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after-witch · 9 months ago

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Death by Stereo [Yandere Chrollo x Reader] [Vampire AU]

Title: Death by Stereo [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re just a nobody living in a small town when a mysterious stranger with a leather jacket, good looks and a penchant for kissing your hand rolls in, just in time for the ever-popular summer carnival. Things are going great, until dead bodies start piling up.

Word count: 17,510

Notes: yandere, vampire AU, descriptions of dead bodies, some violence, gore, abuse

Thursday

Is there anything more wearisome than a small town? Small towns grind you down so slowly that you don’t realize your feet have been eroded into useless nubs before it’s too late, and you have nowhere to run, even if you had the inkling to get away.

A small town has its charms, as they say--but it has its burdens, too. You know all the faces, but all the faces know you; some of them have even known you since you were just an ultrasound picture carried dutifully in your mother’s purse, pulled out at coffee shops and book clubs.

They know when you got your first period (age 13, in the middle of gym class--you were wearing white shorts); when your first boyfriend dumped you (at the school dance, right before he made out with the third most popular girl in school); what colleges you applied to, and later--why you dropped out (your dad got sick) and how he was doing (not so great but getting better) and where you worked, how you liked your coffee, and all these impersonal and personal details that made up the monotony of your life.

It was a trap, this small town life. A faux bubble of intimacy that your parents embraced, but you’d never fully believed. Because despite knowing so much about you, no one here really knew you. They could tell you that you looked just like your mom at her age; they could sling down a mug with your coffee order without you opening your mouth (black, 1 sugar, 1 cream, no milk)--but they didn’t want to hear about how much you wanted to travel; how much you wanted to see.

Did it matter? You weren’t getting out anytime soon, anyway.

Like all small towns, yours had a claim to fame. While others might boast being the hometown of some B-list celebrity or the site of an all-you-get-eat seafood festival, your particular small town had one edge over the others: a summer carnival right on the beach, designed to appeal to nearby tourists who came to much larger, resort-friendly beaches for the summer season.

The tourists loved to flock here on that singular summer weekend, pretending they were enjoying a quaint local carnival where they got drunk on cheap beer and sampled funnel cake until they puked. And if the locals hustled them as much as possible, overcharging for drinks and parking and sightseeing maps, was that so bad? Small towns needed to leech off new blood once in a while, after all.

The carnival was four days long--Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Sunday was, of course, the grand finale. There was a massive fireworks show on the beach, a huge concert with local and sometimes vaguely familiar bands. A lot more booze traded hands on Saturdays, and the beach was lit up with more than just fireworks; the local volunteers always spent the next week picking up cigarette butts and discarded joints in the sand.

The carnival can be fun. Although like anything that happens every single year in a small town you’ve lived in your entire life (save the one year of college you managed before your dad’s test results came back) it gets wearisome.

Still--you go. What else is there to do? Besides, you’d be stupid to deny that it’s more fun to spend your summer weekend wandering the carnival, riding a few rides, speaking to people, than to sit at home or pick up an extra shift at the diner.

That’s why you’ve wandered into the carnival today--Thursday. Thursday is your favorite day of the carnival, because it’s the most quiet, relatively speaking. There are tourists here, sure, but they’re not rowdy yet. Not as overcrowded. There aren’t gaggles of kids running around with lobster-red faces and arms because they’re parents didn’t understand the necessity of sunscreen; there aren’t groups of women traveling in packs with matching sunglasses and hats, enjoying a summer break away from their rich and distant husbands.

It’s mostly locals on Thursday. People like you, bored coffee shop workers with nothing better to do on a Thursday evening.

Or people like Jake Jenson over there, currently aiming a colorful dart at a row of balloons in one of many carnival games that would hustle drunk tourists out of their money this weekend.

Jake was the town drunk--a title he gave himself, and others were only too happy to oblige him. He stuck to himself most of the time. During the carnival, he won as many carnival prizes as possible, and traded them to tourists with shitty aim for beers or cigarettes.

And over there--the early birds. They’ve come three years in a row, you think from somewhere in New York. They’re attached at the hip, constantly rubbing their noses together like some twee movie couple, and you’ve heard them complain that the boardwalks in their part of the country are a lot more “authentic.’

Sure, there’s the familiar faces, but unfamiliar ones, too. An older gentleman and his wife, who walks next to him more slowly, with a cane. He’s balancing a plastic plate with a fresh funnel cake in his hand. They’ll find a bench to sit down and enjoy it, maybe people watch, like you.

It’s time for one of your favorite games: making up stories for the various tourists you probably won’t ever see again. This couple--this is the last trip they’ll take together, because the wife got an awful diagnosis, and they’re spending what would have been the rest of their retirement savings on the dream vacation she always wanted to take. They met during the war, decades ago… he was a soldier and she was a nurse, and he hurt his leg, maybe, and wound up in a field hospital.

It would have been terribly romantic.

Your eyes shift away from the couple and onto a few other new faces.

Maybe that’s why you liked the carnival. It was nice to look at new people and imagine where they came from, what they did. The kind of life they had, which was surely more interesting and worldly than yours.

With people watching in mind, you abandon your bench in front of the games and head deeper into the carnival, weaving yourself in between snack and ticket booths, stepping over large black cables that kept the rides running.

Dusk had already settled in, and the warm glow of the summer had been replaced with a deepening sense of evening. The carnival lights had already begun to play against the darkening sky, creating that magical atmosphere that couldn’t be replicated during the day.

You don’t notice the stranger at first. It’s dark, the lights are a bit dizzying, and there are plenty of people simply wandering around and taking in the sights. What’s one more stranger, when over the course of the next few hours and days, the summer will be increasingly filled with them?

But this particular stranger shows up in the corner of your vision and immediately strikes you as… odd. He’s just standing there.

Watching you. Staring--right at you. What the fuck?

He’s wearing all black, and there’s some sort of scarf or cowl over his face. His eyes look impassive but there’s something awful in them, even in the brief glances you get from catching him from the corner of your gaze.

What a creep.

It sours the mood, and you decide to leave, or at least take a break and shake off whatever out-of-towner decided to pull off his best edgy horror movie impression to creep you out. It wouldn’t be the first time a tourist behaved like a jerk, or a weirdo, especially if they’d be drinking.

Something about nighttime at the carnival made people go wild.

So you head away from it all, from the couples trying to win stuffed animals, from the giggling shrieks of people on rides that spun them upside down until they wanted to puke. And maybe you should just head right home, but it’s not fair to waste a night of good weather.

Cool, but not too cool. Pleasant. The moon is out and the stars twinkle overhead.

Heading out on the dock might be nice. Tourists don’t bother with it, at least not on Thursday, when the beach isn’t lit-up and there’s no particular reason to head out this way.

But you’d been to this beach in the evening before; you weren’t scared of the dark. By contrast, you liked the way the beach sounded at night. The water moving in and out, slow and sure. The occasional sound of wildlife splashing in the water. And the din of the carnival behind you, all rainbow lights and indiscernible human happiness.

Your joy is cut off by the sound of footsteps. Your heart leaps in your chest and your hands slam into your pocket instinctively, fumbling for your keys. Fuck, how were you supposed to use these in self-defense again? Put them between your fingers?

Your heart hammers and you slowly turn around, squinting as you make out a figure approaching you in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” a voice calls out, penitent. “Did I scare you? I’m trying to get reception.” The man wiggles a small silver object in the air, raising it above his head. A small LED screen lights up and your heart rate begins to calm, slowly but surely.

After a few beats, he sighs, and shoves the phone in his pocket.

He turns, apparently to leave, but then looks back at you. “Are you all right? I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallow, lick your lips. Feel stupid for the keys in your fingers. He seems nice enough. A typical tourist. “Um, yeah.” You laugh, an empty sound. “I guess I’m just a little jumpy tonight.”

The moonlight doesn’t give you a clear view of the man’s features, but you can see him tilt his head a little. “Jumpy?”

The keys in your pocket rattle when you let them go, and pull your hands out to point back towards the carnival. The man follows your finger with an almost studious interest.

“Someone was following me, maybe? Or he just seemed a bit creepy.” You laugh again, a habit ingrained after years of dealing with men in odd situations--defuse, tread lightly, always. “He was staring at me, but I couldn’t see his face. He had a scarf over it, I think.”

The man in front of you hums in acknowledgement after a moment. He almost seems a little amused, which is both irritating and relieving in its own way. You were just being silly, jumpy, overreacting, weren’t you? Maybe the guy wasn’t even looking at you in the first place.

“Can I walk you back to the carnival? It doesn’t feel right to leave you here alone.”

Ah, no, you think. Sure, the man in front of you might just be a tourist in search of reception, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. This is how people get murdered. Or attacked. Or like, hoisted into white vans and never seen again.

“No, that’s okay. I was going to stay out here longer and look at the stars. I’m going home soon, anyway.” Not a complete lie, since you did really want to go home. Something like this is usually enough for most people to take the hint, right?

The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, you see the shape of his smile, lit only by the moon in the sky above.

“You want me to walk you back to the carnival,” he says simply, and offers his arm out, like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman.

Oh. Of course you do. What were you thinking, staying out here on the dock at night? Mosquitoes would eat you up, anyway.

You smile in return and take his offered arm, stepping lightly as you make your way back to the carnival with a complete stranger.

Only by the time you make it back to the threshold of the carnival, which seems to be eaten up by the darkness surrounding all of the twinkling lights, he’s not really a stranger, is he?

And as you get closer to the carnival, the natural darkness of the beach gives way to an abundance of artificial lights that allow you to see him better. He’s cute--no doubting that, with dark hair that frames his face, and a bandage around his forehead. Maybe an accident, or an unfortunate birthmark.

Even if you weren’t familiar with most of the town’s residents in one way or another, you’d know he was an outsider from the way he’s dressed. A slim motorcycle jacket and dark jeans… not the type of guy that hangs around here for long.

As you stop at the border of the carnival, he asks where you live, and you tell him--”around.” He admits that he’s only in town for the carnival week.

“I figured,” you say lightly enough.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is it that easy to tell?”

You put your hands into your pockets and look around you.

“I mean, it’s a small town, right? Everyone knows everyone, after a while. A new face stands out pretty easily.”

His smile is charming. Practiced, but charming. Or maybe being practiced is how it’s so charming in the first place. “That makes sense.” He considers you for a moment. “You like to watch the tourists, then?”

You shrug and gesture with your chin towards a mom with a toddler clinging to her hand, pulling her along towards one of the games with enormous stuffed animals.

“I like people watching, I guess. Sometimes,” and as you’re saying it, you don’t know why you’re telling him this so openly. “Sometimes I like to make up stories about people I see. Like, where they’re from or what they do or a backstory like they’re from a movie or whatever.”

Your cheeks feel suddenly, stupidly hot. Christ, you meet a handsome stranger on the beach and your first major conversation involves you admitting you make up stories about people? You’ve got to get out of this town more.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s judging you. If anything, he looks interested.

“And what would you imagine for me?”

The question is unexpected.

“I think…” You try to force your mind to wander like it does when you people watch organically. What would you imagine, if you came across him walking around the carnival in the evening? He’d be on his own, surely, maybe his hands in his pockets. Quiet. A soft smile on his face, maybe?

“I think you’re some sort of… librarian. Or a curator. A collector?” You shake your head, unsure of exactly where you want to go with this one. “The point is, you’re traveling around the country, looking for things to add to a museum or library or something like that. And you came across an ad for a summer carnival and thought you’d take in some local culture.” You gesture towards the carnival--the lights, the crowd of people, the humanity on display. “But walking around here makes you feel lonely. So you walk down to the beach in the hopes of distracting yourself. Only,” you add, with a cheeky grin. “To come across the most amazing small town waitress in 100 miles standing on the dock like a weirdo.”

He doesn’t smile at your story. Not exactly. Instead--and you look away when you notice, feeling too rude for staring--his eyes widen just a smidge and he purses his lips in a thoughtful way.

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “May I have yours?”

Chrollo is kind of old-fashioned, you decide. Perhaps you were more spot-on than you realized with your story.

Maybe you shouldn’t give your name. But there’s a giddy feeling inside your chest. Something akin to what you used to feel when you were a teen and you snuck out in the middle of the night for bonfire drinking parties.

I mean… a handsome stranger in a motorcycle jacket who escorted you back from the beach wants your name? You’d be stupid to say no.

So you give it.

At that, he finally smiles again.

“Well, then,” he says softly, saying your name in such a way that makes you hope he’ll say it again in the future, “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Help! Someone help me! For God’s sake!”

Jake Jensen cried out these words as loudly as he could--as clearly as he could, with booze slurring his words and making his mouth all mumbly. But he wasn’t loud enough. No one heard him. Not over the music and delighted screams of the carnival.

He had been chased away from the beach, past the dock, into a little storage shed used for kayaks rented to tourists during the summer. His worn out body protested with every movement, his lungs hacking from years of cigarettes.

His attackers, who blocked the door frame, said nothing. They only looked at one another, silent words passed between them, and the taller of the two grinned in the darkness.

Jake Jensen died screaming.

Friday

You tell yourself that you’re only sitting here on this bench, munching on fresh hot popcorn, because you had a hankering for carnival food. Definitely didn’t come here in the hopes of seeing a certain someone. You tell yourself this even as your eyes dart here and there, looking for any sign of the not-quite-a-stranger from last night.

The sun has just set, and it’s a bit hard making out faces in the glow of the early evening. There are a lot more people here tonight, a new wave of tourists drowning out the familiar faces. Not that the locals shy away from the carnival--you spot your former best friend from high school, your old math teacher, one of the regulars at the diner… Jake Jensen isn’t in his usual spot at the games, but maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover. He never misses a summer carnival.

“Hello again.”

Oh--you choke on your current handful of popcorn just as Chrollo appears suddenly in your line of sight, hands in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, a casual smile on his face.

“Hey,” you say, coolly, like you didn’t just nearly spit chewed popcorn kernels in his face when he approached. The silence between you doesn’t last long, but you fill it anyway. “You um, want some popcorn?”

But when you hold out the now half-filled container, Chrollo only looks at it curiously. Like he’s never seen popcorn before or something? But then he takes a small handful and pops it in his mouth. Chews--but he might as well be chewing broccoli, for all he seems to enjoy it. Oddly, he watches you while he chews, seemingly studying your face. Did you have popcorn in your teeth?

Better to fill the silence again.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, grinning, popping another handful in your mouth. “It’s my favorite because it’s fresh, and that booth actually uses real butter. Not the fake oil stuff.”

Chrollo hums in agreement. “I see. I thought that tasted like real butter. Thank you for sharing.”

You decide on the spot that you’re going to make the most of this evening, popcorn-in-teeth or no. So you shrug and give your best smile. “No biggie. Buuut… you will owe me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And what will I owe you?”

It’s your turn to hum as you look out towards the carnival, scanning past the numerous faces, the booths, children running with balloons and sticks of cotton candy. “A ride on the Ferris wheel once it’s properly dark would be nice.”

A snort, though his nose. “I think I can manage that.”

He offers his arm again, and you take it, not minding how old fashioned it was. Somehow, despite his jacket, his sleek hair, the hint of motorcycle oil mixed with cologne, old-fashioned seemed to suit him.

Lots of things seemed to suit him, actually. You learn this as the evening wears on. He’s great at carnival games, choosing only a select few that he claims to be an expert in. He wins you a few stuffed animals that you pass on to little kids, save a smaller teddy bear that you can shoved inside your purse.

You learn other things, too. Like, he’s a great listener. He lets you talk--about yourself, about the town--and doesn’t interrupt or tell you that you talk too much or make it clear he’s not listening to a thing you say. He even asks you questions, which shows he’s actually listening, and not just thinking about other things and waiting to ask you to go somewhere “private” like some other guys.

It’s nice, surprisingly nice, to find someone from out of town who’s so thoughtful.

The line for the Ferris wheel is always long once the sun goes down, and you’re one of the last rides of the night.

When the carnival worker locks the bar down over your waists, you kick your legs and wait for the strange rush of adrenaline and pleasure that comes with the Ferris wheel. It’s a beautiful sight--all colored lights contrasted against the night sky, whisking you high into the air and giving you a view of the entire carnival and the ocean beyond.

But your body always reacts to the imagined danger of being carried so far away from the safety of the ground, and when the Ferris wheel reaches the top and begins to circle over for the first time, your stomach lurches and you gasp.

“Are you scared?” Chrollo’s voice is low--you could swear he’s teasing, but there’s something else in there, too.

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching as you're brought back closer to the ground, only to be whisked away again. “Of course. What if something goes wrong, and I fall off and break my neck?”

Chrollo tilts his head. “You’d be dead.”

You can’t help but grin. He’s so to-the-point sometimes. It’s charming in its own way, although you can’t exactly describe what “its own way” means with Chrollo. It’s like he stepped out of some old fashioned film but also came out of a cooler city. A biker who carries around an embroidered handkerchief, or something like that.

“And I don’t want to die, hence--the stomach flipping.”

Chrollo looks ahead, then, taking in the view as the Ferris wheel carries you over again. “No? How long do you want to live, then?”

The snort is involuntary. A philosophical question on the Ferris wheel--not exactly what you expected from tonight. But maybe it’s not so bad. He’s good company. And Chrollo looks earnest in his question, too, which makes you feel guilty for snorting in the first place.

Maybe it’s the lights of the Ferris wheel that dazzle you; maybe it’s the way being on the Ferris wheel at night makes you feel like you’re in some wonderful haze of a dream.

Whatever it is, you fling your hand into the air, towards the carnival, towards the stars.

“Long enough to achieve my dreams,” you breathe out, earnest, almost sing-song. “Whatever they might be. I haven��t figured them out yet.”

Chrollo turns his head to look at you. His eyes almost seem magnetic against the night sky, with the lights of the carnival playing in them.

Then, as the Ferris wheel brings the two of you down towards the ground, you see him. The man from yesterday, with the cowl over his face. He’s looking right at you, and it’s no mistake or figment of your imagination.

Your head swivels to the side and you grip the bar of the Ferris wheel until your knuckles hurt. You jerk one hand out and point to the stranger on the ground with a trembling finger.

“There--look! Look!”

Chrollo takes a moment to respond, and follows the sight line of your finger.

But now--there’s no one there.

“What do you see?” He asks, clearly unknowing that the object of your terror has vanished into thin air.

“The man… the man from yesterday. He was right there. I swear.” Your chest hurts; fear hurts.

Unbidden, Chrollo pulls you close to him, and you let him hold you tight.

“You’re all right. I’m here.”

He holds your chin in his fingers. “You’re safe, do you understand?”

The fear in your chest seems fuzzy now, like it had almost never been there in the first place. How silly of you to be scared, when Chrollo was right here. It doesn’t even seem strange that he’s touching you so intimately, does it? So you nod--yes, yes, you understand.

Chrollo smiles.

“Let me kiss you,” he says simply.

And you will. Of course you will. What else would you want to do?

But as you lean forward, eyes already closing, he pulls himself away.

“Wait.” You blink, head clearing, and he continues, words slow, careful. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Now, you think about it. Maybe it was too hasty. But the lights of the carnival are beautiful and Chrollo is beautiful, and he’s been so thoughtful all day, and now he’s here, holding you, promising to keep you safe from carnival creeps.

A summer carnival is the time for a flirty romance, after all.

“Yes,” you answer, simply. “I would.”

Chrollo’s finger strokes your chin as you lean in and share your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, glittering lights and carnival music dancing in your mind.

The wife died first. Too quickly, but perhaps it was all the alcohol in her system; $1 margaritas at a local watering hole on a Friday night did nothing to make her more agile when being chased by predators while running in black city heels that had no place in a small town carnival.

Well, to the dying woman’s credit: it was the heels and alcohol and the sliced tendons in her ankle. Taut wires cut through her flesh like butter and she was down for the count, crawling, sobbing, begging for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her.

No one did.

Those pitiful cries, too, were cut down by a wire pressed into her throat; silencing her vocal chords, yes, but spilling blood over her neck that was as pretty as a sight as anything to those watching her choke and scrabble her hands against the ground, eyes wide, gaping, wondering--how is this happening to me?

The margaritas may have hindered her before her unfortunate ankle accident. But they did make her blood taste sweet and tangy. Metallic, rich, with a twist of lime. All that was missing was a miniature umbrella.

This joke was said aloud, once everyone had a taste of her. A few laughed, blood on their teeth.

Her husband didn’t seem to find it funny, but perhaps he was more preoccupied with his own current slow death. An arc of his blood spurted into the air--”Don’t fucking waste it, Uvo”--before a greedy mouth latched onto the wound, beginning to suck him dry.

The husband, like the wife, would be shared.

Soon, though, there would be no need for sharing.

There would be enough for everyone to have their fill--and beyond that.

There would be enough to gorge.

Saturday:

Three people are dead.

You didn’t know them know them, but the shock is still there, making your hands tremble a little as you pour morning coffees and deliver plates of steaming eggs and overcooked bacon to tables of locals and tourists in almost equal measure.

Jake Jensen is one of those people. The identities of the other two are unknown--”Due to the state of the bodies, no identification could be provided at this time,” said the sheriff, above a rolling news ticker that had been on the diner’s singular TV all morning--but they might be a couple. A man and a woman.

People die all the time. Sure. But… dead bodies are not often found in your small town, where gossip typically revolves around couples breaking up or a local store not putting up enough holiday decorations to appease the older crowd.

Yet now, in one morning, there are three.

Jake Jensen, who was found near the beach.

And an unknown man and woman (John and Jane Doe) who were found in a wooded area near the carnival.

“Mighta been a bear,” says one of your regulars, gnawing on a piece of his burnt bacon. He liked it that way.

“I heard they were drained of blood!” Your head--and others’ too, you suspect--turns to the voice. It’s not a local. Someone who’s far too dressy for the diner, sipping on a coffee they brought from home while they sample your diner’s less than stellar fruit salad option. He’s oblivious to the stares, to the eye rolls, to the immediate dismissal that his outsiderness earns him. “Two puncture wounds on the neck. Heard it from a cop while I was walking in this morning.”

Someone murmurs a joke about vampires and the locals chuckle, then go back to their coffee, their eggs, their eyes now and then glancing up at the old TV screen.

Your eyes roll, too, but then you wonder.

If they were murdered--and it’s an if, of course, because it could have been animals and Jake Jensen could have gotten so plastered that he fell off the dock or something, murders just don’t happen in your town--then… could it have been that creepy guy from before? The one who’s been following you around the carnival?

Shit, maybe he was waiting for the chance to get you alone, so he could drag you off to the dock or the woods and slit your throat. The thought gives you goosebumps, and acrid coffee tries to climb its way up your throat, before you swallow it down.

It was a good thing you had Chrollo around for the past two days.

And you’d be seeing him again tonight.

They weren’t canceling the carnival--it brings in too much money. And while a part of you is all sore and soft for poor Jake Jensen (who was never mean, just drunk) you try to brush it away. It’s sad. But life is sad.

You don’t want to be sad tonight. You want to look nice--for Chrollo? He wasn’t the first out-of-towner that had flirted with you, that you’d flirted with back. He was the first one that you’d ever genuinely looked forward to seeing again, though.

So.

You want to be wearing your best smile when you meet Chrollo again tonight.

And you can’t do that if you’re thinking about Jake Jensen’s body washing up on the beach or if there’s a small, tickling question dancing through your mind--

What sort of animal leaves two pretty little puncture wounds on the neck?

You sit on the same bench as before; the bench, in your mind, where you and Chrollo have taken to meeting up these past few days.

There’s no room in your stomach for popcorn tonight, though. Or rather, there’s room--your stomach growls--but you can’t imagine chewing anything rich, hot and buttery right now. Your thoughts flit between horror (poor Jake Jensen, one time, when you were younger, he helped you fix a flat bike tire) and romance (Chrollo’s lips on yours, warm, the breeze tickling your neck, the lights of the Ferris wheel twinkling around you).

You feel bad for wanting to enjoy tonight. But that’s not fair, is it? Another small town tragedy: caring too much about someone you didn’t really know as anything more than a passing familiar face that you can’t even focus on a hot date.

Fuck.

“Daydreaming again?”

The evening sky above you is a wash of deepening colors, devoid of actual sunlight but clinging to the last vestiges of it like a child refusing to let go of his mother’s hand on the first day of school.

He’s holding up a stick of bright pink cotton candy in one hand, while the other arm is offered for you to take--the contrast between his leather jacket, the ball of fluffy sugar he’s holding, and the way he sometimes acts like an old timey gentleman out of the movies is enough to make you smile.

Perhaps there’s bitterness in it, because as soon as you’re standing, Chrollo regards you with a measured look.

“Are you all right?”

Well. You don’t want to ruin your evening, but it would be stupid to pretend everything was all sweetness and sunshine, wouldn’t it? It’s better to get it out of the way.

“Sorry, it’s… I don’t know if you saw the news?” He says nothing, and you continue. “Those people that they found dead this morning.” Your lips press together. “I mean, the guy--I knew him, sort of? Everyone did. He was drunk all the time, yeah, but he wasn’t a jerk about it.”

Chrollo hums.

“I can imagine that would be shocking for you to hear.”

Your smile is shaky, and you nab a piece of cotton candy from the stick and shove it in your mouth. The sweetness contrasts awfully with the words that pass through your lips. “For you too though, right? I mean, it’s not every day three people turn up dead at some small town carnival.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow in a way that seems to say that he is not particularly shocked by the news.

“Shit, really? What are you in your non-touristy life, a mortician or something?” A sudden realization washes over you, that Chrollo has an entire life outside of you and these carnival evenings; he has a past, and family, and friends, and a job. Hopes, dreams, the whole nine yards.

“Something like that,” he says. When you move to apologize, he shakes his head. “It’s alright. I’m not terribly shocked by these things, I suppose, because of what I see in my day to day.” He looks at you a little curiously. “But I can see how it would rattle you.”

You open your mouth, but you don’t know what to say. Sugar sticks to your teeth.

“Come on.” Chrollo drops the cotton candy into a nearby trash can, and leads you towards a row of carnival games. “I know what might take your mind off things.”

For once, you’re glad to see the carnival games; the fast-paced spitting words of the barkers trying to hustle money from kids and couples, the sound of darts popping balloons, the triumphant music that plays before the obnoxiously difficult water shooting game.

You’re even glad to see the tourists in all of their Saturday glory, which isn’t so much “glory” as it is a sort of restlessness. Saturdays were always a strange day at the carnival; the last middle day before the grand finale. An unusual mixture of sleepiness, anticipation, and a buzz that held everyone together until tomorrow.

Strange day, strange faces. Some stranger than others. Staring up at the bell at the top of the Test Your Strength game is an exceptionally tall man with wild dirty blonde hair. By the size of his muscles, he might just break the game, which hadn’t been replaced in the many years you’d been coming here in the summer.

You tug on Chrollo’s arm and point the man out. “What do you want to bet the carnie will try to get him not to play? He might just break the thing…”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beside you, Chrollo snorts, but doesn’t linger on the man as he leads you further into the carnival.

The two of you walk, and talk. About nothing and everything. He asks you to come up with stories for a few tourists, and you do. Light ones. It really does take your mind off things. At some point, Chrollo buys you fries, which taste slightly sweet; probably cooked in the same oil as the funnel cakes.

You dig in your heels in front of the fun house, but Chrollo shakes his head, and won’t go in.

“Are you scared?” You tease. At night, the fun house was all lit up, and the clowns painted on the front had a ridiculously sinister air to them.

But Chrollo doesn’t smile or laugh. “They make me dizzy,” he says, quietly. There’s something behind his words, but you don’t know what. A medical problem? A bad experience? You apologize and then he does smile, shaking his head, at himself, or you, you’re not sure. “Think nothing of it, dear.”

Dear.

You want to hold onto that bit of affection like the sky holds onto the sunset on summer evenings. At least as long as you can, which tonight, seems to be until Chrollo takes you on the Ferris wheel again.

This time, he holds your hand as soon as the attendant locks the bar down. Your fingers interlock and squeeze and it sends butterflies rushing through your chest. What was there to worry about, to think about, when you were sitting next to him?

It takes a few turns around the Ferris wheel to remember what you were supposed to worry about, because on the trip down, your stomach fluttering from romance and gravity alike, you see him: the strange man. The stalker. The maybe-serial-killer-on-the-loose.

He’s standing still in the crowd walking here-and-there around the Ferris wheel, couples intent on getting in line, children running from tired parents as they beg for another carnival game.

And he’s staring straight up at you.

You don’t think this time. You grab Chrollo and point straight down and practically screech out the words: “There! He’s there! Look, look--look!”

And the stars must be aligned, because Chrollo actually sees him. His grip on your other hand tightens and he pulls you closer to him as you make your way back around the Ferris wheel and the man goes out of sight. By the time the two of you are at the top again, the stranger is gone.

Your goosebumps remain.

“We should talk to the police,” you murmur, a quiet, scratchy whisper.

Chrollo turns towards you. You recognize the look. The “Do you really think the police will do anything about this?” sort of look.

“I’ve been thinking…” You squeeze Chrollo’s hand and he squeezes back and that’s all you need to keep going. “That maybe he might have something to do with those people? The ones they found this morning?”

Chrollo’s eyes widen just a little. It’s both comforting and worrying to see him look taken aback, even if it’s only a bit.

“I heard…” You feel stupid saying this. But you shouldn’t feel stupid, not with Chrollo. He hasn’t given you a reason to feel like you can’t tell him things. “Someone at the diner today said they were found with puncture wounds on them. I was thinking, maybe… like an ice pick? Or a screwdriver or--I don’t know. But maybe they were killed.”

“Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Chrollo offers, voice low, lips curled into a smile, and your face must reflect the flash of offended shame that rushes into your chest, because he immediately apologizes. His sigh flutters against your cheek. “Well. He wouldn’t be the first killer to prey on crowds or small towns, would he?”

At least he didn’t say you were crazy to connect the two things, vampire joke aside.

He keeps you close once the ride is over, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’ll inform the police,” he insists, when the two of you finally stumble on a pair of deputies patrolling the carnival. He leaves you standing next to the Test Your Strength game, where the carnival barker has agreed to keep an eye on you. It made you feel like a child, but for once, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing--to be watched and protected.

You watch, biting your nails now and then, as Chrollo and the deputies talk. In the end, they shake his hand, and you feel cool relief in your stomach. The police will know what to do with the information. If this guy’s a killer, they’ll catch him. If he’s not, well. The carnival was almost over, and you wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer.

Things will be normal soon.

When Chrollo returns, you take his arm without hesitation, but this time he begins to lead you away from the carnival.

“I was thinking,” he says, “that we might go for a walk. Get away for a bit. If you don’t mind, that is.”

You don’t mind at all.

“Do you like trails?” You ask, steering him towards a trail that leads from the beach to a popular hiking spot for locals. “It’d be a bit more private. As long as you’re not scared of the dark.”

Chrollo chuckles. It’s a warm, dark, rich sound, and it sends a delightful thrill right through you.

“I’m not if you aren’t,” is all he says, and that’s enough for you to point out the way.

Thoughts of dead bodies and stalkers fade away with the carnival, whose sights and sounds fade bit by bit as you and Chrollo leave the beach and begin making your way into a wooded area with a paved hiking path lit on the other side by electric trail lights.

“I’m surprised to see these,” Chrollo says, quietly. He pulled his phone out at the start of the trail to give the two of you more light, though the trail lights were decent enough, especially since you’d been up here more times than you could count.

“Mm,” you murmur. “Locals come up here all the time at night. Especially teens. Usually to make out and stuff.” Chrollo gives you a look and your cheeks hit up, but you don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know about your high school escapades. “They added them to avoid the inevitable lost-teen-in-the-woods-at-night rescue scenario, I think.”

“Clever,” he says.

The waterfall is loud when you’re this close; so loud you can’t hear anything in the moment but your own thoughts, which have grown louder and louder somewhere between the hiking trail and this popular waterfall spot. So popular that it’s lit with a flood light near the top--supposedly a teenager slipped in one night and drowned in the shallow pool, though you’ve never been certain if it was a true story or not.

Regardless, you’re not sure you want to stay. No--you know you don’t want to stay.

This is a bit much, is what your thoughts are starting to scream. Chrollo is nice, but you don’t really know him, do you? And you just walked somewhere alone with him in the dark after being surprised by a maybe-stalker, the day that three people were found dead around here.

Yeah. A bit much might be an understatement. You should really get back to where there’s more lights and people and civilization in general. If Chrollo is a nice person (and he is, you insist, you’re just being smart!) he won’t mind.

“I think we should go back,” you say, but Chrollo can’t hear you. So you cup your hands around your mouth and lean closer to his ears. “I think we should go back!”

