#he will not choke you to death with food

[askblueandviolet]

"If you people keep trying to fuck around with my hair, I'll make it so that the food is going to clog your throats whether you like it or not."

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 ❞

❝ EVERYONE WANTS SATORU GOJO, SO WHY ARE YOU THE ONE STUCK GUARDING HIM ? ❞

✧ pairing: rich boy! gojo x bodyguard! reader

✧ summary: after the gojo family receives threats to their lives, you're hired to protect the heir to the company, satoru gojo - you just didn't realize how charming the rich heir would be - and just how hard it would be to resist his advances.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is around the same age as gojo (both in their 20s but age is vague), virgin! gojo, switch! gojo, oral (f + m), handjob (m), dry humping, fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), depictions of violence, mentions of yakuza, dirty business dealings, gojo's made up dad and suguru make an appearance

✧ wc: 15,311 (i don't know what to say at this point)

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 1 has been sold to @forest-hashira and two anons!

“So, is this your first time?”

Satoru Gojo would be the end of you — one way or another. 

One way would be you sacrificing your life to protect him — fairly run of the mill when it came to guarding someone, the risk of putting your life on the line, though the chance of death usually was fairly slim. You had only come close — twice. 

You didn’t care to make it a third. 

The other, increasingly more likely, way was that you would lose your mind to his incessant yammering before you even had a chance to neutralize any threat to his life. 

You nearly spit out your drink at the question, wiping your mouth with a napkin, before managin to choke it down, “Excuse me?” 

And his lips annoyingly curl, “Your first time guarding someone,” 

The heir seemed fairly nonchalant, even after his father had sat the both of you down in a room filled with more security agents than the prime minister of Japan himself had, and had lectured him about the importance of staying with you the entire time and to respect your authority — well one out of two wasn’t bad. He’s eating a piece of cake instead of a meal, his fork digging into the back of the cake again and again, toying with his food as he did with you, “I mean, you seem fairly young, but old enough to be entrusted with my safety,” 

“Well, since you insisted on going to school, your father needed someone unassuming who looked around your age,” you lean against your hand, your other drumming against the table, as your eyes scanned the area — table of frat boys, group of girls sneaking glances at Gojo, various other students, no real threats — unless you counted the girls’ death daggers towards you, “someone who wouldn’t look out of place with you, raise any suspicions, but who could still protect you,” 

His lips curl, as your eyes find their way back to the young heir, “So basically, you had to look like my girlfriend — shouldn’t I hold your hand? Sell the act? All in the name of my safety,” 

You jerk your head towards his group of admirers, “I think what we’re doing now is plenty — unless you’d like your guard to get mauled by a bunch of hormonal college girls,” 

His eyes slid to his adoring fans, as he pities them with a wave, erupting squeals from them, “I think you could take them,”

“How flattering,” you reply drily, picking at the food in front of you, “now finish your lunch so we can get to our next class on time,” 

“Are you still upset that we were late this morning?” 

“No, I’m upset that we missed half the class and I had to take the fall for it,” the heir had oh so kindly told the professor that you had made them run late (even though he was the one who spent far too long in the bathroom). 

And even though you wouldn’t be attending this school for long, you hoped that you wouldn’t have to make yourself look like a fool the entire time you were here — but — your eyes found Gojo’s again — sticking with Satoru Gojo almost made that a guarantee that you would look like a fool — one way or another. 

And you were already the fool — for thinking that a college aged boy would have any real food in his refrigerator. Although, Satoru Gojo was a different breed — instead of alcohol and questionable containers of takeout, there was...sweets. 

So. Many. Sweets.

Not just cookies and candy — but literally six different kinds of mochi (for some reason?) and almost any pastry you could possibly think of was stocked in the house. And the freezer was more of the same — seven different containers of ice cream and one aged bag of edamame stuck in the back. 

“Gojo?” you stare into the open refrigerator, while Gojo lays back on his couch, scrolling on his phone mindlessly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you have any food?” 

“What do you mean? The refrigerator is full of food?” and his voice is thick with genuine confusion and you’re almost wondering how this man survived to this age. 

Oh yeah, he’s rich. 

You sigh, closing the refrigerator doors, and striding over to him, only to snatch his phone out of his hands, “Sweets are not real food — how do you eat like this and function?” 

He only shrugs, lips curled into a grin, “I’m just built different,” 

“You mean like a person who won’t make it to age fifty?” you toss his phone back at him, “get up,” you grab your sweatshirt hanging by the door and throw his jacket at him. He barely catches it, as he sits up, his face displeased with your sudden need to get him up. 

“Where are we going?” 

“So,” Gojo says, his hands in his pockets, as you both walk the aisles of the grocery store, “why did I have to come with you?” 

“Because I’m going to show you how to actually shop for groceries, so you don’t have a heart attack and die before my stint with you is up,” you grab essentials and basics — oil, rice, cereal, pasta, spices, flour, sugar (although did he really need sugar with the amount he was already consuming?), “you know it would suck if my client died before we eliminated the other threats on his life,” before you add with a smile, “though I think your eating habits are more likely to kill you,” 

“You know men really hate sarcastic women,” he bites back, before something catches his eye in the aisle and he places it in the cart, “major turn off,” 

“Well, mission accomplished then,” you roll your eyes, as you look back at the cart to see a box of cookies, “you know when I said you were a moron, I was half kidding, but now,” you lift up the box of cookies, “you have a million cookies at home,” 

He pouts — why do you feel like a mother refusing their child their candy at checkout? — “Not these ones,” you take the box and put it back on the shelf where it belonged, and he relents. 

“Did you eat like this before college?” 

He shook his head, “My meals were prepared for me by the chef at my home, I never really had much of a say in what I ate, or anything really,” and you shake your head, “my father wasn’t really the type to let me handle anything on my own — thus the need for a babysitter,” 

You nod, “So no one really taught you how to take care of yourself?” and he shakes his head. 

“Guess not, but I guess no time like the present to learn,” he examines the box of baking powder you had just placed in the cart, “like what this is,” and you snort, taking the box from him and placing it back in the cart. 

“Maybe by the end of this trip, we’ll have you making it past the age of forty,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “I thought you said fifty?” 

“The cookies made me lose more faith in you,” 

The two of you continue to shop, as you help him pick out vegetables, meat, and other necessities for the house. You separate the things for you and for him meticulously, as the two of you head over to the checkout, and he’s placing everything on the conveyor belt together, including your own things, “No wait, those are mine—” 

“Consider it payment,” he stops you, as you continue to try to argue, but he’s only blocking you from the conveyor belt with a raised arm, a real smile on his lips, “just let me do this for you,” And you can’t find any words, so your mouth shuts, and you nod — as you watch him speak with the older cashier with his patented charm. 

And the cashier stops you right as you’re leaving, whispering, “That’s a good one, don’t let him go, ok?” and you pause, her words sinking in as blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“We’re not—” 

“I know,” the older woman chuckles far too knowingly, as she hands you the receipt, “but you never know.” 

“You coming?” Gojo calls, turning to look back at you, as he pushes the cart of groceries, and you look from the cashier to him, before fleeing with a quick ‘thank you.’ 

And as you go home, you glance at Gojo, maybe there was more to him than you initially thought. 

“This is so boooooring,” Gojo’s whining for, what you assume is, the billionth time, “I hate philosophy, moral arguments? It’s such bullshit,” 

“You know philosophy is literally a subject that encompasses everything right?” you tilt your head watching him lay on the floor as the two of you sit at the table, his head right next to you, as you sit cross legged, “there’s no avoiding it in life,” 

“Well can’t I avoid it in school at least? Because college feels very different from real life,” and you roll your eyes, flicking him between the eyes. 

“Just write your paper, I already finished mine,” and he perks up. 

And he slides his laptop over to you, “Then you can write mine,” 

“That’s not happening,” and he groans again, “you know if you spent all the time that you whined working on your paper then you’d be done,” 

“Were you this much of a buzzkill when you were in college?” Gojo stares at you, “what do you even do for fun?” 

“Why is this relevant to you writing your paper?” 

“Why is writing my paper relevant to protecting my life?” and you open and close your mouth, “c’mon give me something, anything,” 

“How about this — when you finish a page, I’ll answer a question, any question,” you offer, and he grins, as he sits up and begins to type away at his laptop. 

You sit back, lying back and using your phone, until about fifteen minutes later when he’s holding his laptop up, showing you that he completed a page, “That fast?” you’re skeptical, and then you grab his laptop, skimming the page, wondering if he was trying to trick you — he wasn’t. It was good, more than good — it was a wonderful discussion of deontological ethics. 

“How did you finish this so fast?” you raise an eyebrow, “you complain so much, but you wrote this page far too quickly,” 

He shrugs, “I’m good at everything, sweetheart,” and you roll your eyes, “jealous?”

“Totally,” you scoff, before grinning,  “so get back to work,” and he gapes at you, before groaning dramatically, lying back on the floor again. 

“Ugh, this is too much work,” he whines again, “I don’t know why I had to take this stupid class,” he grumbles. 

“Then why did you?” you scroll through your phone, checking for any new alerts or updates from his father or any other member of the security team, “you have a choice in what classes you sign up for, don’t you?” 

And for one of the first times, you saw Satoru’s playfulness ebb away, replaced with almost a bitterness — as bitter as his words were usually sweet, “Maybe most college kids do, but I don’t have a choice in most of the things I do, including the classes I pick,” 

You tilt your head, “Your father?” And he nods, “did you even choose your major?” 

His eyes drift to the ceiling, “Is it a choice when your father tells you you’re either being groomed to run his company when you graduate or he’s not paying for you to go to school at all?” 

“No, it isn’t,” you admit, “but it could be worse, he could have stuck you with a glorified babysitter on top of it,” 

He cracks a smile, “I don’t know, maybe I have a thing for babysitters,” and you roll your eyes, cracking a smile. 

“Get back to work.” 

“Fuck,” Satoru muttered, watching the rain come down as he waited outside the university awning of the building he had just finished his class in. You had left him to go to class by himself — you trusted him enough not to get murdered while in class and on the walk back (high praise) — and said you’d likely just meet him back at the apartment. But now, he didn’t know how he’d get home without getting soaked. 

He checks his phone for any rideshares nearby, but there were none. And he would rather go drown in the rain than call his father’s driver, and guarantee a lecture about being prepared for “any given situation.” 

Shit. Maybe he would just risk walking. 

So he did. The rain soaked through his clothes all too quick, the wet fabric clinging to his skin, and the cold leeching the warmth from his body. And he couldn’t help but think if you were with him, you would have remembered to bring an umbrella. 

Weird, when did he ever really rely on anyone else? 

Yes, his father had maids, cooks, and personal shoppers when he was growing up — but they weren’t people he relied on — he did, but it was expected. It was their job. And yes, he was a job for you too — but…it was different. 

Satoru didn’t know when it happened but he had gotten used to your presence in his life. Whether it was at home or in class, you were always there. And it wasn’t as annoying as he thought it would be. It was…nice to have someone there to lean on. But, as he glanced up at the storm clouds, holding a hand above his eyes — rolling dark clouds with no signs of the rain letting up — this would be his reality once the threats were a distant memory. 

“Gojo!” He blinks, his eyes snapping forward, and he sees someone coming over the horizon. 

It was you — umbrella in hand, as your footsteps echoed with the splashes of water from the rain that collected on the ground. And you found your way to him, holding the umbrella over his head. He stared at you as you grew closer, wondering if you were real. And he wasn’t surprised you found him —

“How did you know?” He asks when you stand, catching your breath, short pants, as your eyes flicker up to his. 

“You always forget your umbrella, so I figured you needed one,” you shrugged, “plus I finished my meeting early so I came to get you,” and he only stares at you, “what?” 

