving to better your patients that you had no interest in fixing your own marriage. You were tired of doing the heavy lifting.

That was just the thing, though. You didn’t have to.

Once you were finished with dinner, Marcus offered to clean the dishes, sending you upstairs to shower the day away. When you came out of the bathroom, he had found his way to his side of the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

“C’mere.” he mumbles, holding an outstretched hand toward you. You take it, permitting him to pull you into his hold. He spreads his legs out so that you fit between them, both hands now taking hold of your waist.

You scratch at his jaw, admiring the stubble that was forming.

“I’m sorry for this morning. I don’t want you to think that just because I miss my old job that I’m not happy here with you. I agreed to follow you to the ends of the earth when we got married and I meant that.”

Marcus’s hand’s creep up to your face, rubbing away the hot tears that race down your face. You hadn’t even realized you were crying, all the pent up anxiety releasing itself.

“I never want you to resent me for taking the job. Everyday I wake up terrified that you’ll be gone.” you hiccup, becoming self conscious after sharing such an uncomfortable thought. Marcus rises up from the bed, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace.

He lets you get everything out, swaying the two of you back and forth in a comforting motion. After a while you pull your face out of his chest to fully look at him.

Marcus gives you a watery smile. “We’re ok.”

You nod. “We’re ok.”

Marcus seals the affirmation with a kiss, tongues intertwining as hands begin to roam and explore flesh.

That night, Marcus fucks you within an inch of your life, bringing you over the edge numerous times there was no way you’d be able to walk properly for the rest of the week. It clouded your mind, the only things that you could feel or even make sense of, was him. A delicate and meditative lover who proved to you that the two of you were in this together. As he reaches his own peak, you cradle his body, gasping at the way he was filling you up. Your bodies were covered in slick sheen, legs tangled and limbs slack.

You aren’t exactly sure when you fell asleep or when you switched positions but you were facing your nightstand, the sheer blue light of your clock blinking in your face.

3:02

Your phone was buzzing. Sydney was calling.

“Hello?” your voice croaks. Sydney’s comes across panicked, forcing you to perk up.

“Oh, thank god you answered! I’m so sorry for waking you up at this hour but we didn’t know who else to call and we didn’t want to call the cops before-”

“Syd, can you slow down a little?”

Marcus groans, shifting in his sleep.

“Right. Sorry.” There’s a bit of shuffling heard in the background, a male voice becoming present.

“It’s Danny. You need to get over here. Quick.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“There’s a body on my living room floor.”

You whine, flopping back onto your pillows. “Danny, please tell me you aren’t drinking.”

“I’m not fucking kidding you! I’m standing and looking at it.”

“Ok and whose body is it?”

An audible gulp.

“It’s mine.”