You expect him to nod and take your arm and lead you carefully down the lantern-lit trail, perhaps still using his phone to guide the way. Instead, he takes your chin in his hands--you move to jerk it out, you’d rather wait until you’re back at the carnival to kiss again--but his grip is impossibly strong.

“It’s all right,” he says, and it’s the strangest thing, you can hear him so clearly despite the roaring waterfall just a few feet in front of you. “You know that you’re safe with me. You don’t want to go back yet.”

How strange. How silly. Why did you want to leave, when you just got here? You didn’t even show him the best part yet.

“Come on!” It’s your turn to pull him along as you carefully walk the path leading to the front of the waterfall, which has already begun to soak water through your clothes.

“Is there a cave?” Chrollo asks--and again, you’re struck by how easy it is to hear him, despite the water rushing down in front of you.

“You sure know your way around local watering holes,” you jest.

He merely smiles. “I travel a lot.”

With that, you grip his arm tighter and run through the waterfall, shrieking in delight. Both of you emerge on the other side soaked; you, grinning, and Chrollo, looking around with interest.

The inside of the cave was lined with endless rows of fairy lights, courtesy of a local high school group. They had also brought in the two couches--used leather, frayed and flecking, but good enough for a hang out. When you were younger, there were only folding chairs; which were great for sitting, not so much for much less.

“Do you like it?” You ask, then feel stupid. Why do you care so much what he thinks of some local hang out spot, especially one you hadn’t been in for ages? The same reason why you’d spent all day telling him about your daydreams, about small town memories, bits and pieces of local lore that he didn’t brush aside but seemed to enjoy hearing.

Chrollo was so different from the others you’ve met at the summer carnival.

Maybe that’s why your heart begins to beat fast the moment you catch his eye again. His skin looks almost dewy in the glow of the lights, thanks to the water; his eyes shine, reflecting a soft, warm twinkling glow.

It’s just the two of you. No tourists, no locals, no would-be stalkers. Even the carnival itself seems far away; the lights blocked from view by the rushing water and canopy of the forest, even the wafting smell of popcorn and stale beer was long gone out here.

It was just you and Chrollo in a cave at the end of the evening.

But… it didn’t have to be the end of the evening, did it?

You ask him, this time.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“I do,” he says. “Very much so.”

This time, your kiss is tinged with the tang of river water.

Five bodies lay scattered in the grass. Young men, young women. Teens that had been giggling and stumbling through the forest, flasks of pilfered whiskey in their bags.

Now some dead and going cold, their limbs twisted, their mouths open in silent screams.

Two were still alive, whimpering, weak hands beating against monsters’ chests as open mouths hungrily lapped up their life blood. They had screamed, all of them, but no one could hear them in the woods--over the water.

“This is a lovely spot,” said a woman, brushing back her blonde hair. A bit of red gore had stuck to the strands and she tsked at the sight of it. “The waterfall adds a nice touch.”

The man hummed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. The slightest touch of red showed on his lips; like a woman pressing her lipstick-covered mouth onto a bit of tissue to get rid of the excess.

The carnage made him indifferent; the whimpers of the dying, even more so. But as he looked around at the carefully placed lights on the trail, the way they flickered against the waterfall and its hidden cavern like delicate stars, he smiled.

“It came highly recommended.”

Sunday: The Final Day

Chrollo was in your bed last night, and you thought he’d be there in the morning. But when the sound of birds pulls you delightfully out of a restful sleep and you blink your eyes open to dappled sunlight through your blinds, you realize that the bed is half-empty.

Just you and the sheets and the leftover smell of Chrollo--cologne and, more faintly, sweat and sex.

You freeze, listening for the sound of someone meandering about an unfamiliar kitchen. He could be up and about already--making coffee or breakfast. The image of him serving up a plate of bacon and eggs almost makes you laugh.

But the apartment is silent, save for your breathing, the sound of a clock ticking in the living room.

Your heart lurches and shame pricks at the back of your eyelids. He fucked you and ran, didn’t he? Just like the others, just like--

But just when you’re about to give into the temptation to scrub yourself all over with hot water and erase every trace of Chrollo that ever existed in your presence, you see it: a piece of paper, torn from a notebook you keep on your dresser. Carefully folded over and placed on the side table next to the bed.

Your name is on it, written in a surprisingly beautiful, scrawling hand.

Curiosity and leftover shame-tinged dread curl together in your stomach as you sit up and slowly pick up the note.

Dear--

Your heart lurches again, for a different reason this time.

I apologize that I did not give you a proper farewell. I had an urgent matter to attend to. Forgive me, won’t you? We will see each other tonight, I hope, for a memorable and unforgettable evening.

Of course he didn’t fuck and run. He wouldn’t do that. And tonight would be--well, memorable and unforgettable, just as he said.

The pitter-pattering inside your chest takes on a new delightful cadence as you get yourself ready for the day. No work--you had Sundays off, thank God, maybe literally, for that. It was a shame Chrollo didn’t tell you where he was staying; presumably, the only hotel in town. But maybe he was at one of the B&Bs or was shacking up at a room for rent.

It would be nice to see him in the daytime, too.

But he didn’t, so you’re left with nothing to do but flick on the TV and make yourself a cereal bowl. Well, that’s wrong. That’s not the only thing you could do. You could go to your parent’s house and help out your mom; she could use a break with caring for your dad.

But… was it wrong to be selfish, just a little, for just one day? You didn’t want to see Chrollo tonight with something unpleasant sticking inside you, on the potential chance that your dad was having a not-so-great day.

It was better to approach your last evening together with a sunnier attitude.

Although you don’t really have a choice, because the first thing you see when the news returns from a commercial break is a giant banner scrolling across the screen: TWO MISSING TEENS FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL WATERFALL. POPULAR TRAIL CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

In the background, the sheriff recites familiar lines about respecting the privacy of the dead, about putting the full energy of the police force into finding the investigation, about how there is no need to panic. He says that it may not have even been foul play.

Somehow, you don’t believe that. You just know.

Sugary cereal seems to lodge itself inside your throat. You were just there. You were just there, kissing Chrollo, holding his hand, and now two teenagers are dead and lifeless and, and--

And if it was that same man… the one who was staring at you, stalking you… how close did you and Chrollo come to dying last night?

Tears prick at your eyes and you grab your purse. Maybe you would spend the day with your parents, after all.

You should be more excited to see Chrollo. And you are, truly. But between the news this morning and the dull realization that this would be your last evening together ever, it’s hard to feel too enthused.

Chrollo would be going home after tonight. Tourist trap over, no need to stick around. Something childish in you thinks: maybe I can convince him to stay a little longer. And if he stays a little longer, he’ll see how nice it is here (it’s not) and maybe he’ll want to settle down (he won’t).

Oh, how stupid. It’s like when you’d meet the endless stream of New Best Friends every summer weekend as a kid, and you’d beg their parents together to extend their vacation.

It wasn’t going to happen. You’ll never see him again after tonight, and you’ll go your separate ways, and that’s that.

Reality sucks sometimes.

You’re still stuck in the dreary shit cloud that is reality when Chrollo’s now somewhat familiar footsteps approach you on the bench. The bench, your spot--your spot? As if you and Chrollo had anything that could be called an actual relationship that warranted the use of “your” plural.

You shake your head, hoping it shakes those silly childish delusions, and force yourself to smile.

Chrollo, to your surprise, doesn’t smile back.

Instead, he leans down, and takes your hand. His eyes roam over your fingers like they’re something special and it makes your stomach flutter stupidly.

“You seem a bit sad,” he says, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. The way that makes you feel is something you love and hate in almost equal measure. It’s not fair, is it, that he makes you feel this way--when he has to leave, and you’ll never see him again.

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that you will part ways after tonight that makes you speak freely.

“I’m just sad that you’ll be leaving.” He blinks at you, and turns his head a little. “That we won’t see each other after tonight,” you clarify.

You expect him to nod and agree, and perhaps say something trite but comforting, like, “We’ll just make the most of it.”

Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze.

“We don’t have to part, you know.”

It’s your turn to blink. A silly, little-kid-in-you hope does a twirl. He could stay--and this could maybe, possibly, in some far off millimeter of a chance, turn into something more serious than a summer fling. “You could extend your vacation? Your job would do that?”

Chrollo finally smiles at you.

“My life is flexible. But,” and now he pulls you up so that you’re standing. It’s a fluid, easy gesture for him, almost too easy--he’s stronger than he looks. “I was thinking that instead of staying here, you would come with me.”

The world around you is not silent. The carnival is always producing an eternal cacophony of sounds--screaming patrons hung upside down on the more thrilling of rides, cheery carousel music, laughter, popcorn endlessly beating like a fast paced drum, everything and anything all mixed together into a swirl of sound.

But it might as well be silent, because you feel like all you can hear is your heartbeat in your eyes for a few stretched moments.

“What? You’re not serious.” You smile, too, but it feels fake. Like it’s plastered on and cracking underneath. There’s a brief thought--maybe he means, like, for a weekend?--but you instantly know that’s not what he’s talking about.

This is too much, too fast. Too out of the blue.

Chrollo looks at you in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Like he wants to see something inside you that you’re keeping for yourself. Then that gaze is gone and he’s smiling softly, charming, a little bittersweet.

Bittersweet is familiar territory, and the ringing in your ears fades in favor of a carnival barker offering 2-for-1 prizes on the Test-Your-Strength game.

Chrollo’s voice cuts through it all, jovial, unassuming.

“We can talk about it later, if you’d like. Let’s go enjoy the carnival a bit more before the concert.”

That would be nice.

“I’d like that.”

And you mean it--you do. You shake your head and let Chrollo intertwine his fingers in yours, and it doesn’t take long for his question to fade away from your mind as you weave in and out of the crowds.

If you weren’t so distracted, so disarmed, you might have noticed an uncomfortably familiar figure clad in black watching the pair of you intently.

The Ferris Wheel worker should have kicked you off several spins ago, but Chrollo had slipped him a twenty as he buckled the safety bar down. It’s nice, this extra time with him--it’ll be the last time you ride the Ferris wheel together, after all.

What did it say about the state of your love life--or your life in general, actually--that slipping a carnie 20 bucks made your heart soar (and twist, and ache) even a little bit?

The night is prettier from the Ferris wheel. The world, too. Up here, you can’t see the grit and grime. The fermenting candy apples littering the ground, dropped two days ago by careless kids; the too-drunk couples arguing about whether they should stay for the concert or not; the exhausted carnival workers smiling hard no matter how much they get yelled at for their rigged games.

All you can take in from up here is the broad vantage point. Crowds and happy sounds--squeals and music interplaying above crowds of people, including a growing crowd on the beach in front of the black stage, waiting for the concert to start.

Chrollo’s grip on your hand tightens and draws your attention back to him. Even he looks more beautiful from up here, with the rainbow lights of the Ferris wheel playing on his face.

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says softly.

Ah, you realize. The extra spins were for the inevitable “we’ll never see each other again but it was a blast” speech. You knew it was coming. Doesn’t make it any less bitter in your mouth. But what good is holding bitterness against your tongue?

“Me too,” you say, and it’s not a lie, even if you hate the way the conversation must end. You try to focus less on the sourness and more on the sweet that came before. After all, Chrollo was… well. Handsome, yes, magnetic, yes. But more than that. He seemed thoughtful. He listened to you prattle on about yourself and your small town, and he didn’t even make fun of you for knowing so many local stories.

He was good in bed, too, wasn’t he? You blink and realize you don’t actually remember all that much about last night, except that he wasn’t there in the morning. Vague snatches rush through your memory. You remember his mouth on your lips, his hand trailing against your skin, removing your clothes. You remember his mouth against your neck, then this teeth, nipping, and--

It’s all fuzzy. But you weren’t drunk. So why--

“Have you thought about what I said?” He asks, and once again you’re pulled away from your thoughts, although this time you’d like to focus on them. Why couldn’t you fully remember last night?

When you don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows.

“About coming with me,” he says, a bit louder, as if you can’t hear him over the carnival din.

You let out a soft puff of a breath, then, and force yourself to focus on the current conversation. For now.

“You’re serious?” You don’t mean to sound so flippant, but you do. Chrollo frowns, just a little, and you feel like a bitch for it. “Sorry. I just--I didn’t know if you really meant it.”

“I am,” is all he says.

You didn’t like the idea of the conversation headed towards Chrollo leaving, but you like the idea of him genuinely asking you to come with him even less. Partly because you know you never could, and partly because there’s some small, stupid, fantasy-of-your-hair-blowing-in-the-wind-wearing-a-leather-jacket-on-a-motorcycle part of you that wants to say yes.

“Chrollo, I can’t do that. I have a job here. A life.”

Chrollo doesn’t let go of your hand, but you can sense the way his muscles tense.

“A job at a local diner slinging hash browns,” he says, voice dry and almost hurtful. You must look offended--are you? You can’t tell--because he turns a little in the seat, trapping you with his gaze. His voice is earnest now, drawing you in.

“Don’t you want more out of life? The ability to pursue your dreams--to figure out your dreams?” One hand goes to your cheek, and his knuckle brushes against your skin. “You could travel. See so much more than your little town. Imagine it.”

An image starts to build in your mind. Unbidden by you, but there, somehow, nonetheless. Of you riding behind him on a motorcycle, holding onto his waist as he takes you wherever you want to go--wherever he wants to go, together. Life would be wild and unpredictable, but easy and fun and--

“My family,” you murmur, and Chrollo seems surprised that you’ve spoken.

His lips press thinner. “You could write to them, call them. No matter at all.”

Whatever fantasy has built in your head gets swept away and the Ferris wheel finally comes to a stop. The seat rocks back and forth and the bored (but $20 richer) carnie lets you off. Chrollo helps you as he’s done every time.

You wait until he’s escorted you away from the Ferris wheel to turn and address him.

“Chrollo, I can’t--” You try to find the right words, but there are no right words. “I don’t know you. Not… really. Not enough to give up my life here.”

Chrollo is quiet. He considers you, turning his head a little. You feel awful--maybe you should just end the night here, on this shitty, sour note, because you’ve probably ruined the rest of the evening anyway. You wish he hadn’t asked again before the night was over, but there’s no way to fix it now.

You’re ready to leave, to bite your cheek so tears don’t come. You’re prepared for Chrollo to say something low and insulting, to dismiss you, because why should he waste another minute on someone who would rather stay here in this shitpot of a town than--

“Come along,” is what he says, finally, holding out his hand--to your utter confusion. He still wants to go to the concert? With you? Now?

But you take his hand anyway.

“It would be wasteful to end our evening early and miss the concert.”

His grip is harder than it has been, but maybe you’re imagining it as he pulls you along, weaving in and out as the crowds grow larger and a little more drunk the closer the pair of you get to the beach.

This doesn’t feel right, suddenly. He’s upset, that’s why he’s holding you so tightly. Or maybe you’re upset and imagining it. Either way, it doesn’t feel good. Your primal gut instincts are telling you that it’s better to cut your losses and leave now, then to spend the night with a flipping stomach.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you yell over the crowd.

Chrollo stops, and you stumble forward a little, but he catches you in both arms before you make an ungraceful acquaintance with the ground. The hand not gripping your own gently grasps your chin and he leans in, not quite kissing you. His breath smells off, like rust.

“And miss the grand finale?”

You should insist on going home. Everything’s gone shitty. It’s too crowded and the music will be too loud, and Chrollo is clearly irritated with you--

“Come to the concert,” he whispers, and none of that seems to matter anymore. Of course, you’ll go to the concert. What else would you do?

He keeps his grip on your hand as you walk onto the warm, crowded sands of the beach, even though you have no intention of leaving.

Booze, sweat, and popcorn. That’s all you can really smell now, surrounded as you are by crowds of people jumping and swaying to some rock band you’ve never heard of before; but no one really cares what the music sounds like on a night like this, when alcohol has been flowing and summer is at its peak.

Even Chrollo seems to be enjoying himself, although he’s not dancing. Just holding you, his arm around your waist, pressing his lips now and then to your forehead.

You feel bad. That must be why there’s a pit in your stomach. You were being rude to him. Of course he’d ask you to come with him--if he’s the type to live so freely, he wouldn’t think twice about making the offer. He just doesn’t understand what it means to be rooted down, willingly or not, the way you are.

You can’t hold something like that against him, so you don’t.

Instead, you sway to the music, hips bumping against Chrollo now and then. Maybe after this, he could come back to your apartment again, for one last…

All thoughts in your head are stomped into the stand when you spot the strange man with the cowl in the crowd. He’s standing stock still while everyone around him jumps and dances and flaps their drunken arms.

And he’s looking right at you.

“Chrollo--” There’s no time to waste, and you grab his arm and jerk him towards the direction of the stranger.

But he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Cold terror seizes your chest.

“What is it, love?”

The nickname doesn’t even register.

“That--the man--the guy from before--he was there.” Your voice begins to tremble, frightened tears welling in your eyes. “Can we leave? Please?”

Chrollo pulls you closer to him and you feel dim comfort as he wraps his arms around you and presses his lips against your head. But he doesn’t tell you that of course, we’ll leave, of course, I’ll get you somewhere safe, of course, let’s talk to the police.

“Hush.” One hand begins to pet your hair. “Not much longer now. It’ll be over soon.”

“What do you…”

Behind Chrollo, you see another familiar face. Vaguely familiar. The tall man with wild blonde hair, the one who looked like he could snap the Test Your Strength Game in half if he really wanted to--he’s standing still, like the man from before, while everyone jostles happily around him. He’s not looking at you, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving.

Your eyes dart over the crowd.

There are others, standing still. Others who seem out of place immediately, either because of their appearance or something awful you can’t describe. A woman with pink hair looking impassively as she scans the crowded beach, keeping her body perfectly still. A man with long black hair and something shiny and thin strapped to his shoulder. A woman with blonde hair in a smart black tailored suit that no one in their right mind would wear to a summer night carnival concert. Others, too, all out of place and making you want to be anywhere but here.

And then in a few blinks, they’re all gone. Like they were never there.

Dizziness overtakes you, along with a strange sort of fuzzy fear. Is this what a heart attack feels like, maybe? No, it’s just panic. Understandable but undeniably awful panic.

“Chrollo,” you manage, voice shaky. “Something’s wrong. There’s people, they seem--it’s---I don’t know how to explain, we should--I think we ought to--”

Chrollo doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns you around, keeping you in his arms as he makes you face the stage.

“You’ll miss the concert,” he whispers in your ear.

Helpless irritation courses through you. Who cares about the concert right now? You have half a mind to ask him why he’s not listening to you, but that impulse is gone the moment you see the tall man with blonde hair and impossibly large muscles leap onto the stage.

The guitars and drums come to a confusing, stuttered halt. The lead singer, clad in an oversized black t-shirt with a skull on it, looks like he wants to throw his guitar at the intruder.

“Dude, what the fuck, we’re playing up here, you can’t just--”

Even from your vantage point, you can see the large grin the blonde man sports on his face as he raises his fist and knocks the lead singer’s head off with a single punch.

The body remains standing for a moment before collapsing without grace onto the stage. Blood spurts from the wound, spritzing high enough that it sprinkles the faces of those closest to the stage.

There’s a noise from the crowd that almost, for a moment, sounds like a burst of startled laughter.

And then the blonde man leaps onto the corpse, opens his mouth until it’s gaping far too wide to be human, and begins to suck on the headless neck like a crawfish.

It’s that moment when people finally begin to scream.

Your head jerks towards one of the screams, and she’s there--the woman with the pink hair. Latched onto someone’s neck while blood dribbles from her mouth and the person, eyes bugged out, cries out in wordless pain. His body is cross-crossed with strange cuts, like someone pressed him through a sieve.

You spin around, looking away from horror, only to see it again: the man with the long hair swings something out--a sword?--and strikes someone’s arm clean off his body, then pins that person down and begins to suck at the spurting blood.

That’s not all he hit. The person in front of them, a woman holding two drinks, staggers to the ground. Half her face slides off, revealing bone and brain. Lukewarm beer and gore meet the ground together.

You’re not entirely sure if you said Chrollo’s name, or when he let you go, or what you should do. All you know is that when you finally pull yourself together enough to look at him, he’s simply watching the events around you like a boring television show.

Like people aren’t screaming and running and bumping into you. Like blood isn’t flying. Like you aren’t seeing things that you’ve only seen in shitty horror movies.

He’s in shock. Fuck. So are you, maybe? But it will be up to you to get the pair of you to safety, so you grab his arm and shake him hard.

“Chrollo! We have to go! Now!”

He doesn’t move. You shake him again, and he finally looks at you.

He smiles, and holds out his hand, ignoring your jostling.

“You’ve had time to think about it, haven’t you? Will you stay with me?”

Oh, he’s definitely in shock. That doesn’t stop the impulsive words that flee your mouth as quickly as the people around you are trying--some not successfully--to flee the beach.

“You’ve lost your fucking mind. Let’s go!”

You don’t register what’s happened until you’ve hit the ground. Someone finally ran smack into you, and something--their elbow, maybe--strikes your head, hard. Pain blossoms in your knees and the side of your head when you hit the ground, then explodes when someone steps right on your hand.

There’s a feeling of lost gravity when someone yanks you up--Chrollo--but when you’re on your own two feet, he’s not there anymore.

You call his name. Once. Twice. Three times, four. He might not be able to even hear you over the din, if he’s nearby. Maybe he got swept away by the panicked people. Maybe his shock wore off and he ran to get help. Or ran--and left you.

There are a few moments where you almost run deeper into the crowd to look for him. A stupid thought. But then the wild, shock of fear inside you turns to complete ice and you’re not sure of anything in the world because he’s there.

Standing in front of you.

Close enough to touch.

Your stalker. The man with the cowl. Only the cowl is down, now, and his mouth is covered in a smear of blood. He smiles at you, and it’s not a nice smile at all. His smile grows wider, and you have to blink several times to realize what you’re seeing.

He’s got fangs.

Two of them, red tinged. Sharp enough to puncture your neck.

They’re vampires. Actual vampires. Actual, damn bloodsucking vampires.

There’s a brief, panicked thought--where’s Chrollo?--before your flight kicks in, and you’re scrambling through the crowd like everyone else. You stumble, of course you do. Over bodies, some dead, and you almost fall flat on your face when you make it off the beach and your ankle rolls on the uneven grass-covered ground.

If you were thinking logically, you might have run to the car park, and hopped into your car. You might have run in the direction of the crowds thinking the same, and gotten lost in them.

But there was no logic. Only pure primal panic, the realization that you people were being murdered all around you like animals, and you were one of those animals because one of the monsters was chasing you.

You didn’t dare to look back to see how far away he was; you just knew, deep down, that he was following you now. Running wouldn’t work: you couldn’t run forever, not with the pain in your ankle, and he’d catch up with you even if you weren’t panicked and in pain.

You had to hide. But where? The carnival was all lit up at night, and the beautiful lights that had been fun to see just a day before now made you want to scream. He could see you, just about clear as day, no matter where you ran.

Unless you can find somewhere to hide inside.

It’s this thought that pushes you to dash inside the fun house, sneakers pounding on the silver ramp leading into the entrance painted over like a mouth devouring any children who enter.

The stillness inside startles you more than anything else. The lights are on. The music is playing, quiet, delightful. It’s hard to hear it over the dulled screams coming from outside, and from the awful, pounding rush inside your ears.

You follow the short hallway until it leads to something which you’d forgotten about; but it wasn’t your fault. Panic made you stupid, and you hadn’t actually been inside a fun house in years.

The glass maze. All-see through panels that you’d smash into on an ordinary day, much less this one, where your mind is fried from panic and adrenaline keeps your body from coordinating properly. You smash against the panels a few times before you see it… something, behind you.

No. Not something. Someone behind you. Or near you. Or far away.

You can’t tell exactly where this person is, because of the fucking glass maze, but the fact remains:

He’s there--he’s here--he’s going to get you and kill you and it will hurt so bad.

You scream, at some point, and it’s dumb because the sound simply bounces off your current glass predicament and hurts your ears.

Maybe panic pushes you through, or maybe you’re just good at completing mazes when you’re in fear for your life; whatever the reason, you make it out. You stumble through a hallway made of rollers that nearly send you sprawling, until you’re at the end of the hallway.

A small red spiral staircase, barely usable for adults, is your only hope.

You don’t try to be quiet now and the metal stairs clang under your feet as you run up them, feeling dizzy, feeling like this might be the last thing you ever do in your short, stupid life.

The second floor isn’t entirely enclosed. It opens out onto the carnival in the front, and there’s a slide to take you down near the end. The wall behind you is covered in a series of mirrors--the kind that make you tall or short or wide or impossibly thin.

It’s not the mirrors that catch your eye, though. It’s what’s down below.

They’re all down there. The monsters from the beach. All covered in various amounts of blood and gore. Splatters. Smears. Like they’ve all gotten into different scrapes--killed people different ways.

All of them have blood around their mouths.

Fear rings in your ears. You want to wake up, more than anything. This is a nightmare and you want to wake up.

You don’t wake up.

Instead, you hear a metal clang.

Then another.

And another.

Someone is coming up the stairs.

Thoughts dart here and there, but there’s nowhere for them to go. If you go down the slide, well. There’s a gang of monsters waiting to kill you down below. If you stay up here, well. There’s still a monster waiting to kill you.

The metal clangs again, and again, and again.

He’s coming up the stairs and he’s going to kill you. You’re going to die. Today. Now.

Warm urine runs down your leg and thoughts come, too quick to really process: Mom-dad-school-work-never-did-anything-my-childhood-dog-that-one-time-we-went-to-Canada-to-visit-my-aunt-I-kissed-a-boy-under-the-bleachers-I-forgot-to-tell-dad-I-loved-him-yesterday-I-I-I--

It’s not the monster with the cowl who comes walking up the landing of the stairs.

It’s Chrollo.

It’s like you blink and you’re in his arms, clinging to his shirt and sobbing like a child. He presses a kiss to your hair and you realize, gratefully, that he doesn’t look hurt. No blood on him, no scrapes, no bruises.

“Thank God you’re here. Thank God you’re okay,” you say, reflexively. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

Chrollo pulls you tighter against his chest, and murmurs, “God? An interesting choice, my dear, considering…”

You aren’t even really listening. You’re just happy. Delirious, even. Chrollo’s here. He’ll help you. You can make it out together. Somehow.

There’s an almost giddy sort of hope in your chest--until you hear the metal stairs clang again. And again. And again.

You whimper stupidly and pull on Chrollo’s arm.

“We have to get out of here. Somehow. I don’t--maybe we can distract them?” Your eyes glance down at the monsters below you, who only seem to be watching more intently. The man with the blonde hair, which is now caked in blood, has an awful grin on his face. You imagine you can see his fangs, even if he’s too far away for you to properly make them out.

Chrollo doesn’t move. Shock again? Or he sees them, too, and knows the two of you won’t make it a step off the slide before being attacked.

The footsteps on the stairs stop. You look behind you, and your bowels clench at the sight of the monster with the cowl, pulled down, that same small, mean smile on his face.

Your hand tightens on Chrollo’s arm. A sentimental, if selfish, thought: At least I won’t die alone.

Chrollo turns, too, and looks at the man who’s been haunting you for days. Looks at the monster who has already killed people and feasted on their blood; at the creature who will now undoubtedly kill the both of you. Lovers for only a few days, but forever in death.

Chrollo sighs, and inclines his head towards the man.

“Wait a moment, will you, Feitan?”

There were many things you might have said in this moment. Eloquent things. Meaningful things. Things borne from inner betrayal and horror and anger. But all that comes out of your mouth, which gapes ridiculously, is:

“Huh?”

And then something clicks, and realization dawns like a morning you don’t think you’ll live to see. The idea comes naturally, somehow. Borne of a childhood reading books and watching movies about vampires. Bloodsuckers.

Your head turns, and you look over towards the wall of mirrors. You’re stretched thin like taffy about to break, your features a jumble in the dirty, cheap material.

In the mirror in front of Chrollo, which should make him ridiculously short, there is nothing at all.

When you look back at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown, he’s no longer the person you met a few days ago; the person you took to your bed, the person you were lamenting leaving. The person who kissed you and made you feel good, inside and out, if only for a while.

He’s a vampire.

“I advise you not to run,” he says quietly, if not, perhaps, a bit sympathetically.

You do, because you aren’t a fucking moron. Though you don’t make it far, as it doesn’t do you any good to run towards the staircase. You run right towards the other monster--Feitan--who grabs you with ease.

He’s faster and stronger than he looks. Maybe they all are. Your body and brain don’t care about that, though, so you struggle with all of your might.

In response, your arm is deftly twisted behind your back and you expect this monster to stop, you expect your arm to meet its natural resistance while you struggle.

He doesn’t. It doesn’t. Your arm snaps and the pain is so sharp, so sudden, that your vision goes blind for a few seconds. In those few seconds, you scream.

When you’re aware of the world again, there’s still the pain. Sharp and awful and renewed every time you jostle your body in any direction.

Chrollo, walking up to you, hums in sympathy.

“I know it hurts, dear. But this is what happens when you don’t listen to my orders. Do you understand?”

The strangest thing (and in a world where the man you fucked last night is currently standing in front of you with fangs, that is saying something) is that Chrollo’s expression is not wild or monstrous at all. If you thought about it, and you’re having a hard time thinking with the pain of your arm and fear of impending death, you might say he looks hopeful. That you will understand. That you have learned something.

And you have. You’ve learned that he’s a liar, that everything he ever said and did was just to keep you around long enough to literally eat you, that he has no morals, no empathy, that he’s not even a person.

“I understand,” you manage, voice tinged and weak with pain, “that you’re a fucking monster.” You spit at him. Or try to. Your mouth is too dry to manage more than a stringy dribble that sticks to your chin.

At this, Chrollo sighs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns.

“You didn’t speak so crudely to me earlier this week.” A little smile. “Last night notwithstanding.”

Bitter tears well up in your eyes. It was all just a game to him. Cat and mouse. Every smile, every thoughtful word. Every kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his mouth on yours--

“I didn’t know you were a… a… fucking vampire earlier this week.”

Chuckles, from down below. Feitan, behind you, snorts.

Chrollo doesn’t look angry, but you can feel a flash of it ripple through the air. It quiets the chuckles. Feitan tightens his grip on you, and the flash of pain makes you groan and slump forward.

“Regardless,” Chrollo says, “respect must be maintained. I expect you to refrain from these little outbursts. Do you understand?” There’s still a tinge of cooing sympathy in his voice--it makes anger bubble up in your chest.

“Fuck you.” This time, the spit flies, and hits his cheek.

The gestures are slow. Unassuming. He wipes the spit off with the back of his hand. He wipes the back of his hand on his pants. And then he nods at Feitan.

Feitan’s hand reaches around your throat and when you glance down, you see that his nails grow. And sharpen. Sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to--

He drags his hand down your collarbone, and you feel the awful, deep sting of it before you see the blood spill out from your flesh. It coats the bare skin between your collar and the top of your shirt like some sort of morbid camisole.

You cry out, you shriek, but he doesn’t let you go until Chrollo gives him another nod. You’re shoved towards Chrollo, who doesn’t grip you, but merely lets you stand, swaying, in front of you.

When you finally get the courage to look up at him, his pupils are blown up like a shark’s.

“I’d like you to stay put this time,” he tells you, voice deeper, richer, at the sight of your blood. “And not run away from me. I’d like you to listen, and refrain from being… impulsive.”

He leans in, and the scent of rust hits you, but this time you know what it means. “I could make you do it, you know. I don’t have to ask.”

Realization hits you again, and it hurts even more this time. That night, on the dock. And on the Ferris wheel. And how many other times he’d told you to do something, feel something. What was really you, and what was him?

And now, despite all this, despite the scent of blood in the air and the wails of horror coming from the beach, he wanted you to listen to him? The audacity of vampires--it might have been funny, if you were in the mood to laugh.

“Like hell,” you mutter.

Chrollo breathes out through his nose. Impatient.

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

You look up at him, gaze sharper. Heart sharper.

“Like. Hell.”

The slap you give him is weak. You’re surprised your good arm even managed it, all things considered.

But the shock of the act that ripples from Chrollo to Feitan and even down below is what gives you a few microseconds to escape, to run, ears ringing from the pain of your jostled broken arm, and throw yourself down the slide.

You don’t have a plan. How could you? As soon as you get to the bottom, you’ll just run. Run and maybe die but maybe you’ll get away, someway, somehow.

You don’t get more than a few steps before you fall. Not fall, exactly. Trip. You trip over something that shouldn’t be there, something taught and thin. A wire?

You see, from the corner of your vision, the woman with pink hair yank her hand backwards and the wire that shouldn’t be there slices deeply into both your ankles. Blood seeps through your socks before you even hit the ground.