And he only shakes his head, as he takes the umbrella from your hand, fingers brushing, as he holds it up over the both of you, your shoulders brushing as you begin to walk home. And he found himself wishing for a split second that the threats would never stop. 

“Just wondering if it’s in your job description to protect me from colds too,” and you snort, lips curling into the same smile he loved to see. 

“With you? It is.” 

“A party?” 

“Yes, known as a gathering of people where—” 

“I don’t need you to define the word,” you grit your teeth, as you watch him pull out shirts from his closet, holding them up, before shrugging, “do you know the kind of danger you could put yourself in by going?” 

“I know, the party might go into a frenzy at the sight of me, think of all the students who’d glare at you then,” he grins, as he finally settles on an outfit — charcoal gray shirt and a blue button down, “might have to call another bodyguard to guard you instead, princess,” 

“Aren’t you the princess if you’re the one being guarded?” you bite back, and he only laughs, hands in his pockets, “Gojo, you have serious threats that have been levied—” 

“Against my father—” 

“And you, the heir to your father’s company,” you cut him off, crossing your arms, “are you seriously going to risk our lives because you want to get drunk and fuck around with a bunch of idiots?” 

The answer was yes, of course. 

And now here you were, stuck babysitting this spoiled heir at a party. You hadn’t really been to any parties — hadn’t bothered to. You had gotten through college at a young age, perks of skipping a few grades, and you ended up in the family business regardless — so you didn’t bother to party much. Not when you had things to accomplish — babysitting a drunk heir wasn’t one of them. 

It has started as you expected. Gojo had flitted away from your side the first moment he got, disappearing into the throng of horny and drunk college students. You wove your way through the crowd, careful not to trip over the students making out, dancing, or drinking on nearly any available surface. The smell of beer and cheap cologne wafted through this dorm. And you had almost given up on finding him when you spotted him stuck to the sides of three girls, all of them far too eager to hang off his every word. 

You sighed, this was going to be a long night. 

“You one of Satoru’s girlfriends?” you glance to your side and see Suguru Geto in person. You had learned all about Satoru Gojo and the people he hung around. Like those three girls — one of them had a long distance boyfriend, the other had a cheating situationship she was trying to make jealous, and the other just wanted to fuck him for the experience. Suguru Geto was one of the only friends of Gojo you had liked from what you had read about him — humble background, on scholarship at the college, but one of the best students here — and a philosophy student of all things, the very subject his best friend hated. 

You want to say no, but unfortunately, you have no idea what the idiot has been saying to other people, “Something like that,” you sip at your drink to make the bitter words slide down, “why? Are you?” 

A chuckle slips past his lips, as he takes a swig of his drink, “Well I already like you better than the others. You have a sense of humor and seemingly more than two brain cells,” 

“Don’t give me too much credit,” you snorted, leaning against a wall, “I did end up here after all,”

“Fair enough, how’d he convince you to come?” And you shake your head — good question. What choice did you really have? You could have let him go alone, but probably not a good look 

“I don’t even know honestly, feel like I’ve been dragged here to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid,” you glance at him and the gaggle of girls, “though maybe I already fucking failed at that,” 

Geto shrugs, as his gaze slips from Gojo to you, “I mean until he sticks his tongue down one of their throats, I think you’re doing pretty well,” 

You laugh, “Good to know,” and you both continue to chat, and unbeknowst to you, while your focus is torn away from Gojo, his attention is fully on you. 

If looks could kill, Satoru imagined his crystal eyes were nothing more than daggers ready to strike, as he watches you and Suguru talk. 

It was his fucking idea to come to this party, so why were you having more fun than he was?

He swirled his drink miserably — he had barely taken a sip of the beer poured for him — why would he when it tasted like piss? He didn’t understand why people liked to drink — especially when they could eat mochi instead — but now, as he stares at you and Suguru, maybe he was starting to understand. 

He can’t hear what either of you are saying over the blaring music and the chatter of students surrounding him, but he can see the smile on your lips and the laugh that left them. 

Why the fuck do you look so happy to talk to Suguru? 

You seemed so bored when he was with you—and did you just fucking laugh again at something Suguru said? 

The crinkle of plastic and the distinct feeling of a spill made his gaze snap to his hand — he just crushed his plastic drink cup. He sighed, as he simply placed it among the other abandoned drink cups on a nearby table, before wiping off his hand with a napkin. 

Why did he even care? You were nothing but a nuisance anyway. All you did was follow him around, make him go to class on time, make sure he was safe, care about his well-being— 

What the fuck was he thinking? 

His eyes couldn’t help but slide back to you as he tried to enjoy the girls' company, their slight touches and soft pouts and sweet words not going unnoticed by him. But that was how it always was. Once people found out he was rich, people wanted to be his friend, they wanted to date him, they wanted him — but not really him, they wanted his money. 

First world problems, right? 

But you — you hadn’t been like that. You were irritatingly punctual, unfazed by his money, didn’t care in the slightest about his father or who he was — you just wanted to do your job. And he was your job, for the time being. 

And now he got to see you smile — your lips perfectly curled in a smile that both he wanted to see all the time and grated on his nerves — but you were smiling at someone else. And Suguru no less. 

“C’mon Satoru, you gonna make eyes at your boyfriend all night?” Aiko said, nudging him teasingly, her words far too slurred. 

“Help us finish these shots,” Yumiko whines, as she offers him a shot, urging it into his hands. 

He’s grimacing, he hates alcohol — he hates how he feels during and after; he hates the disgusting, metallic taste; and if it couldn’t get worse, he’s a lightweight. He stares at the shot. 

“It’s just one shot,” Misaki grins, holding up her own, clinking hers to his, “you’re already three shots behind everyone else,” 

And he’s about to open his mouth to refuse — make up an excuse of having to wake up early or stomach being unsettled — and that’s when you catch his attention. You were laughing now, a noise far too pretty for his liking, as you shoved Suguru’s chest playfully. 

Fuck it. 

He downs the shot, the liquid searing down his throat, dragging down until it settles in a burning pool in his stomach. Finally he tears his gaze away as the girls offer him another shot — as you grin at Suguru — this was going to be a long night. 

“Hey,” Geto jerks his head, “you might want to deal with that,” 

You whip your head around. 

“Oh what the—“ 

Gojo was hanging all over the girls he was with, barely able to stand on his two feet, as he swayed from side to side — his cheeks glowed with the telltale glow that told everyone he had been drinking (if that wasn’t obvious by literally everything else). 

Fuck. 

You had kept an eye on him. You swore he had only taken two shots of alcohol, how was he this drunk already? You examine and sniff the two shot glasses he used — no peculiar smell or residue — you run through the gamut of tests you could do on hand and conclude two things: 1) Gojo wasn't drugged and 2) he was a lightweight. 

But that didn’t stop him from acting like he wasn’t, as girls egged him on to take more shots, and from the way they were eyeing him, their intentions were anything but pure. 

You sigh, walking over, slipping past a drunk couple making out, a person passed out and sleeping on the floor, and a cluster of cheering onlookers as a student chugged what you can only assume was a disgusting concoction of alcohol. 

Until you finally reached his side. 

“I think you’ve had enough, isn’t that right, Satoru?” And he’s blinking at you, before he’s grinning, slurring your name.

“You’re no fun,” and he’s clinging all over you, his hands curled around your waist, “such a buzzkill, don’t even like to have any fun with me,” 

“Looks like you had too much fun without me,” you murmur, your arm slinks around the middle of his back, “let’s get you back to your dorm,” 

“Hey he’s fine, he’s having fun with us,” Aiko glared at you, a hiccup leaving her lips, “don’t go crashing our good time because he’s not interested in you,” 

“Yeah why don’t you go hang out with Geto or whatever? We’ll take good care of him. C’mon Toru, let’s go to my place in Shibuya, I have a huge house there,” Yumiko says, barely coherent, and you raise your eyebrows at the nickname, as she leans in to whisper, alcohol wafting off her breath, as she lifts up her middle finger, “fuck off,” 

Honestly the only reason you can understand the gist of what she meant was because of her middle finger. Their other friend is passed out on the couch. 

“I don’t think any of you can even care for yourselves,” you scoff, and Satoru is hanging all over you already, mumbling words you can’t make out in your ear, “I’m taking him home, you should take your friend home,” 

“Geto, wanna help me out?” And Geto nods, trying to take Gojo other arm, but Gojo pushes him away, instead clinging to you, you stumble a moment before catching both of you, “Gojo—“ 

“No, wanna go home with just you,” he’s officially whining, and you’re having flashbacks to the summer you spent babysitting, but — you look at the drunk white porcupine clinging to you — somehow this idiot is worse than the kid. 

You sigh, “Geto, make sure that girl gets home safe,” you gesture to the one passed out on the couch, “I’m going to deal with this one,” 

Geto stares at the two of you, the far too tall Satoru hunched over onto your body, “Can you—“ 

But you’re already walking away, able to drag Gojo away with relative ease (it’d be far easier if he’d pull his own weight, but at least he was quiet). 

That was, until you got outside. And then the whining began again. 

“How can you treat me like this?” Gojo’s hands cling to your arm, his face buried in your shoulder, “you shouldn’t ignore the one you’re supposed to protect!” and he’s shaking his head like a petulant child, his bottom lip quivering. 

“You’re the one who left my side, not the other way around,” you grumble, as he’s finally beginning to walk by himself but he’s still stuck to your side like an overgrown cactus, “you’re the one who wanted to go to this goddamn party,” 

“Yeah but you’re the one who's supposed to protect me,” he pouts, as he stops right in front of his building, “I can’t do your job for you,” and he’s finally standing in front of you, his cheeks and nose still flushed from the alcohol, his hand still clutching at yours, “do you even know how to do your job?” 

You grit your teeth. Would punching the person you’re hired to protect be a breach of contract? You rub your temples, it may come to that. 

“You’re an idiot,” you jerk your hand away, shaking your head, “my job is to protect you, not to stop you from doing stupid college boy shit,” 

He’s crossing his arms, “I could have been in danger — what if that alcohol was poisoned? I feel really sick,” he grips, holding his stomach with pursed lips, and you’re thoroughly unimpressed. 

“I looked at it, it wasn’t poisoned,” you raise an eyebrow, before sighing, and shrugging your shoulder bag off your shoulders, rooting around in the pouch, “but if you want, I have something in my bag that will turn your stomach inside out and we’ll be sure to get the poison out,” 

“Nooooo, no! I’m fine,” he’s shaking his head, his voice grows soft, “I just need to get to bed,” he mutters, and you roll your eyes, but grab him by his wrist. 

“Come on, we’re going inside,” and it’s a struggle to get to his apartment — more like a luxury penthouse — on the top floor, but somehow you get him inside and shepherd into his bedroom. And he’s shrugging off his button up before pulling off the shirt underneath. 

Your gaze snaps away, cheeks burning, your eyes trying to erase the glimpse of his fucking unfairly chiseled physique — complete a surprisingly broad chest and shoulders — how the fuck was that hiding under his clothes? He looked like a stick normally with his clothes on. 

“See something you like?” he’s snickering, as you hear the click of his belt and the and sounds of rustling — assuredly stepping out of his jeans. 

“No, just not used to clients stripping for me,” you turn your back to him, as you hear the creak of the mattress and the crinkling of his comforter and sheets. 

“Am I just a client to you?” his words were still mildly slurred, and you knew he’d be pouting if he had enough brain cells to do so, “you can turn around, I’m under the covers,” he adds with a grumble. 

You turn and see him curled up under his blanket and you have to bite back your smile — now he most assuredly looked like one of the kids you used to babysit. 

“Well what else am I supposed to see you as, Gojo?” you cross your arms, and he’s muttering under his breath, “what?” 

“That’s just it. You don’t even call me by my first name,” he’s brooding, face twisted in a scowl, “I don’t have a lot of people I trust. Most people are just after my money or my looks,” he looks at you, “you’re different. Kinda weird,” 

You quirk an eyebrow, “is that a good thing?” 

“Well I trust you,” he admits, and you note the tips of his ears barely visible outside the comforter are red — is it still the flush from the alcohol? “I don’t really have many of those,” 

And you’re taken aback — you thought you were nothing but a nuisance to this party obsessed prince, but maybe there was more to him than you thought. You toyed the ring on your finger, maybe you had more in common than you thought. 

“Thank you, I’m glad you do, because you can, trust me that is,” you say softly, “good night, Satoru.” 

And he does sleep after that, as you spend the night keeping watch, half to ensure his safety and the other to make sure he slept on his side in case he threw up

(and he did, twice). 

“I need to talk to you,” Suguru Geto barely looked up from his phone when he saw Satoru in front of him, his best friend looking more irritable than usual — his usually bored affect seemed to be on holiday, “Suguru?” 

“I heard you the first time, what is it?” and Satoru snatches the phone from Suguru’s hands, “what the fuck—“ 

“What were you doing last night?” and Suguru tilts his head, before rubbing his temple.

“Give me my fucking phone—“ 

“What did you talk to her about?” And Suguru stares at him, his brow furrowed, smart mouth ready with a reply about a stint in a spa or a retreat was needed before his lips curl. 

“Oh. Her,” and he’s leaning back, a lazy shrug, “this and that,” 

“Cut the shit, Suguru, do you like her or not? Did you get her number?” And Satoru is trying to unlock Suguru’s phone, as Suguru watches with a tilt of his head and a wry grin on his lips, “huh? what is it?” 

“So you like her, that much is clear,” and he’s crossing his arms, “I assume you didn’t tell her or you wouldn’t have come in swinging and stealing?” 

Satoru stares at him, slack jawed and cheeks turning a deep pink that only carnations could rival, “No! She’s just a…friend of the family, and she’s not supposed to be with—“ 

“She told me she liked you,” his heart catches, mouth falling open, before Suguru’s lips curl, “well, she said that she was one of the many, rather,” 

Satoru’s cheeks burn, “It’s not like that, she barely even fucking looks at me. Can you believe that? Me?” and he gestures up and down his body. 

“I see your ego is still intact,” Suguru scoffs, shaking his head, before leaning back on his palms, “just tell her how you feel, Satoru, what’s the problem?” 

“The problem is I have no idea how she feels and it’s all your fault!” And Suguru raises an eyebrow, “you charmed her and I’m sure you’re the only one she’s thinking about now,” he covers his face, “and after what I said to her last night…” he couldn’t believe he admitted that you were the one of the only ones he trusted. And he called you weird. 

He honestly didn’t know what was worse. 

“What did you even say?” 

“Say to who?” and Satoru turns, finding you standing behind him, arms crossed. 

And Satoru cuts Suguru off before he can say a thing, “Not important. What are you doing here—“ you grab him by the wrist, a wave of heat makes his nearly burn red as you begin to drag him away, “what are you—“ 

“Bye Geto,” you say, waving at the raven haired student, before taking Geto’s phone and tossing it back to him, “I’m taking the idiot—“ 

“HUH?” 

“Good luck. He might need to be fed — he’s in a mood,” and he waves back, same smile on his lips. 

“What did you two do, adopt me?” Satoru grumbles as you pull him away, “where the hell are you dragging me? How did you even find me?” 

“The post hangover suits you well, we have to get to class, and I placed a tracker on you,” and he’s jerking his hand away, staring at you, “I have to be able to find you, don’t I?” 

“Where?” 

You tilt your head, “Why would I tell you? Don’t worry about, I’ll remove it after we’re done here,” 

You weren’t going to budge on this — and if he argued more, you would take it up with his father. And he would like to avoid that as much as possible. He sticks his hands in his pockets, , “I’m tired, can’t you just go and take notes for me?” 

“I thought you’d be more concerned about the threats against your life, instead of sending your bodyguard off to your class for you” you hiss, and he’s pouting again, unable to meet your gaze, “what’s your problem, Satoru?” 

And he pauses, the retort on lips dying as his brain looped in an infinite spiral of his name on your lips, “You called me ‘Satoru,’”

You tilt your head, “you told me to last night,” and then you add with a wicked grin, “remember? When you said I was one of the only people you trusted,” you tease, but he’s too busy hearing his name repeat in his head again and again, “Satoru—“ 

“Better be careful, sweetheart,” his lips curl into that annoyingly charming smile, “keep calling me by my first name and I may fall for you,” 

You glare at him, before rolling your eyes, “I see you’re feeling better now,” you walk forward, glancing back at him, “you coming?” 

And his wrist tingles still tingle from your touch, his lips quirk into a smile, “Yeah.” 

“Why did you become a bodyguard?” Satoru asks you, the movie you had haphazardly chosen still ongoing had all become background noise while you spoke, the illumination from the television screen being the only thing that kept your faces lit in the dark living room (he had insisted on shutting the lights off for an “authentic movie watching experience”). 

It had been a few weeks, with no signs of the threat posed ever being eliminated — still new threats were being made, and the Gojo family was still on edge. 

But you were on edge for a whole other reason. 

His fingers were still shoved in the bag of kettle corn he had been snacking on this entire time, but you could feel his gaze on you, instead of the movie. 

“What do you mean?” your eyes slide to him, as your phone’s ringer goes off with a spam email, and you silence it, keeping it on vibrate for emergencies, “and what’s with the sudden question?” 

The two of you had settled into your routine — days spent in class, meals shared, grocery shopping, and nights spent either in or out — but again, always together. And, it wasn’t bad — some of it was fun, to the point you almost forgot you were working. 

But you were working. Even now, as your legs are thrown up on the couch, crossed underneath you, your knee brushing against his thigh. 

He shrugs, “You owe me a question, remember?” and he reminds you of your promise from weeks ago — you had wondered why he had never asked you anything that night, “You never talk about yourself. You implied you have your degree, but not much else. From what I’ve seen of you, you’re intelligent — you could have done anything, why this?” and his lips curl into that mischievous, “unless you just had to guard me when you found out it was me,” 

You toss a throw pillow at him, but he catches it with ease, “If only your body was as bulletproof as your body,” and he huffs out a laugh, as you sigh, “why are you interested anyway?” 

“Because I am,” you scoff. 

“Nice reasoning,” he only grins, a thousand watt even in the dark. 

“I thought so,” and he’s holding the pillow to his chest, “c’mon, can you not tell me even one thing about yourself?” 

He wasn’t going to let this go was he? And you relent, chewing on your lip, “My family has been in this business for years — my grandfather, my father, my uncles, and my cousins, and I wanted to be one too. To protect people — it’s a lot more work than it seems. It’s quick thinking, critical reasoning, and analytical skills. It’s all I ever wanted to do after watching my dad do it,” you say softly, “but he didn’t think I was capable of it. He thought I was too soft. Too weak. So I decided to prove him wrong,” 

“You weak? Has your father met you?” and you huff a laugh, “I’m serious,” his cerulean pools meeting yours with not a ripple of hesitancy in them, “I’ve seen you — I don’t I’ve met anyone this determined, or stubborn,” he adds with a smirk. 

“I’m stubborn?” you gape at him, “this coming from the king of stubborn,” 

“Only if you’ll be my queen,” and you roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn, as your gaze turns back to the movie — why did your heart catch at his words? “but trust me, I’m very flexible in other aspects,” 

“Oh my god, is every other sentence that leaves your mouth a pick-up line?” and he opens his mouth, “don’t say ‘only for you,’ or I will be the only threat you have to worry about,” 

“Promise?” you grab another pillow, but he catches your wrist before you can toss it. Your breath catches, and you can’t meet his gaze — you can’t, because you know if you do— but then he whispers your name. 

And you can’t help it. You look at him. His eyes are so pretty. They were really the first things that struck you when you met him — that was before he opened his mouth. They looked like they contained multitudes, a far too beautiful ocean tucked behind sunglasses and an irritated scowl. But it wasn’t a secret that Satoru Gojo was attractive — especially not when every other person glared at you for simply being in his presence. But physical attractiveness meant little if a person wasn’t good — because superficiality could only take you so far. 

And you knew what it was like to be only judged superficially — and by the way Satoru’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when these people chatted him up, he was far too used to it. 

And once he did speak, you had written him off as another rich kid — you had seen them a dime a dozen throughout your schooling and from the people your family was protected to hire. But there was something about him — something you couldn’t quite shake, even though every part of you was telling to do so. 

“What is it, Satoru?” And his fingers tug you a little closer, gently, his hand loose enough for you to slip away, but you don’t. Why don’t you? 

“You don’t always have to have your guard up,” his voice is soft, far too soft for the far too loud heir, “it’s okay to open up,” 

You shake your head, but still unable to pull away, “It’s dangerous,” and he laughs, a sound that only warms the thin icy barrier between you both, melting it to nothing. 

“Isn’t danger the whole reason we met?” And now his thumb brushes up and down against your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel your pulse roaring just underneath. 

You pull away again, shaking your head, as you cross your arms, trying to hold your resolve together, “I can’t do my job if I’m distracted,” and you couldn’t, even now, you weren’t evaluating any risks, you weren’t trying to find the source of the threats — no, you were too busy trying not to inch closer to your client, trying not to look at his lips, trying not to give in to what you wanted. 

“And I’m a distraction?” he looks far too pleased, but a thought seems to sour his smirk, “I thought Suguru was more of one,” and his lips are caught in a slight pout. 

“Geto was just keeping me company while you entertained those girls hanging on your every word,” you can’t dull the point to your words, and it replaces his pout with a grin. 

“So you were jealous,” 

“You’re the one who was jealous — you could have killed Suguru with your glare alone,” 

“But you didn’t deny it,” and it makes you stop — why didn’t you deny it? 

“I can’t do this,” and you’re pulling away, before flicking off the tv and rising from the couch your phone in hand, turning towards the hallway, “it’s late we should go to bed—“ but he’s catching your wrist again, “Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you hated how gentle his fingers felt around your wrist, “how are you supposed to protect me if you’re too busy running away from me?” 

“I’m great at multitasking,” and he’s drawing closer to you, his soft footfalls against the carpet, even as you step away from him, “my job is to protect you, we can’t get distracted—“ 

“I thought you were so good at multitasking,” he chuckles, his fingers find your wrist again, slipping to intertwine with your own, fingers interlaced, and your phone falls from your fingers and onto the couch, “what I said that night when I was drunk was true — I don’t have a lot of people I trust. People don’t understand. They put me on a pedestal or they don’t want me, they want the concept of me — not the reality,” 

“I’m not licensed as a therapist you know,” and he’s sighing. 

“Do you always have to deflect with humor? Because if we both do that, we’ll never get through a conversation,” and he squeezes your hand, “which I guess I don’t mind if that means you’ll stay,” 

“Satoru—“ 

“We don’t have to do anything now — we don’t have to do anything at all,” and you can feel his words warming your skin, “but don’t you feel something?” 

You hesitate, and you can’t look at him,  “No, I don’t,” 

“You’re not a very good liar — don’t they teach you that in bodyguard academy?” 

You snort, holding your head, “Is that where you imagined I got my training done?”

“Well, you don’t exactly like to share, now do you?” he’s stepping forward again, and you can’t bring yourself to run away anymore. 

“I shouldn’t,” and you hear the faint sound of his breath hitching, “but I do,” 

You don’t need to look at him to hear the smile on his lips, “so maybe it’s a distraction worth having,” 

“But—” and he’s gently turning you to face him, his fingers brushing a stray hair from your face, heat blooming with his touch, “Satoru…” 

“Why do you keep saying my name when you know I like hearing it?” he’s teasing, but you’re not shying away from his touch, as his fingers cup your chin now, upwards, so you meet his gaze, “maybe we should have had you pretend to be my girlfriend,” 

You chuckle, “Oh I could see that going wrong in so many ways,” and he’s leaning even closer, as he’s left the line you’d drawn far behind, marred it with his touch, and is luring you over to stumble over the edge with him. 