Your ankles burn and bleed, and new sparks explode behind your eyes when your broken arm smacks the ground at the worst possible ankle. You think you scream, but it’s hard to tell, over the pain.

Chrollo and Feitan jump down from the second story of the fun house. It should break their ankles--it does not.

Someone turns you over on your back with their boot and you’re left staring up at the sky, ink black and throbbing with stars. It was such a pretty night, before all this.

Above you, Chrollo and Feitan look down with decidedly different expressions. Chrollo regards you coolly, with no real expression on his face; it’s like a porcelain mask, indifferent, never-changing. Feitan, on the other hand, is smiling--he’s looking not at you, exactly, but at your blood.

It’s Chrollo who speaks.

“I would like an apology for your behavior.”

If your eyes were not safely attached to their retinas, they might bug out of your face entirely. You are laying on your back with bleeding, mangled ankles; your arm is broken, flopping, useless; a collar of blood adorns your neck. Vampires are standing above you, fangs at the ready, having already spread carnage through an entire beach of concert-goers.

And he wants an apology?

You want him to go away. To not be real.

You want your mom, and your dad, and your childhood bed with covers big enough to hide you.

So you shake your head, helpless, like an infant lying on their back.

Above you, Chrollo says your name. Sternly. Just once.

When you muster up the words, you taste copper. You must have bitten your tongue after tripping.

“F…fuck you.”

Stupid words, you know. But you’d rather your last words be this than pointless begging. Now that would be stupid, begging for your life in front of grotesque creatures who want nothing more than to devour your blood.

Somewhere above you, a gruff voice says, with a hint of glee in his voice:

“Want me to do it, boss?”

Your eyes dart around, but you can’t see anyone else. Even Feitan seems to have stepped back, leaving you with no one but Chrollo in your line of sight.

Chrollo tilts his head a little, considering.

“No,” he says, finally. “Feitan will handle it. I appreciate your methods, but you might break something a little beyond repair.”

Whoever spoke chuckles, but doesn’t disagree.

The words reach you, but you don’t take them in for a slow moment.

Break… break… what else can they break, what else can they possibly do--

There’s a weight above you. A dark one that smells of blood and metal. It’s Feitan. He blocks out everything else, just for a moment, staring into your eyes with their big pupils and blurring tears.

When he pulls back, you see him move, but don’t know what it means until you feel an explosion of red hot pain in your hand--the hand you slapped Chrollo with. Your fingers crunch and break and you try to pull your hand away, but Feitan’s boot keeps it pinned down, grinding his heel until you shriek so loud that you think the inside of your throat will blister.

Time itself is hot and painful. You’re not sure how long it goes. You’re only sure that when you try to move your mangled fingers, they don’t move. Hot, thick pain shoots down them and it makes you stop trying to get up.

It’s not like you could run, anyway.

At some point, you hear a new sound. Sirens in the distance. Police? Ambulances? There’s no hope in your chest, no thought that they’ll save you. Even if they got here in time, the monsters would kill them.

Somewhere above you, Chrollo talks, though his words sound like they’re being spoken through water.

“Take care of them, will you? We’ll meet up near the waterfall before we head out.” A question from someone. A pause. “Yes, I’ll handle her.”

The voices fade away. Either because they’ve walked away, or you’re finally going to die from the shock. That might be a mercy compared to whatever grisly end Chrollo has in store for you. Is this how he planned for you to die, after all? Or was it meant to be swifter? You might have screwed it all up with your running and spitting.

Before Feitan broke your hand, you might have been proud of the spitting. Now you just wish you’d let them kill you quick.

Finally, Chrollo returns to your line of vision. He’s a bit blurry from your tears, from your pain. Probably a bit from your blood loss, too.

He kneels down next to you, and you tense. Even tensing hurts, and you whimper.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Beside you, Chrollo coos. A soft, sticky sound. He takes your broken hand and your voice wants to shriek, but all you can manage is a strangled cry. He kisses your broken fingers like a gentleman.

“Kill you? Of course not.” He presses a last kiss to your mangled hand. “I do want to see that sweet girl from before.. the one who daydreams about strangers and holds onto my hand so tightly on the Ferris wheel.” An indulgent look crosses his face and he gives your broken fingers a painful squeeze that has you groaning.

“She’s still in there, no doubt.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, pushing away the dried salt of your tears. “Buried under fear and pain and newfound knowledge, no doubt.” He smiles nostalgically. “But those can be remedied with time.”

He’s crazy. I mean, you know he’s a vampire, sure. But he’s also fucking crazy.

“I want to go home,” you croak. Even though you can’t reason with crazy. “Please. Please.”

His eyes blink down at you. How old is he, anyway? Centuries? Longer? To him, you must be nothing. Insignificant. Ridiculous.

He doesn’t mock you, though. He only continues stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be your home now, wherever we go. And we will go so many places.” There’s some sort of dulled excitement in his expression that turns your stomach. “And from now on, you’ll do what I say, won’t you?”

Tears spill over your eyes, trickling down over his thumb. You don’t have the energy or the lack of survival instinct to say no. But you won’t say yes, either. You can’t.

“Well. I can make you obedient, if you’d rather be stubborn.”

You’re about to ask--”What?”--when he kisses you, shutting you up entirely.

You’re afraid to move. Your lips tremble against his, thinking only of death--of his fangs. His lips move and brush against your neck, and a mocking forgotten memory of last night flashes through you. He kissed your neck last night, too, a wet, sucking kiss that had your toes curling. Your toes curl now, too, out of fear. The blood from your ankle makes your toes slick inside your shoes.

And then his fangs sink into your neck and hot, searing pain shoots through your entire body, masking everything else. Your ankles. Your broken hand. Your brutalized arm. The cut on your collar. None of them matter compared to this pain, which is not localized at the sight of the bite but spreads throughout your bloodstream, making it impossible to think of anything but how much it hurts.

You’re dimly aware of your screaming. A helpless sound you heard from countless others tonight. Your legs kick, and you realize, vaguely, that you can’t really feel them anymore. They hurt, yes, but there’s a numbness behind it. Are you really moving them at all?

There are more screams now--from the beach. You don’t know how you know, but you do. It’s like you can see it in your mind although you’re flat on your back in front of the fun house with a monster draining you of blood.

The world spins as you imagine how the first responders must be dying right now, while you’re dying. Are they wishing they never responded to the emergency calls? Are they thinking about their families, their friends, and their little dogs, too?

Chrollo’s mouth is against yours again, and you taste yourself on him. Bitter metal, still warm. He’s blurry as he pulls back and bites against his wrist. What should be vivid red blood is dark and ugly--dead. He hovers his wrist above your mouth and the substance drips onto your lips. It’s cold, vile.

A final insult before you die, making you drink this nasty stuff. Vampires have a sick sense of humor.

But what did you know about vampires, anyway?

You black out as Chrollo murmurs something above you.

At least, you think, this is finally over.

You do not wake up in heaven or in darkness, either.

You wake up in a man made clearing, sitting against a tree, with a blanket draped over you. In front of you there is a fire, not roaring but alive enough in the night; a pot with spilled chili lay on the ground. Behind the fire is a camper van with its door wide open.

The corpse of a man is propped against the door of the van, keeping it open. His mouth is slack and ah, he’s not dead yet, is he? There are two glaring puncture wounds on his neck, but he’s still around. His fingers twitch and seem to register you with tired eyes, that drift from your face over to the far end of the camp.

You follow the look, and oh. There are two dead teens piled next to the fire. Already drained, already dead. His children, you think.

The world seems to come into more focus then.

You are, as far as you can tell, alive. You’re propped up against a tree. It’s night time. The people--the monsters, the vampires--are here, in this campsite. Some of them glance at you once they realize you’re awake, but no one says anything.

Strangely enough, you’re not in much pain. Soreness, yes. But you should be in agony. Your hand feels okay--sore fingers, but no longer blinding pain, and you can bend them almost normally. Your arm, too, feels sore but mended. Your hands reach up to your collar, your neck, but there’s no trace of the wounds except a thin scar on your collar and two small bumps on your neck.

How did it heal so fast? Did they bring you here to hurt you again? Keep you like some sort of blood bag?

Your eyes travel down to the blanket draped around you. It’s heavy, comfortable, and stained with blood.

You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted and throw the soiled blanket from your body.

Someone nearby laughs. “Picky princess, huh?” You vaguely recognize the voice--the tall man with wild hair. The one who knocked a man’s head off at the beach.

Just as renewed panic begins to awaken inside you, Chrollo appears from seemingly nowhere.

“You’re finally awake, I see.”

You shrink against the tree, and look around. Could you run into the woods? Were you still in the trail by the beach? How far could you run?

Chrollo smiles, and sits down next to you like this isn’t horrifying or unusual at all. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There’s nowhere to go.”

Your throat is dry and your words stick to your mouth several times before you can speak.

“Where… are we?”

If you’re close enough to home, you might still get out of this. Somehow. Find a gas station or a rest stop and beg for help.

“Far away from that little town, I assure you.” Chrollo jerks his head back and you finally see the row of motorcycles parked near the campsite. “We won’t stay here for long. We rarely do. Just long enough for you to get healed up, this time.”

Which means he plans to take you with him--with them. For how long? And where? And why? Why take you? Why not kill you, why not drain you dry in front of the fun house and leave your corpse for survivors to find?

You could ask all of these things, but you’re not sure you want the answer. Instead, you give the only answer your mind can manage, which is to curl up against yourself and cry.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, out of practicality more than anything. Your mouth is so damn dry.

“None of that,” he says, a little sternly. His expression softens when you flinch, and he brushes the hair from your face. “Don’t waste your breath on such a silly sentiment. You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

“You said you didn’t know me well enough to leave with me,” he continues, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, then a warmer one to your unwilling lips. “You said you hadn’t had time to figure out your dreams. Now, you can take all the time you need for both of those things. We’ll have eternity, after all.”

Dull, cold horror pools in your gut.

Eternity.

“Did you… am I… did you make me--”

Your hands shoot to your mouth, to your teeth, feeling for fangs. But there’s nothing new inside your mouth, unless you count the awful cotton dryness that blankets your tongue and teeth like film.

He smiles indulgently, and you hear someone nearby snort.

“No.” A pause. “Not yet, not quite.” He smiles at your ignorance and takes your hand away from your teeth, giving it a kiss that feels like mockery even if you get the sense that he isn’t trying to make fun. “That may come later, if you behave. For now, I’ve made you…” Another kiss, this time with a smile on his lips, as he seems to debate on what to say. “… let’s say, mine.”

You shiver. From fear, and from cold.

Chrollo presses another kiss to your lips, until he can shove his tongue in between your teeth and run it against your own. You taste yourself on him, still, that rusty taste. It makes you gag, and he pulls away.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you catching a chill so soon. Why don’t you go sit in front of the fire and warm up?”

You shake your head, wanting to spit out the taste in your mouth, but not having the courage to do so.

He watches you for a moment. Calculating, cold. He makes you think of an animal, in this moment. An animal thinking on what to do when his prey does something odd in the wilderness.

“Go sit in front of the fire,” he tells you.

And without wanting to, without meaning to, you do. Your body jerks up and you walk over to the fire, with its spilled chili and corpses left in its wake, and sit down.

It’s like before, at the carnival, but different now. There’s no warm suggestion, no soothing manipulation. Only an order that you obey, and that’s that. When you try to push yourself up, you find that you simply can’t make your body do it. You can flex your fingers, your toes. You can move your arms up and down. But you cannot, in any way, stop sitting in front of that fire.

“I’d prefer you to do things willingly,” Chrollo says from his spot near the tree. “But I don’t mind giving orders either, love.”

Love.

You’re not sure he knows the meaning of the word.

But neither do you.

Despite the fact that there are two dead kids and their dying father just feet away from you, you find the fire comforting. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s everything that the monsters around you aren’t; and you aren’t one of them, not exactly (not yet, your brain screams, he said not yet) and maybe you can cling to that. Cling to your humanity, to get you through this.

The fire crackles in front of you. At some point, Chrollo sits down, and offers you a bowl of chili that they must have set aside for you before knocking the pot down.

It’s lukewarm, and a bit bland. The dying man wasn’t a great cook. But you eat it, slowly, carefully, while Chrollo watches with an almost serene expression on his face. Like watching you eat was the most endearing thing in the world.

Above you, the night sky watches the scene with indifference.

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #afterwitch writes #this fic is my baby /wraps it in a blanket

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heartlilith · 11 months ago

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WHAT THE VENUS SIGNS REMIND ME OF

🩷Oddly specific things I think about when I hear ______ venus

Aries Venus: Summer, rubies, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, rollercoasters, fast cars, the color red, vampire fangs, Saturday nights, liquor stores and gas stations, fireworks, sour candy, cool bic lighters, “you’re mine”, Mario Kart, boys who wear nail polish, fuck it energy, oversized sweatshirts, middle finger emoji, cherries

Taurus Venus: Satin pillowcases, white candles, pearls, mirrors, hand holding, walking someone home at night, vinyls, red lipstick, full lips, fancy dinner dates, the wine and dine, old romantic movies, wallets and purses, hotels, French manicures, old money, “I won’t get on my knees for no man”

Gemini Venus: Driving around at night listening to music, reading to someone, comedy shows, mimosas, Samantha from Sex and the City, libraries, nerd kink, hot teachers/student kink, emerald green, laughter, swing sets, looking out of the window and just watching, untied shoelaces, dogs and puppies, dad jokes

Cancer Venus: Soft feather pillows, a bowl of warm soup, a bubble bath, tears and running mascara, babies and how babies laugh, poetry, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be”, hot tubs, hot coffee, teddy bears, heartbeats, soft hands & skin, lotion, bagels and cream cheese, doodling in your journal

Leo Venus: Lip gloss, mojitos, getting drunk at brunch, diamond tennis bracelets, drunk texts you regret sending later, the block button, lonely nights, shooting stars, blowing bubbles, piggy back rides, art museums, glittery eyeshadow, jumparoos, birthday parties

Virgo Venus: Taking a shower, Dove soap, smooth skin, symmetry, butterflies, the smell of books, getting a facial or going to the spa, chicken caesar salads, the good tasting water, chunky headphones, acoustic guitar, running errands, getting your eyebrows done, neat handwriting, neutral colors, sushi

Libra Venus: Blush, dimples, Y2K fashion, Hello Kitty, makeup skills, those little hand mirrors, princes and princesses, cupcakes, pedicures, Margaritas, taking pictures, art, castles, Disney movies, daisies, spin the bottle, cartwheels, soft hair, bubblegum, skincare, watermelon and pineapple

Scorpio Venus: Psychology, neck tattoos, “until death do us part”, Kings & Queens, snakes, sacred sex, chess, secrets, hickeys, the feeling after you stay up all night, the feeling of being at a concert, roses, knives, tequila shots, legs intertwined, dirty martinis, sparklers, Avril Lavigne, fantasy books, true crime and dark history

Sagittarius Venus: Clouds, rock climbing, rappers, Hip Hop and R&B, going on vacation, açaí bowls and fresh fruit, sun kissed/radiant skin, the color yellow, retreats, history, yoga and Pilates, spicy food, “it is what it is”, curly hair, the smell of weed, casinos, the last day of school, Las Vegas

Capricorn Venus: Leather, red wine, the cow pattern, cowgirl boots, the color brown, espresso, dark chocolate, briefcase of money like in the movies, the movie Scarface, whiskey on the rocks, bosses, owls, turtle necks, caramel, wearing suits, lingerie, business, New York City

Aquarius Venus: Lightbulbs, telescopes and microscopes, LED lights, hamsters, college parties, glitter, peace signs, 70s concerts, food trucks, skipping school, “fuck it”, diving in the pool, the beach at night, disco balls, getting detentions in school

Pisces Venus: Mermaids, kittens, cartoons and Disney princesses, champagne, Webkinz, little kid stories like Goldilocks, 3 Little Pigs, Hansel and Gretel, clear glittery lip gloss, holographic, snowmen and icicles, swimming in the pool, flower gardens, glow sticks , picnics, bumblebees, sand castles, elementary art class, 3D movies

Book a Reading 🩷

Masterlist 🩷

#astrology #astro #astro observations #astrology community #astro community #sagittarius #scorpio #leo #cancer #venus signs #venus #Leo venus #Aries venus #Taurus venus #Scorpio venus

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vaguely-concerned · 3 months ago

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Eight Little Talons Reread Thoughts

Which, I’ll level with you folks, is mostly just me gushing about Teia and Viago and how much they should kiss because of who I am as a person, but maybe also some actual observations sprinkled in. This is still my favourite story in Tevinter Nights, I think, there’s so much Character Stuff in it. Let’s go!

Viago hated carriages—no amount of plush seating could make up for the inevitable ache of being knocked around like weighted dice. But decorum insisted, and he would not be outclassed by his fellow Talons.

Vs.

“You didn’t take a carriage.”

“My luggage did. But I couldn’t resist the opportunity for a country jaunt.” She nodded toward the thoroughbred Taslin strider grazing on the top of the hill. “Andoral so rarely gets a chance to let loose in Rialto.”

“You named your horse after an archdemon?”

“Don’t worry, Vi. I won’t let him nip you.

You know… Andarateia might gain some illusion of normalcy by standing next to the most paranoid wound-up-tight repressed man around to provide contrast, but I think it’s crucial we keep in mind that she is also nuts. Naming your horse after an archdemon IS an insane thing to do in the world of Thedas huh. I suppose she genuinely seems to think of Caterina Dellamorte as a warm maternal figure and is in love with a tetchy snake of a guy too, it does all start to add up when you look at it like that.

— Beneath the smooth samite, he felt like a sinewy ball of tension. Teia suspected contact of any kind made Viago uncomfortable. It would explain why he swathed himself in indigo from chin to toe and refused to remove his gloves during dinner.

He offers his arm to her and doesn’t pull away when they meet Caterina — only when Dante shows up. Interesting (and possibly part of why Caterina seems to consider the two of them a cleverly stabilizing package deal when they get along lol). I love the mix of playful seduction and genuine fond, intimate knowledge and interest Teia has for him all the way through too — speculating about his childhood, trying to divine his thoughts and intentions, testing to see how he reacts to different things. And it’s so sweet that she seems to regard him with this affectionate amusement and fascination (which he seems to be afraid means that she’s mocking him but is, I think, just another level of appreciation she has for him. Correctly. Because he’s one of the funniest people in Thedas both in concept and in practice. Accountant brained-ass noodle arm Vetinari homage poison specialist. Teia’s neurotic purse dog of a man. Sole royal bastard who willingly chose to have a boring Antivan day job (killing people) and makes spreadsheets about it.)

— “Not exactly welcoming, are they?” Teia whispered, her breath warm against his ear.

Viago’s grip tightened on the head of his walking stick.

I swear to god courtney woods is so fucking good at writing romantic and sexual tension. One sentence!!! She drops in a one-sentence detail and it says everything!!!! She has such a knack for consistently adding these details without getting overindulgent or spelling it out too much that I really admire, I tend a bit more towards indulging too much as a writer that way myself so her sense of where to show restraint has me in awe

— “Don’t ‘Nonna’ me, Andarateia Cantori,” Caterina snapped, although the heat in her voice had lowered to a simmer. “Not even my actual grandchildren call me that.”

“Well, considering who your grandchildren are,” Teia responded, “I’m not surprised.”

“How is Master Lucanis?” Viago asked.

Hell yeah Lucanis mention! Can’t wait to see how their dynamics will turn out in-game, we could be in for some truly spectacular and absurd workplace comedy nonsense if we’re lucky

— As always, Viago had with him his leather case of poisons and antidotes for toxins typically hidden in ingredients such as olives, truffles, pasta, lamb, cheese, cream, and alcohol. But he had not expected eggplant.

This is one of the funniest things I’ve ever read, I love Viago so much he’s such a perfect weirdo. Reader, he had not expected eggplant.

— Taking a deep breath, Viago focused on tying his cravat—an ordinarily simple task except now Teia was running her hands across every surface in his room, and his fingers kept slipping on the final knot. “It would help if you removed the gloves,” Teia remarked. “Surely your own cravats haven’t been tampered with.”

Viago being just… seethingly horrifically despairingly horny every time Teia shows up is so amazing, and Teia clearly paying A Lot of attention to his hands and his reactions at all times… again, courtney woods s tier sexual tension provider.

— “No,” she said, crossing her arms. “Not until we boil some water.”

Viago raised a brow. “Eight people were poisoned in this room.”

“Then run your little tests to make sure it’s safe, but I refuse to look at another dead body until I’ve had my coffee.”

I must take care to repeat: teia is also fucking nuts (affectionate). It’s SO FUNNY that her slightly lighter and softer moral take on being a Crow means she does feel bad about the servants ending up in the crossfire, but she will also demand that viago make her coffee with their horrifically bloated corpses still strewn about the room fhdsjka.

— Teia had often imagined what it would be like to kiss Viago. She told herself it was only natural. He was handsome, in his own way, and wound up so tight that she likened him to a giant knot. He was a challenge to untie—to twist and pull and loosen until the tension gave way and he unraveled, laying bare all his secrets. But knots were a delicate business. Tug the wrong way and you could end up with a noose.

I know I KNOW they have sex so weird and intimate and no one even takes their clothes off during it I know it in my heart

— “Do you not think you’re attractive?” Viago turned on her, his ears pink. “Ten people are dead.”

She didn’t back down. “And whoever’s responsible will pay, but that has no bearing on this conversation.”

“It could be me.”

Covering her mouth with both hands, Teia doubled over, laughter spilling from her lips. “It’s not you.”

He looked as if she’d slapped him. “I’m more than capable of killing everyone here.”

“Don’t tell me you’re offended!”

“It is offensive,” Viago protested. “Professionally.”

Teia please tell me you love me not only for my body and fashion sense and numerous and fascinating neuroses but also my extensive knowledge of poisons and capacity to cause death

— Again, Viago felt like a lute string. With every challenge, Teia twisted the pegs, tuning him, until she found what she wanted. Which is what, exactly? he asked himself, not daring to listen to the number of answers that bubbled to the surface of his mind.

You know Viago I think we should let her try some scales here at least. See what happens. (There’s no explicit sex in this story but everything that’s going on is nevertheless so kinky fdsjak. I think Teia could convince Viago to show a flash of his naked wrist and have a reaction like a sheltered young Victorian gentleman seeing an exposed ankle and a playful wink for the first time)

— As if she could feel the sudden rush of shame within him, Teia brought her hands up to rest on Viago’s hips, holding him in place. His thumb stilled as he realized her breath was short. Her pupils dilated. Before he could stop himself, Viago nuzzled his forehead against hers, his nose brushing her cheek. Teia’s hands snaked up his chest to run through his hair. She tugged him forward. He braced himself on one arm, while the other curled around the small of her back.

This whole scene is unspeakably good of course but it’s always the detail of ‘his nose brushing her cheek’ that does me in the most. The longing!!! The yearning, the intimacy, the awkward perfect clumsy physical reality of it!!!! If he kissed her here the magical potion thing on her lips would have been immaterial, the results would have been the same without it!!!!!! The tug of war between longing and fear!

— oblique Zevran mention! <3 as the ultimate failson of house arainai, granted, but as I believe he might argue here: ‘ah, but you have heard of me, no? :>’. Babe I support you so much go out there and raise hell/kill whoever you want to I got your flower

— Big shoutout to the author for managing to pull off an entirely workable ‘And Then There Were None’ plot in the background here, even though the real meat and potatoes going on is the character and relationship development (and what meat and potatoes they are too)! It’s not an easy thing to do even in an abbreviated, more of a homage sort of form and balancing it with everything else going on is a feat

— Caterina 100% knows Teia is in Viago’s room when he’s supposed to be isolated and just doesn’t care lmao. (They act like such teenagers in that scene where she knocks on the door and they haven’t even kissed yet I’m dying). Caterina seems like a terrible person but it’s impossible to not feel for her a little, trying to keep Talons in line seems a lot like herding (very horny very carrying sharp objects) cats

— Standing outside her ex-lover’s room, Teia tried to quell the violent drumming within her. Normally, she didn’t need to come down from a physical encounter. Seduction—like any form of manipulation—was about control. She could enjoy herself, but Teia always made sure to hold the upper hand. Viago had shattered that control without so much as a kiss.

I feel like this is a sneaky common trait that actually is part of what makes them so compatible (and the playful negotiation of which must feature prominently in their sex life eventually lmao): they are both HUGE control freaks. (Indeed it might be hard to be a successful Talon without this trait.) Teia and Viago both strive for control of themselves and their surroundings so deeply, she’s just much more extroverted, psychologically minded and soft power focused going about it (not unlike Caterina, whose power is built more on fear than charm but works along the same lines), while he’s more coldly intellectual and uh materialist? I want to call it? about it. Which makes perfect sense considering their backstories! Teia came from nothing in a monetary sense but has found she excels at moving people, hearts and minds style — and she’s very good at it, she is everyone’s favorite — so that’s the source of power for her, and Viago is not very charismatic or interested in people naturally but grew up seeing how status, wealth and power have their own clinical gravity that can be used, and also that people can never be trusted to watch out for you in that system.

If Thedas has a Machiavelli-equivalent to ask whether it’s better for a ruler to be feared or loved they would both instantly give their answer with their whole chest and then squint at each other like ‘babe how do you live like this’ lol

(Also this line of thought has me wondering what the hell Caterina’s partner/spouse(s) would have been like — she must have at least two children to account for Illario and Lucanis, I wonder if she was ever married and what that looked like.)

— I really like the oppressiveness and claustrophobia you get from the descriptions Teia uses in Dante’s room — it feels so icky and sticky with history and sad and confining, and the way she keeps pushing herself through it anyway is weirdly melancholy to me.

— I also like how their flaws/traits that drive them apart at the crisis point have follow-up consequences outside of their relationship before they reconcile. Teia’s penchant for manipulation and pushing on people indirectly causes the death of someone she once cared about (I mean, fuck that guy, not crying any tears for Dante or his broken bottle, but like in the overarching principle of the thing lol). When she goes too far with it or gets careless, she renders other people vulnerable and helpless in ways she doesn’t anticipate. (Rightfully or not this seems to be part of what scares Viago so much about it, he has this fear of being dissected for whatever she finds interesting and then abandoned when she’s tired of it, the whole underlying being a footnote in her life when she could clearly be something uh a lot more in his anxiety.) Meanwhile Viago’s insistence on self-reliance and reluctance to engage in human contact leaves him easily isolated and nearly results in his death. (And even when Teia saves him he has a hard time giving her full credit in favour of his many neurotic coping mechanisms lmao disaster man.) But when the two of them work it out to understand each other better and come together as a partnership, they’re such a force to be reckoned with that it brute forces the resolution and return to stability near the end. (Well. A significantly reduced version of stability to be fair but y’know better late than never.)

— Also: delicious detail that she is actually the closest you might get to a self-made woman/Talon, and he is definitely at least not in a position to fully dodge the nepo baby allegations — he wants so bitterly to be entirely independent and self-sufficient and not reliant on anyone, and yet it’s his connections inherent to his birth that have helped him get here, while she wants so desperately to have people to rely on because she comes from nothing and has known what it is to be that alone and unprotected. He knows protection and gifts — and love — can easily be taken away and used to control you/render you helpless in your vulnerability from how his father treated his mother, and she knows you have to try to hold on to something in other people or it’s just you and the dirt and you die. Which is what they’re really talking about in that scene where they argue, and it’s why they’re both right and wrong at the same time and it’s so tasty. It’s really Teia asking ‘Will you ever trust anyone? (will you ever trust me, or will you put up this wall every time no matter what I say or do?)’ and Viago going ‘Will you never take precautions to protect yourself against this hurt? (will I have to be the bearer of bad news about how the world really is every time?)’ and neither of them realize that’s what they’re taling about and it’s why it all explodes so badly. (I mean. Factually both came to the wrong conclusion about who the murderer was for fairly good reasons, so there’s also that haha.)

— I wonder if we’ll see Bolivar or the heirs to the houses left Talon-less in the game itself. I’m guessing they probably won’t have big roles, at least, but you know just as background flavour, especially since Crow!Rook is already within the de Riva uh household as it were. I think Viago is still sensibly mid-table at Fifth Talon in Veilguard and Teia remains Seventh? So at least they’re not messing around with that rank order during the occupation

— In semi-not teia and viago news (I am a character first writer and reader I canot change this), it’s neat to see it outlined just how much the Talons really are just merchant princes with some more added knives and cultural weight behind them. They are at the end of the day running businesses, no matter the mystique ™ you wrap it in. (Which I think Viago would be the first to tell you and Teia might try to argue against at least a little haha. Being a Talon is what you make of it you live your truth girl kill awful men you’ll never run out of contracts!!)

— Can’t believe the Crows have self-congratulatory ‘top 10 murders in history!’ classes as part of the training. Do you think Zev sat through those. Probably, if Teia did, right. Now there were some entertaining hours around the campfire during the Blight I’m sure

— Viago understanding but not accepting Teia’s offer to help him with an alibi and at first angling it as being out of hesitancy to accept help/rely on someone, and then later unveiling the added element that he knows Teia respects and loves Caterina and doesn’t want her to have to lie to her for him… Viago is nothing so simple as secretly nice deep down but he IS horrifically in love with and desperate to be kind to specifically Teia and it gets to me okay

— I’d forgotten that DA’s passionate love affair with toxic yuri and some recreational bury your gays extended to Guili and Lera in this fdskjah. Would it really be Thedas without it I suppose (considering the genre of the short story it’s fine with me in this case, though, everyone’s dropping like flies in this even the straight people that’s just equality)

— Viago was not a typical Antivan. He liked facts—checklists, numbers, precise measurements. Heart palpitations, clammy hands, tight pants—Viago did not like these things. In fact, he would go so far as to say he hated them. Mild curiosity was his favorite mood. What Teia had elicited in him was akin to an internal natural disaster.

I simply love him so so much. Mild curiosity was his favorite mood. He failed to account for the eggplant. He’s so annoyed at being poisoned and dying horribly and it literally never occurs to him that anyone would help him until he wakes up in Teia’s lap. He organizes all his poisons by puns. He uses his potentially last breath to argue with Teia about his precise state of dress or undress. Have we finally found him, the perfect man?

(Also between Reyes and Viago Courtney Woods does such a good line in guys who’d really rather be emotionless machines of practical violence and monetary gain but find themselves down so horrifically catastrophically bad that it cracks them open to reveal a soul they aren’t all that happy to discover they have lol)

— When Viago woke, it felt like someone had drained the blood from his body and replaced it with sludge. But it wasn’t all bad—someone who smelled like coffee and cinnamon was playing with his hair. . . . Her fingers resumed stroking his hair. It felt better than the water. It felt better than anything.

Unspeakable. Don’t look at me.

— Viago reaching out and touching Teia’s cheek with his bare hands without a thought and all his tenderness and reverence for her laid bare in turn is something that can actually be so personal and it only took very nearly dying to get there (also… he’s presumably still half-naked through all of this while cradled in her lap. Amazing.). Can’t believe bare hands to cheek feels like third base with these two. And his fucking THOUGHTS through all of this… Don’t cry, he doesn’t deserve your tears, no one does (I don’t, I don’t want to be something that causes you pain) AOUGH

— Vaguely related: the implication in how that part is built is that he’s reaching out specifically to gently dry away her tears, right. Double AOUGHHHHHH not only does he manage to not be selfish or unfair in asking her not to cry he does that instead… there’s hope for you yet messere de riva

— Teia with the red-hot poker standing guard over Viago while he ‘looks like a king in judgement’ and does the Poirot in the library exposition is everything and so hot what the fuck. She a snacc she attacc but most importantly… she protecc, she’s so fucking cool lol. they’re both really smart, but she’s clearly the brawn as well as the social skills (hey manipulation is such an ugly word!) and he’s the logistics and realpolitik on two long thin nerdy legs, absolute power couple. She’s the gaslight he’s the girlboss together may they gatekeep this invading army out of antiva

— You guys… this might come as a surprise I have tried to keep it on the down low but. I really do love the world of Thedas so very much. I love the people and the places and the history and the stupidness and the brilliance so much. We must save the world because everyone I love lives here. Let this be a secret between just you and me we can’t let people know we sit/have emotions etc.

— A servant approached to take the cage in Viago’s hand.

“Careful,” Viago warned. “He bites.”

“I can’t believe you’re keeping that snake,” Teia said, shaking her head. “It almost killed you.”

“Which is more than any man can say. He deserves my respect. And a good home—with all the mice he can eat.”

“But did you have to name it Emil?” Teia asked, making a face.

“An homage. You’re always telling me to recognize my fellow Talons.”