“Is this one of them?” 

“Probably,” and his lips brush against yours — he tastes sweet, the taste of kettle corn lingers, as his fingers cup your cheek now, and find purchase on his shoulder. It’s brief, a soft press that leaves you far too breathless, as if his touch had taken the air from your lungs, only to leave heat behind, “definitely,” 

“Is that a good thing or—” and your lips find his this time, a gasp you swallow with a smirk, and he melts into your touch, eager fingers grasping at the front of his shirt. And he responds in kind, his fingers tracing a path, as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand settles on the back of your neck. 

His touch set every nerve ending on fire — a desperate wildfire that burned a trail across your mind and body — leaving only the crave of his touch behind, that left you wanting more, needing more.

“Was that good?” you murmur, as you take in your handiwork, his pink lips were bitten red by your kisses, his marble skin a lovely flush, and his gaze far too needy. God, it’s far too easy to get lost in him — pull your anchor from the shore and get lost in his gaze and touch, “god I shouldn’t ask that, we shouldn’t be doing this—” but your body refuses to pull away, and you don’t think by the grasp he has on you, that you’d be able to anyway. 

But he only gives you the same answer to each of your statements — he kisses you again, slower and more languid this time, as the two of you walk towards the bedroom, your hands reaching for each other and the walls, as you both stumble into his bedroom. 

“We don’t—” he says, between kisses, “I didn’t—” 

“I didn’t either, but—” you can’t stop touching him, you don’t want to, despite the logical part of you screaming at you to leave his room, it’s overridden by just how much you want him. He’s frustrating, he’s an idiot, he’s sweet, he’s cute, and he’s a little pathetic — but you liked that in a man. Every sense of logic is screaming at you to stop — but it all turns to white noise  “but I don’t want to stop.” 

He’s grinning as he pulls you into another kiss, his arms wrapping around his waist, pressing you against him, “That addicted already?” lips parting as he kisses down your neck, pulse jumping under his touch. 

“You’re just lucky Geto didn’t get to me first,” and he furrows his brow, before his teeth graze against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, drawing a gasp from your lips, “Satoru, what was that for—”  

“So everyone knows you’re mine? Including Suguru,” he’s sucking lightly at the mark, soothing his tongue, “and I’ll make sure he knows,” 

“Oh, I trust you’ll be subtle,” and he’s guiding you towards his bed, both of you falling onto it, his knee pressing your legs apart, as he hovers over you, his ocean gaze dark as a storm ridden sea. 

“Oh you know me, princess,” and his knee presses against your clothed cunt, rubbing against it teasingly, “subtlety is my specialty,” 

“Subtle as a truck,” you murmur, and he’s laughing as he kisses you again, making your lips curl, as his hands slide up your sides, squeezing your hips, “Satoru, please,” 

“What’s the fun if I don’t get to tease you?” he’s kissing needy kisses to your neck, as his knee doesn’t relent, grinding lightly against your increasingly wet core, slick leeching through the thin material of your shorts, “gotta make sure you want it right?”

“You treat all the people you bring home this well?” and he’s pausing, lips against your neck, “I didn’t mean anything—” 

“You’re the first,” you stare up at him, and he’s hesitant for once when usually he’s always barreling forward, “I’ve never brought anyone here,” and he licks his lips, a deeper flush settling over his porcelain skin, “I’ve never actually—” 

And you blink, “Really?” 

He huffs, “Is it that surprising—” 

“I mean a little, from the way everyone acts around you, and the way you act—” 

“Well, ‘act’ is the key word, now isn’t it?” he’s licking his lips as he looks down at you, “it’s easy to act when you know what they expect from you — a role to play,” 

“Well, the role’s been filled, so how about you just be yourself for me?” you murmur softly, a featherlight touch as you trace the curve of his jaw, and his lips find his smile under your delicate touch, “so I can ask, is this your first time like you asked me?” 

And he’s leaning up to kiss you, your hand resting against his chest, his heartbeat galloping under your touch, “And if I said yes?” 

You smile, before flipping him onto his back, his gaze wide as he stares up at you, “Then we better make it memorable.” 

“Please, I want to—“ his soft pants left his perfect lips, chest heaving as your fingers curled around his erection, far too hard from just what you had done. You’d stripped yourself and him bare — your inhibitions left far behind — as your lips kissed the tip of his aching cock.

“Lemme make you feel good, Satoru,” you murmur, looking up at him with fluttering eyes, your fingers smearing his pre cum along his length, and he’s pressing his head into the pillow, “s’big, can’t wait to feel you inside me,” you murmur, and you slowly pump him, drawing moan after moan from his lips. 

“Won’t last long—can’t—“ he’s biting his lip, his hips thrusting into your touch, before your lips suck at his tip again, and he’s gone, cumming hard all over your face and fingers. God, it never felt that good when he touched himself. Your fingers even brushing against him made him want to cum almost instantly, your soft touch and lips were enough to send him over the edge over and over again.  

He’s panting, eyes fluttering open to see you licking your lips clean with your tongue, as you meet his gaze with a grin, slowly sucking on each one of your fingers until you’ve cleaned yourself of his cum. 

“Princess, fuck,” he’s lying back on the pillow, as your lips slowly kiss back up his body, your tongue dragging between the fluttering muscles of his stomach and chest. 

“Already hard again?” You murmur, a smirk on your lips, “so sensitive for me,” 

He’s keening at your words, a whimper leaving his lips. His eyes are blown out in pleasure as he meets your gaze, and you kiss him again, sloppy and messy, as his tongue brushes against yours, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection. 

“Please,” he can’t help the words leaving his lips, “I need you,” 

“Is this the first time you’ve begged for something?” You tease him, smirk on your lips as your thumb teases one of his nipples, pulling a gasp from his lips, “such a good boy,” 

He hissed at your praise, “fuck—“ 

And you’re grinding against him, he’s already embarrassingly hard, blood rushing back to his cock as if it never left, as it drags against the all too wet fabric of your panties. And every small moan that leaves your lips leaving him needing more, his pre cum mixing with your cum that seeps through your panties, and is the second time he comes with you gonna be just grinding against each other on this bed? But he can’t help it if you keep nibbling at his neck like that, your pretty little pants in his ear, the head of his dick catching on your clit — so fucking good. 

“Toru, c-close, ngh, g’nna cum—“ and he’s nodding, forcing his eyes open to watch you cum, your chest shaking, as you hover above him, your eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as you said his name. 

“S’good,” he’s grunting, “Cum f’me,” and you both do, the slick and stickiness between your bodies almost unbearable, as you both pant, as you rest your head against his shoulder. 

The silence sinks in for a moment, as you kiss his cheek, “we can stop here if you want,” your voice is soft, nose brushing against his neck, “don’t want to make you—“

And he’s flipping you onto your back, his fingers finding the waistband of your shorts, your breath hitching as he drags the material down your legs, and tosses it behind him, “I want this, I want you, and I won’t stop saying it until you believe it,” he leans down, breath warming your breasts through your shirt, before his lips suck at your clothed nipples, making you shiver, “you like that, huh?” 

“Shut up,” your cheeks burn, but he’s only tugging your shirt over your head and off, his gaze hot as he drags his eyes down your exposed body, and it makes you squirm, “Satoru — please—“ 

“Now who’s the one doing the begging?” he leans down to suck on your nipple, while his fingers toy with the other between his thumb and forefinger, “I wanna learn what makes you feel good — wanna make you cum under my touch, wanna taste you,” he switches sides, his teeth grazing the skin of your breast, sucking a mark before soothing it with his tongue, “mine,” 

“Satoru, fuck, I want—“ and his fingers trace down your body, making you gasp, he’s kissing down your chest and then your stomach, tongue dipping into your bellybutton, “you fucking—“ 

“Gotta make you feel good don’t I?” he has a shit eating grin on his lips, as he settles between your thighs, and his fingers press against the growing wet patch on your panties, “though it looks like you’re already feeling good,” 

You bite back a whimper, “Are you gonna make me feel good or are you gonna keep talking—“ you moan when his thumb bears down on your needy clit, rubbing it through the nearly translucent fabric of your underwear. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” And he’s snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin, “couldn’t hear you,” 

“You fucker—“ and he’s kissing your clothed cunt through the wet fabric, nose brushing against your clit, making you nearly shake, as he inhales before he moans. 

“So sweet, must taste even sweeter,” he murmurs before tugging your underwear down, before you’re kicking it off, making him chuckle, “so eager,” and you scowl up at him, ineffective from the way lips are parted, “you’re so cute,” 

“I’m not cute,” you pout, and he’s laughing, a noise you could drown in, just as you do his eyes. 

“You’re very cute, and I’ll tell you as many times as it takes you to believe it,” and his lips press soft kisses to your thighs, “my cute bodyguard, you gonna guard my heart as well as you do my body?” 

And before you can reply his breath is warming your soaked cunt, his fingers parting your folds apart, your clit was puffy, your sex slick with your mixed juices, “so pretty, this all just for me?” And you hiss as he holds your outer lips apart, “so this is what your pussy looks like, huh?” And your thighs are twitching, trying to shut, but his palms hold you apart, his heated gaze meeting your shy ones, “you’re perfect, don’t hide from me, you’ve done enough of that,” and he kisses your clit, making you moan, “and I won’t have that anymore,” 

“Satoru—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping pussy experimentally, tip of his tongue flicking against your clit, fuck, how can he this good at this? Your toes are already curling as he groans, his fingers sliding under your thighs, and tugging you impossibly closer to his face. Your fingers weave into his white locks, “‘ngh— 

“Be a good girl and take it,” he grunts against you, slurping your juices, the sounds of his tongue buried in your cunt, fucking you open, dragging across your walls, “taste s’fucking good, how’d I hold out this long without tasting you?” And your eyes flutter open at his groans, seeing him grind down on the sheets, so fucking horny from eating you out, “g’nna just cum from your taste alone, Princess,” you’re so incredibly soft, so soft, despite your walls being so tough, and it makes only eat you eat you from the inside out. 

You’re so close, and all you hear is the sounds of his greedy tongue swallowing you whole, and the sound of your heartbeat and short gasps. Your walls flutter around his tongue, your thighs twitching under his touch, hips jolting forward to meet his touch, his tongue so fucking deep that you can’t see straight, “Toru, please, I’m so close—“ 

And you feel him groan into your pussy, redoubling his efforts before his fingers find your clit and rub at it while he sucks at your cunt. You cum hard, fingernails digging into his scalp, as your back arches as he eagerly eats you out through your orgasm. The wet squelch of your cunt and his tongue slurping against you, drinking every drop you offer him. 

And then finally he’s pulling away with a pop, his chin and mouth dripping with your release and his spit, pink tongue darting out to clean up your cum from his face, wiping off the rest as he looked up at you from white lashed half lidded eyes. 

And you can’t even speak, still coming down from your high, as he kisses up your body again, your thighs still shaking from your orgasm, your fingers reaching for his cheek, tracing his jaw, before cupping his cheek. 

“How the fuck do you know how to do that well?” And he flashes a pretty smile, as he drags his thumb down your lips. 