Andarateia ‘names her horse after an archdemon’ Cantori x Viago ‘keeps the deadly adder that nearly killed him as a pet and names it after the last guy who failed to murder him’ de Riva. Freak well and truly matched. Soulmates, no notes, I’ll do borderline anything for these two to make it, goodnight.

#dragon age #dragon age meta #tevinter nights #viago de riva #andarateia cantori #teia x viago #I have gone and been extremely me about this again and I could apologize but you know and I know... I'm going to do it again #so I won't insult you thus by even pretending I'm sorry and have learned my lesson lol

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beansprean · 1 year ago

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You know they would be the most annoying couple ever.

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Colored doodle dump of Guillermo and Nandor canoodling on a mottled blue background. 1. They lean closely together in profile, noses touching, Nandor in his fancy red coat with the fur collar and Guillermo in a cream shirt and green vest. Nandor reaches a hand up to stroke Guillermo's cheek with the back of his hand as if trying to nudge him into position to kiss. Guillermo smiles teasingly at Nandor, eyes hooded, and Nandor grins back with a similar expression, head tilted for optimal smoochery. 2. Close up in profile as they kiss softly, mouths gently opening into the contact. Guillermo, wearing a white collared shirt with blue stripes, has one hand tucked under Nandor's jawline, sliding a lock of his hair through his fingers. Nandor, wearing an orange diamond-patterned overcoat with furred sleeves, has the front of Guillermo's shirt gripped in his right fist. 2. Close up in profile as they kiss, Guillermo's mouth pursed and pressed solidly against Nandor's as Nandor's lips close around Guillermo's bottom lip. Guillermo, wearing a white shirt and dark gray vest, has his right hand planted on the back of Nandor's head, pulling him in. Nandor, wearing his sleeveless leather tunic over a dark red shirt, has his right hand resting delicately against Guillermo's cheek. 4. Hips up of them laying together in a cuddle. Guillermo is on his back in khaki chinos and a teal and red patterned cardigan; Nandor, wearing a brown and gold patterned tunic over a brown shirt, dark trousers, and boots, is pressed against Guillermo's side with his left leg slung up over his hips and his left hand pressed to his chest. Their faces are turned together and leaning close, noses brushing, Guillermo's hand on Nandor's cheek. Nandor's right hand, propped above them, yoinks Guillermo's glasses off his face and dangles them teasingly. Guillermo jerks his head up in surprise, breaking their eye contact to look up, mouth open in a laugh. Nandor continues staring at Guillermo with a soft, affectionate smile. /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described

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magpiepills · 4 months ago

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Promises, Promises

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Javier Pena x f reader

Word count: 697 just a shortie!

Summary: a brief encounter between Javi and the woman who loved him for a while.

Warnings: SMUT! PIV, mention of IUD, oral (m receiving) cream pie, plus more that I won’t give away in the tags. Kinda dark? Maybe? Lies, betrayal. There are implications.

A word from the author: I’ve never written this before, I had a fantastic time. Poor Javi. Not sorry for what I did to him. Unedited, unbetad, spur of the moment, typo-riddled as usual.

The leather of the couch squeaks beneath you. The air is warm and thick with smoke and sex and perfume, you’ve been at this for hours.

Javier underneath you, forehead damp with sweat, skin sticky is breathing, sucking air through his clenched teeth as you ride him slowly, like a coin operated pony, up and down, forward and back, grinding your clit against his unkempt thatch of pubic hair on every downward slide.

He grasped at your thighs, your hips, squished your tits together with his big, rough hands. His eyes were glassy by now. Each time he neared his peak you stopped. You slipped away for a drink of water, or to dap your own flushed face with a cool washcloth, daubing it around the back of your neck and across your chest, the evaporation leaving you cooler and refreshed.

While you took a breather, Javi dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, body too tight and sore to move. His long legs led up to the place where his cock was slick and weeping against his stomach, but he didn’t dare touch it. Despite how many times you denied him, he knew better than to touch his own cock.

You returned, kissing him softly, trailing your manicured finger down his chest to where his still hard length twitches. You break the kiss to look him over, thrilled by how his body responds. You licked slowly and wantonly over his balls and up to the tip of him, tasting your combined tang. You kissed and flicked your tongue around the thick head, drawing a grunt from deep in his chest and when you got bored with teasing, you sank back onto him, taking him as deep as you can in your endlessly sopping cunt.

You keep him there, swiveling your hips to feel him, letting him feel you, eyes shut tight against the onslaught of stimulation. Those beautiful big eyes popped open when you pinched his nipple, rolling it between your finger and thumb, making his whole body jolt upward. You rode him down like a wild stallion in need of breaking.

You threw your head back, one hand at your tit, the other splayed over his heaving stomach. “I’m so close.” You confessed.

Javier licked his lips, the faintest shadow passing over his face.

“Baby, it’s fine. I’ve got an IUD.” You reassured, and he nodded.

“Okay. Okay, just- just don’t come on me.”

“I won’t.” You lied and rode him harder, focusing on the friction of his body against yours, watching his face through your half-lidded eyes. His hair was a mess, curling with dampness, lips kiss swollen, completely fucked out and at your mercy, just like you liked him.

Your cunt fluttered and clenched, and your face contorted in pleasure, covering him anew in your slick. He followed close behind you, whimpering as he filled you, little spasms adding to your sensitivity.

“I told you not to come on me,” He pouted, trying to hide his concern.

“And I told you it’s fine. I’ve got the IUD.”

You didn’t leave room for further conversation. You needed another drink, you needed to clean up and get home. You washed quickly in his bathroom, leaving him alone to light another cigarette. That’s how you found him when you made your way to the door, purse on your shoulder and keys in your hand. He had pulled up his snug jeans, leaving them unzipped and unbuttoned, cigarette between his thick hungers, and his head in his hand.

He was sad, and you couldn’t fix it. You raked your nails gently down his back, kissed his cheek and down his neck, finishing with one last soft kiss against his lips.

“I’ll call you.”

He walked you to the door and watched you drive away.

Six weeks later he slammed his phone back into its cradle, the number you’d given him no longer connecting after a string of unanswered calls and a full answering machine. He wanted a cigarette and a drink. Something strong. He never needed it more than now, as he looked at the two pink stripes of the test on his bathroom sink.

KNOCK HIM UP 2024!!

#bat writes #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #smut #pedro pascal as javier pena #javier pena one shot #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javi pena narcos #javi peña #javi pena #javier pena x you #javier pena x female reader #javier peña

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astyrial · 11 months ago

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a dark roast darling bucky barnes x fem!reader (fluff) synopsis: your favorite customer brings a friend to your coffee shop word count: 1k warnings: none, i’m a little obsessed masterlist | requests are open

a bright spring sun shines through the small coffee shop's windows. the little mural bringing in an array of vibrant colors and designs, bringing in the most unique customers. usually writers or artists will bring their supplies and relax under the warmth of the shop. however, there's one recurring customer who doesn't quite fit your usual clientele.

he'll walk in, leather jacket on and black gloves covering his hands. every time, he'd order a black coffee and question which baked good was your current favorite. the name he would have you write down is james, a rather common name for such an interesting man. james usually came in the earlier morning when the shop would be relatively empty.

except one time, an unusual event in which he brings a friend. his friend sporting a bomber jacket immediately greets you with a large smile on his face, "your shop is wonderful, my friend, bucky, here couldn't stop talking about it."

you take a peek over at james upon the new nickname, watching as a scowl grows on his face. his blue eyes carry a certain sharpness that only enhances as his friend talks you up. "thank you- i've worked hard to get it where it is now. i'm happy that, um, bucky enjoys it here. i do enjoy deciding my favorite pastry of the day," you give james a quick yet succinct wink.

through your peripheral vision, he's glancing in your direction and holding a nearly invisible smile on his face. "so, what would you guys like today? coffee? recently, some people talked us into making tea as well," you lean against the counter, hands pushing against the surface.

"just an iced coffee for me, some cream in it. if you wouldn't mind, beautiful," james' friend then hits his shoulder with the back of his hand, raising his eyebrows.

james nods and rests his hands on his hips, a certain strain of confidence overtaking him. the sun shines in through the windows and leaves a beautiful array of greens and oranges across his figure. you bite the inside of your cheek and look down at the cash register, unable to meet your favorite customer's eyes again.

"didn't peg you as an iced coffee fan, sam. black coffee... and uh what would you recommend for today?" james glares at his friend out of your view, embarrassed by his brazen behavior.

"well, buck, i definitely did peg you as a black coffee fan," 'sam' crosses his arms in front of his chest, pursing his lips.

as the two bicker slightly, you look over at the baked goods spread. from the croissants to the beautifully glazed donuts, you can't help but wonder which one he hasn't tried. on the very left sits a banana nut bread. it's not the most popular at your store by any means, but when someone likes it, they love it.

you finally look up at james as sam raises his hands in defense of something he said. james takes a look back at you and mouths a quick apology. his shoulders somewhat lowered in a clear expression of slight annoyance. not of you, of course, of his friend who can't help but antagonize james in everything he does.

"you should try the banana nut bread," you take a couple steps to the display and hover your hand over where the bread sits.

james nods and starts to pull out his wallet, "thanks, i appreciate the assistance, da- y/n."

"anything for you, uh bucky, odd nickname by the way. would ask you about that but i worry it may be a tumultuous name..." you take a glance at sam, grabbing the cash out of james' hand, feeling the extra thickness.

despite the add on of sam's coffee, it feels awfully thick for a thursday. you raise an eyebrow at him and begin sorting through the stack of ones. at the very end is an extra dollar for his black coffee that you always ensure him is not necessary. "what day is it james?"

"james?"

"thursday, however, i've brought an annoyance into your shop and i thought it was only fair," he rests one hand on the counter, trying to ignore sam's constant wondering about the name james.

you grab one of the dollar bills between your index and middle finger and reach it out to him. he nods, just barely biting his lip as he grabs it out of your hand, fingers brushing against each other. a string of electricity shocks you and sends your heart beating a little quicker.

"she calls you james? wow-" sam begins, bringing james out of the moment.

"sam, how about you wait outside and i'll come join you in a moment. then we can talk about this dilemma that you're so passionate about," he raises his eyebrows, demeanor slightly changing as he turns away from you, leaving you to begin on their drinks.

luckily both drinks are fairly easy to complete. meaning it doesn't take long for you to turn back around to find james standing there with an apologetic look. he purses his lips and opens his mouth without saying anything, like he doesn't quite know what to say.

"james, you don't have to explain anything. i actually have a friend who is very similar to mr. sam out there," you set down the black coffee and then the iced coffee, grabbing the banana bread to start cutting a piece from.

"but he still could've conducted this much better, i really am sorry, darling."

darling... for a moment, you had nearly forgotten about the endearing term he always calls you. heat rises to your cheeks as you pack up the bread to give it to him. when you finally do look up from the ever so intriguing bread, his gaze can't seem to find their way out of your eyes. you look away for a second, only to look back at him with a drunken smile.

he grabs the items and thanks you, taking a step away before turning back around and sighing, "actually, would you mind going out tomorrow night? dinner?"

"i thought you'd never ask, i close up at six," chills run down your back until it reaches your calves.

"great, once again, sorry for sam's behavior. he definitely won't be joining tomorrow night, darling," james winks and turns back around, exiting the shop to join his overzealous friend on their journey.

#bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #sebastian stan #x fem!reader #bucky barnes #winter soldier

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missuswalker · 1 year ago

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Please can I request a Colin Zabel smut where he loses his virginity with fem reader and he's all like clumsy and bashful, yet a sweetheart? Thank u <3

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐳𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⌕ summary: colin wants you so bad, but he’s also a 30 year old virgin and really has no fucking clue how to let you know he’s ready to change that

⌕ warnings: SMUT!!! loss of virginity, oral (male receiving), piv

⌕ notes: of course, honey !! i’m not great at writing colin, despite how much i adore him, but i really hope you enjoy 💗

there’s a light tap at the door of your apartment, which had been unlocked in expectancy of your boyfriend’s arrival. the door creaks open, colin’s head peeking through, bright smile on his face. “hi,” he greets simply, stepping inside and gently shutting the door behind himself, turning the lock. “you should keep that door locked, you wouldn’t believe how many people’s homes get broken into just because they forget to lock their door.”

you roll your eyes lightheartedly at the comment, standing up from your leather couch to wrap your arms around colin’s neck, bringing him down into a quick kiss. “it’s only been unlocked for, like, five minutes,” you defend, grinning up at him. he rolls his eyes back, pecking your lips once more. “i have a key, y/n, you don’t need to leave the door unlocked for me,” he sighs, moving his lips to your shoulder.

“bad day?” you ask, picking up on the slight slip of exhaustion in his voice. he shakes his head, rubbing your back. “not bad, just long. missed you,” he hums. you nod, playing with the hair of the nape of his neck. “can i make you feel better?” you ask, really having no ulterior motive than to feed the boy and let him take a nap in your bed, but he perks up immediately, looking a little shocked.

“uh, i don’t.. what did you have in mind?” he fumbles, biting the inside of his cheek. you shrug, turning to look at your small kitchen. “i mean, i made some pasta for lunch, i can heat that up, or i can make you a sandwich or something?” you suggest, his tense shoulders relaxing again. “you don’t have to make me a sandwich, the pasta is fine.” he says, though there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“i’ll make you the sandwich if you really want it,” you insist, not understanding the sudden mood shift. “no, that’s not what… i just thought you meant something else,” he shakes his head, eyes shut. “about the pasta?” you raise an eyebrow. “no, not about the- what? that doesn’t even make sense, no. about the taking care of me thing,” he answers, furrowing his eyebrows.

“do you wanna go lay down? or use my shower? i still have some of your man soap, the one that smells like masculinity and forests or whatever,” you offer, joking lightly about his stupid ‘pine’ soap. “no, that’s okay,” he declines, offering an awkward smile and a pat to the arm. “then what do you want, baby?”

god, he did not want to answer that.

“i thought that you wanted to… you know, have sex? jesus, don’t even say anything, i’m sorry,” a rambles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “is that what you want?” you ask, ignoring his request for you to completely forget about what he just said. “no, no. well, yeah, but we can’t.” he groans internally, confusing himself. “i don’t care that you’re a virgin, if that’s what you’re worried about, colin.”

he hesitates, looking up at the ugly, cream colored ceiling or your apartment. “i just don’t want it to be bad. for you.” you almost laugh at his worry. “honey, it’s not gonna be bad. i want to if you want to,” you reassure, giving him an honest smile. he looks down at you, pursing his lips. “are you sure? we don’t have to tonight. we don’t even have to. ever.” you roll your eyes, grabbing his arm and tugging, trying to lead him to your room. “it’s gonna happen at some point, colin. c’mon, stop worrying,” you say, trying to bring him out of that nervous shell.

he relaxes a bit at your unseriousness, deciding that he really wanted this now. as he sits at the edge of your neatly made bed, you stand between his legs, leaning down to kiss him, both hands cupping his cheeks. he returns the kiss immediately, his hands finding home on your hips. his tongue meets yours, almost testing the waters. you had made out before, but it felt different now that it was leading to something way bigger than simple kissing.

he can already feel himself growing stiff at the thought of just having you. he tugs at the hem of your shirt, silently asking you to remove the stupid thing, and as soon as you gave him the okay, he lifts it, attempting to pull it over your head. as it gets caught, he laughs, giving a quick “sorry” and allowing you to do it instead. as soon as it’s off, your lips are reconnected.

“is this okay?” he asks, his hands sliding up your sides, resting right under the band of your bra. “yeah,” you breath out, bringing your lips to his jaw. his hands hesitantly hover over your tits, finally squeezing them after what felt like forever. he trails his hands back down your body, messing with the button of your jeans, eyebrows furrowed. at his struggle, you gently push his hands away, moving onto your knees, undoing his jeans.

“hey, tell me to stop if you change your mind, okay?” he nods in response, watching with big eyes as you slide his jeans down his legs. the thick outline of his cock stretched his boxers, begging to be freed from its confines. he felt the urge to laugh in the moment as a nervous reaction, but he held back, watching intently as you pulled down the waistband of his underwear, his dick standing against his stomach. “you don’t have to do that if- shit, if you don’t want to,” he reassures, interrupted halfway by your hand squeezing gently around his length.

“i want to, for you,” you say, stroking him a few times before bringing him into you mouth, squeezing your lips around his burning tip. he huffs, hand immediately finding its way to your hair, grabbing a fistful. you slowly go down on his dick, hollowing out your cheeks and he does everything in his power to not just shove your head all the way down. you begin to bob your head at a steady rhythm, colin’s free hand gripping your bedspread. only after a minute, his cock twitches, warning you of his release.

“oh god, i’m sorry, baby, i’m gonna cum,” he moans, trying to push your face away, but you keep up with your motions, colin ultimately spilling down your throat, a tiny bit of the white liquid dribbling down your chin. you release him from your lips, swallowing his mess and wiping the rest with the back of your hand. “hey, that’s fine, it’s fine,” you say, crawling up onto the bed. “c’mere,” you says, opening your arms to him.

he practically pounces on you, his tongue down your throat as soon as he could get it past your lips. the bitter taste of his release makes him scrunch his nose, but he doesn’t break the kiss, only moving to unclasp your bra. “damn, how do you do this,” he huffs, letting out a bit of a laugh at his unsuccessful attempt, you giggling along with him, and instead just pulling it over your head, freeing your tits.

“god, you’re so pretty,” he groans, cupping your breasts, already hard again. “colin, fuck me,” you say, your bluntness catching him by surprise, though he doesn’t waste any time, finally getting that button undone and sliding your jeans to your ankles, allowing you to kick them the rest of the way off. upon noticing the wetness already ruining your panties, he groans, leaning forward to place sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your neck.

he pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the side, fully discarding his boxers as well before hooking a finger into the side of your underwear, gently tugging them down your thighs. “i could die right now, you’re so beautiful,” he praises, dragging a finger through your slick. you whine at the sudden contact with your pussy, tossing your head back into your mattress. he straddles you, one leg on each side of your body, pumping himself a couple times before lining himself up with your entrance.

“promise me that you want this and that this is okay,” he says, bringing a hand to your cheek. “i promise, colin, please, i need it,” you beg, putting your own hand over his. he guides his tip in between your folds, pushing in slightly, already moaning at the tight sensation. he has to hold himself up for a minute before he pushes himself all the way in, cock buried deep in your cunt.

he was almost overwhelmed at the feeling, burying his face in the crook of your neck. it’s not long, though, before he’s moving, slow thrusts, in and out, in and out. he’d never experienced something so heavenly. “oh my god, y/n, you- fuckkk,” he groans, picking up his speed. you let out another whine, hand over your face, tits bouncing with each thrust. as he began to speed up even more, you knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “colin, you’re doing so good, baby, go ahead, you can cum,” you say, biting the pinkish flesh of your lip.

the heat of his cum fills you up, his cock twitching. colin nearly collapsing on top of you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “you felt so good, so good, just for me, y/n. i love you so much,” he mumbles, lips pressed against your bare shoulder. “i love you too,” you breathe, kissing his temple. “did you cum?” he asks. “don’t worry about me,” you say, massaging his scalp with your finger tips. “i wanted you to. i want you to,” he continues, kissing up your neck. “really, don’t worry about me.”

“you’re so good to me.”

“yeah, i know.”

sorry that it isn’t super in depth i’m so tired but i like this one it’s so silly

#x reader #colin zabel #colin zabel x reader #colin zabel x you #mare of easttown #evan peters x reader #evan peters fanfiction #tate langdon x reader #kai anderson x reader #kit walker x reader #kyle spencer x reader #jimmy darling x reader #colin zabel smut #evan peters #evan peters smut

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aldbooks · 8 months ago

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This little Gwynriel Drabble was inspired by a mini bonus scene Tate James shared today from her Madison Kate series… enjoy 😁

Gwyn wandered through the House looking for her friend who was supposed to meet her for tea. Now that Nesta and Cassian were mated, it wasn't unusual for one or both of them to forget they had a previous engagement as they got caught up in one another and, as a result, Gwyn had learned to tread carefully when searching for them lest she stumble on them in a... compromising position. Again.

After checking Nesta's bedroom, the library and dining room, she headed towards the living area that faced the large balcony. At first glance, she didn't see anyone and opened her mouth to call out her friend's name, hoping she might be heard; when a small swarm of shadows appeared before her face, halting her.

They swirled and vibrated in front of her as if urging quiet. When she took a few more steps into the room, she understood why. Azriel was draped face down across the couch, his cheek half smushed into a pillow, and massive wings draped across the back and trailing to the floor. He was fast asleep, still fully dressed in leathers and clearly exhausted. As though he'd flown straight through the open balcony doors and only had enough energy to make the few steps to the couch before passing out.

She smiled as she stood over him, observing that his face was far more relaxed in sleep than she ever saw it. He looked almost boyish with his lips pursed open and dark hair draping across his eyes. How had she never noticed his lashes were so long?

Just then, the part of her mind prone to mischief delivered a delightful idea... But she would need his shadows' cooperation. "Are you going to wake him up and tell him I'm here?" she asked of them. They paused for a moment as though trying to read her intentions and then slowly shook side to side. She took this to mean no.

Smiling, she glanced up towards the ceiling but a soft thunk on the table beside her told her the House had anticipated her request. She grinned in thanks before taking the bowl and kneeling down. Carefully, she scooped out a generous dollop of the fluffy whipped cream into the curled fingers of the Shadowsinger's hand which dangled off the cushion. Her eyes darted repeatedly towards his face, watching carefully for any sign of his waking, wondering just how light of a sleeper the Spymaster was. But he must have been truly exhausted for he didn't so much as flinch at the cold goop on his fingers.

Gwyn backed out of reach of his wings as quickly as possible, noticing Cassian approaching the balcony with Nesta cradled in his arms. They must have been out flying and forgotten the time. Frantically she waved her arms at them gesturing for them to keep silent as they landed. Both gave her perplexed looks before noticing Azriel asleep on the couch.

Nesta grinned, "Aw, look at him," she whispered. "He almost looks innocent." Cassian grinned as well before noticing the bowl in her hands. His eyes darted from her to Azriel, quickly catching on and his grin widened.

"Did you do it?"

Gwyn nodded. "I was just about to wake him up and didn't want you two to spoil it."

Cass snickered, creeping closer to his sleeping friend. "It's so rare anyone pulls one over on Az. He's too sneaky by half. You do realize that once he knows it was you, he'll be sure to pay you back... ten fold."

Gwyn's smirk, she knew, was just a touch evil. "He's welcome to try."

They all inched their way closer on silent tiptoes and Gwyn grabbed the second object the House had provided. A feather. Azriel's shadows swirled around him in giddy patterns and she held it out to them. "Would you like to do the honors?"

One of the shadows darted out, snaking around her fingers as it plucked the feather from her and held it over Azriel's nose. Dancing back out of his reach once more, she watched as the feather tickled Azriel's nose and cheek, the former scrunching adorably. But still he did not wake. She nodded at his shadows to try again.

This time, the little shadow got bolder, practically shoving the feather up the poor Spymaster's nose. Azriel woke with a start, a sound escaping him that was half shout, half snort as his cream filled hands smacked against his face smearing his golden brown skin with white.

There was a pause where the whole room seemed to freeze.

"Oh my Gods, that was so much better than I planned," Gwyn wheezed before she and her companions dissolved into laughter. The shadow that had been holding the feather quickly disappeared behind the couch, many of the others joining as Azriel wiped his face with the handkerchief one of his other shadows helpfully provided, and looked down at the offending mess. Slowly his eyes raised up to his audience who fell abruptly silent. His gaze was sharp and lethal as it zeroed in on Gwyn and narrowed.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched his gaze flick towards the abandoned bowl of cream she'd left on the table near him when she'd grabbed the feather. A wicked smile curled his lips as his gaze returned to her, one word leaving his lips on a deadly whisper. "Run."

---

Cassian almost fell over laughing as he watched the young priestess scramble out of the room, Azriel following her unhurriedly as he took the bowl of cream and stalked out of the room, his shadows engulfing him.

Nesta shushed him and they both listened carefully for a moment. About thirty seconds later they heard a startled yelp and a wet splatter quickly followed by a deep chuckle.

#gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #gwyn and azriel

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chericos · 1 month ago

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Y/n's lifestyle guide: how to be a heartbreaker

This girl wakes up at 6:30 a.m. on the dot. every. single. day. without fail. It gives her time to plan the rest of her day and properly relax before she answers emails and calls and whatever the hell goes on in that crazy house.

The skincare routine is EXTENSIVE. Shelves upon shelves lined up with creams, serums, and toners. She has enough of everything to last her a lifetime.

CLOSET:

TOPS!— y/n's style is so inconsistent. She likes what she likes, and buys what she wants. All she knows is that her clothes have to be hot and able to break hearts. It's not her fault she was blessed with a great pair of tits, why not flaunt 'em while you have 'em?

BOTTOMS!— booty shorts, mini skirts, and lots and LOTS OF DENIM. she loves a good pair of jeans. when you see her enter a thrift store, just know she's leaving with at LEAST 10 new pairs. will definitely fight you for the last good skirt on the rack.

OUTWEAR!— you can never go wrong with fur and leather. this girl LOVES to layer, a jacket for every season and occasion. and yes, of course, it's all real. what do you take her for?

SHOES!— heels GALORE! a whole section of her closet is dedicated to her shoe collection and she takes it very seriously. thousands of dollars just on the bottom of her feet and she flaunts them with pride. she also loves her boots, ankle, knee, thigh? doesn't matter, she'll wear 'em. and I mean, you can't drive in heels (although she'd love to prove otherwise) so she has her fair share of adidas and new balances in the mix.

ACCESSORIES!— when you win every race cash can pile up quick, so what better way to blow it all off on a bag collection! this girl LOVES her purses, her favorite brands consist of Miu Miu, Prada, Burberry, and Dior.

ROOM!— comfort, but what’s comfort without style? pink, animal prints and glitter are the way to win this girl's heart! posters of artists and brands fill the walls. plants in the corner that may or may not be dead. and a bed with enough pillows for a family of 6.

GARAGE!— her cars and motorcycles are her life! her babies! every week she's in the garage for HOURS fine-tuning them to perfection. playlist blasting loud enough to be heard down the block but no matter how many noise complaints she gets she never seems to turn it down.

HOUSE!— her (atp everyone's cause they never leave) house is THE spot. its common knowledge that girls weekend is at her house on the third Friday of each month, the house is decorated based on the theme of whatever they're watching that night. and when she does something, she goes BIG! (one year, near Halloween, she hired scarers to sneak up on the girls as they walked down the pathway. let's just say maki was not one to be played with. never hired anyone after that.) close friends each have their own designated room and she stocks up on products that each of them love. limp balm? check your vanity drawer. Pads? hair products? underneath your bathroom sink. she has eyes like a hawk, she'll know what you use religiously and always have it available.

masterlist.

#SUAD.──✦#megumi x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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The Detour 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

Note: So this is an idea I had for a while but I just know I wouldn’t get to do it full length for chapters but I hope it’s fun.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Hmmm,” Vol tugs on his red beard, wiry white hairs springing up, “looks like when you veered, you snapped part of the axel.”

“What does that mean?” You tap your toe impatiently.

“Well, it means even with a new tire, you won't be driving off into the sunset,” he shrugs and crosses his arms, “fix like this could take a week. If it's fixable. And if I can mend it, it won't hold for long. Likely need a full replacement.”

“You're kidding me,” you scoff.

“Look, it's good business for me but I wish I was,” he slaps the white finish of the car, leaving a grease mark that has your fingers itching.

“So… what do I do?”

“Hmm?” He furrows his thick brows.

“I'm supposed to be in the city tomorrow. I have a tour booked of the Cathedral and I'm supposed to go to the museum–”

“Not too sure about that,” he sniffs.

“It's just a car. Scrap it then. I'll get a rental–”

“From?”

“Pardon?”

“A rental from where? Got them in the city but no rentals here.”

“What– well, surely someone around here would sell me something.”

“Don't think anyone has a spare car hanging about,” he chuckles.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all,” he counters, “just saying.”

“So I'm stuck here?”

“Suppose…”

“You suppose?” You throw your hands up.

“There's accommodation around here. A B&B up near Thunder Lane.”

“How far is that?” You check the time on your watch, not that it matters much.

“On foot, a good forty or so. I can drive you up in about ten,” he offers.

“How much would that be?” You touch your shoulder, realising your purse is in the car.

“None,” he blinks, “I don't mind. I live on the other side.”

“Mm, that's very… kind,” you glance around, “I'll grab my things then. I'll take the night To reconfigure….”

You trail off. You’re certain he doesn't care. You look at your car, still mounted on the jack.

“What do you need, miss? Don't want you to get hurt.”

“Purse is in the front seat, my bags are in the trunk,” you explain.

He nods and turns. The large fleece lined flannel over his coveralls makes him seen even bigger. He pulls open the front door and reaches for your purse. He uses the mechanism on the door to pop the trunk before he comes back around.

He hands you your purse and you wipe the stain from the cream leather. He looks in the back, “you need all these?”

“Just that one,” you step closer and point, “oh and this one.”

“Right,” he hauls out the round valise and the vintage rolling suitcase. “You sure that's enough?”

He faces you with half a smirk.

“Thanks,” you ignore his joke, “frankly, I just want to be in one place. Alone.”

“Of course,” he shuts the trunk roughly and the car bounces, “I gotta lock up before we head out but I'll get the truck nice and warmed up and you can wait in there. How's that?” He looks down at your stilettos, “your feet must be killing you.”

“No,” you say defiantly.

“Ah, well, still, don't want you to stain your fancy clothes in here,” he insists, “come on then.”

🌄

As much as you already abhor this place, you must admit the B&B is adequate. Vol steers up through the gates and along the curved driveway that leads to a marble fountain trimmed with finely kept hedges. He stops before the broad stairs as you peer up at the grand double doors. It could be called a countryside palace.

The mechanic's weight shifts the cabin as he hops out and to your surprise, comes to open your door. You give him a look as you step down, your heels catching in the mosaic stonework. You clutch your purse tight and consider the full expanse of the landscaping.

“I'll get your bags,” he opens the backdoor of the cabin.

“Do they not have a bellhop?”

“Here?” He snorts as he brings out your bags, one in each hand.

“Right,” you accept. The village probably doesn't have the population to staff the immense hotel. “Thank you, sir. You've been very helpful.”

“I can bring them in.”

“Not necessary,” you assure him, “thank you again. I'll call tomorrow about the car.”

“Sure,” he accepts as you latch onto the bags.

The valice brings your arm down sharply as you struggle to yank the wheeled bag closer on the stonework. He made them look much lighter than they are.

“Good night, sir.”

You spin and march off, a janky, awkward gait in your heels as the bag bounces behind you. You get to the steps and look at the top. You ignore the idling truck as you take in the logistics of the ascent. It's only five steps. In these shoes, it may as well be triple.

You rest the valice on the rolling bag and huff. You shake out your arms and hike your purse high on your shoulder. You push down the long handle of the suitcase and instead grab the handle on top, hugging the valice to it as you lift it one step ahead of you.

You plant the wheels and pant, swaying in your heels. The second step is no easier. The third has you stopping a bit longer.

You turn and look at the tow truck and scowl. You wave him off with agitation. He revs and rumbles around the fountain, leaving you.

“Need some assistance?” A baritone thunders over you. You whip around to face the same burly blond as before.

“You!” You exclaim.

“Me,” he grins, “you're having a hard time.”

“No,” you insist.

You snatch the valice and hook it on your elbow. You grab the handle of the suitcase and grunt, dragging it up the steps with all your effort. It jars you dangerously on the top step and nearly has you tipping over.

“Hm, I was only going to offer my help.”

“Don't need it. Thanks,” you snip, “why don't you mind your business?”

“This Is my business,” he snickers, “well, my parents’ still have their names on the deed but it'll be mine soon enough.”

You bat your lashes and roll your eyes, “fine,” you shove your bag against his stomach, hard, “I need a suite. Now.”

He laughs even louder as he grabs onto your valise, “of course, your highness,” he backs up and reaches to open a door, “this way.”

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #the detour #drabble #series #au #backwoods au #mcu #marvel #avengers

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after-witch · 18 days ago

Text

Quicksilver Girl [Yandere FF7!Remnant Trio x Reader]

Title: Quicksilver Girl [Remnant Trio x Reader]

Synopsis: You help a silver-haired man and his silver-haired brothers find their way in the city–didn’t anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?

Word count: 11,000ish

Notes: yandere, threats of violence, stalking, mommy issues

It was a solid testament to the bittersweetness of the world’s regrowth that the simple sight of an ice cream truck in the city made you want to cry. But for all the destruction that had rained on the city, that had rained on the world; for the terror that was Sephiroth and the near-destruction of the planet, it was these simple sights that healed (and hurt) the most.

It didn’t help that you had especially tender soft spots for children. Oh, soft spots for anyone, really–and your neighbors, the people you worked with, what was left of your family would attest to that.

When someone said they were hungry, you did your best to feed them. When you overheard someone weeping over a debt, you would lend a coin or an ear or a pen and paper to plot out a way to dig out of a deficit.

People’s troubles troubled you, and it made you feel better to take care of those around you. Friend and stranger alike.

“Soft hearts have no place in this world,” you’d overheard your father tell your mother one night, mumbling, half-drunk.

Maybe he was right. Maybe in a world like this, your soft heart would get you into trouble one day. Or it would be hardened out of you like water grooving its way into a rock, with time and troubles. An inevitable weathering.

But maybe you would be content to be the type of person who smiled and wiped away the edges of tears at the sight of a gaggle of children eagerly buying frozen treats, each running away with a smile–and often, already-melting ice cream–on their lips.

And it wasn’t just the children who wanted to reap the frozen fruits of the ice cream truck’s welcome arrival, you notice–a man, clad in what must be an entirely too-hot black leather outfit, awkwardly making his way to the front of the truck.

He runs his hands through his cropped silver hair–it almost glitters, in the sun–and looks up and down at the time-worn stickers plastered to the front of the truck. One of the children behind him huffs a little and stands on her toes, bending sideways to peer around him.

The truck driver says something, and the man frowns. He points to one of the stickers and waits, expectantly.

You can’t help but overhear the exchange that follows.

“If you don’t have any money, move out of the way. There’s kids that are ready to pay.”

The little girl shoves her hands in her pockets, fingers no doubt touching the precious gil she was able to borrow for the treat.

The man makes a noise, something in between a growl and a whine, as he looks behind him at the growing line of kids–and in front of him, at the unimpressed driver.

“No fair. It doesn’t say anything about money here!” The young man jabs a finger on the truck and–did the truck rock just a bit? No, of course not–and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s almost like a kid himself, you think, and a familiar tugging sensation in your chest creeps in.

You’re already hustling your way up to the truck, fingers digging into your purse for a few coins, when one of the kids in line lets out a barking, sneering laugh.

“Everyone knows ice cream costs money! What’re you, stupid?”

Perhaps if you had been a moment later, it all would have gone wrong here. That kid would have been pulverized by an impulsive, angry punch and any bystanders would have fled screaming and you would’ve known to stay far, far away from this man and his silver hair and anyone else who showed up alongside him.

But you were a moment sooner, and nothing went wrong.

Instead, just as the young man turned towards the sneering kid, a scowl on his face, you were primly handing the truck driver enough coins for an ice cream bar.

“Please, let me,” you say, voice soft but firm–a I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer tone, and the tension from the interaction melts as easily as the ice cream inside the truck under the hot sun. The truck driver shrugs and dips away from his window for a moment, before coming back and holding out a fresh chocolate ice cream bar.

The young man stares at it for a moment, then slowly reaches out to take it. The girl behind him doesn’t wait for him to move, bumping past him to get to the front of the line. And if you hadn’t just enabled him to get the creamy frozen treat he’d clearly wanted, maybe it would have bothered him.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. He simply stares at you, brows furrowed, gaze looking all sorts of ways. Surprised. Pleased. Annoyed. It’s an expression you’re a bit familiar with; the sort of mixed-emotions that come with favors you didn’t quite ask for, but wanted, anyway.

You don’t take it to heart. You smile and step back from the truck, and he follows–sticking the ice cream into his mouth before abruptly yanking it out, mouth half-opened, a bit of chocolate dribbling on his chin.

“It’s cold,” he says, shock at the edge of his voice. But the heat of the day and his outfit and the richness of the chocolate must overpower the initial trepidation, because he slowly sticks it back in his mouth, savoring it.

“Have you… never had ice cream?” You ask. You shouldn’t; you should just go, good deed done for the day.

But.

It’s hard not to be curious about him. His outfit is unusual; more like something you’d see in the old days. A roaming thug hired by Shinra, maybe. But they wouldn’t be out in the day, at least not anymore.

But it’s the rest of him that really stands out. Silver hair that, even cropped short, has a shimmery look in the fun. And his eyes are, well. Unusual to say the least. A vibrant sort of green, like a living light.

His eyes glance towards you, then towards the ground. Shame, maybe.

“Of course I have,” he lies, and your heart pangs just a bit. He wouldn’t be the first person in this world to grow up deprived. The soft, stretchy bit your hard pulls towards him, and you look around for anyone that might know him. Might have come here with him, before he got sidetracked with a sidequest for ice cream.

But there’s no one that you can see who might call this strangely dressed young man “theirs.” So you worry at your lip with your teeth, weighing the options, before finally asking–softly, kindly.

“Are you alone?”

“No.” He looks up at you with something like indignity. “I’m with my brothers.”

There’s a bit of good news. You smile. “Oh! I’m sorry…” But when you look around, there’s no sign of anyone that looks like a brother. The silver hair would be a giveaway, wouldn’t it?

He looks around, too, and after a moment, meets your gaze with a lost expression that you can’t help but compare to the kids around you.

“They were supposed to meet me here… at… at…” He huffs out a sigh, and pulls out a cell phone. The sight is surprising–they can be pricey, although they are getting a bit more common. He flips open the top and presses a few buttons with his thumb, before holding it up in your face. “Here.”

Oh. He’s in entirely the wrong spot. And if he’s not from the area, there’s no way he’ll find it alone. That soft, squishy part of you squeezes your chest hard and despite hearing your father’s mumbling disapprovals through the metaphorical wall of your mind, you offer another smile.

“That’s on the opposite side of town. It’s a bit of a confusing way… I could walk you?”

A few emotions cross his face. Surprise. Annoyance. And finally, a sort of mild distrust. Again, so much like the children around you. Children who grew up on or off the streets but in a world where the next day was never a guarantee. It hurts a little to see this expression on a grown man, however young he might be.

“Fine,” he tells you, half-mumbling. “If you want.”

“Well, I do want,” you answer cheerfully, and the surprise on his face doesn’t seem to quite go away even as he begins to follow you, frowning, shoving the rest of his ice cream bar in his mouth.

The stares you get as you escort this strange young man through the city are worth the feeling of accomplishment you get–warm and fuzzy and light–from helping someone out. Especially someone who seems so lost, in more ways than one.

As for the strange young man himself, he’s not much of a conversationalist–but you’ve never minded doing most of the talking. He seems content to listen, mumbling yeses and no’s, or occasionally asking you questions about buildings you pass.

He even tells you his name, after a while: “I’m Loz.”

And if you tell him your name, and he repeats it a bit gruffly, chocolate ice cream on his lips, is it wrong to find it a bit cute?

After all–

It feels good to help someone in need, doesn’t it?

–

There’s no mistaking it: the two men standing in front of an abandoned city hall (ruined, more like; no one had enough money to fix it, so the city hall was now in a repurposed hotel) must be his brothers. The silver hair with the same sort of sheen, and nearly matching black leather outfits. Part of you wonders if you ought to have gotten ice cream for them, but it would have melted anyway.

Neither of them look particularly excited to see you. Well, you can’t blame them. You are a stranger. There’s surprise tinged with a wariness and a not-so-thinly veiled irritation, at least on part of what looks to be his younger brother. Silver hair cut short and slightly uneven, like he hacked it off himself. The other brother looks older, with long silky hair that must, you decide, take forever to comb.

It’s Loz who breaks the tension, stepping forward, running a hand through his short hair. There’s still some chocolate ice cream left on his mouth.

“She uh, showed me the way. I got lost.” The brothers’ gaze roams over you. Loz holds up his ice cream stick. “And she bought me this.” When his brothers merely blink at it, he shoves it closer to them. “There was ice cream on it!”

It is the brother with longer hair who speaks first. Smooth and calm, and you get the image of one of those upper-crust salesmen, the kind who could convince someone to buy a motorbike they couldn’t afford in a thousand years.

“I see.” His gaze turns to you and there’s something in those eyes–the same as Loz, but vaguely different. Whereas Loz felt like a lost dog with a–haha–bone to pick, his gaze feels a bit more intent. Like it could pin you to the floor, if it wanted. “Thank you for assisting our brother,” he says, voice as silky as his hair.

The younger brother scoffs at that. Scowls. Won’t even look at you.

Well–you were never one to outstay your welcome. Clearly they have business here, and it certainly doesn't involve you. So you smile at the brother with the long hair and then turn to Loz, half-grin on your face.

“Well, I’ve got to get going. I’m glad you found your brothers! Bye! Be safe, okay?”

You raise your hand and wave and Loz–to his brothers’ surprise, it’s written on both their faces–waves back.

“Uh… bye.”

As you walk away, you can’t shake the feeling of three pairs of eyes on your back.

–

You never expected to see Loz again. Or his brothers. Yet it is exactly these three people that suddenly walk through the doors of the diner you waitress at, and how could you not notice? The diner itself seemed to freeze as soon as the door swung open, and a trio of young men with matching silver hair and leather outfits walked through.

While everyone else was keen to stare, you were quick to welcome them. It was hard, being the odd one out; well, in this case, the odd trio out.

“Good morning,” you chirp, menus already cradled in your arm by force of habit. “I’m glad to see you!” And you were, a little, in the way you were always happy to see anyone you’d helped again.

Predictably, Loz is the only one who smiles at you. It’s a shy sort of grin that almost seems out of place on his muscular frame.

“Hey,” he says. “Someone said you worked here, so we… uh…”

In hindsight, this was perhaps the only chance you had to sidestep the horror to come; the only chance to realize you were being sought, and that to be sought by three young men with strange clothing and stranger hair was no simple thing.

But hindsight is never there when we want it to be, and instead of taking the phrase for the warning it ought to have been, you let it wash over you.

“Yep! I’ve been working here for a few years now. Why don’t you sit down?”

They follow–the youngest first, you realize, and the other two fall in line as you lead them to a corner booth out of the way. Less stares, you think. But what a very strange family dynamic, indeed. From the friends you knew with siblings, it was the oldest who called the shots. But then, the world wasn’t exactly rightside up anymore, was it? Things changed all the time. Even sibling pecking orders.

You dole out the menus as easily as you dole your smiles. Each brother picks up a menu in turn. The youngest looking at it with something like scorn, Loz furrowing his eyebrows, and the brother with long hair and a smooth voice quickly taking in the fare.

“Do you need any help deciding? We’ve got a bit of everything.”

The brother with the long hair sets down his menu. “May we have three waters?”

You don’t need to jot it down–lots of practice, and all that–so you nod. “Of course! And what can I get you to eat? I’m pretty partial to the sandwiches here myself, but–”

His smile is smoother than his voice, and it’s almost unnerving, almost enough to make you take a step back, when Loz interrupts, mouth pouting, eyes downcast–

“But I’m hungry!” As if on cue, his stomach growls. And not for the first time, you’re struck by how new he seems, despite his appearance and demeanor. And clearly, despite these what-should-be expensive leather outfits, this trio of siblings has fallen on hard times.

Oh, your damned soft heart would get you fired one of these days.

“You know!” Your voice is a bit too high, a bit too chipper. “We actually just had a table return some dishes because I got the order wrong… I was going to have to just throw it out and eat the loss but, if you guys wouldn’t mind taking them?” You smile, a bit crooked. “It would really help me out.”

Loz grins.

The brother with the long hair’s eyes widen, just a fraction, before they return to their serene-like stance. “Thank you,” he says, softly.

The youngest frowns, his lips curling into a bit of a sneer. His brothers look to him, and you’re struck again by the topsy-turvy pecking order you see in them.

Finally, he sighs.

“Fine.”

–

The brother with the long hair, you finally learn, is called Yazoo. And the youngest–his name cannot be pried out of his own mouth, and it is Yazoo that tells you–is Kadaj.

They don’t say much about why they’re in town, and you don’t pry. It must be hard enough with everyone staring at them, whispers slinking over from the other tables. Well. With their silver-shimmer hair and leather outfits, it would be hard not to notice them.

Still. You do your best to put them at ease.

Maybe that’s why, when their meals are finished, Yazoo asks you:

“Do you know of a place to stay in the area? Somewhere… affordable, please.”

Your heart–soft, stupid thing–pangs. There isn’t much in the way of affordability anywhere, but you suspect they already know that. But you know a few people, can pull in some favors.

“There’s lodgings above the cafe,” you say, pointing to the staircase in the far corner. “It’s where I live, actually! I’ll tell them you’re looking for a place to stay, and we can work something out.” You don’t tell them that “work something out” usually means you picking up extra shifts for free in exchange for someone else getting a discount, because then they might decline your offer, and who knows where they’d end up?

“That is… much appreciated,” Yazoo replies, weighing his words carefully. Loz looks between his brothers and decides on a nod.

It is the words of Kadaj–his first words properly directed to you without a grimace or huff–that surprise you the most.

“Yeah,” he says, and both his brothers look to him with something akin to surprise of their own as he looks up at you, his own mako-green eyes catching your gaze. “Thanks.”

–

It is not quite a surprise that you see the brothers every day. Neither does it shock you that Loz, in particular, seems taken with you; he follows you around the cafe, and you even wrangle him into collecting used dishes when the normal busboy decides to skip out on his shifts.

He doesn’t like the customers–none of the brothers seem to–but he always beams when you thank him for his hard work. It makes your heart pang, just a bit; where were these three before all this, that simple praise makes him look so happy?

It is, perhaps, Kadaj’s turn that genuinely surprises you. For within the days, the weeks, he goes from sneering at you to quietly popping up by your side when you least expect it.

When you’re out for a morning errand, he asks to come along, sometimes not saying a word the entire time–sometimes asking questions about everything he sees, which you happily (if a bit sleepily) answer.

When you’re sitting in the cafe on a rare free hour, reading a book, he (with or without his brothers) slides into the booth and wants to know what you’re reading, and why you’re reading it, and how long you’ve read it for–

When you’re in the back on an overnight shift, doing dishes, he shows himself in the doorway and asks why you’re spending your free time scrubbing other people’s messes.

“It’s not my free time,” you tell him, once. “I’m working.”

He scoffed. “Do you always work all day, then all night?”

You smiled, perhaps a bit of a grimace, given the hot water and occasional wad of tobacco you had to crape off a plate. “Oh, It’s just–I’ve got some extra bills to pay, so I pick up late shifts sometimes.”

And something in his gaze then–did he know about your deal with the owner? Picking up extra shifts when your bleeding heart got the better of you?--made you want to look away.

“You shouldn’t work at all,” he muttered, as he pushed himself from the doorframe and left.

Well.

It was a nice sentiment, but not a realistic one.

–

One day, Kadaj is not downstairs with his brothers in the cafe when you come down in the morning, apron freshly tied. It is only Loz, sitting in the booth, turning an ashtray over and over in his hands with an almost fittingly ashen expression on his face.

“Loz?”

His head jerks up at the sound of your voice, and you swear–it couldn’t be a trick of the light–that there are tears in his eyes.

Instantly, you swoop down into the booth, reaching across–fingers grazing the ashtray and taking it from his fingers. He clenches them, keeping them hovering into the air, until you (bold thing) grip his hands in your own.

He stares down at your hand like it’s a foreign object.

“What’s the matter? Where are your brothers?”

His gaze pulls away from your hands and there’s no mistaking the watery lashline this close up–he has been crying. A pang in your chest makes you squeeze his fingers. Poor dear. Poor Loz.

“Kadaj is–there’s something wrong with him.” His lips pout, and up close, you can see them quiver.

“What’s wrong with him?” You keep your voice soft and slow; like how your teacher used to talk to you, when you fell on the playground and couldn’t articulate what happened through your blubbering lips.

“He’s…” Loz frowns, squeezes his eyes shut. “His head is really warm. And he’s coughing!” He says the next part too loudly, and a few early-morning heads turn towards the booth. “I think he might be…” The word dying does not come out, but it’s there, written in his worry-stricken face.

You fight against the urge for an indulgent smile. Instead, you squeeze Loz’s hands, and he makes the softest noise of surprise. “It sounds like it’s a cold.”

Loz frowns deeper. “A… cold?”

You do smile, now. Not out of pity but that sense of warm upcoming accomplishment: if there’s any type of crisis you’re completely capable of handling, it’s a simple cold. “Yes. Let me get some things together, and we’ll go take care of him, okay?”

Loz pulls one of his hands from your grip, slow and reluctant; but only so that he can wipe away his tears with the back of his hand.

How endearing–if strange–these brothers have come to be in your eyes, you think, as you begin to create a mental list of supplies to bring up to their room.

–

For once, Yazoo does not look perfectly serene and put-together. He looks–well. Frazzled. Hairs out of place, a dull darkness lining underneath his eyes, and you sense a sort of soft fracture in his expression that widens when you step through the open doorway, Loz just behind you.

There are a million things that enter your mind when you enter their rented room–how sparse it looks with so few personal items, for one; how uncomfortable it must be for them to squeeze into the small space, for two–but foremost on your mind is that Kadaj is never going to get better like this.

Curled up on a bed wearing his full leather outfit, shivering, sweat plastered to his forehead. You can see the remnants of where Yazoo has attempted to tend to him, but in all the wrong ways–not that you can blame him, considering how inexperienced and naive these strange silver brothers can be.

Kadaj is so out of it that he doesn’t realize you’re in the room for a few long moments. When he does turn his head, his gaze narrows.

“Who said you could come?” He murmurs, bitterly. “Go away. I’m not well.”

Your lips press down and your hands find themselves moving to your hips. You feel like your mother, in more ways than one.

“That’s why I’m here.” You glance at Loz, at Yazoo, then back at Kadaj. “You’re not well, and we’re going to get you better.” You take a glance around the room–at blankets strewn about, none of them on Kadaj to keep him warm; at half-empty glasses of murky liquid that may or may not have once been milk from downstairs; at trash, bits and bobs, things that make the place cluttered–and your thoughts click into place.

“Loz, Yazoo,” you say, gentle, but firm, as you set your bag down on a thankfully clear side table. “The first thing is to get this place clean. People heal better in clean spaces.” You nod towards the cups, the blankets, everything else strewn about the room. “You two clean that up while I get to work on your brother, okay?”

There’s a brief moment where the two brothers glance at each other, then at Kadaj, sick and sweaty on the bed. He huffs out through his nose and turns away, which must mean something to the two of them, because they both get to work on clearing up the room.

It’s cute, in a way.

It would be cuter if it didn’t leave you with a sense of pity in your stomach; just how did these three grow up, if this is how they lived?

But there would be time to think about that later, when Kadaj was better.

You’ll start with his choice of sick outfit.

“Kadaj,” you say, lowering your voice, taking a step forward. “You need to change into something more comfortable. A loose shirt and trousers.”

He doesn’t look at you, not yet. Instead, he curls in further, and says, low but clear: “No.”

Ah, there’s that stubbornness from when you first met rising forward. Pride, too, you think. Well–what man wanted to be sick and weak in front of someone else? Especially someone he followed around like some sort of strange puppy with increasing frequency.

Your hands go to your hips. A well-practiced gesture your mother used to give you when you were equally stubborn. “Kadaj,” you insist. “You are going to change into something more comfortable. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

It’s like the air gets sucked out of the room. Loz and Yazoo pause, each of them halfway to picking up something strewn about the room, looking to Kadaj. Kadaj, for his part, seems to scrunch. His expression, his body–before he looks to you with an expression almost as unreadable as the ones he gives you in the kitchen on certain evenings.

Mixed in with the urge to roll your eyes–men could be so dramatic–is a sprinkle of uneasiness in your stomach.

“Fine,” Kadaj mumbles, finally, unfurling on the bed and sitting up. You pluck up a discarded sleep shirt and what appears to be sweatpants and hold them out. When Kadaj takes them, you just manage to resist the urge to smile–you don’t want to poke his wounded pride, after all.

As he leaves to get dressed, you finally attend to your supplies. Inside of your bag is a hefty container of freshly made warm soup–your mother’s recipe, of course–and a batch of cold medicine. The sight of it makes you want to hum; it’s nostalgic, these trinkets from the days of being-cared-for.

When you turn, all three brothers are standing in front of the bed. It’s a bit like something out of a story. There’s the brief thought of being a governess to abandoned children, but it is brief; these aren’t children, and you are just helping out three young men who seem ill-equipped to deal with life on their own.

“Let’s get you tucked into bed,” you say, and you watch as Kadaj slowly climbs onto the bed, his face turned to watch you–like an animal, you think, afraid to turn around. All the while Loz and Yazoo stand to the side, looking anxious. For his health? Or waiting to see if he’ll huff about being told what to do? Perhaps, you think, a little bit of both.

And you haven’t even made him take the medicine yet. It’ll be the worst part, you know from experience. The taste is–well. It tastes like medicine. But better the taste of medicine than to be sick. That’s what your mother used to say.

It’s what you say, when you hand Kadaj the spoon, he takes it into his mouth, and promptly chucks it towards the wall.

“Perhaps there’s another medicine we could use,” Yazoo offers. Calm, like always, with a hint of something else underneath. It’s probably not the first time his younger brother has expressed… displeasure at doing something he doesn’t want to do.

“Nope,” you say, cheerfully, retrieving the spoon and doling out another dosage. “This is the best medicine in town.” You sit down on the end of the mattress, and hold the spoon to his mouth. “Here, we’ll do it the way my mom used to.”

You don’t miss the way Kadaj tenses; the way Yazoo and Loz tense too, the creak of their leather a telltale giveaway.

“One spoonful of medicine,” you murmur. “Then you can have as much soup as you want. Okay?” Kadaj eyes you warily, and you can’t help but smile, indulgent, soft. Like baked bread out of the oven. “I promise, the soup tastes much better than the medicine.”

There are a few almost ridiculously tense moments–you’re tempted to shove the spoon into his mouth, for goodness’ sake–before Kadaj opens his lips. You slide the spoon in and tilt it, and he swallows it down, grimacing all the while.

“There,” you say, beaming. “That wasn’t so hard! You’ll just need a dose of this every 2 hours–”

“What?”

Sometimes you can forget how young he seems–no, not young exactly. Green. Like he sprung fully formed out of the ground, all green shoots, and nothing substantial underneath.

“Every two hours,” you continue, ignoring his outburst. “And drink some soup afterwards. It’ll help with the taste and help you feel better.” The mattress creaks when you stand up and retrieve the container of soup, along with a second, medicineless spoon.

“I have to go in for my shift. If it’s too hard to eat, let your brothers feed you, okay?” You glance towards Loz and Yazoo and it’s briefly startling, the way they look at you. Like you’ve done some sort of wondrous thing by simply getting Kadaj to take medicine, by handing him a container of homemade soup.

“Thank you,” Yazoo says, almost slowly.

Loz cracks a smile–and cracks his thanks. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course,” you don’t hesitate. You never have, when it comes to helping others. Especially, no–increasingly, these three–despite the sometimes off-putting greenness to them. Strange, you suppose, how they’ve begun to be woven into your life. “It’s nothing,” you finish, giving a wave as you leave.

But from the way you feel three pairs of eyes on your back–one staring longer, much longer, much harder–you get the distinct feeling that they don’t see it as nothing much at all.

–

You are doting and warm; inviting, like a blazening hearth stumbled on in the middle of some frigid night. A welcome, after being stuck in the dark for oh-so-long.

It’s a strange, blurry emotion. One he had never truly experienced until he met you. He tried to ignore it, at first. This strange sensation–this tug, this pull.

Loz did not try at all, he thinks. Yazoo held his own, but not for long. But for Kadaj, the idea of viewing you as anything but yet another human in the way of him and Mother was abhorrent. Unnatural. Obscene.

At least, it was like that. Until inch by inch, you peeled back the hardened shell, like a knife slicing away an apple. Like the potatoes he sometimes helps you peel in the kitchen. You don’t even know what that gesture is, how significant you should find it.

He likes it, in some ways. That naive core.

But right now, he can’t think about the things he finds appealing in you. He can only see ugly green, a nasty tinge that spreads through his veins, as you smile and dote and coo over a gaggle of children.

“Why is she wasting her time with them?” He murmurs, almost spitting.

They followed you here when you didn’t show up for your morning shift. It was easy enough to track you, all they had to do was find someone who withered easily under a well-placed scowl from Loz, and your destination was revealed.

An orphanage.

It’s sickening, the way you smile at these children. Like they matter to you. Like you would barge into their rooms and make them rest and drink medicine. Things you should reserve for him–and his brothers–alone.

“Perhaps,” Yazoo says, ever practical, “she’s getting paid. Perhaps she needed another job.”

Kadaj doesn’t resist the urge to scoff. “No chance. She wouldn’t accept money for this.”

Behind him, he hears Loz whimper. If he turned, there would be tears in his brother’s eyes, no doubt. The tears are irritating–he can be such a crybaby–but Kadaj would not deny that they were understandable at this exact moment.

It’s a betrayal, a wound. Every smile you give these damned children is stabbing it further in. It’s enough to make him want to dash forward, reveal himself, slash a silver path through the crowd of orphans and demand an explanation from your blood-spattered face.

“Brother,” Loz says, interrupting this fantasy and sounding as weak as the children you’re currently fawning over. “Do… you think she likes them more than us?”

Oh, you are maddening. Loz was perhaps the softest when it came to you. You, who gave him ice cream, who walked him across town like a lost child. You, who are currently making him cry.

It is Yazoo, as usual, who comes to his rescue.

“Of course not, Loz.” He can hear the reassuring smile in Yazoo’s voice, the way he talks Loz down from cries that go beyond sniffling. “She spends far more time with us, does she not?”

Loz hums in affirmation, as you say something–energetic, grin wide–to the children and usher them inside the orphanage.

All three stare at the empty doorway where you used to stand. The emptiness is palpable, creating an endless series of questions that lead to only one answer: you’re giving someone else what you should be giving them.

“Kadaj?” Yazoo doesn’t turn, and he doesn’t need to. Kadaj knows what he’s going to ask before he asks it. “Do we need to teach her a lesson?”

And oh, that thought is tempting. An apple dangling from a tree, half-rotting, desperately wanting to be picked before the last of its flesh went sour.

How easy it would be, to grab that apple. How easy, to teach you this lesson now, he thinks; to keep you from straying from the path you ought to be on.

But Kadaj is nothing, if not someone born to think about the bigger picture. And something in him, something he recognizes ought not to be there at all, is inclined to give you an ounce of mercy. If you behave.

So–

“Not yet,” is what he says, leather gloves creaking while his fists clench, imagining all the sweet things you’re saying to the children inside. Reassurances and treats. “We’ll give her one more chance.”

–

You are a naive thing who is not aware that you have one last pitiful chance, and you squander it just two weeks later.

To you, it is a casual announcement that you’ll be leaving for 2 weeks because you’re housesitting for someone in the sticks. A friend. The one that introduced you to the director of the orphanage.

“And who knows,” you say, a smile on your face, “maybe I’ll even hear back about that assistant director position soon.”

The nail in your coffin, not that you know it.

At least you are smart enough to pick up on the shift in mood, when the three of them look at you like you’ve just admitted you killed their childhood pet. Not that you can imagine any of them having something as mundane as an old barn cat.

“I’ll be back soon?” you try, offering the words slowly, something soothing held out on a platter. “It’s only for a little bit. My friend needs my help–” But you don’t even finish the sentence, because you get the distinct impression that it’s not helping in the slightest.

Yazoo–the most restrained of the three, you know, the most practical–moves forward, his shoulder angling towards you.

“You shouldn’t go. It won’t be safe. It’s better to stay here with us.”

Loz looks at him hopefully–it almost makes you feel bad, but Loz often does–and Kadaj simply stares ahead at you, like he’s been doing since you said you were leaving. There’s something petulant in his stare, but it’s glossy. Like it’s covering something else up. Something you don’t want to peel back and see.

Something that makes a soft thought that’s been there all along, too quiet to hear and easily resisted before, get just a bit louder.

Maybe, just maybe, when you get back–you should think about distancing yourselves from these three. It would be inevitable, anyway, if you get the new job.

But it can wait until you return. Some time away will do you good, anyway. You’ll be able to think more clearly at your friend’s house, out in the sticks, with nothing to worry about except insects getting in through a rip in the window screen at night.

For once, when you leave, you don’t feel their eyes on you.

They’re only looking at each other.

–

Your friend lives in the middle of nowhere. In a small house surrounded by dense forest, all signs of civilization reduced to the dirt road that was cut through the area years ago, connecting the sparsely placed houses with the rest of the world with chunks of dusty gravel.

Your friend lives in the middle of nowhere, with no neighbors in sight or sound. Peace and quiet, is what she said, remarking that you’ll have a chance for some actual alone time. Something you’d never get in the city, that’s for sure.

Your friend lives in the middle of nowhere, and it’s dark outside. There is no sound by the natural buzz of the world, insects, chirping, the hum of the night.

You are alone, in the middle of the woods, with no one around. And yet–

And yet someone is knocking on the door.

A firm knock. Intentional. One that makes your body jerk like a puppet.

Your first thought–some kids playing a prank, knowing your friend wasn’t home–is quickly washed away. She didn’t have neighbors even remotely close nearby, and this was not the haphazard, giddy knock of some teenager being dragged away by friends, lest you catch them in the act.

So who…?

The knocking comes again. Louder. Slower.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Then a more reasonable thought: someone is lost. Their car broke down on this shitty dirt road and this house was the first one within miles.

That thought gets you out of your seat, a cushioned recliner with a worn out cover, and you set down your book to attend to the stranger in need. How funny, that even when you’re meant to be taking a break, you’re bound to help someone out.

But when you open the door, nothing greets you but the night, lit only by the moon ahead and the dim yellow light hanging above your friend’s front door. Insects dash against the glass bulb, hitting it with a desperate ferocity.

Strange–you swore you heard a knocking. But as you go back inside, leaving the breeze and darkness and insects behind, it’s easy enough to wave it away. You’re alone, in a new place, it’s only natural to hear strange sounds.

The house settling. An animal in the woods. Some nocturnal bird, maybe, pecking at the window frame.

By the time you sit down again with your book and a quickly cooling cup of tea, you’ve already put the sound out of your mind, wiped away all traces of who-what-could-be-at-the-door.

It’s easy to get lost in your book now, without life pulling away your mind every few moments. Without the cafe, without the customers, without the familiar faces. Without–and it’s a guilty acknowledgement–three brothers trailing behind.

It is when you have just crossed that threshold of being immersed in your book that–

There is another knock at the door.

Louder, this time.

And oh, how unmistakable in its human origin.

Knock-knock-knock.

Not the wind or some wayward bird, but someone with knuckles, curling them up and rapping them against the door.

It takes you longer to get up from the chair this time. Something tight and low settles in your stomach–dread, taking root as you force yourself up and over to the door.

This time, you don’t open it right away. This time, you lean closer, pressing your eye against the peep hole, to see… nothing. Literally, nothing. Complete darkness, without even the light of the bulb above the door to give you a glimpse of the few feet in front of the house

Something has been taped over the peep hole. And it wasn’t there when you opened the door the first time.

That low dread in your guts begins to strum faster, tingling up and down your arms. You stare at the useless, black peep hole for far too long as you try to decide what to do–what to think.

Someone playing a stupid prank? Maybe. Kids who live out in the boonies and maybe heard from an aunt-uncle-cousin-brother that someone would be housesitting out here, and made the trek for some fun.

Someone trying to rob the place? More likely, you think. Just as easy for a robber to hear from an aunt-uncle-cousin-brother that the normal inhabitant would be gone, replaced by a stupid city girl.

Those options are the only two that really stick in your mind as you peel yourself away from the door and make a pitstop at the kitchen. Your friend was no gourmet cook, but she did have a large, sharp kitchen knife.

Perfect for slicing through hard vegetables. Perfect for–what? Defending yourself? If it was kids playing a prank, well, you wouldn’t dream of it. But on the chance that it was someone with less-than-good intentions… it might be necessary to defend yourself.

It might be necessary to have a weapon.

It just might.

–

A few minutes turn into an hour, and there are no more knocks on the door. No more unusual sounds. Nothing but the breeze and the insects, and your occasional hum as you read your book. Though your mind never gets fully engrossed in it; you’re on the surface of the world, ready to step out at a moment’s notice, if necessary.

But you no longer feel like your guts are ice and the idea that this was either some silly prank or game–”I dare you to knock on the door and run off!”--becomes stronger and stronger. Heck, maybe there wasn’t anything taped to the peep hole after all. Maybe it was just hard to see out of it in the dark. Maybe the light bulb went out.

Who knows. Not you, that’s for certain.