“I said I was a virgin, I didn’t say I didn’t know how to do some things — and as you know, I’m an excellent student,” and you huff, raising an eyebrow, “and I’m naturally good at everything,” 

“And always so humble,” he laughs, before he kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his sweet lips, and you’re rolling him over onto his back, his erection slick with precum, pressing against your sensitive cunt, “let me make you feel good now,” you murmur, his cock twitching against you, “wanna ride you, Toru, need you in me,” 

And he’s hissing, as he moves to sit against the headboard, “You keep talking like that princess, I’m g’nna cum before you even—“ and your fingers are reaching between your bodies, and you’re stroking him, smearing his precum over the length of his shaft, making his hips jerk, “fuck—” 

You’re so fucking pretty — your teeth baring down on your bottom lip, as you straddle him, hovering still, his aching tip barely brushing against your dripping cunt, “are you sure?” you murmur, eyes meeting his own, and his lips quirk into a smile. 

“Never been more sure of anything,” and you sink onto him, thick length parting your folds, and he groans, as you fit him in your pussy, inch by inch, until your hips are flush. And fuck, he’s never felt anything better — pleasure runs up and down his body, as his hands find their way to your hips.

You’re tense at first, your back slightly arched, and when he shifts under you, a moan is ripped from your lips, as you begin to adjust to his size, “s’big, Toru, gonna make it hard for me to last too, feels too good,” you’re mumbling, and he’s holding his hips taut, making sure not to move — or else, he’s sure he’d cum in one stroke, “g’nna move ok?” and he’s nodding desperately, your walls already fluttering around him — slick and warm, better anything he’d ever felt. 

You lift up to the tip, before beginning to rock steadily up and down, as he moans, your sweet cunt swallowing him eagerly, as you began to fuck yourself on his cock. Your chest bounces as you ride him, and he can’t resist leaning forward to take a hardened bud in his mouth, your moan making his cock twitch inside you. And he knows why people become addicted to sex — hell, he knew was an addict for it now, but only with you. 

“Fuck, never felt anything this good before, sweetheart, feel s’perfect for me,” he’s grunting, the coil in his stomach growing tighter, as your pace grows more and more sloppy. He wasn’t going to last long, and neither were you from the way you were groaning his name again and again. The wet squelch and smacks of your bodies meeting again and again, only making it harder to hold back, and when he looks to see a white ring of your precum pooling around the base of his dick, he’s nearly gone, “fuck, baby, need you to cum with me,” 

“It’s okay, pretty boy, cum for me,” he keens at the praise, but he’s stubborn, as you established, and he won’t cum until you do too — and so he ensures it, reaching between your bodies to rub meanly at your clit before meeting your thrusts with his own. 

And his tip brushes against that spot that has your vision blurring and toes curling, “Toru, ngh, I’m—” and you’re cumming hard around him, making him spill his warm and thick seed inside your cunt, and he’s groaning you name as he does, your body slowing as you both come down from your highs, your head resting on his shoulder, as your bodies grow limp, resting, his back pressed to the headboard of his bed. 

His fingers trace the curve of your back gently, as he turns his head to press soft kisses to your neck, “Am I still just a distraction?” his lips curled into a smile, and you chuckle, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“Definitely,” but you lean back to cup his cheek, and look at his pretty face again, “but one worth having.” 

You don’t wake from your alarm the next morning. 

Instead, you wake to banging on the door. You both jolt awake, and he’s pulling you into his arms, even as you move to get up, he won’t let go, strong arms around your waist. You’re easing his arms off, trying to be gentle, “Toru, let go, and wait here, your father had a panic room installed in your closet, you hear anything, go inside—” 

“No, I’m coming with you,” and you shake your head. 

“I’m hired to protect you, not the other way around,” you leave his embrace, and face him, his crystal eyes blurred over with worry, “I can handle this,” you reassure him, your fingers intertwining with his, as you press a kiss to his knuckles, “I promise,” 

“But—” and you kiss him gently, silencing his protests, before you slip away into the hallway. 

You enter the living room, shutting the bedroom door without a sound, stalking through the hall, as you grab a knife and pepper spray from the chest of drawers that was pressed to the wall of the hallway — you had several self defense tools hidden all over the apartment. Your heartbeat thunders in your ear, mouth dry, as you approach the door from the side. 

“Who is it?”

“It’s Mr. Gojo, open this door,” and you sigh, relaxing, as you check and unlock the door for him. 

Shinsaku Gojo was only a man you were able to meet once before your work for him began. And it was a privilege even to see him then. His schedule was always packed — multiple meetings, multiple clients, and multiple women, all vying for his attention. Even as you spoke with him the first time, his eyes were on his phone the entire time, except when he had warned you, not to let anything distract you from protecting his son. 

And you had done just that — and even worse, his son had done the distracting, “Mr—” 

“Where’s my son? He hasn’t answered his phone all morning, and neither have you—didn’t you hear from your agency?” his voice is raising, as he dials your number again, and your phone vibrates on the couch. He scoffs, disconnecting the call, as his hard gaze turned back to you, “what if there was a threat? You left your phone—” 

“Dad,” Satoru emerges from the room, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, “it’s not her fault, she forgot it last night when we were watching a movie,” 

“Watching a movie?” he sneers, his cerulean gaze the same as son, but without any of the warmth Satoru had — an icy tundra compared to a warm pool, “she should be watching you, that’s her job—” 

“She was watching me — something you never bothered to do,” and his father’s eyes narrow, “she’s shown more concern for me than you ever had — and she only met me a few weeks ago. What’s your excuse for being a pathetic piece of—“ 

“Satoru,” your fingers brush his shoulder, shaking your head, “sir, I take responsibility for this lapse of judgment. Don’t blame your son,”

Satoru lowers his voice, “it’s not your fault—“ 

“It is. I disregarded by duty to protect you,” your cheeks burn with shame — “what if i had missed an alert you were in danger? What if I failed to protect you because I wasn’t focused? What if—“ 

“Nothing happened,” he says softly, and the twitch of his fingers tells you he’s gonna reach for you, but you step forward, shaking your head. 

“Nothing did,” and you turn to his father, “I’ll protect Satoru until you can find a suitable replacement for me. But I compromised my mission to protect him. I would like to resign as soon as possible,” 

“No! I—“ 

“Agreed,” his father says, “I’ll have your replacement here in an hour, make sure you’re packed up by then,” and his father leaves without another word. 

You brush past him to gather your things, but he’s caught you by the wrist, “Why did you do—“ 

“Gojo,” and you can’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, “I can’t let my feelings get in the way of keeping you safe—“ 

“I don’t care—“ you cut him off. 

“I do, I couldn’t stand if something happened to you because of me. What it was an emergency last night and you got hurt because of my own carelessness—“ 

“It wasn’t careless what happened last night—“ 

“It was,” you say, walking to your room, “and it won’t happen again.” 

You left. You had expected a fight, an argument, a dramatic show of tears — but nothing. Satoru hadn’t even opened his door to watch you leave. The other bodyguard arrived quickly, and you left the penthouse and didn’t look back. 

It was for the best. 

You had a duty, a role to play, and more than that, you couldn’t let him get hurt because of your inability to compartmentalize. Even so, Satoru’s father was kind enough not to have told your father what happened — or you supposed it was pity in exchange for your quick and easy resignation. 

Fuck. Why were you still thinking about this? You rolled over in bed, burying your head under your comforter. A week out, and you still couldn’t stop worrying about Satoru, about his safety, about the hurt on his face, about that night… 

You had fucked everything up, and fucked Satoru up in the aftermath. 

You poke your head out, and stare at your phone on your bedside table — 7:45 PM, no new messages — you had written out six different messages to him again and again, before deleting them. You wondered how many more you’d write before you finally would rid your mind of him. 

Would you ever rid your mind of him? 

And that’s when your phone rings. But it’s not flashing Satoru’s number — it’s his father. You scramble for the phone — why was he calling? And you can only think of one reason. You can’t say a single word when you pick up — his father already hissing his first question.  

“Where is he?” your words are lodged in your throat, stuck on your heart that had leapt from your chest. 

“What?” 

“Where’s Satoru? He came to you didn’t he?” he growls, and you hear a slam, assumedly his fist against his desk, “he shook off his new bodyguard, and his phone is off,” 

“He hasn’t — I haven’t talked to him since I left—” your mind is running a mile a minute, racking your brain, placing the call on speakerphone, as you text Satoru, where are you? “Where did the bodyguard see him last?” 

“He had him at the dorms, he said he was going to see a friend, and then gave him the slip,” his father groans, “you hear anything from him, otherwise—” 

“I’ll let you know,” you cut him off at the threats — you had more important things to do. You checked your messages, but your messages hadn’t gone through, and you tried calling him — but it went straight to voicemail. Satoru was upset — he could’ve blocked you or turned off his phone to piss off his father, but you didn’t see him doing that. He was an idiot, but he knew his father would lose his shit. 

And then you remembered. The tracker you placed on Satoru — you never took it off. You had sewed it into the insole of his daily shoes (the man had far too many clothes and shoes, but he rarely found the energy to not wear anything besides the shoes he always wore). 

You turned it on, biting your lip as you watched the tracker loaded, and his location popped up — and it wasn’t at his apartment. 

It was in Shibuya — you typed in the address and he was at a house. 

You furrow your brow, who did he know who lived in Shibuya? And then it clicked. 

Fuck. 

Those girls. 

Satoru groaned, fuck, why is his head hurting so badly? 

It wasn’t exactly unusual the last few days. He hadn’t been sleeping much since you left, he spent most of his nights watching TV and rotting in his bed. But everything reminded him of you — his bed, his couch, and even the shows he watched (he had continued one of the shows you both had started one late night). 

His apartment was a disaster — a mess of empty soda cans, empty wrappers of candy and old takeout containers. But he couldn’t be bothered with it — to clean it up or call someone to clean it up. His bodyguard had taken up residence in your room — or rather the guest room — and hardly emerged, keeping an eye on him through cameras his father had installed around the doors and hallway. 

Not that he really needed to, Satoru rarely left his apartment, even had skipped classes for a week — sending an email that he had a very contagious illness and that he’d be happy to attend class if necessary. They sent him materials to work on classwork from home, piled untouched on his kitchen counter, with a possible smudge from the hot fudge he had last night. 

He had made progress — instead of staying in bed, he moved onto the couch for his afternoon nap, and he had just fallen asleep when there was a banging on his door. He groaned into the couch pillow he had just gotten comfortable on, before pulling it onto his head, trying to block out the sounds of the knocking. 

“Satoru! Open up,” he hears Suguru’s voice through the door, “open the fucking door, I know you’re not sick,” 

He pulls himself up, groaning, as he wipes the small amount of drool from his lips, as he meanders to the door, throwing it open. 

“You look like shit,” Suguru says, brushing past him to enter. 

“No ‘hello, you look like shit?’” He mumbles, still rubbing his eyes, “what are you doing here?” 

“I should be asking you that,” he stands, hands in his pockets, as he takes in the mess with a wrinkled nose, “although I see you’ve decided to redecorate,”

“Hilarious,” Satoru replies, lying back on the couch, “did you come here just to hassle me?” 

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say that wasn’t part of it, but the other was to see if you’re ready to pick yourself back up after your breakup—“ 

“It wasn’t a breakup,” Satoru snaps. 

“If it wasn’t, then why does it look like you haven’t showered in several days since she left?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, and Satoru scowls. 

“I’m sick,” he turns away to face the couch, “I don’t have the energy to shower,” 

“But you have the energy to eat about half a dozen mochi doughnuts?” Suguru holds up an empty doughnut box, and Satoru holds a couch pillow to his chest, “Satoru, come on, it isn’t like you to wallow like this,” 

“I’m not wallowing—“ 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re sick, right?” Suguru says sarcastically. Satoru doesn’t need to look at his best friend to know he’s rolling his eyes, “well you don’t seem like you’re sneezing or coughing so go take a shower or something,” Satoru gives a weak fake cough, and he could feel Suguru’s glare, “fine, rot in bed, but you have to get up sometime, just text me when you’re ready to,” 

And Satoru hears Suguru’s footsteps recede to the door, swinging shut with a click behind him. He buries his face in the pillow. It wasn’t a break up. How could it be when you didn’t even have a relationship to begin with? You had made that clear enough when you left without another word to him. He didn’t leave his room until he heard the door shut behind you, and he made his way out to watch you leave out the front door of the apartment. And you didn’t even look back. But you weren’t the type to. 

He felt like he was always looking back — one way or another. 

And even now, as he came to — he was trying to remember what he had done after Suguru left. Someone else had shown up — knocked at his door. Offered to get him out of the house — offered him free alcohol and a distraction. 

And he had agreed — if only to forget about you for a moment. Drinking was the only thing that made him forget — if he only could somehow forget how terrible alcohol tasted. 

His head spun, so was this a hangover? It’s certainly worse than the one he had before — the last one felt like his brain was fuzzy and nausea clawed at his stomach — this time, it felt more akin to someone taking a blender to both of those organs. And his neck, he stretched it both ways. How had he fallen asleep? 

And then he tried to lift up his hand to rub his eyes, and he couldn't, wrist straining against something — his brow furrowed, what was arm caught on — and his eyes fluttered open. It was dark — the only light came from another room, peeking through the crack at the bottom of, what he assumed was, a door. And then as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked at his arms. 

Ropes. Twisted around both his arms, binding his wrists and forearms to the arms of a chair, and his vision blurs — what? His legs jerk instinctively, but ropes dig into the flesh of his ankles, and he glanced down only to find what he expected. 

“You’re awake,” the light flicks on, he lifts his head, blinking away the fog in his head and the burning tears slipping from his eyes, “didn’t realize the drug would knock you out for that long,”

He blinks again and again, light flooding his eyes, until he can see and sees a familiar face — “Misaki?” the light sends a piercing jolt through his head, “or is it Yumiko?” 

“Well that’s flattering, you can’t even remember my name?” she sighs, crossing her arms, “well I unfortunately don’t have the same luxury,” and then she adds with a quirk of her lips, “it is Yumiko,” and she steps forward, as his eyes squeeze shut, his head still banging, “sorry what I gave you to knock you out can cause some light sensitivity,” 

It’s slowly sinking in, “I don’t know what kind of weird kink you have, but I’m not interested,” and she scoffs, pressing her knuckles to her chin, “where am I?” 

“Do you think I’m really going to tell you that?” she raises an eyebrow, “I did send you threats after all, you don’t think I’d be that stupid to tell you where I am,” 

He needed to buy time, he needed to find a way to get out of here, and to do that, he needed time, “What? Are you obsessed with me or something? Do you want my body?”

“I’m going to stop your overinflated ego there,” she sighs, leaning against a table that was behind her, “I have a debt to pay and you’re the price,” 

“Debt?” he repeats, “is this where you explain your whole plan? And villain speech? Because I usually I could care less, but I’m feeling a little generous with my time, as I’m a little tied up at the moment, so—” 

“Do you ever shut up?” 

“It’s known to happen on occasion,” she rubs her temples, and then something occurs to him, “how did you get my address? You showed up and invited me,” 

She shakes his head, “You think I couldn’t find out your address after sending you threats?” and she sighs, “You know this is why I tried to do this at the first party — get it over with so I wouldn’t have to deal with this. But then you crushed your beer cup, your little girlfriend got in the way, and that idiot Misaki accidentally switched her shot glass with yours, so I couldn’t get you dosed,” she grits her teeth, “and then the rest of the semester, your girlfriend was up your ass the entire time — but she wasn’t your girlfriend was she? She was your bodyguard,” he says nothing, “you don’t need to confirm it for me, I already found her information, her name, her address—” 

“What do you want? Money? My father will pay anything to get me back. Tell me who you need to repay and he’ll do it,” and her lips curl. 

“So serious now — and so cooperative, maybe I should have kidnapped her too while I was at it,” she shrugs, while she grabs her phone from the table — a burner — “my father will be here to escort you to where you need to go. The yakuza will take it from there,” his blood runs cold, “Don’t cause a fuss and i can promise your girlfriend will stay safe,” 

He grits his teeth — he was so stupid. This was exactly the kind of shit you were trying to protect him from. And it was the thing he landed himself in the moment you left. But he didn’t care — because it was better this way, because you were safe this way.

“Wow, you’re pretty cute when you’re all quiet,” and she’s walking over, and he’s flinching as she drags a manicured nail down his cheek, before tilting it up, “it’s just that mouth that’s a problem,” and her thumb brushes down his lips, “don’t bite, or we might have a problem,” 

And he doesn’t, but then he smiles back, “you might like it when I bite,” he smirks, “why don’t you come here and find out?” And she raises her eyebrows, leaning closer, and he smashes his forehead into hers, “fuck off,” 

She stumbles back, losing her balance, and leaning against the table as she clutches at her forehead. Satoru watches her, trying to wriggle out of his constraints, rope chafing against his skin, red welts rising on his skin, but he only manages to get one hand free before she’s starting to get her bearings, and then he’s trying to free himself, his chair tipping over. And now he’s lying helplessly as she stumbles forward over to him, clutching a knife she grabbed off the table. 

“I have to hand you over to the yakuza, but they didn’t say you had to be completely unharmed,” she presses the tip of the knife to his cheek, “maybe we’ll do something to that pretty face of yours,” he grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. 

CRACK. 

He hears a body slump over, and the clatter of the knife against the cement floor, and his eyes open to find you kneeling beside him. He’s blinking, murmuring your name, “What are you—” 

“Well I never did remove that tracker did I?”  You’re cutting the ropes on his wrists and ankles with the knife, “and I’m lucky you wear the same damn shoes everyday,” 

“Why did you come for me?” he says, as you finally free him his restraints, your fingers gentle as they examine the welts and bruises left on his skin, “you could have just told my father where I was or the police,” 

“I could’ve. I saw where you were and I figured it out—“ and your voice wavers, “but all I could think was that I wanted to find you. And I didn’t wanna wait for anyone else. I didn’t want something to happen just because someone else was too slow,” the lump in your throat grows only larger, as you sit, “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you,” 

“Why?” he asks softly, his fingers brush against your cheek, and he knows why — he does, but he needs to hear it. 

“Because I just want…to be the one to protect you,” you admit, tears burning at your eyes, as your thumb traces over his rope burns and bruises, “I wish that I could have,” 

“You did a pretty good job, considering I almost was about to get my face cut up,” and he gently wipes your tears away, “imagine what a tragedy that would be,” 

You give a watery chuckle, cupping his cheeks, “I’m sorry,” and he opens his mouth, “no i really am. I shouldn’t have slept with you, only to cut and run after. I thought…I thought I was doing you a favor,” 

“How?” And you sigh, blinking away your tears. 

“I put your life in danger by doing that. I couldn’t do that. I knew the only way you’d let me go is…if I lied to you and said I didn’t care about you,” you bite your bottom lip, “and I’m sorry because I only hurt you more in the end,” 

He kisses your lips gently, chastely, his breath warming your lips as he parts from them, “you did,” and you scoff, pushing him playfully, “but as long as you promise not to do it again, I think I can find it in my incredibly generous heart to forgive you,” 

You kiss him again, softly, your fingers sliding to the back his neck, into his undercut, “I promise,” and he grins, before leaning back to kiss you again, when a cough behind you catches your attention. 

“My father will be getting here shortly you idiots, while you gaze fucking stupidly into each other’s eyes,” she sneers, and you raise an eyebrow. 

“You think I’d come here without calling the police? They already have picked up your father — and they should be almost here—“ and the sounds of an ambulance and police sirens come into earshot. 

“Good timing,” Satoru mutters, as Yumiko tries and fails to stumble to her feet, and you get up and pin her to the ground. Satoru raises an eyebrow, and watches, as you glance back at him, tilting your head in question, “nothing, it’s just…hot to see you in action,” 

You laugh, “Did she hit your head too?” And he shrugs, as he gets onto this feet with shaky legs, “Satoru—“ 

And he sits next to you, leaning on your shoulder, “just let me rest here for a minute,” he mumbles. 

For the first time since you left, Satoru felt like he could finally rest. 

And Satoru did rest, he realized as he blinked awake to the ambient sounds of the hospital room, the distinct beep of the heartbeat monitor, the dim light of the moon filtering through the shades, and the distant sounds of people walking through the hall. He hears the sounds of sheets rustling, and his gaze snaps over to his left. 

His gaze softens. You were fast asleep beside him, your arms tucked under your head, your breaths were soft, as they were the night you two had spent together. He sat himself up — fingers running through your hair gently. You had fallen asleep before him that night, face buried in the crook of his neck, and your legs entangled with his. And now you slept beside him on a chair, leaning on his bedside. 

His fingers carded through your hair again, and you stirred, as he swore under his breath, your eyes fluttered open, “Toru?” you mumbled, still half asleep, and he hummed. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he sighed softly, “why are you sleeping here? You should have gone home,” you sit up, stretching, as you furrow your brow, eyes scanning him for any sign of an injury or distress. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay — you were unconscious, but no concussion thankfully. I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t wake,” you sigh, words tumbling out almost faster than you can think of them, “they mostly kept you for observation, but are you feeling okay? Should I get the nurse—“ 

And he’s pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around you, as he sighs, burying his face in your neck, “I just want to stay like this for a while,” he murmurs, “I got everything I need right here, got it?” He feels you nod, and he feels the hint of your tears on his skin, but says nothing, only his lips quirk, “you did mean your promise?” 

“I did, I won’t leave like that again,” and he’s leaning back, head tilted, and you chuckle, “I mean I won’t leave you at all, how’s that?” 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, leaning closer, and his heart squeezes when he hears your breath hitch as he does. His eyes flicker to your lips and back, “can I kiss—“ 

But you kiss him first, softly, your fingers brushing his cheek, and god, why was it that a single touch from you melted him away to nothing? Whittled his world view to a pin where all he could feel, all he could see, was you. 

And then you kiss his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, and then your teeth graze the soft part of his neck, drawing a pretty gasp from his lips, as you suck lightly on his skin. 

He’s whispering your name, breath sucked from his lungs as if your teeth had pierced through his throat instead of just his skin, “what was that for?” 

And you smile, “so everyone knows you’re mine.” 

“You’re changing your major?” Suguru raises his eyebrow, as he lounges on Satoru’s couch, holding his head up with his elbow propped against the top of the couch, “your father must’ve been thrilled about that,” 

“He lost his shit, but that geezer can fuck off,” Satoru shrugs, “he threatened to not pay my tuition, but once I threatened to go public with his dealings with the yakuza, he saw it my way,” 

Suguru tilts his head, “His what?” 

You bring over tea from the kitchen, placing it on the table, “After what Satoru found out from Yumiko and her father, their debt to the yakuza would have been paid off by kidnapping one of Satoru’s father’s close relatives, but I was wondering why was the yakuza so eager to do so?” 

“Apparently my old man had the brilliant idea of entertaining the yakuza on some deal he was making,” Satoru explains, leaning back on the couch, as you sit against his legs, “and when he backed out, the yakuza wanted to push it through anyway — and well, thus their blackmail of Yumiko’s father, once they found out his daughter went to school with me.” 

“Yeah, turns out her father had gambling debts owed to the yakuza,” you sighed, “she got caught in the crossfire — I almost feel bad,” 

“Speak for yourself, she drugged me, tied me to a chair, and held a knife to my face,” Satoru scoffs, sipping his tea that he had you drown in sugar. 

“Well you didn’t complain when I did that last night,” you reply, making both Satoru and Suguru choke, and you laughed, squealing when Satoru lifts you into his lap to bury his face into your back. 

“You two are officially sickening to be around,” Suguru grimaces, still coughing from choking down his tea, “I think I liked it better when he was wasting away in his apartment,” 

“You wasted away after I left?” You turn to look at Satoru, who shoots a glare at Suguru, “sorry Geto, that’s not happening again,” and Satoru softens his gaze, pressing a kiss to your head. 