But that lack of knowledge becomes less frightening and more a simple, accepted fact. Someone knocked on the door, or someone didn’t. It was dark, and hard to see. You were overreacting, that’s all.

And as soon as that simpler–sweeter–accepted fact coats over the dread in your guts, you decide you’d like nothing more than to get dressed for bed. The book and tea and lamp light will seem all the cozier when you’re wearing your softest pajama set, certainly.

The knife is left next to the book while you head for the bedroom. It’s a cozy little room, with a warm bed and a quilted blanket that you think, if you remembered correctly, had been passed down in your friend’s family for at least two generations.

Or was that the plaid curtains, currently pulled over the half-open window, billowing ever-so-slightly with the mild night breeze? A nice breeze, inviting enough that you’re debating keeping it open all night, even now, as you slip out of your trousers and stand there in your underwear. Your pajamas are resting right on top of that maybe-antique quilt, and you pick up the soft pajama shirt and pull it over your head. They’re soft, light blue, one of the few things you’d decided to splurge on buying new.

Hmm. Actually… new curtains might be nice in your little room, wouldn’t they? Something to freshen it up, change it a little. Life had begun to feel more stale lately, more suffocating. You can’t quite pinpoint when, but–

A loud engine revs from the other side of the house.

Your entire body jerks and you instinctively jerk back so hard that you slam your elbow against the wall, pain radiating up your arm. The pain takes a backseat to the sudden numbness of the unexpected sound, the way your heart feels like it jumps out of your chest.

Your socked feet pad hard against the floor as you run, almost slipping, back to the front of the house. Your fingers shake as you yank back the curtains of the kitchen window, just in time to see a shape–someone on a motorcycle, the brightness of its headlight breaking through the darkness–riding away.

Instinctively, your eyes dart to the front door. It’s locked–good. That doesn’t make your heart feel any less jumpy. Maybe you should call someone. You can’t afford a cell phone, but your friend had a house phone. But who would come out here in the middle of the night?

Especially over what might be–could be, still could be–some stupid prank. Bored teens on motorcycles who have nothing better to do than scare the shit out of you.

Well. Let them scare you. Your heart begins to thud instead of pitter-pattering like some terrified rabbit, and you breathe in-and-out through your nose to bring down the panic. You’re okay. You’re an adult. And you have a knife, anyway. Should you need to scare someone off.

The house seems less cozy and more achingly empty as you creep back into the bedroom and finish getting dressed, slipping on soft pajama pants that feel less comfortable than they did yesterday.

Habit makes you force yourself to see the bright side. You’ll have a story to tell your friend when she gets back. And a story to banter about with customers at the diner, when you need to make that connection and get extra tips.

What a laugh–you finally get some alone time and someone decides to ruin it by being an asshole, and all you can think about is how to use the story to make more money.

It’s kind of funny, actually. What is less funny is the realization that hits when you go back into the living room and–

The knife is gone.

The knife is gone–it was right on top of your book. You remember setting it down carefully. You remember it cutting through the title of the book. You remember seeing it before you went back into the bedroom–

Well. Wait. Do you remember all that? Had you actually set it down before you went to get changed? Maybe you set it down somewhere and just thought you put it down on the book. Maybe you left it in the bedroom, or–you whirl, looking towards the open-floor kitchen–you set it back on the counter.

Or maybe, you whirl around, you put it by the front door.

Which is open.

Just a crack.

No.

You locked it. Didn’t you? Yes, you checked it, you must have locked it. You’re not aware that your body is trembling until you take those few steps forward towards the door, heart thumping again, listening intently for the sound of someone outside.

Kids. Pranksters. Robbers. Murderers. Whoever, whatever.

But when your sweaty palm grips the door handle and turns it, there is nobody there. Again. Just the night, just the insects. One dives for your face and you gasp, jumping back in the house and locking the door–surely, double checking–with a thunk of the lock.

The mind makes wonderful leaps and bounds when it wants to rationalize something. And that is what your mind does now. You put the knife somewhere else–you’ll find it in a moment; you were mistaken when you thought you locked the door the first time. Even though you looked at it after you heard the motorcycle outside.

A trick of the eye, a trick of the brain. That’s all it was. Some bored teens playing a joke and you’re out here alone, turning it into something much bigger than it needs to be. Your friend did tell you that it’s easy to get paranoid when you’re out here, in the dark, all by yourself.

The house creaks, she told you. Settles in the night, groans when the wind blows. Thoughts mush together, and there’s a brief thought that you ought to call someone, before you hear it.

A motorcycle. Again. This time, it comes from behind the house and you’re aware enough to immediately dash for the back door. There’s a window–shut–and you push aside the curtains. It’s harder to see in the back, with no porch light at all. But you do see wisps of engine smoke, the red lights of the motorcycle dash.

Stupid kids. Stupid, bored, mean kids. A brief flicker of sympathy–they must get lonely out here–is stamped out when the engine revs again and you jerk in surprise.

Well. Better to be bold than let them keep bothering you. With a swift motion, you undo the lock and peel the door back, just enough to take a step out onto the small pad of concrete outside the door.

Your mother always told you to pretend that your father was coming home, should you be caught alone by someone who ought not to be there. So the thought on what to say comes quickly, a half-remembered lesson taught to you on your mother’s knee.

“Hey! You’d better get out of here! My boyfriend is coming back any minute, and he doesn’t mess around!”

The words echo into the night, bouncing off the crickets of insects. The figure on the motorcycle doesn’t move.

“Liar,” someone whispers next to your ear.

You have just enough mental coordination to stagger backwards into the house as you choke on your surprised gasp, pushing the door shut out of pure primal instinct rather than anything resembling a cognitive choice. Likewise, your fingers twist the lock shut, and it’s only after you hear the steady thud of the lock that consciousness returns to you.

There’s someone out there. No. Two people. One on the bike, and the person who spoke. You didn’t see them, didn’t even feel them next to you. Like they were some sort of ghost, only you know it’s not a ghost, because ghosts did not ride motorcycles.

Probably.

But now is not the time for debating the ins-and-outs of supernatural entities, as you head right to the house phone hanging on the wall and dial your work. The numbers twirl with each twist of the round dialer, leading you closer and closer to someone on the other end. The restaurant is open late; whoever took your shift should still be up and about, taking care of the stragglers, scrubbing everything up for the night.

It rings once, twice, and it’s a certainty that you’ll soon hear the blissful sound of someone picking up–when it cuts out.

Fuck, seriously? You hang up the phone and pick it up again. But there’s no dial tone. There’s nothing at all. You try again, pushing every button a dozen times. It’s clear, however, that the phone isn’t working.

The receiver hurts underneath your tightening palm. The phone ought to be working. The phone ought to be able to call for help. But it’s not, and you can’t.

And someone is knocking on the door.

Again.

A polite, firm knock that does not at all match the frantic beating of your heart. It doesn’t stop when you don’t answer, standing frozen by the phone. It just keeps going.

“Go away!” You all but shriek. The knocking pauses–they must hear you through the door–before it resumes. Just as politely. Just as firm.

They aren’t going to go away. The phone is dead. You need–something. Protection. Leaden feet take you into the kitchen, where the big kitchen knife may no longer be, but there’s a smaller one stuck in the knife block that should do in a pinch.

If you had to defend yourself–could you? The most you’d ever done before was kneeing some creep in the balls when you were a teenager, just the way your mom had taught you, way back when. But kneeing a creepy jerk who cornered you in an alleyway is different than dealing with two strangers in the dark, in the night, in the middle of the forest.

When you reach the door, knife gripped in your hand, the knocking stops. Your breath comes out in loud, nasal spurts as you lean in towards the peep hole. Which is stupid, you realize, because it’s covered and–

Only it’s not covered anymore. You can see outside now, the dimly lit front of the house all tinged yellow from the bulb. And it seems impossible, but that’s all you see. The dull grass, the forest ahead, shrouded in darkness. Insects bopping to and fro, heading up towards the light.

There’s no one standing in front of the door. No one could have been standing there, knocking, fist curled and firm. You would have seen them running away, or seen the edge of them; a leg, an arm, as they darted away.

“This is bullshit,” you mutter, and with a brazen sort of bravery rushing through you, you decide to tell these pranksters off once and for all. It’s the only thing you can do, with the phone not working. The door unlocks with a twist of your fingers and you step out into the night air, the hum of insects louder now.

“Hey!” Your voice seems to echo into the trees, where whatever nocturnal animals rest in the branches must flinch at the disturbance. “I mean it! Leave now and we won’t call the police! My boyfriend is–”

But you don’t get a chance to puff up the qualities of your imaginary boyfriend, because something loud and close and awful suddenly comes to life in front of you.

A motorcycle.

Revving its engine at the edge of the clearing where the dirt road connects this quiet little house to the forest trail. The headlight bursts through the darkness, unnaturally white, and with the help of the faded yellow bulb behind you can just make out the figure.

A young man with long silver hair.

It’s Yazoo. Yazoo, sitting on the motorcycle, revving the engine.

There is a brief rush of relief. A brief whirling thought of–Yazoo is here, and so his brothers must be here, and they can help you scare away these robbers or teens or whoever has been messing with you.

It’s a stupid rush, a stupid relief. It fits you well, you think. That the first thing you thought to do was smile and think your worries were over, because the trio of brothers you’d been helping decided to check up on you.

And then common sense hits you in the back of the head, and that relief is gone, replaced only with an ugly dread.

It is Kadaj and his brothers who knocked at the door. Kadaj and his brothers who revved their engines. Who whispered in your ear. Who are scaring you.

But–why?

“What do you want?” You mean to scream it, to put some kind of force behind the question; but the words come out all tangled and choked. Like a pitiful whine.

And then the world goes dark. The headlight turns off at the same time as the porch light shatters, and your body reacts with a jerk that nearly sends you to the ground. You can hardly see, just the dimmest bit thanks to the light bleeding in from the opening door, and you hear the sounds of sets of feet moving in the darkness–

They’re coming for you.

By pure luck, you fumble your way back into the house, slamming the door shut with silver glinting in your line of sight. The sound of the lock is melodic and you take a few steps back, as if they might just walk right through the closed door. Like ghosts in a folk story.

But they don’t.

And then you wonder if you locked the back door after all, and your socked feet slide on the wooden floor as you pound towards the back of the house.

It’s locked–yes, yes, yes–and you think about trying the phone again when you hear it.

A window rattling.

You locked the doors, but what about the windows? They let in the night breeze, pretty curtains billowing. And they might just let in so much more.

It’s a mystery how your fingers manage to work, with so much fear coursing through your body, as you rush from window to window, double checking the latches. Locked, locked, all locked, thank goodness. Your friend must have locked them before she left, and you’re glad for it.

But the sound doesn’t stop, and now you hear the sound of a window shifting and–

The bedroom.

You make it to the bedroom just in time to see a figure clad in black leather, silver hair shimmering like a curtain in front of his face, climbing through the open window. Limbs all tangled, like some creature hauling itself out of a dirty well in the woods.

One of them–it’s Yazoo, you realize, his hair skirting well past his shoulders–is in the house. There’s no time to run, you’ve got to hide. Then find a way to get out of the house and get help. The practical details–how are you going to find help in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, with no shoes on?--don’t matter now.

All that matters is that Yazoo doesn’t see you. So you jerk away from the bedroom, forcing yourself to slide along in your socks, and open the hallway closet as softly as you can. But you don’t shut it–you need to see.

And you do see. You see Yazoo emerging from the bedroom door like he belonged there, and didn’t just crawl in through a window.

Hiding inside the closet, it’s suddenly so easy to see why your boss thought you’d lost your mind when you started connecting with them. He’s–wrong, isn’t he? All three of them are wrong. The way he looks, the way he moves. Like some sort of sinewy animal, mako eyes almost flashing in the lamplight of the house.

He says your name, softly, in the darkness. It makes your stomach clench.

“Where did you get to?” He asks you. You don’t dare answer. Instead, you watch as he dips in and out of view, checking the rooms, the corners, the crannies.

Please don’t check here, you beg the world.

The world must be listening, because instead, he looks towards the back area of the house. The back door.

“Perhaps you went back outside?” He murmurs, and the sound of his feet approaching the back door, the door itself creaking open, gives you the precious moment you need to flee.

There’s no time for plans and proper thoughts. As soon as you realize Yazoo doesn’t step right back into the house, you throw open the closet door and dash for the front of the house. Fumbling fingers manage to undo the lock, and you fling open the front door–

To find Loz standing there, a half-grin on his face, an arm reaching out for you. You slam it shut and it bounces off his hand, catching it in the door as it slowly swings back open from the momentum.

Your brain registers his reaction–”Hey! Ow!”--as nothing but background noise as your own awful, incomprehensible noise of terror rushes from your pounding chest straight out your mouth.

There’s nowhere to run but the back door and you flinch sideways when you see Yazoo standing in the threshold, arms crossed. Instinct takes you to the only room with a lockable door, the bedroom, and you slam it shut behind you, locking it with a swift turn of your wrist.

The window–the breeze is still wafting in, those pretty curtains that did nothing to protect you billowing. The window slams shut with ease and you turn the latch, blocking the only other entrance to the room.

You just–you just have to wait them out. That’s all. The thought is stupid and pathetic and you sit down on the maybe-antique quilt with it, running it through your head until it dissipates into nothingness.

They’re going to get in. They’re going to get in, and then–then what? What do they want? To kill you, surely. Maybe something more. Above all, above even the terror, you just feel incomprehensibly stupid for trusting them. Not just trusting them. Liking them, even. Fuck–

Something slams against the door.

There’s another sound–a huff, a complaint. Loz?

Then that something-what-is-it slams against the door again. And again. And again. And you hear the wood splinter before you see it caving in, see the edge of someone’s shoulder splintering the wood.

Then a leather clad hand busts through the hole, reaching for the lock that did little to keep them at a bay, after all.

You’re lifting the window and pushing yourself through before they can even open the door, and if you had the breath (you don’t) you would surely let out a noise of triumph. They didn’t get you, they won’t. You’ll run–run until your feet bleed, until your lungs pop out–and get help. Someone on the road or someone else out there, cozying up in some middle of nowhere house.

The darkened vision of trees whip by as you dash into the woods, barely able to see in front of you in the darkness. You don’t know how far you run before you finally trip, a wayward limb or stump taking you out. The ground connects hard with your knees and your breath gets knocked out of your chest.

Get up, stupid, you think, just as someone’s gloved hand latches around your ankle.

You scream all the way to the house, digging your nails into the ground as you go; into the grass, at first, then the dirt of the backyard, and then scratching along the wooden floor as you try to claw your way to freedom.

The world goes topsy-turvy as you’re hoisted into the air–it’s Loz holding you, bigger and wider–and set down unceremoniously on one of your friend’s kitchen chairs. There’s a padded cushion on it. It’s red, with a dainty illustration of a flower embroidered in the middle.

The rope wrapped around you, pinning you to the chair, is not so dainty. It’s harsh and unyielding, digging into your skin as you struggle. All struggling does is make your breath come out even more ragged, until you find you can barely breathe at all.

Is this how you die? Tied to a chair, suffocating on your own fear? You can hear the wheeze of your own breath, feel the way your eyes hurt, wide and buggy.

Someone taps your cheek with their gloved fingers. Enough to startle you with a faint sting. Your tear-filled vision makes out Yazoo in front of you, crouched, a look of awful concern on his face.

“Calm down,” he says, in a way you might have admired before. He was always the one to calm down Kadaj, when he was being something of a brat. “Breathe in, through your mouth.” You do. “Now out through your nose.” You do, and he smiles. “Good. Now do it again.”

And you do, and you can breathe, and you don’t feel like you’re going to die choking on air; it doesn’t lessen the knowledge that they’re going to kill you some other way, now. But at least you won’t suffocate to death.

It’s a poor comfort, as your pathetic struggles fade to nothing, and you slump against the rope. You look up towards the three brothers you’ve come to know, each of them staring down at you with expressions you can’t quite measure up.

They’re going to hurt you, before they kill you. That seems like a certainty.

It’s Loz who steps forward first. You expect him to take a swing, to use those muscles of his to break something. Your jaw, maybe. A few fingers.

Instead, he sniffles.

“You don’t really have a boyfriend, do you?” The frown on his face makes you wonder if this is actually a dream. But it’s not. The rope, the pain in your sore feet, the sweat on your neck. Too real for a dream.

Yazoo looks towards you as he speaks, voice soft, edged with a warning. “Of course not, Loz.”

When his gaze deepens, you shake your head.

“I-I don’t. I was just… trying to scare you away.” How stupid that seems, now. A fake boyfriend to scare away these three, who could probably snap your neck with a gesture.

Loz smiles through the beginnings of his tears, and rubs at them with the back of his hand as he nearly chuckles out a response. “I knew it.”

It’s this that does you in–Loz smiling and wiping away his tears like any other day, like you’d told him they were out of strawberry ice cream then found a pint in the back of the freezer. How can they act so casual, with everything they did? With you tied up on the damn kitchen chair in front of them?

You burst out with the plea, tears prickling your eyes again, voice strained and terrified.

“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

Yazoo leans down, ghosting your tears with leather fingers. His expression is calm as ever. It would be soothing, in any other circumstance.

“We aren’t letting you go. There’s no use in getting upset.” It’s spoken so softly, almost sweetly. Bile rises in your throat.

“But what do you want? Why are you doing this?”

Your breath comes out faster again, no matter how much you try to slow it down. They aren’t letting you go; they’re going to hurt you; they’re going to kill you. The thoughts come out on an awful loop until the vision of Yazoo in front of you blurs away, and you hear the sound of a chair scraping.

It’s Kadaj, sitting on another kitchen chair, his arms wrapped around the back. He rests his chin against his hand and it’s like he’s looking at you for the first time. Mako eyes burn into your own and you wonder how they didn’t strike you as so wrong before. Before, you’d thought them pretty. Now you feel them pinning you, looking through you.

Kadaj–was he even human?

“You were going to leave,” Kadaj says finally, voice low and icy. You don’t know what he means, and it must show in your ragged, tear-stained face, because he scoffs. “You were going to leave us. For those orphans.”

Abandonment drips from his voice and your mother would slap you for the way something like pity still sparks inside your chest. Faint and buried down underneath the ropes, harsh and scratching, but still there.

They didn’t want you to leave them. Would they kill you, if you did? If they thought you would?

Words fail you, until they don’t. Until you’re promising stupid things, anything, to make them let you go. To make them not hurt you. To live through this night and then get home and gather anything sentimental and disappear into the world. You’d helped others do it, and you could do it, too.

“I won’t leave,” you offer, voice choking. “I promise. I won’t take the job. They–they didn’t even offer it to me, they probably won’t, I’m awful, I have no experience, they wouldn’t–” Your voice hitches and your lips wobble as you make your promises.

Kadaj stares at your mouth like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, even as you end your pitiful diatribe with the words on loop. “I’ll stay, I promise, I promise, I’ll stay, I promise, I promise, I promise–”

Kadaj pushes the chair back and he and his brothers exchange a look between them. A secret language you’ll never be privy to, these looks; these wordless glances that say more than anything.

Maybe they’ll let you go. Maybe they’ll have their fun–the way Kadaj looked at your mouth did not escape you–and let you go. Or kill you. If they kill you, let it be quick. At least let it be quick.

Kadaj is smiling when he turns back to you.

“You are going to stay with us.” It’s a matter of fact that sits low in your gut as the three of them approach the chair. These three men, now strangers to you, all smiling down in a way that makes you feel sick.

You look at their hands for weapons–the kitchen knife, lost to the wilderness–but see nothing but the leather as Kadaj brings his hand up to your neck and gives it an awful squeeze.

The ocean rushes in your ears as the world goes spotty, then black–

And when you wake up, surrounded by three silver-haired brothers, you’ll be nowhere near this cabin or even the city. You never will be again.

Soft hearts weren’t made for this world, after all.

#yandere #yandere final fantasy #yandere ff7 #kadaj #afterwitch writes #/slaps trunk #this baby can fit so many mother issues in it #I love these fuckers

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obsessedfics · 1 year ago

Text

Fated Encounter: Gojo Satoru x Reader (SMUT! Mature/Explicit)

Rating: Mature/Explicit (Sexual Scenes)

Summary: You meet a mysterious man in a club, and things quickly become heated. However, you get interrupted before things can go too far. The next day you're in for a surprise when you meet the man again, but he's who you're supposed to build a report on.

Now, if you've read my previous work I like giving a backstory before you get heat. Because my little soft brain loves a good lil romance. NO SPOILERS.

Word count: 17k+

“Y/n where are you? Why can I hardly hear you? What’s with that loud music?” your partner, Kaito, asked quizzically into the phone but you only smiled.

Strobe lights and base-filled music sounded all around you. Hot sticky bodies pressed together, dancing to the beat like no one else in the room existed.

“Oh, well I may be in a club~” you answered cheerily, plopping down on your seat at the bar, leather mini skirt climbing up your thighs.

“Club? Are you crazy? What if something happens to you?” you could hear him sigh, the image of the blonde popping into your head.

A giggle escaped your throat as you brought the speaker close to your gloss-covered lips.

“Kaito, are you implying that I am too weak to protect myself, hm?” though your tone was light, a deadly edge kissed your words.

“I– No. Fine, just don’t do anything stupid. Our mission starts–”

You hung up the phone, happily stuffing it into your purse as you caught the bartender's eye. With a sultry smile, you lowered your lashes while curling your finger, signaling him to come over.

“What can I get you to miss?” the burly man asked, a pleasant smile on his lips while his eyes took in your figure ever so slightly.

Trying to remain professional I see.

Placing your elbows on the black light table, you laced your fingers together and gently rest your chin on them. With the slight cock of your head you smiled.

“A water please,”

The man’s eyes widened. Clearly, he was expecting you to drink alcohol.

“Anything else?”

“Nope, just the water. A woman like me has to stay hydrated.” sending him a wink the male laughed bashfully, quickly grabbing a glass while eyeing you.

“Ice?”

You bit your lip and pretended to think. Enjoying the way a blush crept up on the man’s cheeks.

“Hm, maybe just a little.” you batted your wispy eyelashes externally, while internally you were laughing.

My, you all are such easy creatures.

The man quickly filled your glass with water and handed it to you. He lingered for a moment, then attended to his next customer.

“I think you enjoyed that too much,” a low voice called from your left.

Smiling, you slowly turned your head to find a man with silver hair and a blindfold. He wore a white button-down shirt that tightly clung to his muscles. The first three buttons were undone exposing some of his pale sculpted chest. His hands, which that of his face rested in, were covered in black half gloves.

Interesting style choice.

“And you are?” you drew your words out to sound curious while making your tone purposefully disinterested. You watched as the man's eyebrows rose. Whether it was from surprise or amusement, you didn’t know, due to his eyes being obscured.

“Not important. How bout’ I buy you a drink?” he pulled his full lips into a smirk.

Ah, a womanizer. This will be fun.

“I’ll pass. You see, I don’t drink.” you now fully turned your body to him, resting your head on your fingers as you crossed your legs. You watched as he slowly took in your figure, starting from your high heels, thighs, hips, and chest, then finally resting on your face. You returned his smirk.

“You like what you see, Mr. Stranger.” you used your manicured toes to tap your heel against the bottom of your foot, to feign being bored. You know it didn’t go unnoticed, because he seemed to smile more.

“Perhaps, but if you don’t drink then why are you here?” you noted the sweet cream-filled buns on the counter, but no alcohol.

Thank you for falling for my bait.

“I like to dance. Care to indulge with me?” You held out your hand with nails painted red to the man as you awaited his response.

“Gladly,”

The man placed his hand in yours. The fabric of his gloved fingers tickled your skin as they wrapped around your palm. You clicked your tongue, looking at his gloves.

“You plan on denying me skinship all night?” you pouted lightly, making a show of puffing your bottom lip while softening your eyes.

He laughed, standing up as he gently guided you out of your seat. You noticed now, even with your heels on, how much taller he was. The man let go of your hand, ensuring to back up a couple of steps so you could have a front-row seat of him peeling off his gloves with his teeth.

You let a satisfied smile pull on your lips, watching as he exposed his long and elegant fingers to you. He neatly folded the gloves and placed them in his pocket, now extending his hand toward you.

Placing your hand in his you had to hide the jolt that went through you. Though his fingers were calloused, the rough texture against your skin felt oddly nice as his warmth seeped into your flesh.

“You gonna keep that blindfold on too?” you asked sweetly, giving his fingers a little squeeze as he led your bodies deeper into the crowd.

Suddenly, he pulled your body into his by your hips. You could feel the muscles of his abdomen press against your full chest. Despite yourself, you blushed knowing that if he looked down, he could get a good view from your low-cut shirt. His hand found your face, forcing you to look up at him with the tilt of your chin.

“Most women like the mystery,” he mused, thumb tracing your lower lip as his other hand lightly gripped your hip, moving your body to the music.

You hummed lightly, taking your hands and running it over the expanse of his chest, enjoying the feel of his lithe body.

“I am not like most women,” you tease, taking his thumb between your teeth and lightly pressing it down on the pad.

He laughed, then bent down so he was at eye level with you. Ever-so-slightly, he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and lifted the left corner of the blindfold, exposing a brilliant blue eye. You wanted to stop moving to stare. But instead, you smirked, shrugging your shoulders lightly.

Damn, he’s handsome.

Smiling he let the fabric fall back over his eye, hands refinding your hips, continuing to move your bodies to the music.

“No you are not like most women, Ms. Stranger.” he dug his fingers a little harder into the leather of your skirt, and you returned the favor by dragging your nails down the ripples of his clothed muscles.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of the music, the press of his warm body against yours, the feeling of his strong hands against your hips.

Let’s see if I can make you fold.

Opening your eyes you could feel his gaze on you so you smirked. Swaying your hips back and forth, you drew them in small circles as you started your slow, snaking descent to the ground. You ensured to keep what you would assume would be eye contact as you hovered your face dangerously close to his clothed legs.

He watched you, hands trailing up your arms and then to your face.

“Such a pretty thing,” he mused, fingers tangling in your hair as you snaked your way back up his body.

“Thank you, a compliment from a man like you means a lot.” you smile sweetly, turning your body so your ass was pressed against his leg. You take your hands and lace them around his neck as you slowly grind your body against his.

Hot breath kisses your ear as his hands grip your waist, moving his hips in time with yours, pulling you deeper into the press of his body. You hear him groan when you arch your back, ass going higher, brushing his semi-hard length.

Having fun are you?

You smiled to yourself as you brought your hands higher, fingers playing with the soft strands of his hair. Music thrummed all around you, but all you could feel was him. The smell of jasmine mixed with sweat filled your nose. His breath enticed your skin, and his fingers that gripped your waist gave you goosebumps. You leaned your head back against him, losing yourself in the moment.

He expertly teased you, fingers crawling down your thighs, lightly ghosting over your soft flesh. You shivered against him as he continued to light small trails of fire over your skin, his hands exploring any exposed part of you.

You two moved in unison for a while, bodies tangled, sweat coating your flesh as your breaths became heavy, mixing with one another. Somehow, one way or another, you found yourself pressed against a wall in the corner of the club.

The walls shook from the music, the vibrations tickling the skin of your back. His hands were on your hips as his face stood inches from your own, his lips a tongue distance away.

“You’re quite the tease,” he playfully said, the tips of his thumbs dipping into the waistband of your skirt as he pressed a knee between your legs, spreading them for him.

You let out a shuddering breath, but you didn’t let your smirk falter.

“What? You gonna take me right here? You seem like a smart man, I think we both know that’s not a good idea.” you purred, ensuring to make your voice seductive as you squinted your eyes up at him.

Whether it was from curiosity, or being drunk off of him, you pulled his blindfold off. Taking the soft fabric to the nape of his neck to lock his head into place, pulling him impossibly closer.

Blue eyes stared at you heatedly. His eyes were like the clearest sapphires; rare and impossible to obtain.

The sight alone made your toes curl.

“I don’t think you want to find out what I can do to you.” he trailed a slow finger up your stomach. It made your knees weak and your core ache. You never took men home. Really, you just enjoyed watching them crumble. You hadn’t had sex in months, but this man’s touch made your nerves sing in pleasure. You wondered what else he could do. If he could satisfy you.

“On the contrary, I don’t think you want to know what I can do to you. I don’t want to hurt that precious ego of yours.” you rubbed your nose affectionately against his, earning yourself a breathless laugh that tickled your lips.

“Try me–”

Ring Ring Ring

Shit.

Ring Ring Ring

“I think you should get that, miss.” without breaking eye contact, he plucked your phone from your purse, handing it to you with a knowing smile.

You sighed, swiping the green answer button and pressing the device to your ear.

“What?” you snapped into the phone but your anger subsided when the man pressed his lips to your neck. Your stomach fluttered at the sudden feeling as your hands clenched around his blindfold, a desperate attempt to hide your gasp.

“You haven’t checked into your hotel. It’s late, go now or I’m reporting you to HQ.” Kaito snapped at you, anger clear and evident in his tone.

The man smiled into your skin, licking a trail to your ear.

You cocky little shit.

“Fine, I am leaving now. Don’t get your tidy whities into a twist, Kai.” without waiting for his response, you hung up the phone.

Taking the blindfold, you placed it neatly back over his head, ruffling the top lightly. He pulled his head back from your neck, a light pout on his lips.

“Duty calls. It truly was a pleasure.” you draw out the last words as you trace your finger down the sweaty flesh of his chest.

He smiled and took your hand, pressing his lips lightly to your knuckles.

“Will I see you again?” he asks and you turn your hand, gripping his angular face in your small hand.

“Who knows? Maybe next time you can show me what you can do.”

With a wink, you left the tall man standing dumbfounded while you internally cursed, feeling your heat drip down your inner thighs.

Fucking Kaito, you owe me gourmet sushi for this one.

—

“Y/n, oh thank god I was getting worried!” You rolled your eyes, plucking off your heels in the middle of the hotel lobby and throwing them at Kaito.

He wore his pajamas to greet you, which only annoyed you further.

“Piece of trash, I was having a good time. You owe me sushi for possibly missing some really good dick.” Kaito looked mortified at your words. His face was that of a child walking in on their parents having sex.

“Oh don’t look like that. You’ve brought women back and fucked them in hotel rooms right next to mine. At least I’m classy and go somewhere else while you’re a bottom feeder.” you held your hand out to him while aggressively snapping your fingers to your palm.

“What?” he shouted at you, red-faced from embarrassment.

“Room key fuck face.” the realization hit him. He slapped the card into your hand and stormed off to the elevator.

You picked up your heels and nimbly followed him, cold marble tiles kissing your throbbing feet while you read the room number on the plastic card.

“You’re so insufferable,” he huffed, jamming the metal up arrow. The golden doors opened as you both stepped in, pressing your floor numbers, grateful to find that you were on different floors.

“Actually, I am quite likable. Everyone likes me, aside from you, of course~” you wiggle your fingers in his face, and he swats your hand away.

“Correction. People just want to fuck you. That is not the same.” he sighed, taking a hand through his hair.

“Not true, in the workforce I am well-liked.” you counter, knowing full well you are the first person they call when they need shit done.

The elevator stopped on his floor and he looked at you over his shoulder obviously annoyed.

“5 a.m–”

“Sharp. Yeah, yeah. Go get your beauty sleep.” you shooed him away and watched as his shoulders dropped. He was done with conversations for the night.

Once the doors closed, you leaned your back against the cool mirror as you let your body slump. You took the ends of your hair in your hand, idly twisting it as you let the night settle over you. Peering down at your phone you saw it was 0330, inwardly cursing yourself for getting too caught up in the moment.

Ding

The elevator doors opened and you padded over to your room. 1002 was the number you mindlessly looked for.

I should’ve kissed him.

You thought while sighing, prying the door to your room open. You found that your suitcase was already in the room. It was always like this. The higher-ups controlled every aspect of your life, you wouldn’t even be surprised if the room had hidden cameras.

Throwing your purse on the desk you peeled yourself out of your sticky clothes then squatted down to your suitcase, rummaging through it until you obtained your personal hygiene items.

You lazily made your way to the bathroom, turning on the shower to a near-boiling heat as you set up your skincare and haircare items. You’ll be staying in Tokyo for three months, so you want to try to keep things as neat as possible in this hotel room.

Stepping into the shower, you hummed blissfully at the kiss of the hot rain on your skin. You tilted your head back, enjoying the feeling of the water running down your flesh, ebbing the tension out of your muscles.

I wonder if I’ll run into him again.

—

“Eh? What do you mean foreign military officials are coming here?” Satoru asked, not quite believing in Yaga’s words.

“As I said, they’re coming here to monitor Yuuji’s condition. As the strongest, you're expected to keep your eye on them. Especially since he’s your student.” Yaga’s stern voice had no room for argument, causing Satoru to roll his eyes and press his back against the wall.

To be honest, he wasn’t fully mentally present today. He kept thinking about the woman he met last night. From the plush of her thighs down to the gasps she tried to stop from escaping her full lips. Oh, the things he wanted to do to her.

“Satoru, did you hear me?” Yaga sighed, knocking him out of his thoughts.

“Huh? Something about them being here soon?” he only guessed at what he said, and his guess was correct.

“Yes, so go and greet them. I’ll get Yuuji.” without waiting for a response his old teacher left.

Satoru sighed, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and made his way to the main gate. It was a warm Spring day and he enjoyed the quiet peace that surrounded him. He turned his blindfolded eyes to the sky, drinking in the endless soft blue that stretched for miles.

He sensed her before he saw her.

Opening his eyes wide, he shot his eyes in the direction of the cursed energy, praying that he was correct. He followed the flow of the energy to the young woman, dressed in an all-black suit, hair neatly pulled back into a tight bun, as none of her jewelry decorated her ears. If he didn’t have his Six-Eyes telling him that this woman was the same as the one he met last night, he wouldn’t have been able to tell it was the same person.

Once her eyes saw him, she hesitated for half a second, then continued her conversation with the blonde male standing next to her. He relaxed his posture and tried to find his nonchalant mask. He couldn’t react the way he did last night, even if his body was immediately responding to her presence.

He cleared his throat when the two approached. She eyed him out of the corner of her eye whereas the blonde man standing next to her looked at him like he was a god. Slowly, she turned her head to him, eyes immediately finding his despite the blindfold he was wearing.

“Are you the foreign military officials?” Satoru asked, already knowing the answer. The woman’s face was cold and indifferent, again, another stark contrast to last night.

“Yes, I’m L/N F/N and this is Ishiikawaia Kaito. We’re here concerning your student Itadori Yuuji.” She spoke calmly and professionally. Her shoulders were drawn back and her back was straight. But all he could recall was her figure, slightly leaning over her knees, eyes daring him to challenge her.

Finally, a name to that face.

“I’m Gojo Satoru, but don’t mind me too much. I’m just a teacher here.” She narrowed her eyes at his words, clearly recognizing the name. However, she just motioned for him to lead the way.

“Sir, how can you say you’re just a teacher? You’re the strongest sorcerer of this generation.” The man, Ishiikawaia, called excitedly.

A fan it seems.

“Kaito, we’re here on business. Save your fangirling for later.” Y/n chided forcing Satoru to hide his smile.

“I don’t mind, I’ll answer any questions you have.” He smiled innocently as he led them further into Jujutsu High's grounds, painfully aware of her stare.

Soon, Yaga and Yuuji came into view.

Why does she have to be in the military?

—

I’m fucked. This is fucked. Why is he here, and why is he him?

You couldn’t quell your thoughts. The man that you had teased and danced with last night was in front of you, and he was none other than Gojo Satoru; the man you are specifically tasked to study. Your fingers itched as you recalled the feeling of his hair. Your hips ached, wanting his strong hands to hold them, and your core throbbed, remembering the warm press of his wet tongue along your neck.

Why why why. Maybe he doesn’t remember me. It’s possible, he hasn’t shown any knowing behavior. But it’s hard to tell with that blindfold.

The others were talking around you, saying their introductions while you were completely lost in your own thoughts.

“Ms. L/N?” His low voice called to you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Yes?” You asked coolly, thanking yourself for the years of practicing to make your features indifferent. You watched as he gave you a slow knowing smile.

Oh, he knows. He definitely knows.

“You’ll come with me and Itadori. He’s my precious student after all.” He smiled at you, and though he came off as aloof, you now knew it was an act.

“Of course. It’s better if someone is there anyways. The more witnesses the better.” You say, deciding you were going to find a new way to tease him. If he was going to subtly poke and prod you, you were going to return the favor.

“W-Witness?” The pink-haired boy, Itadori Yuuji, said. It was clear he was nervous. So you smiled at him, the first smile you showed this group of people.

“Don’t worry. I only have a few questions for you. I understand quite a lot has happened since you became Ryomen Sakuna's vessel. I only wish to have a clearer picture.” You ensured your tone was warm and welcoming. Having the boy scared of you would accomplish nothing.

“Right this way,” Gojo said, leading the three of you away from Kaito and the school's principal, whose name you failed to hear.

“How long have you been in Tokyo?” Gojo asked you, head straightforward as he acted as a staggered buffer between you and his student.

I’m not going to kill the kid.

“Tokyo? I arrived yesterday. As for Japan, I’ve been stationed here for three years. Though I’m mainly based in Okinawa, I travel throughout the continent.” You answered honestly, trying to clip most of his questions in the bud.

He hummed in response, tapping his finger on his chin.

“So you’re not from Japan?” Itadori asked before Gojo could. So you sighed and nodded.

“I am from the States.” You answered and both the boys nodded, as if the picture they were painting of you became clearer.

The three of you entered a wooden room with a desk in its center. Two chairs sat on one side and a single chair decorated the other. You tried to make for the single seat, but Itadori beat you to it. The boy nervously sat down as you and Gojo sat across from him.

“To start,” you smoothed your hands over the table, bringing them in and lacing your fingers together. You tried to push your leg into Gojo’s, but you felt an invisible barrier.

“I’m not here to hurt you. We have no interest in taking your life, for we believe it has value.” You spoke your practiced corporate words, and they still tasted foul in your mouth.

Gojo’s knee brushed yours under the table and you had to hide your shock. Just a moment ago, you tried to do the same thing, but it didn’t connect.

The Infinity then. The report on him did say it was active at all times. So is he purposely dropping it? Or can he touch me but I can’t touch him?

“What do you want to know? I’ll answer any question.” Itadori said, his eyes bright and full of resolve. You felt bad for a moment, having to make him relive his past for you already knew everything based on the reports.

Gojos hand found your knee, squeezing it lightly as if encouraging you.

“Everything,”

—

By the end, Itadori was in tears. You reached across the table and took his hand in yours, giving it a pat for comfort.

“Thank you for being so honest. Do you need anything?” You asked softly, unable to be cold toward the crying young man. Gojo was now rubbing your thigh softly. There was no heat in his touch, just soothing comfort.

“No. Thank you for listening.” He wiped his eyes aggressively, and you drew your hand back, resting it on Gojo’s, entwining your fingers with his.

“Itadori, do you mind if I have a moment with your teacher?” His eyes went wide and Gojo’s hand halted its movement.

Why are both of you so surprised?

“Of course. If he tries anything weird just scream.”

You almost laughed, but you didn’t. You only nodded, your cue for him to exit the room.

Once you couldn’t hear the boy's footsteps, you turned your head toward the white-haired male. You allowed a small smile to tug on your lips, and he returned it with a smirk.

“We meet again, Gojo Satoru.” You say slowly, tasting his name out on your tongue, ensuring to draw out every letter of his name. He smiled further, his hand trailing to your inner thigh, long fingers wrapping around the clothed flesh.

“I must admit, I would have never guessed you’re a high-ranking military official.” He mused, taking his free hand and placing it under your chin, tilting your face upwards.

Crossing your legs to trap his hand between your thighs, you sighed. The warmth of his hand seeped through your pants down to your skin, and you enjoyed every minute of it.

“It’s a small detail. But I could say the same for you. Special-Grade sorcerer born with both the Six-Eyes and Limitless technique. I guess we both kept our identities a secret for a multitude of reasons.” You tapped your finger on the desk, showing the same amount of impatience as you did last night. He chuckled at the sight and grabbed your leg harder.

“Why can I touch you?” You hummed, taking that same finger and trailing it along his sharp jawline. He leaned into your touch as he traced your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Simple, it’s because I want you to.” His low breathy voice caused your heart to skip a beat, which you cursed yourself for.

“Tell me, Y/n. Do you mix work and pleasure?” He asked as he wrapped his hand around your neck. You bit your lip, hiding the small moan from the warm sensation and the sound of your name leaving his lips.

Lowering your eyelashes, you ran your tongue along your bottom lip, ensuring he was watching your every movement.

“Never,” you whispered to him and he smiled, hand tightening around your throat.

“We’ll see about that—“

He pulled away from you, separating your bodies as Kaito and the principal entered the room. Kaito immediately gave you a questioning stare, which you returned with an annoyed one.

“How did your meeting go?” The principal asked you, and you immediately stood and shook his hand.

“Well. Thank you for affording us the opportunity to speak to him.” You said to him gratefully. He nodded his head, being the first to let go of your hand.

“Your partner was explaining to me that you will be helping us with upcoming missions. We will be pleased if you could afford us your skills.” Though his tone was pleasant, it was unyielding. No room for negotiation.

You tightened your smile.

“Of course,”

—

“Come on give me your number~” Satoru called to y/n, who was expertly trying to ignore him. She weaved her way through Jujutsu High’s campus, leaving her partner to stay behind to talk to Yaga. They were walking through the halls that housed the classrooms.

“If you need to communicate with me, you can do so through your principal.” She sighed and he watched as she rolled her shoulders back, as if she was trying to mentally shake him off.

Turning off Infinity, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the classroom, relishing the look of surprise on her face. Placing his hands under her arms he put her on the desk while stepping between her legs, effectively locking her in place.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed at him, though her eyes danced with amusement.

“You’re not leaving this room till you give me your number.” for emphasis, he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled out his phone.

She rolled her eyes but she smiled, shaking her head.

“You’re quite demanding, you know.” she tutted, placing her fingers on his abdomen, slowly walking them up his stomach.

“One of my many charms,” he chirped, suppressing a groan.

“What if I say no, hm?” she mused, looking up at him through dark wispy eyelashes while blinking innocently. His body responded to her touch, tingling where her fingers lightly trailed his clothed skin.

“I’ll make you wish you said yes,” he whispered in a hushed tone, bringing his face closer to hers. Her smell filled his senses, wild gardenia, and white tea. Soft and sweet, entirely intoxicating. Y/n only smirked, slightly tilting her head to the side while her fingers enclosed the high neckline of his jacket, pulling him closer.

“Is that a threat, or a promise?” she purred, lightly brushing her fingers over his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He chuckled then trailed his fingers up her spine, stopping to cup the nape of her neck.

“Neither. It’s a fact.”

Right when he went to kiss her, the door rolled open to reveal a mortified Megumi.

As quick as they could, they untangled themselves. Y/n hopped off the desk, smoothing her pants while Satoru opened his arms wide for his student.

“Megummiiii~!” he cheerily called, running up to his student. Megumi placed up a hand, shaking his head as a blush crept up on his cheeks.

“Not only are you an idiot but you’re a pervert. In a classroom, really? What kind of fantasies do you have playing in that brainless head?” he huffed and Satoru smiled.

“Well, there is this one that I wanted to try it’s–”

“I am going to find the nearest bridge and jump off it.” quickly turning on his heels, he walked away from the scene he just witnessed.

Satoru sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

Shit that was close, if he came in any later I wouldn’t have cared.

“Another precious student?” Y/n asked with a smile, sliding a piece of paper into his hand.

“Yeah, even if he sucks the fun out of everything. What’s this?” he opened the sheet, looking at the numbers written there.

She stepped in front of his vision, went up on her tippy toes, placed a kiss on his cheek, and walked away. He was too stunned to reach out to her. All he could feel was the soft warm press of her lips.

—

“Why were you alone with the head of the Gojo clan? What were you doing?” Kaito asked you as he drove the two of you back to your hotel. You simply turned up the music and looked out the passenger window.

“Hello? Are you just going to ignore me now? Did you fuck him?”

Does he think I am some kind of easy whore? Why does he think I fuck anyone I meet?

“No, I didn’t fuck him. I asked him questions. If you recall, I am to gain information on his strengths and weaknesses.” you said begrudgingly, mad that he was the person you needed to get close to. Not because you didn’t want to get to know him, but because it made you feel gross; like you were using him.

“Right, in bed maybe.” Kaito teased, adding fuel to your fire.

“Listen here you fake blonde piece of shit. If you have a problem say it, then we can take it outside.” you were fed up with his quips. If you needed to beat him bloody for him to stop, you would.

“You that touch starved, y/n? I didn’t know you were that lonely~”

Without warning, you grabbed his earlobe and twisted harshly. Kaito cursed and grabbed the wheel tightly, ensuring to keep the car steady.

“Ow ow ow! Stop it, I am driving are you crazy?!” he cried helplessly while trying to shake your iron grip.

“Oh, you thought because you’re behind the wheel you’d be safe? Nah. Apologize or it’s your pepperoni nipples next.” you twisted his ear harder and he whimpered, nodding his head.

“You’re right! I’m sorry, I won’t say it again!”

You let go of his angry flesh with the rough flick of your wrist, slumping in your seat.

“I want sushi,” you mumbled grumpily.

“Okay? Go get sushi.” he sighed, rubbing his ear. You clicked your tongue.

“You’re paying.”

“Fine.”

—

“Hey! Stop ordering so much food!” Kaito cried as you continued adding things to the cart via the order pad.

“Huh? I can’t hear you.” you teased, finishing up the last bit of your order, holding your hand up for his card. The male sighed and aggressively placed the platinum card in your hand.

This is giving me DejaVu.

“The company card, huh? You sure are brave~” popping the card into the chip slot, you happily kicked your legs.

I love free food.

“We get fixed expenses every month, you know that. Since you’re on this mission they gave us even more.” he sighed, sipping on his beer.

Ding Ding Ding

You looked down at your phone, you received a text from an unknown number.

“You miss me yet?”

You chuckled, ensuring to open the message so he could see you read it, then placed your phone back in your purse.

Let’s see how fast you squirm, Gojo Satoru.

“What are you smiling so creepily about?” Kaito eyed you sidelong and your face dropped. You kicked his shin, becoming increasingly annoyed by his presence.

“I can’t smile?” You quip, sucking on your teeth.

“No, it’s creepy– Ow! Stop kicking me.”

“Well then stop saying useless things.”

Ding Ding Ding

“You ignoring me, Y/n? That’s not very nice, you’re going to make me cry!”

You tried to imagine him crying, but you couldn’t.

“I am eating dinner, I’ll text you later.”

“Dinner? Where? I'll join you.”

“Some sushi restaurant downtown. Come if you dare, Kaito’s company is riveting.”

You dropped him the location of the restaurant, doubting he will even show up.

“Who are you texting?” Kaito asked, still obviously creeped out by you. As he spoke the food was placed on the table. He looked like he was going to cry by the amount of dishes being presented.

It’s not even your money, bastard.

“None of your business,” you chided, picking up your chopsticks and clicking them in his face. He waved a dismissive hand, picking up his own chopsticks while deciding what to eat first.

“Was it Gojo Satoru?” he asked and you sighed, even though he was right he was annoying.

“Why are you asking?” you popped a piece of sushi in your mouth.

“Because he’s right behind you.”

You turned your head so quickly that you nearly choked on your food.

That was way too fast.

Gojo caught your eye and walked up to your table, gracefully sliding in next to you with a smile.

“Hey! I didn’t know you guys were here, you should’ve invited me!” Kaito only raised a brow, clearly not convinced.

“Mhm, order what you want.” he placed the card in Gojo’s large hand. He laughed heartily as he reached across the table, a long arm passing your face as he grabbed the tablet.

You quietly ate your food while feeling dumbstruck. One, you didn’t think he’d show up, two, you didn’t think he’d show up this quickly.

“So, Gojo, what brings you here?” Kaito asked as a piece of tuna sashimi quickly got placed in his mouth after his question.

“Hmm,” Gojo hummed, finishing his order, and placing the tablet back in its original place. As he leaned back into his seat, he brushed his fingers down your arm.

“I wanted to grab a bite to eat, Y/n’s questioning went pretty long after all.” he enclosed his fingers around yours, gently playing with the tips of your fingers.

“You’re on a first-name basis? I didn’t know you two were that close.”

Kaito you bastard.

Gojo laughed lightly, shaking his head.

“Non-Japanese last names are hard for me to pronounce smoothly, so she allowed me to call her by her first name. Is that a problem, Ishiikawaia?” Gojo’s voice turned cold, even causing you to shiver. You eyed him, although if his voice was so cold just now he was smiling brightly.

“N-No, I am sorry.” Kaito decided his beer was more interesting because he downed the whole pint.

Gojo’s food came to the table and you all ate in relative silence.

“Y/n, do you have anything planned after this?” he asked, turning to you as he munched on a Daifuku mochi. You don’t know why, but the sight of this man liking sweets made your heart squeeze.

“No, I don’t. Why?” You say slowly, cocking your head to the side playfully, knowing Kaito was gaping at you.

“I want to show you around Tokyo.” He smirked at you, popping a finger into his mouth, slowly licking the powder off of the digit. You swallowed, throat suddenly feeling dry.

“I think I can fit you into my schedule,” you say sweetly, swirling your finger around the rim of your glass of water. Meanwhile, Kaito couldn’t hide his absurd expression.

“You’re crazy, Y/n. If they hear about this–”

You whipped your head toward your partner, staring him down. He stopped speaking mid-sentence.

“How, exactly will they hear about it? Also, what is this ‘it’ you’re referring to? It seems you forgot about our conversation last night. That’s not the only thing I know, Kai.” you leaned over the table, grabbing his wrist with your hand, narrowing your eyes.

“Go ahead and try me, pretty boy, let’s see how far you’ll get before I crush you.” you heard him gulp as his eyes shook in anger– or maybe fear, it was hard to tell. But only when he nodded you let him go, pushing your chair back with your knees and exited the building.

Warm air hit your face as you stepped outside and noises of the bustling city filled your ears. You weren’t angry, not really. But you’d be damned if the man ranked lower than you in both strength and grade tried to threaten you.

He’s just jealous because his idol has no interest in him.

A sigh escaped your lips, then you felt a hand on your waist. You leaned into his touch, your mind and body already adjusting to sensing him and his unique energy.

“Quite the temper you have,” he beamed down at you and you shrugged, turning to face him.

“I’m not sure what you have planned, but let me get out of this monkey suit.” you want to put your earrings back in your ears, take your hair out of this painfully tight bun, and wear something more comfortable than your formal suit.

Gojo ran his hands over the length of your waist while clicking his tongue.

“I like you in the suit though,” he pouted, earning a humorless laugh from you.

“I have much more flattering clothes, rest assured.” you took his hand and made your way to the vehicle Kaito drove here. It’s a shared car, he didn’t own it. Even though you detested driving in the city, it made you feel good knowing he would have to find a different way back to the hotel.

“You gonna leave him stranded?” Gojo asked as you unlocked the car, sliding in the driver's seat, making adjustments so you could drive comfortably.

“He’s been drinking, it would be irresponsible for me to let him drive.” with a wink, you plucked out your phone and shot him a text stating as much. Then, remembering his phone calls last night, you turned the device off.

Gojo laughed and followed your lead, doing the same to his. You backed out of the small parking lot, a smirk on your face.

“You must like me a lot to do that. You’re an important man after all. What if the world burns down while you’re entertaining me?” you kept your eyes on the road while your left hand gripped the wheel, leaving your right relaxed on the center console. Now that you were alone in a confined space, your heart started to beat a little faster as anticipation settled into your nerves.

“They’ll just have to break down the door and drag me out. I have my priorities in order for today.” his hand traveled to your thigh, rubbing slow circles against the fabric, causing goosebumps to kiss your skin.

“Am I a priority now?” while coming to a stop at a red light, you allowed yourself to look at him. His head was turned to you as that familiar smirk tugged on his lips. Some part of you wished you could see his eyes, so you could read him better, gauge how he was feeling.

“You’ve been on my mind all day, why wouldn’t you be?” you were shocked by his honesty, unable to stop the blush that swept across your cheeks. It deepened even further when he slid his hand between your legs, long fingers nearly brushing the apex of your thighs.

Damn, what am I? A schoolgirl? I wish he would bring his hand a little higher…

The light turned green and you continued to drive, trying to desperately block your dirty thoughts out.

“I am going to take a guess, but you know what my actual mission is, don’t you?” the way he comforted you earlier, he read your body language. You didn’t mean to, but you showed signs of knowing too much.

“Tsk, talking about work with me during our off time. But to answer your question, yes. Your superiors have been wanting to get dirt on me for a while, trying to create a countermeasure to detain me if the day comes that I go crazy.” you nodded your head, mulling over his words, trying to formulate a response.

“If that day comes, I’ll happily put in my resignation and flee to Hawaii.” you sigh, remembering the soft white sand beaches and warm oceans. You could almost feel the salty sea breeze kissing your skin.

“I’ll personally seek you out once the damage is done.” he squeezed your thigh and you laughed. A full, real laugh. One that made your lungs gasp for air and your stomach hurts. You tried so hard to keep your eyes focused as you turned into the hotel parking garage.

“What’s so funny~” he mused, laughter now tickling his voice.

You parked the car and leaned against the seat, tilting your head back as you let your laughter subside.

“I’m sorry. It’s just the idea of you seeking me out after decimating Japan is silly. What importance do I hold?” your hands laced over your stomach, trying to hold your laughs in at the absurd thought.

“I thought I was being romantic,” He joined you in laughter, and you both sat in the car for a while, simply trying to catch your breath. Once you could speak normally again, you eyed him, many questions lingering on the tip of your tongue.

“Are we going somewhere? Or should I dress comfortably?” he raises his eyebrows. You try not to chuckle. You knew what his intent was, for it was obvious last night when he was grinding his hard-on against your ass and again today when he cornered you in the classroom.

“Hm, what do you want, y/n?”

Ah, making it into my decision.

“That depends on what your intent is. You hardly strike me as the committed type.” you run your finger over the length of the steering wheel idly, trying not to get lost in thought.

“And you are? You seem to enjoy crushing men under that pretty little foot of yours.” you smile at his words, shrugging your shoulders.

“I like knowing what makes people tick. I don’t have a partner due to my field of work. Too unpredictable, too dangerous. I can make enemies quickly, and that would put any loved one in danger. People… They’re fragile. I’ve seen too many friends I’ve cared for die.” your words suddenly felt too real, and that weight on your shoulders returned.

“You’re a sorcerer and a strong one at that. I can see your cursed energy, it’s like an endless well. How’d you end up in the military?” a question poised with ease, but in truth, it’s a loaded gun, pointed right at you.

You shook your head, pointing to the little black box right behind the rearview mirror and then to your ear. He nodded with understanding and you both exited the car, walking in silence to your hotel room.

“Wait out here, I’ll be out in a minute.” you entered the space, but he followed you in. You narrowed your eyes toward him and he held his hands up in defense.

“Dress comfortably, and pack an overnight bag. Or a few days, depending on how much you enjoy my company.” his voice was filled with pure confidence and it made you scoff. Men usually did what you told them to, not the other way around. It was strange, having the shift in your usual dynamic, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

“Alright. You’re helping me though. There's a plastic travel bag in the bottom drawer on the right side of the bathroom. Please put all my skincare and haircare items in there.” you made your way to the closet, where you spent your morning meticulously ironing and hanging up your clothes while waiting for the clock to strike 5.

“Why do you have so much skincare?!” he called from the bathroom and you giggled.

“Taking care of your skin is important!” you call back, picking out an outfit of sweatpants and a black t-shirt while grabbing a pair of pajamas and two pairs of suits. You didn’t know how long your stay with him would last, but you wanted to be a little prepared.

“But 20 different products?!” he shouted again like a child, and you could only smile, placing your clothes into a backpack. With a peek over your shoulder, you hurriedly got undressed, changing out your undergarments for something a little more lacey and sexy, then shoving your comfy clothes on. You took your hair out of the bun as your face was burning and you were cursing at yourself.

He’s just another guy, why am I so flustered?

Quickly, you shoved your feet into your sneakers and placed your dress shoes into the small compartment of your travel backpack. Suddenly feeling grateful to your past self for planning accordingly. Additionally, you added your makeup kit and a few different sets of underwear to the pack.

Making your way to the bathroom, you leaned against the door frame. You watched as Gojo neatly placed and organized your items, careful to buffer each glass bottle between a plastic one. He stuck his tongue out lightly as if he was deeply concentrated.

“Do you really need all this?” he sighed, noticing your presence as he moved on to your hair items. You smiled, mostly to yourself, as he placed each item out neatly onto the counter, deciding what to put in the bag first.

“You should see my makeup kit.” you could’ve sworn his face turned pale at your words.

“Please tell me you’re not bringing it,” he whined as he finished packing your hygiene kit. You felt oddly happy knowing he took so much care in ensuring your products wouldn’t get ruined. You walked up behind him and slid your hands around his waist, pleased to find his barrier wasn’t up. Due to the height difference, you placed your head against his upper back, taking in his scent.

“If you want, we can have a little skincare date~” you teased, swaying lightly from side to side. He rubbed your arms, humming as he allowed you to move his body.

“You mean you would pamper me?” he asked sweetly, turning around in your arms so he could face you. You gave him your kindest smile. One truly only a few people saw. You thought that this man was just a womanizer, but the truth is he’s very complex and sweet. You watched as a light blush kissed his cheeks, which only made you smile wider.

“If that’s what you wish, then of course I will. Again, what we do all depends on your intent, Gojo.”

“Satoru.” he corrected and you nodded.

“What would you like to do, Satoru?” you splayed your palms flat against his back, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. Part of you wanted him to fuck you, of course. But the other part of you wanted to have a conversation, to maybe get to know him. It had been so long since you actually bared your soul with someone.

He took your face in his hands, fingers lovingly rubbing circles into your scalp, causing you to melt into his fingers.

“I think we shouldn’t plan anything and see where things go. You are…” he paused for a moment, cocking his head to the side as he considered his words.

“Enticing, tempting, alluring. I am drawn to you, for one reason or another. I think I would like to know what makes you tick, y/n.” his words were so soft, it was like they were caressing your mind and easing your wariness. Your smile turned sad, memories of your past flashing in your mind.

“I may not be as pretty as you believe me to be,” you whispered, almost to yourself. He stroked his thumbs over your cheeks, a soothing comfort.

“We have all done things we’re not proud of, but it doesn’t take away from your value. What you do going forward is what matters.” you half laughed, pressing your head to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“I thought you were an idiot,” you mumble against him and he chuckles, the sound vibrating deep in his warm chest.

“We all wear masks,”

—

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but a massive gated property with gardens certainly wasn’t it.

You didn’t hide your shocked expression as he gave you a quick tour of his home. You couldn’t believe you were still in Tokyo, where the buildings are so cramped together and you could see into your neighbor's property just by peering out your window. Here, his land stretched for miles before you came to the street, which was relatively deserted.

I know he’s the head of the Gojo clan, but being handsome, powerful, and rich seems like a massive slap in the face.

You eyed the man out of the corner of your eye, silently cursing him for having been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

You two had made it two his room, which was neat and clean with simple solid colors of white, light gray, and sky blue. The bed stood at the center, and though it was massive, it hardly took up space in the room. You wanted to cry. How much money did this guy even have?

“Why do you look so shocked?” he laughed at you, taking your bag from your hand and quickly locating your hygiene and makeup kit.

“I– I just wasn’t expecting this, I guess?” you sighed, following his lead and taking your clothes out of the bag. You laid them neatly on a chair in the corner of the room, taking in the TV and ceiling mirror. You quirked up a brow.

You’re one of those, are you?

When he exited the bathroom, you gave him a disgusted look and pointed your finger to the ceiling.

He shrugged nonchalantly, taking your pointed finger and dragging you into the bathroom. You were confused for a moment, but then you noticed he neatly laid out your skin care.

“Eager, are you?” you said through a laugh and he clapped his hands together, rubbing them excitedly.

“Work your magical skincare on me!” while smiling at him, you tutted as you took in his clothes. He still wore his sorcerer uniform and that simply won’t do.

“Your clothes are no good,” you sigh dramatically, hands finding the zipper of his jacket and immediately undoing it. He wore a white button-down shirt under his coat, which only made you more annoyed. You didn’t want to get water on his clothes.

“You know, if you wanted to see me shirtless you could’ve just said so. Though the enthusiasm is appreciated.” his nimble fingers undid the buttons of his shirt exposing his toned body to you. Your retort died in your throat at the sight.

His chest was a perfect mix of soft and sculpted. Whereas his arms and abs were all muscle, strong, and lithe. You followed the dips and contours of his body, looking at his adonis belt, which dipped even lower. Your mouth went impossibly dry.

Damn, this man is too attractive.

“You like what you see, y/n?” he teased you with your own words.

With a sly smile, you look up to him.

“Of course, but,”

You reach your fingers up, dipping them under his blindfold, and push it back. Using it as an effective hairband. He blinked at you with his beautiful eyes, long white eyelashes fluttering against his skin. Yet again, his beauty struck you. Honestly, you felt as if it outshined your own. He was like a Renaissance painting; timeless.

“I like seeing these a lot more.” you hummed happily, letting yourself get lost in his surprised stare for a moment. He gave you a lop-sided smile, one that was real and unpracticed.

“You really aren’t like most women,” you cutely shrug your shoulders and turn to the sink, turning the water on to a warm temperature.

“Most women don’t know what they want,” you state, grabbing a nearby chair and sitting Satoru down in it, trying your best not to eye fuck his body. Which was hard, considering he was shirtless and sitting with his legs spread wide.

Returning to the sink, you wet your hands and place your cleanser on your fingers. Aggressively rubbing your palms together you create a lather. Then you face Satoru and work that lather into his skin.

“What is it you want?” He asked slowly, eyes closing as he leaned into your soft touch. You traced your fingers under his jaw, working your magic down his neck.

“To do what I want and protect my people. That’s it. Everything else is secondary.” you halted your cleaning to wet a hand towel with water, ringing out most of the liquid, then began to wipe away the cleanser.

“You don’t want to get married? Or have children?” you considered his words, grabbing a hydrating mask and slowly applying it to his skin.

“If I fall in love, I fall in love. If marriage is a result of that so be it. As for children, I don’t know. If they inherit my gift, then they’ll be sought out and used just like I have been. I don’t want that for anyone.” you spoke honestly as you finished applying the mask to his face. He opened his eyes, looking at you intensely.

“Why are you working for the government?” his hands found your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your muscles, relaxing your tension. With slight hesitation, you place your feet on either side of his hips and sit down on his lap, careful to avoid his sex. His eyes light up with amusement, but you ignore it.

“I can speak 4 different languages, which was already a desirable trait for them. Second is that I possess the ability to shape my cursed energy and turn it into solid matter. If I know what it looks like and its rough function, I can create it. The catch is once I stop funneling my energy into it, it disappears. Third is that I can apply the Reversed Cursed Technique to others and heal their wounds.” you closed your eyes, dreading the next words to come out of your mouth.

“Once I finished getting my Ph.D. in Psychiatry, I published my theory on cursed spirits and how I think I could curate a medicine that normal civilians could take to help limit the number of curses being born into this world. It became widely popular on the sorcerer's end, and the next thing I knew, my brother was being held by the military. The only way they were going to let him go is if I signed a contract to work independently for them as a Foreign Affairs Investigator.” Satoru rubbed your arms and a false sense of safety washed over you, giving you the courage to continue.

“As soon as I signed that damned contract, they killed him. I have done… Some pretty fucked up things for them. I have the rest of this year left, then I am free.” finally, you allowed yourself to meet his eyes. Deep blue wells stared at you with such sincerity your heart cracked at the sight. For some reason, it made you emotional, so you laughed, lightly running your fingers through his hair.

“That’s why you don’t get close to anyone.” not trusting your voice you nod your head.

“You’re the same as me, then.”

Satoru tilted his head back, exposing his long neck to you as he began telling you the story of his youth. You listened intently, gently massaging his shoulders, giving him the same comfort he gave you. Your heart broke when he was finished. You both had been through so much but at completely different hands.

“Do you miss him?” you asked, not giving him the fake sympathy bullshit people gave you.

“Yeah, you?” his voice sounded raw.

“Every day,” you whispered honestly. How long had it been since you were able to talk about him?

Playing with the ends of his silken hair, you pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“It’s time to wash off the mask” You forced some life into your voice as you peeled yourself away from his warmth. Bashfully, you reached your hands out to him. It was silly really, your small frame pulling him out of the seat. But he happily placed his hands in yours, allowing you to lead him to the sink and gently wash the mask off his skin.

“Are we done now?” he asked, some humor returning to his tone as he patted his skin dry with a towel.

“Not even close. We have toner, serum, essence, eye cream, and then moisturizer– Don’t give me that look” You clicked your tongue, going to reach for your toner but he caught your wrist. Eyebrows knitting together, you eyed him suspiciously.

“No more,” he pulled you into him, his bare chest coming very close to your face. You felt your face become hot so you avoided his gaze, mind becoming slightly hazy.