“Alright, that’s it, I’m leaving,” Suguru gets to his feet, as he glances back at you two, “don’t rush to get up, I’ll see myself out,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t worry we weren’t going to,” Satoru pulls you closer, and Suguru narrows his eyes, before his lips curl into a grin. 

“Just for that, I’m sending your girlfriend a picture of the mess you looked like when she left,” Satoru gapes at him, while you bite back a laugh. 

“Suguru!” Satoru calls, but the door’s shut, and you’re starting to giggle. He’s pouting now, “so my girlfriend thinks it's funny to see me in the pathetic state she left me in?” 

“Oh your girlfriend finds it very funny, and she might even make it her boyfriend’s contact picture,” you smirk, and he’s biting back a smile, “What?” 

“This is just the first time we called each other that,” he mumbles, a slight dusting of pink on his cheeks, “it’s nice,” he admits. 

“Well, I am yours, aren’t I?” you smile, and he presses a kiss to your lips, as he would again and again. 

“My one and only.” 

✧ a/n: so this fic was so freaking long. i'm sorry it took so long to post this - i got a little sidetracked by prof geto haha. but i'm hoping to start on the next one soon :). i think i'll put a poll up on which one i should write next! edit: forgot to tag the people who requested this, its now added in T_T

✧ taglist: @teatreeoilll, @intrxspectiv, @marvel-fanaticz, @ilovemybabes, @lwustyz, @jayathelostdragon, @vampzys, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @soilmayo, @iwassentfromhell, @lobotomy-kaisen, @gojoallmine, @forest-hashira, @h3artpiecexx, @lailarratx, @gummibat, @hanlay, @ilovewoo9, @nvmlolo, @h6avenly, @eriyvesa, @alexandraioann4, @eclipsephase, @sokkasmoon, @aizzon, @makotome9, @daddytojji, @fluffy-pancakes01, @imjustmememe, @spookyy-gracee, @forest-fruits-jam, @that-goth-bisexual, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @lookinreality,

[rainrot4me]

Return The Favor

Summary: Stumbling in on your neighbor’s chopped up body, an unlikely friendship forms between you and Toby. Striking a deal, you agree to help the killer and his friends, buying them necessary prescriptions. But when one visit turns to multiple, Toby becomes curious, finding a not so subtle love note hidden away.

Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Mentions of death, explicit description of a dismembered body, decomposition, death, gore, obsession, vomit, throwing up, blood (non-sexual), blood (sexual), vaginal fingering, degradation, biting, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, vaginal, choking, gagging, somnophilia, rough, Toby literally goes insane about you, virginity kink, first time, desperation

Words: 9.4k

A/N: This shit long asl I'm so sorry... Characters in this story are not canonical!

It’s said that when there’s a dead body nearby, your body can sense it before your brain can. 

It’s almost like instinct, a survival nature programmed into your brain. It’ll start with goosebumps and chills running all over your body as if you were being watched, this uncomfortable sensation that you just can’t rationalize. Then the anxiety sets in, body aching and sweating for no apparent reason but it just knows there’s something wrong. 

Finally, when you’ve finally choked it up to just being your imagination, that’s when you’ll smell it. Throat instantly closing and nostrils flaring at the putrid stench of rot and gore. It’s incomparable, no amount of food poisoning or disease compares to the sickness you feel in your stomach at the smell of a human body decomposing. Every instinct in your body pleading and begging you to get out of there, run as far away until you can’t breathe anymore. 

You would know. And it seemed like the boy huddled in front of you did too. 

There was no real reason for you to even be in this house in the first place, but your all-too-good heart guilted you into it. You had just come home from work, mind tired and body sleepy as you unlocked your front door, tossing your bag onto the kitchen table inside. It was well past midnight, the diner you worked at closing way later than normal, but at least you made some good tips. 

Sliding into your bedroom, you changed into more comfortable clothes, tying your hair back before stepping into your kitchen. You gripped the tiny journal lying on the counter, cracking the worn pages open to where you left off, scribbling your thoughts onto the paper. It was your nightly routine, journaling things you saw or did, a coping mechanism suggested by your therapist. It wasn’t for anything intensive, just minor anxiety and self-image problems, always having negative thoughts about yourself. It helped. Glancing up, you looked through the tiny window above your sink, a clear view of your neighbor’s back porch, Mr. Higgs, an older man who made it very difficult to be friendly. He was a hateful guy, always nitpicking your choice of decorations or specific outfits he didn’t find appropriate. A real sweetheart, obviously. 

But compared to his usual eight PM lights out, the living room lamp was still bright, shining directly through his open back porch door. That was odd. As long as you had known this guy, it wasn’t like him to be up this late, let alone be outside. Every instinct told you to just clean up and go to bed, his angry ass probably scooting off a raccoon or something. But you just couldn’t pass up that nagging feeling, your kindheartedness overpowering you. So, sighing, you tossed a hoodie on and slid out your back door, stepping down the porch steps into the cool grass.

You flinched as a flash of brown passed your vision, small and thin against the dark grass. Cooing, you kneeled down, holding your fingers out as Mr. Higg’s old cat, Addy, sniffed the air around you, pressing against your bare legs as she purred. The man was way too protective of his cat. Something was definitely wrong.

Standing again, Addy pranced away, meowing loudly behind you as your bare feet became wet against the midnight dew, grass sticking to your ankles as you walked, arms hugging yourself against the cold. This would probably just end with you getting told to mind your business and stomping back to bed upset, but it was the thought that counted. Gripping onto the porch rail, you stepped up his creaky wooden porch, knocking against the wooden frame of the open door.

“Mr. Higgs? Everything alright?” You called into the room, refusing to go in. There was no response, you knocked again after a couple of seconds. Still nothing. You gulped, rubbing your arms against your sides, nerves wracking you. “Okay. I’m coming in. Don’t get mad 'cause you didn’t answer me.” You called again, pressing past the door and wiping your wet feet on the welcome mat. 

The house was quiet, the only light being the lamp sat on a coffee table adjacent to the old couch. All the furniture had an older look like something out of the eighties, it made you cringe. “Mr. Higgs, are you home?” You shouted down the dark hallway, all the doors shut except for one at the end which you assumed to be his room. Hugging yourself, your legs felt anxious, your mind racing with all the reasons you shouldn’t walk down there. There was no reason for it, this was all just probably some old guy who forgot to shut his door, but you just couldn’t shake the feeling.

Taking a step down the hallway, that’s when it started. Those feelings, like your body can feel shouldn’t be there. The air suddenly grew thick, a nauseating feeling setting in against your chest, pressing down like a conscious weight. But you shook it off, telling yourself it was just you scaring yourself with all of those crime shows, but you should’ve known better.

The door was cracked, moonlight from the open shades pressing against the doorframe, your hand flat against the wood as you pushed the door open. Then came the smell. It was stout, a putrid funk that wafted against the walls, souring the room. The room was dark, pupils blown wide as they fought to see, hand sliding against the wall and searching for a light switch. Your body was tense, senses on high alert against the dark, breathing ragged against the awful stench filling your senses. Your eyes were beginning to water, wondering what in the hell could be stinking this terribly, until you felt the switch, flipping it on.

Your first instinct was to throw up, throat constricting and stomach tightening, but you just couldn’t move. You were petrified by the scene in front of you. Mr. Higgs was there, at least, what you could recognize of him. His head had been cleaved from his body, intensive amounts of blood staining his beige bedsheets. His cheeks were bloated, a gnarly purple color as his veins poked against his forehead, skin wrinkled and soaked in blood as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. They were yellow now, dark veins contrasting against the orbs as puss leaked from every hole on his expressionless face. The rest of his body was scattered, chunks of muscle shredded from his arms and hands like they had been cut off, legs more or less the same. His wide stomach was completely visible, his skin swollen and dark, bloated against the same liquids spilling from his pores. The blood was the worst part. It was just everywhere. Splattered on the sheets, the nightstand, even the walls, specks reaching the roof. You were so lost in your racing thoughts, your heart pounding heavily against your chest as you gripped the door tightly, knuckles white on the frame. You could feel the cold sweat drip down your brow, utter fear chilling your body. 

You wouldn’t have even noticed the tall boy standing in the corner if he hadn’t flinched, eyes wide and locked on you. He was lanky, easily taller than you and pale. No, not pale, more gray. He had curly brown hair that fell in front of his eyes, his freckled cheeks flushed against the bandages across his jaw. A pair of goggles rested amongst his curls, a dark mask covering his nose and mouth. He wore dark wash jeans loose around his hips and a heavier brown hoodie that was stained with dark blood. Oh God. The boy didn’t look much older than you despite his bruise battered skin. But he wasn’t moving, wasn’t talking, he was just watching. 

His hands were behind his back, shoulders scrunched against the corner of the dark walls as you pressed back off the door frame, breathing ragged. “Who the hell are you?” You grimaced, tone coming across a lot more confident than you felt. The boy flinched, not out of fear, more like a bodily reaction. He refused to answer, eyes scanning around quickly until he pressed off the wall, sliding to the shuttered window and pinching the blinds open, scanning the night without explanation. That’s when you heard loud boots stepping up the porch steps, head spinning quickly down the hallway. “Shit.” You heard him, the boy’s voice panicked and rough, his boots stepping quickly across the hardwood and into your vicinity. Panic strained you, head spinning back quickly before your vision was filled with his arms wrapping around you, palm slapping over your mouth as he pressed you to his chest. 

You tried to fight back, mumbled pleas against his hand as you shouldered his arms, your back pressed firmly against him. He was dragging you into the room, your feet dragging as you struggled, clawing his arms away but he never budged, practically unaware of the scratches you were leaving on his hands. “F- Fuckin’ quit-” He growled quietly, pressing open the small closet doors and dragging you both in, quickly shutting the door as you heard the boots grow louder down the hallway. A sliver of light shone through the crack in the door, leaving you just enough room to see the gorey scene as you pressed off of him, his muscled arms refusing to let you go.

“Toby?” A scratchy voice called into the room, the figure stepping through the door frame and into your line of sight. At his appearance, you froze completely, your body tense against the boy behind you. His arms gripped tighter, bandaged fingers digging into your cheek as he kept you quiet. He was horrifying. 

This man was taller than the one in the closet with you, pasty skin a sharp contrast against his dark messy hair. His eyes were wide, pupils dark against his reddened scleras. He wore a white hoodie, dark jeans covered just the same with Mr. Higg’s blood. But the worst part, the part that made your heart pump in your throat, was his smile. It was etched in, flesh torn upwards into a mocked smile, teeth exposed from the side of his cheek. The area was mangled, seemingly unhealed as blood dried against the cut. He almost made Mr. Higgs seem not that bad.

“Twitch, come on,” He called again, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket as he strolled around the room, kicking Mr. Higg’s severed foot out of the way. “I’m gettin’ tired. This guy had some good beers and I’m tryna get back home and drink ‘em.” He snickered, turning back out of the room and back down the hallway, his loud boots stomping against the old floors. Who you presumed to be Toby didn’t let you go, arms just as tight around you as you gripping his hoodie’s sleeves tight. “Fine then! If you’re gonna play fuckin’ hide and seek then I’m leavin’ your ass here!” He called throughout the house, your body only untensing when you heard the back porch door slam shut, loud boots thunking down the porch and out of earshot. 