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, trying your best to look anywhere that wasn’t him.

“What’s not fair, hm? Use your words.” Satoru’s playful voice coaxed, causing you to blush even harder. His hands played with the hem of your oversized T-Shirt, long fingers lightly brushing your flesh.

“You can’t be perfect all the time, it’s not fair.” he laughed at your words, head tilting back in the process. You rolled your eyes, trying to force yourself to be annoyed but it was an impossible task.

“You just heard about how imperfect I am, y/n. You’re just easy to tease.”

Cocky bastard.

“So are you,” you retort, and he smirks. His eyes tell you to bring it on.

Oh, challenging me, are you?

In a swift movement, you grab the blindfold that held back his hair and wrap it around his neck, pulling him down to your level, and pressing your lips to his. His muffled surprise gets swallowed by you, and you melt in his sweet warmth.

Taking his bottom lip between your teeth, you slowly pull back, enjoying the deep blush on his cheeks.

“See?” you say, taking his blindfold around your pointer finger and swinging it in circles triumphantly. He smiles, hot breath kissing your cheek as he brings his hands under your thighs pulling you up. On instinct, you wrap your legs around his waist, as your hands grip his shoulders.

“H-Hey, what’re you–?”

Satoru pressed his lips to yours. The soft pressure threatened to consume your senses as his tongue claimed your mouth, dancing and swirling your own, the taste of him coating your tongue. Your lips moved softly against each other, the pressure growing with each press of his lips and the lick of his tongue. You were solely lost in the feeling of him– the press of your chest against his, the erection that lightly rubbed against your growing heat, and the tantalizing taste of him making you want more.

He brought you to the bed, easily towering over you as he pressed your back to the mattress, hips lightly grinding into you making you gasp. Dropping his blindfold, you tangle your fingers in his hair as his hands slide under your shirt. Satoru ghosts his fingers over your stomach, even the slightest touch makes your body jump. You take his tongue further into your mouth, sucking the muscle, earning yourself a satisfied groan from him which you hungrily swallow.

He pulls away from your kiss, lips swollen and wet as he stares down at you. You get lost in his eyes, finding it hard to breathe under his gaze. For a moment, you two stay like that, drinking in each other's features as your chests are heaving.

“You’re beautiful, y/n.” his fingers traced the planes of your face, causing fiery tingles to travel down your spine. Your eyes widened. It wasn’t the first time you heard those words. But coming from him, it felt different. It felt meaningful.

You smile, placing your hand on his chest to push him back against the bed. You knew he let you, but you didn’t care. Straddling him, you let his hands come up and under your shirt, dragging it off your frame, partially exposing your chest.

You let him explore your skin for a moment. His eyes were filled with wonder as he traced the lines of your tattoos. You tried to control the shivers that ran down your body, due to his fingers lighting small trails of fire against your desperate skin. His hands found your breasts, thumbs rubbing your clothed nipples, making you moan as the feeling traveled to your core.

Unable to control yourself, you press your lips to his, grinding your hips down against him to relieve some of that growing tension between your thighs. You bite his lip, greedily enjoying the way his thick member rubbed against your throbbing clit. His hands unclasped your bra, allowing your heavy breasts to fall free from their cage.

His hands grasp your breasts, fingers expertly rolling and teasing the peaked rosy buds. He lets out a satisfied moan as you grip his hair tightly. The feeling of his calloused hands on you causes your blood to sing, sending pleasurable waves down your spine. You remove your lips from him, planting sloppy, wet kisses against his jaw then trailing them down his neck, sucking on the supple flesh.

Taking your tongue and licking it along the expanse of his neck, you smile into his skin as he shudders, bucking his hips up into you. Ever-so-gently, you run your teeth over the shell of his ear, then pull back, blowing cool air on the hot trail of saliva you left on him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, dipping his head down to take your breast in his mouth.

You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, the feeling of his warm mouth suddenly on your skin caused your knees to go weak. Your body trembled as he licked and nipped at your nipple, pleasure going straight to the pit in your stomach. He rubbed his hard cock against your clothed sex with just the right pressure, all you could do was suck on the soft skin of his neck, losing yourself in the pleasure he was giving you.

“Mm, Satoru” you breathe heavily into his flesh, pulling away from his dangerous ministrations, staring down at the smirking male. He licked his swollen lips, and brought his hand to your face, gripping your cheeks.

“Say my name again,” he demanded, free hand snaking around your body, gripping your ass, shaking it against him.

“Satoru,” you moaned his name and his eyes darkened, pupils dilating so much it eclipses the blue.

Your desire was reflected in his eyes and he flipped your bodies, hands coming to the waistband of your sweats pulling them off of you in a swift motion. You returned the favor, suddenly hating any and all barrier’s separating your bodies. You made to remove his boxers, but he caught your hand, placing it high above your head as he reclaimed your lips.

“I’m going to take my time with you, y/n,” he whispered hotly against you. You couldn’t help the whine that escaped your throat. You were quickly becoming impatient, with the loss of contact between your legs and breasts, you wanted more. You needed more.

“See,” he pressed his lips to your jaw, hot tongue trailing the bone.

“If I fuck you now, I won’t be able to stop.” Taking your ear in his mouth, he licked your lobe, tongue swirling around it lightly.

Satoru trailed his hand up your leg, fingers finding your knee and spreading your legs for him. He continued trailing his sinful fingers north, coming so close to your heated sex that you nearly cried– you wanted him to touch you. His lips traveled down your neck, nipping at the tender flesh until he found your collarbone.

“I am going to make you feel so good, that my name is the only thing that leaves your lips.” the sheer promise in his words made your eyes roll back and your body tense in anticipation. He continued kissing his way south, ensuring to leave love marks along the way. You tried to move your hips to meet his hand, but you found you met an invisible barrier.

Huh?

You tried to grab his face, but your hands met nothing. His eyes met yours as he hovered over your sex. You saw his eyes light up with amusement when you tried to touch him again, displeased to find that he put up his barrier.

“No touching, or I stop,” he warned, pressing a kiss to your clothed pussy. You felt jolts shock your hips from the contact, whimpering from the slight release.

Releasing you hadn’t answered him, you nodded your head.

“That won’t do, princess. Tell me with your words.” another kiss, this time to your inner thigh. His hands ran the length of your long torso and then settled on your hips, holding your trembling body still for him. You were dizzy, you knew you needed to speak, but it was hard. The thought of even trying to formulate a sentence made your eyebrows knit together.

“I won’t touch you,” you bite your bottom lip harshly, feeling embarrassed. You were so worked up and he barely did anything to you. Your nerves were on high alert, you were breathing heavily, but more than anything you craved him.

“Good girl,”

The praise made you moan happily, distracting you when he ripped your panties off with one hand. You were about to protest, but he licked a long stripe up your entrance. Your back arched from the sudden pleasure as your hands gripped the sheets. You peered down at him and he was smiling up at you from between your legs. The sight alone made your walls clench.

“You’re so wet for me, y/n.” pulling his head back, he stared at your dripping pussy, marveling at the way the liquid spilled out of you down to your ass.

“Maybe I don’t need to prep you too much, hm?” he hummed, sticking his tongue into your cunt causing you to mewl. He swirled the muscle in you, moaning as you coated his tongue. The light pressure drove you mad, making you tilt your head back, as small soft moans escaped your lips.

“I– please don’t stop,” you pleaded, and he rewarded you by flattening his tongue against you, licking all the way up to your needy clit. Your legs began to tremble as he devoured you. Warm, wet mouth wrapping around your bundle of nerves sucking as his tongue flicked. The amount of pressure he applied was frighteningly perfect, adjusting with every lick and suck, causing your core to tighten.

“You taste so fucking good,” he playfully nipped your clit and you cried, half shouting his name as the feeling shot right through you, settling in your firey stomach.

“Fuck, just like that, keep moaning for me, baby.” his words were the only thing grounding you to reality, and you happily obliged him wanting nothing more than the promise of sweet release.

Your feet were hot, toes curling as sharp tingles attacked your arches. Your hands and legs were shaking violently from both restraint and the ridiculous amount of pleasure you were receiving. You were panting heavily, eyes fixated on the ceiling mirror, watching him give you his utmost attention.

He ran his hand up your abdomen and roughly grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him as he shoved two fingers in your mouth.

“Suck,” he breathed into you, flattening his tongue against your clit and roughly shaking his head. You moaned heatedly against his fingers, taking them further into your mouth, letting them travel down your esophagus. You licked his flesh as you would if it was his cock, hollowing out your cheeks and coating his skin with your thick saliva.

Satoru pulled his head back from your heated sex to sweep his arm under your legs, forcing them up and over your head, folding you like paper, putting you on full display for him. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and you gasped for air while moving your hands to grip your knees.

“Mm,” Satoru hummed, rubbing and scissoring his fingers together, watching your stringy saliva dance on his skin. With his free hand, he gave your ass an appreciative slap. The pain went straight to your groin and you mewled, nails digging into your flesh.

“You want me to keep going?” he asked, lips wet with you and his voice deliciously seductive. He placed a kiss on the crease of your inner thigh and sex as his fingers, wet with your saliva, played with your throbbing entrance. You whimpered, of course you wanted him to, and you knew he knew talking was hard for you.

“Ah. Fuck… Yes.” you panted out, finding it hard to focus on your words, when all you could think about was the feeling of his fingers teasing you. You were completely and utterly at his disposal, like a loyal dog willing to do anything for a treat.

“Talk to me baby, tell me what you want. You want me to fuck you with my fingers, or my mouth?” he purred, giving your clit a light flick, making you cry.

“I– Both. I want both. Please, please…” Tears pricked your eyes, your body was so on edge, so overstimulated that it didn’t know what to do. Your mind couldn’t grasp the situation, it was like your brain was short-circuited and all it could think of was his fingers, fucking you nice and deep.

“God you’re so fucking hot when you beg,”

Without warning, he pressed his fingers into you and returned his mouth to your hardened clit. You had to squeeze your eyes shut from the feeling as your walls clenched around his digits tightly. He licked you vigorously as he curled his long fingers, pumping your pussy, stretching you out for him.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you moaned, biting your lip to try to contain your sobs. Your orgasm was approaching and every muscle in your body tightened, preparing for that crash. Satoru’s hand came to your ass, gripping it tightly as he shook it, the sensation heightening the pleasure he was giving you.

“Satoru, I’m–”

He slapped your ass, shaking his head.

“Not until I tell you,” he warned and you clenched your walls around him hard. Tears ran down your face as your whole body shook violently. It was all so overwhelming, all you wanted was release, but it was as if his words were law, and your body obeyed obediently.

Unable to control your hands, you gripped his strong shoulders, nails digging into his skin creating crescent moon craters.

“Please, I, ah, fuck. Please, Toru’, I can’t” Your vision was just beginning to go black, and he completely backed off of you.

No!

Unable to support your body, you fell on the mattress, your legs bouncing lightly as your whole body shook. Quickly, you propped yourself on your elbows, looking at him like you were about to set him on fire.

“Why?” you breathed, shakily coming up onto your knees, grabbing his smug face with your small hands. He smiled further, turning his face to kiss your palm as he removed his boxers. You let your eyes fall for a second, pleased to see his angry cock spring against his stomach, but it didn’t ease your anger.

“You’re so obedient, y/n.” he didn’t answer your question, instead his hands found your hips, pulling you on top of his body. You immediately, tightened your muscles, refusing to let your core rub him. His hands snaked around to your ass, rubbing and gripping your plump flesh appreciatively.

“I was so close, why didn’t you let me–” your words died, eyes falling on his as you became entirely consumed by his gaze. You almost forgot how angry you were, almost…

Placing your hands on either side of his face, you burned your gaze into him, earning yourself an award-winning smile and a laugh to match. A pout fell on your lips, but you couldn’t help but laugh too.

His hands came up to caress your face and you leaned into his touch, letting some over your edge melt away.

“I’m sorry, but I’m selfish.” he kissed you, deep and slow, tongue dancing with yours pulling you deeper into him. You dropped your weight, hissing when your slick entrance rubbed against his cock. He sucked on your tongue, hiding a gruntled groan which made you smile.

Hesitantly, you ground your hips against him, your body still unimaginably sensitive. His hands found your hair, tangling in your soft strands, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

Still lost in his dizzying kiss, you trailed your hand down his body, stopping only when your fingers wrapped around his cock. He bit your bottom lip, a moan escaping his mouth as you pumped him slowly, thumb rubbing over his precum, using it to wet the head.

You pulled back from the kiss, grabbing his face with your free hand as you positioned your throbbing pussy over his cock.

“I’m also selfish,”

You slowly lowered your body, lower lip quivering when the tip pushes past that first ring, the stretch already feeling too good. Even though you wanted to close your eyes and savor the full feeling you were slowly giving yourself, you enjoyed seeing his expression more.

His eyes were heavy and hazy, as his swollen lips were parted in an ‘o’, watching your walls swallow him. You drank him in, relishing in the small whimper he let out when you accepted all of him, letting yourself sit and adjust to his thickness. Satoru slightly brought his hips up, truly giving you all of him and you cursed. He went so deep in you, you were being stretched deliciously as you were feeling full; complete.

Placing your hands on his chest, you slowly rose your body up, almost letting him come out of you, then you sank back down.

“F-Fuck,” Satoru cursed, his head falling back as his hands gripped your waist, assisting you in setting your pace.

At first, you slowly ground against him, enjoying every inch that filled you. But you both began to grow impatient as you brought your feet beneath you, picking up your pace and bouncing up and down. Satoru met your every thrust with his own, angling himself so he wouldn’t hit your cervix but that he was deep enough to make you tremble.

You ignored the burn in your legs, the only thing you cared about was driving the two of you over the edge, to feel that sweet release crash over your body.

“You look so good on top, y/n. You take my fucking dick so well, fuck.”

He brought his hands to your ass, gripping the flesh tightly as he assisted your movements, alleviating some of the lactic acid out of your legs. You moaned helplessly, the pace you set was brutal, causing your breasts to bounce against your chest, each drop bringing you just a little closer to the finish line.

“Fuck just like that baby.” Satoru encouraged you, giving you a new sense of purpose as you threw in a light roll to your hips. You both shuddered, for you stimulated him more and he hit that lovely spongey spot that connected right to your clit.

“S-Satoru–” You bit your lip as your stomach began clenching, your orgasm threatening to wash over you. You were panting so heavily you were afraid you were going to pass out, but you continued fucking him due to his soft moans of your name filling your ears.

“That’s right, be a good girl and cum on my cock.” he lifted his head, watching your bodies meet over and over again. Your toes curled, and that pit in your stomach was so tight, everything began to feel so good.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. Go ahead, use me to feel good.”

Satoru’s words were your undoing.

You came hard all around him. Your walls spasming, clenching, and unclenching, drawing out pleasurable waves of white-hot fire throughout your entire body. Satoru came too, you felt his cock throb inside you and he held your hips down, spilling his warm seed deep inside your pussy. Your entire body was shaking uncontrollably and you couldn’t see a damn thing, if it wasn’t for his strong hands steadying you, you would’ve fallen over.

The room was filled with your mixed pants. You rubbed his arms and he rubbed your jelly-like legs, a silent comfort you gave to each other. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, simply just trying to catch your breaths and let the heat ebb from your blood.

But it didn’t. You were still grossly horny and he was still painfully hard, deep inside your wet warmth.

“You’re too good at that,”

He finally said, brushing some of the hair out of your face, hand tracing the contours of your chest. You smiled at his words, leaning down shakily and pressing a soft kiss against his cheek.

“Mm, I could say the same about you,” you murmured dreamily into him, earning yourself a chuckle.

“Oh baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.” You pulled your head back, meeting the challenge of his eyes with your own.

“Show me then,” His cock twitched at your words, making you smirk. Slowly, he eased himself out of you. You allowed your back to hit the mattress whereas he padded off the closet in his room.

You shifted anxiously, feeling some of his seed spill between your legs. Curiosity getting the better of you, you looked over to where Satoru was and he was walking toward you with ropes.

Oh.

He sat at the edge of the bed, a sudden serious expression on his face when he looked at you.

“Let’s make a safe word,” gently, he took your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles. You shifted so you could look at him and take his face in your hands. You could see he was anxious – afraid. Perhaps he’s gone too far in the past, but you weren’t going to pry.

“Hm let’s see… I think pineapple will do. However,” you paused to press a kiss to his lips.

“I think you’ll find I don’t break easily.” he smiled into your kiss, tongue running along the swell of your bottom lip. You bit his tongue playfully, laughing when he gave you a surprised yelp.

Satoru laid your body down, lips teasing yours, as his hands found one wrist, beginning to tie a rope around it. Soon he repeated the motion to your other wrist and he pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

He smiled down at you then removed himself from your body to tie the ends of the ropes to separate ends of the headboard, rendering you helpless. Once he was done, he plucked his blindfold off the bed and smirked down at you, eyes raking over your figure.

“Look at you,” he sighed appreciatively, finger ghosting over your torso. You shivered, goosebumps decorating your skin due to your body being sensitive from your previous orgasm. His hand then wrapped around your cheeks, forcing your eyes to meet his possessive stare.

“Mine,” he whispered, nails lightly digging into your skin.

“Yours,” you answered, familiar heat pooling in your stomach.

Satoru smiled and then placed the blindfold over your eyes, filling your world with black. You couldn’t see anything. All you could do was listen to the sound of your anxious breaths and pounding heart. With a tug, you tried pulling on your restraints, rope rubbing against the tender flesh of your wrists.

“I have to admit,” Satoru’s low voice purred, finger swirling around your belly button, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin.

“When I met you last night, I wanted nothing more than to do this.” his warm hands ran the length of your arms, making you shudder. You were sensitive, too sensitive.

“See, I thought about tying you up and fucking you till you apologized for teasing me. But,” he dragged his finger up your entrance, pressing the warm digit down on your clit. You had to chew on your bottom lip to stop the cry from escaping your throat.

“I think you’re just as bad as me. Too much stamina, too bored, never satisfied.” that same finger gently worked your bundle of nerves, slowly coaxing it out of its hood.

“If you’re good and do as you’re told, I’ll reward you and let you cum. If you don’t,” he pulled his finger away, making you whimper.

“Then I'll bring you close, over and over again until you’re crying and begging me to stop.” he spread your legs wide and you heard him suck in his breath. Everything was heightened, just the feeling of his hands on your thighs felt like fire.

“Use your words, baby,” he prodded your entrance with his tip and you moaned, your body already begging to have him fill you.

“I’ll do as I am told,” You promised, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Good girl,”

He entered you in one swift movement, tearing a curse from your throat. Satoru didn’t give you any adjustment time as he pulled his hips back and snapped them right back into you, causing you to wrap your fingers around the rope, hanging on for dear life.

You could truly feel him now. Your senses have been heightened, and since your legs weren’t doing the work you felt like you could feel every vein that ran his length. He stretched and filled you, creating that satisfying friction that made your walls clench around his cock. You felt the bounce of your breasts and the slap of his balls on your ass. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and you were a moaning mess, filling the room with your voice and obscene wet noises.

“Your pussy takes my cock so well,” he praised, grabbing your knee and throwing it over his shoulder. You shuddered, at this angle, he was hitting even deeper in you causing tears to prick your eyes. The rope began to burn the flesh of your palms, but you ignored it entirely– completely lost in the feeling of him railing the absolute fuck out of you.

“Aw, y/n don’t hide your pretty noises. I want you to cry for me,” for emphasis, he sped up his pace and thumbed your clit. His name left your lips in prayer and you felt like a nuclear bomb was building inside your stomach. Every muscle was tense but loose at the same time. You couldn’t think, you can’t breathe. Tears wet the blindfold obscuring your vision, and you were grateful for the fabric.

“Fuck. You’re fucking me so fucking good,” you praised him between ruthless thrusts, tightening your leg down against his shoulder. His thumb on your clit was making you see stars, it felt so good but it was also overwhelming.

“Yeah? You like taking my dick like a slut?” he asked, taking your leg off his shoulder and then placing both your feet against his chest. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the way he folded you, hitting that spot deep inside your pussy.

“Y-Yes!” you scream, body shaking violently as you started to become incredibly hot.

“Yes what, y/n? I told you to use your words.”

Suddenly his fingers were in your mouth and down your throat, preventing you from speaking.

“Mmph. I–” You tried you speak, but you felt saliva pool down your chin. Satoru remove his other hand from your clit and you whimpered from the loss of contact, that promise of pleasure leaving with it.

Fuck.

“I told you to use your words, baby,” he sighed, slowing down his movements, pressing a kiss to your knee. Then your legs were off his shoulders along with his cock and fingers. You were completely disorientated, not knowing what to do with yourself because you were stuck and blind.

“On your knees,”

You moved to his command, awkwardly scooting back on the bed till you had enough space to sit on your knees. You felt his hand in your hair, tightly pulling on your strands to tilt your head up.

“What’d you do wrong?” he asked, slapping something warm against your lips. You ran your tongue against your bottom lip, discerning it was his cock due to the taste of your mixed pleasure.

“I didn’t use my words,” you bit your lip, controlling the urge to take him in your mouth. He tugged on your hair, making you release your lip.

“I’m going to use your pretty mouth till you learn your lesson, understand?” his voice was so low and seductive, it went straight to your groin, making you shift slightly.

“Yes, I understand.”

Satoru let go of your hair to grab your face, forcing your mouth open. You made a show of poking your tongue out, a sign that you wanted him. You hear him suck in air, then his warmth entered your mouth and you fully tasted your combined lust.

Moaning around him, you hollowed out your cheeks, swirling your tongue around his head. You moved your neck forward, swallowing more of his length, choking slightly as he slid down your esophagus. Satoru placed his hand around your throat, feeling himself go down your throat.

You slurped and choked on him, moving your head violently up and down, adding a roll to your motion for more friction. His soft moans filled your ears, giving you the motivation to please him, sucking harder towards the head, sliding your tongue into the slit, tasting him. You couldn’t breathe, not really. You tried inhaling every time you pulled your head back far enough, but Satoru only pushed his hips forward, forcing you to take him back in again.

“Mm, I love seeing you on your knees for me.” You moaned at his praise, picking up your pace as tears streamed down your face, blindfold now soaked.

“Just like that baby, you’re doing so good.” you could hear that his voice was becoming more strained and you felt his cock tighten in your mouth, base twitching with every suck.

Then his hands were in your hair, pushing his entire length down your throat making your nose come into contact with his stomach. He came into your mouth violently, cock twitching in your mouth. The salty yet sweet taste of him coated your tongue and you moaned, letting him know that you were pleased. He rubbed loving circles into your scalp as he stayed there for a moment, letting himself come down from his high.

“Good girl,” he breathed, pulling his cock out of your mouth, allowing you to swallow his seed while greedily taking air back into your starved lungs.

He hummed and his warm finger traced your hot, swollen lips. You coughed lightly, but smiled up at him, or where you assumed he was.

“Time for your reward, y/n. Turn around and grab the headboard.” You blindly turned around and he guided your hands to the headboard. You became instantly grateful because some of the bite from the rope eased.

You felt Satoru shift, then there was warm air being breathed on your heat as his hair tickled your thighs.

“Sit on my face baby, and don’t hide your noises.”

“O-okay, I won’t” you promise, feeling shy.

Your legs were already shaking, the memory of earlier playing in your head as you slowly lowered yourself to his face. You held back some of your weight, fearful of suffocating him. But his tongue entered your cunt and he grabbed your hips, forcing your full weight down, nose swiping your clit.

You moaned loudly, fingers gripping the headboard as Satoru wasted no time in pleasing you. He grabbed your ass, finger playing with your asshole as he tongue fucked you, shaking his head so his nose stimulated your clit. The tension left your body and you became a puddle.

“Satoru, mm, fuck,” words were impossible to describe what you were feeling. It was due to not being able to see and the earlier intensity. Everything felt so good, it felt right. Satoru slapped your ass, making your back arch and your toes curl.

You pressed your forehead against the fabric of the headboard, moaning and cursing as you allowed yourself to surrender to him. You wanted to touch him, to see his face, but you couldn’t and it was driving you mad. All you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and feel.

You could feel your orgasm approach, that earlier bomb getting ready to explode in the pit of your stomach. Your body was shaking so much that you were funneling all your strength into the headboard, trying not to fall. Then Satoru moved his mouth to your clit and his fingers replaced his tongue. It was all you needed to be pushed over the cliff.

At the second pump of his fingers, you came. It was both pleasurable and painful. Somehow more intense than your previous, with your stomach clenching so hard as your walls spasmed. Your body shuddered violently, but he didn’t stop, he continued fucking you and sucking on your bundle of nerves. You were mewling loudly, so overstimulated that you began pulling on your restraints. You tried to ask him to stop, but you couldn’t, the only thing that could leave your mouth was strangled cries. You tried lifting your hips, but his hand held you down, continuing to both please and punishing you.

“Satoru, Satoru. I– Ah, please– Fuck– Please.” he simply flattened his tongue on you, shaking his head as he hummed, voice vibrating on you. You were crying, the overwhelming pleasure becoming too much as your body gave out on you.

You felt Satoru smile against you and then finally he stopped, lifting your body and pulling his face out from under you with the last drag of his tongue. You were shaking, hands still on the headboard as you felt your heat drip between your spread legs.

“You taste so good, y/n.” Satoru snaked a hand around your waist, bringing your ass up as he pressed your face against the headboard. You whimpered when he pushed his still-hard cock against your entrance.

You felt a tug and then suddenly you could see. You blinked aggressively, trying to readjust to your surroundings. Your eyes found Satoru’s and you blushed. He was looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. But he also looked crazed, with his eyes dilated, lips swollen and wet, and hair a mess.

“I missed your eyes,” he sighed, pressing his tip into you. He ran his hands over the length of your spine then finally let them settle on your hips. You felt both numb and sensitive like every touch was fire, but you felt it from a distance. Your legs were already shaking, sheer pride and will were your fuel at this point.

“You can do it one more time, can’t you baby? For me?”

I will not be the only one who’s teased. Let’s see if my guess is correct.

“Yes, I can Daddy,”

Your guess was right because Satoru snapped his hips into you at your words. Your walls readily accepted him, greedily sucking in his cock, soaking him with your wet heat.

“You’re so fucking perfect, y/n. I don’t think you understand.”

A slap to your ass.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go,”

Another slap, you whimpered, back arching as the hazy pleasure kissed your nerves. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even with your blurred vision and half-smushed face rubbing against the headboard.

“Yeah? Are you too obsessed with me now?” you tease, words strained, saliva thick in your throat.

“You’re mine. They can’t have you.” he snapped his hips up, hitting your spot, just for emphasis.

“Hate to break it to you handsome, I am no one’s property.” even with your ass bouncing and slapping against his hips and half your ear covered, you could hear him lightly laugh.

“You said you were mine earlier,” he reminded, coating his thumb with his saliva, then pushing it into your asshole, making you curse.

“At this moment, I am yours.” your voice was pathetic to your own ears, with it barely being above a quivering whisper.

The heat was licking your spine now, that growing pleasure slowly returning to your stomach. Satoru leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. The angle made it hard to breathe, but you didn’t care. The kiss was desperate as if the two of you couldn’t be any closer. You moaned sweetly into his mouth as he let up his pace, now rolling his hips into you at a more loving pace.

He removed his lips from yours and kissed your spine, breathing heavily into your heated flesh. You weren’t any better, with your chest heaving and sweat coating every inch of your body. Your walls appreciated the change of pace because you could feel the slow climb of your high.

You matched his pace, rolling your hips with his, earning yourself a moan from his lips. The two of you moved in unison, moaning each other's names, getting lost in the feeling of each other. He filled, stretched, and stimulated you so well to the point you think sex will be ruined for you after him.

“You feel so good,” he whimpered into you, and you hummed.

“You gonna cum for me Daddy?” you felt him twitch and it filled you with pride, knowing what made this man weak. Somehow, the fact that you were pleasing him made you feel good, heightening your own pleasure.

“I’m gonna fill your tight little pussy with my cum,” he sighed, movements becoming increasingly more erratic as he approached his high. His hands refound your hips, digging into them as he sucked harshly on the nape of your neck. You shivered against him, your own pleasure threatening you for the third time this evening.

“Mm Satoru, I’m close!” you moaned loudly legs shaking, back arching, and velvet walls tightening. You didn’t think this would happen, due to your overstimulation, but you were at that cliff, dangerously close to diving in head first.

“Be a good girl and cum all over Daddy’s cock,” he grunted, hand slapping your ass.

Again, as if his words were law, your body obeyed, convulsing all around him, taking him into the euphoric bliss with you. His hands came up to grip the headboard as he halted, burying himself deep inside your pussy, filling you as promised. You were a complete mess, whispering his name repeatedly as hot tears kissed your burning skin. Satoru kissed your temple, over and over again, letting both of your highs wash over you.

“You did so good baby,” he whispered against you, taking his hand a smoothing it down your hair. You both were breathing heavily as your bodies shook, and you were sure you couldn’t speak. So to respond, you smiled lightly, nuzzling your head against his.

He leaned your bodies back, so you were sitting on his thighs with your back to his chest. He kissed your shoulder and began untying your wrists. Once the last knots were undone, your hands fell limply to your sides, wrists raw from the earlier friction. You sighed happily, leaning your head back, and cuddling into Satoru’s shoulder.

“Shower?” he asked into your hair, massaging your shoulders gently. You smiled, running your hands over his muscular thighs.

“If I can walk,” you half-joke. Your legs felt like Jello. You felt if you tried to walk, you’d simply fall straight down.

Satoru chuckled into you and then gently slid his arm under your knees.

“Wrap your arms around my neck gorgeous,”

You humored him and did as you were asked, placing light kisses on his neck while drinking in your mixed scents. He lifted your body with ease, pulling himself out of you as he made his way to the bathroom. You hardly registered him putting you on the toilet. The only reason you opened your eyes is because you felt the cold toilet seat kiss your bruised skin.

“Pee, I don’t want you getting an UTI.” he pushed some hair out of your face then kissed your forehead, turning away from you to turn on the shower. You had to put some effort into peeing, but once you did you heard a ‘plop’ noise followed by your stream.

That’s embarrassing.

You thought to yourself, running your hands over your arms. You snuck a peek of yourself in the mirror and you gaped.

Hickeys covered your neck, chest, and stomach. Your hair was a disaster, and your face was deeply flushed. It was as if you had fallen asleep in the sun. You peaked at Satoru, he was organizing your products neatly so his back was towards you. You could make out some of your own marks you left on his neck and you mentally cursed.

If we both show up like this tomorrow it’s going to be so obvious.

You finished up and padded your way over to Satoru, wrapping your hands around his waist and giving his cute butt a loving pinch.

“Hey!” he playfully shouted, turning in your arms and giving you a sly smile. You could now see the nail marks you carved into his shoulders and chest. Despite yourself, you felt proud, knowing one way or another, you claimed the Strongest Sorcerer as your own.

“I never took you for the doting housewife type.” you hum, planting a soft kiss on his chest, right over your scratches.

“There’s a lot about me you’ll learn,” he kissed your head, then lead your bodies into the shower. He held your hands as you stepped over the edge of the tub, careful to steady your body.

“That sounds like I’m going to see you on a personal level again,” you smile, happy to find he too enjoys piping hot water in showers. Your muscles relaxed and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to melt in his arms under the soothing rain.

“Why wouldn’t you?” there was no hurt in his words, just curiosity.

“I said you didn’t seem like the committed type.” you reminded him, but the words stung now. You didn’t want to walk away from him. But you’re also not one to beg.

“If I told you I wanted to pursue you, would you believe me?” you ran your hands over his arms, thinking of how to respond.

“I would say you’re crazy. Considering who holds my leash, and knowing I’ll be running away the second my contract ends.” he laughed lightly, strong hands breaking down the knots in your lower back.

“I can’t say being with me would be great all the time. But, I can hold my own, and I can protect you. Say the word, and I’ll keep them away from you.” he pulled back from your embrace and took your face in his hands, thumbs rubbing against your cheeks.

Protect me…?

You were thankful for the water cascading down your face because your tears fell without warning.

“They won’t be able to touch you. You’ll be free, y/n. I won’t tell you to go back. I’ll fight with you.”

Smiling, you took his face in your hands and kissed him, expressing physically where your words failed you. You tangled your fingers into his wet hair, kissing him all over his face repeatedly.

“Thank you, Satoru.” you sob and he smiles, continuing to soothe you as you cry while smiling.

It won’t be easy, but you’ll be free.

You held each other for a while, enjoying each other's comforts, smiling like idiots in the warm rain. It was a new beginning for you, one that was uncertain, but you would happily run toward it a never look back.

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