You both waited a couple of seconds, heart thudding in your ears as arms slowly released you, palm unclasping from your mouth. Panicked, you slammed out of the closet, turning around quickly and facing Toby, back pressed against the nearest wall as you searched for something to defend yourself with. “D- Dumbass.” He grit, pressing out of the cramped closet and facing you, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. The stench of the room pressed harder than ever, making your head dizzy as you pressed out of the room and down the hallway, Toby quick on your heels. “Whoever the fuck you are, whatever the fuck you want, I’m sure Mr. Higgs didn’t have it. Why in God’s name is he in pieces in his bedroom?” You hissed, gagging as the image replayed in your mind, turning into his kitchen and wracking the cupboards. When you found a small plastic cup, you ran water in through the sink, chugging the stout liquid down as you calmed your breathing. Toby stayed in the doorframe, crossing his arms. You probably shouldn’t have let your guard down, knowing full and well what he had just down to your neighbor, but you figured if he was going to he would have already.

“It’s none of y- your business. I don’t k- kill innocents, so you s- shoulda just stayed home, m- missy.” He growled back, stuttering through the words. You tossed the cup in the sink, the plastic clattering against the metal as you turned to face him, running your hands through your hair. “Hard to when you guys so obviously left his door open. The bastards hounded me for years, you’d think I’d be happy about his death, but not fucking like that.” You hissed, leaning back against the counter and crossing your arms, bare feet cold against the porcelain tiles. “I mean, Jesus. And I mean, thanks and all for the save back there, but how is killing him and saving me any different? It’s just favoring one innocent over another.” Toby shook his head, sliding past you and tugging a drawer open, shovelling through old receipts until he found the stack he was searching for. He passed it to you, paper crinkling as you skimmed through, old pharmacy receipts for prescription medicine. 

“H- Had the old bastard bu- buying our meds. Paid h- him off and everything. Un- Until he started g- giving us coun- counterfeits, sellin’ u- us out. He h- had to pay u- up somehow…” He huffed, shoving his mask down off of his nose and under his chin, his thin lips chapped against the bandages hugging his cheeks. And of course, he was cute. 

“So he gets shredded?” You had to breathe through that sentence, throat tight with nausea. Toby nodded, a small smirk crooking at the corner of his lips. You grimaced, pressing off of the counter and through to the living room, the old furniture seeming a lot less homey now. You were going home, filing a police report, and praying to God these fuckers didn’t come back to get you instead. 

“U- Uh, might wa- wanna clean up, t- too,” Toby chuckled from behind you. You paused, confused as you looked around, stomach twisting as you looked down. Bloody footprints trekked through the kitchen behind you, a trail leading to your bare feet as you lift your knee, gagging at the sight of Mr. Higg’s blood coating your soles. Toby was laughing, the noise muffled against the ringing in your ears as you hunched over, stomach convulsing as you puked on the hardwood floors, your lunch from work coming back up. Head straining, you panted, wiping your lips. “Oh, s- shit, okay.” Toby hissed, sliding to your side and raising you up, hugging you close to his side. He drug you through the door, stomach still churning as you watched your footprints faintly appear beneath you, purposefully dragging them through the grass to get the blood off. You felt disgusting, giving no fight as Toby brought you to your porch steps, helping you up. He was so bipolar, angry and distasteful for one second, then cautious and endearing the next. It really was like you were dealing with a teenager. 

Addy circled your ankles, her dense fur tickling your skin and making you jump, Toby gripping your arms tighter. “Oh, hi kitty.” You cooed, breathing deep as you kneeled down, scooping her up into your arms as Toby helped you up the rest of the steps. Without asking, he slid open your screen door, helping you both inside as Addy purred against your chest, Toby wary as he stared at her. You dropped her on the floor gently, Toby sliding the door shut as you hunched over your sink, cleaning your mouth and grabbing a rag for your feet. Toby still eyed Addy, fidgeting his nails as he followed her. “Ever seen a cat before? She was Mr. Higg’s.” You chuckled, cleaning the soles of your feet off and tossing the rag into the sink, still feeling unclean. Toby nodded, rubbing his arms nervously as he looked back at you, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah. Us- Used to have one. T- They kinda sc- scare me now.” Smiling, you scooped Addy up again, petting her soft fur as you brought her close to the boy, his neck twitching nervously. 

How could this guy shred a man to pieces, but petting a cat was too frightening for him? You couldn’t understand. Digressing, you gripped his wrist, steadying the twitches as you placed his hand on her back, rubbing gently as Toby flinched, breathing quickly. Addy purred, unbothered by the action as he became more comfortable, fingers playing with her fur before he pulled his hand back, breathing deep.

You were too nice for your own good, too easy at giving the benefit of the doubt. Of course, you would find the redeemable traits in a murderer, heart hurting for this boy who was more or less the same as you. Groaning, you dropped Addy, crossing your arms. “Listen. What you did, it’s… For my own conscience, I can’t let it happen again.” You grit, circling your countertop and sitting on a stool, your journal tucked in front of you as you fidgeted with the pages. “If we can agree, I’ll buy your meds. I have a friend who can write me prescriptions, no questions asked. But I need you to understand, under no circumstances, are you allowed to harm me. I’ll call the cops.” Like the cops could stop these lunatics. But, you needed some type of leverage. 

Toby thought quietly, eyes narrowed as he flinched uncomfortably against Addy rubbing on his shins, purring loudly. If you could hold your end, there would be no trouble, but he had to know he could rely on you. “Th- The meds aren’t for m- me. My f- friends, they need ‘em to function, m- mentally… You g- gotta realize this is- is serious.” Even stuttering his voice was stern, arms crossed as he thought, contemplating. You nodded, brushing your hair from your face as you groaned, realizing how desperately you needed to learn to set boundaries. “I can get them. But you have to keep your end, too.” You hissed back, pinching your fingers nervously. Toby smiled, crossing his heart, literally. Rolling your eyes, you nodded, rubbing your face as you groaned. What the fuck were you even doing? 

“I’ll have them by the end of the week. Come later at night, cops’ll be swarming for weeks thanks to you.” Toby nodded, sliding over to the counter and gripping your journal, tearing a page out as he wrote the list of prescriptions you would need to get. It was a hefty list, some of that shit intense. “Abou- About that,” He slid his mask up over his nose, sliding the screen door open as he stepped out, chuckling. “Do- Don’t go outside. Gonna ma- make it look like a g- gas leak.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he shut the screen, sliding his hood over his head and peeling down the porch steps. Finally taking a deep breath, you stared at Addy, wondering what in the absolute fuck you were doing. Rest in hell, Mr. Higgs.

-

He made it look like a gas leak alright. The house was on fire in minutes, the bright orange flames lighting your room as you heard sirens in the distance, your other neighbors gathered outside their houses as you climbed into bed, groaning your displeasure. Cops and firefighters swarmed for days afterwards, investigating the area thoroughly, but never finding any remains of Mr. Higgs, his body buried somewhere far away. They eventually grew restless, the city quickly cleaned up the charred remains of the house and a new plan for construction was set in soon. It went over smoothly, no one even suspecting a thing. 

The days passed slowly, nervousness building as the end of the week grew closer, feet shuffling as you stood in line at the pharmacy. You got the doctor’s notes easily, already called in and waiting to be picked up as you were handed a small paper bag, the pharmacist eyeing you closely as you hurried out. Once in your car, you rummaged the sack, eyes wide as you read the dosage instructions on each little pill bottle. You read each bottle carefully, cringing at the names of the contents: Thorazine, Prolixin, Haldol, and even Aripiprazole. They were all high-end antipsychotics, the list of treatments for schizophrenia and mania, along with treatment-resistant depression. The last bottle caught your eye, a quick Google search told you it was for tourette's. So his twitching wasn’t just nervousness, huh. Shoveling the sack into your bag, you sped home, Toby well on his way as the sun set low.

The first week was easy, Toby in and out without so much as a hello, nodding his thanks as he bolted back into the woods, eyes dark and heavy. It was easy for you, moving along with your life despite the one night of the week. You felt easier, the boy quick about his stops with some chat, but never hanging around for too long, eyes always scanning the tree line nervously. 

As weeks passed, he grew more comfortable, you learned that he was quick about stopping due to his friends, their curiosity about you making him nervous about losing his ‘dealer.’ You learned to leave his meds on the counter, sometimes not even present when he would sneak in at the late hours of the night, your job taking precedence over your sleep schedule. But with all of this money being spent weekly on medicine, you had to pick up more time at work, everything being paid for out of pocket not to raise suspicion. You were sleeping more, journaling and your hobbies taking less importance until they were practically nonexistent. It was hard, your serving heart refusing to let you rest, making sure Toby got his medication is the most important thing. You were strained, to say the least. 

However, surprisingly, after a couple of weeks, Toby wasn’t in a hurry to leave. He had slid in like he always did, you sat at the counter eating your dinner as you scribbled through the pages of your notebook, summing up the previous days. You were exhausted, Toby making you jump slightly as he shut the screen door, rummaging through the paper sack. “G- Got any more?” He grinned shyly, sliding his mask and goggles off and tossing them onto the counter. You nodded to the fridge, an extra container of leftovers from the diner quickly opened in front of him as he shoveled it into his mouth. “It’s better heated up,” You laughed, shutting your journal as you slid off the stool, gripping the to-go container from him and popping it into the microwave. You both sat there awkwardly, Toby kneeling down to rub Addy’s back as she appeared beneath him, soft purrs echoing. He was still nervous, never petting her for too long before standing back up, the microwave beeping. The food came out steaming, sliding open a drawer and handing him a fork, Toby continued to shovel the food into his mouth. You hissed, holding his arm as the steaming food sizzled inside his mouth, it had to be burning him. “Oh. Y- Yeah, I don’t fe- feel pain. Th’s good, tho- though.” He grinned, slurping up more of the food. He acted like he hadn’t had warm food in forever, stuffing his face and barely giving himself time to chew. You rolled your eyes, chuckling as he ate.

The stays became longer after that, his excuse being he was hungry, continuously raiding your fridge until you began to have food ready for him, prepping his meals along with your own. Thirty minutes turned to an hour, to two hours, and then eventually through the night. He would crash on your couch, Addy curled in his lap as the television blared some old movie. That was one of the only times you didn’t see him ticcing, the cat acting as an anchor against his restless body. He looked truly comfortable, using your blankets and pillows to his advantage, beginning to invite himself to stay the night after a while. 

You sat at the counter, Toby snoring loudly as he laid face first into the couch pillow, scribbling into your journal. It was the one thing you had time for, having to get up early for work as the soft glow of the kitchen light lit the pages. Toby was practically pushing himself into your life, his lack of manners and curious mannerisms leading him to take initiative. You were grateful for his friendliness, giving great detail of his missions with his friends and explaining that whole situation. Even still, you were wary. 

But against your better judgment, your relationship with the killer was becoming less transactional. He brought you things to make for dinner, talked with you through your mutual sleepiness, and even took care of Addy when you were too delusional after work. For lack of a better word, he was becoming a friend, showing up for more than just his medication, even sometimes forgetting the bag and having to chase him down. He was infesting your life, arriving earlier than he should and leaving later than you cared for. The end of the week was becoming optional, the screen of your porch door sliding open nearly every night of the week Toby didn’t have a mission. It was annoying but in a comforting way, like you both were becoming closer naturally despite your differences. 

As you heard his snores, you groaned, rubbing your tired eyes as you began to write, letting your pencil guide on the page numbly as you wrote your thoughts. It wasn’t directed at Toby on purpose, but the further you got down the page the further your heart sank, hand fisted in your hair as you rested your elbow on the cold marble counter. “Ah, Jesus…” You grit, scribbling the final few words as you lean back, rubbing your head. The words weren’t lies, more of a hard truth you weren’t willing to accept, chalking it up that you were just tired and desperate. The words could have been about Toby, or they could have been about anyone, you didn’t really care. Sighing, you tore the page out, folding it and shoving it into the back of the book, closing the pages quickly. Sleep sounded much easier as you flipped the kitchen light off, turning the volume of the television down as you trudged upstairs to your room, giving one last glance to the snoring boy and his matching cat.

-

Toby knew his mishaps with you, his moral compass long forgotten the more time he spent inside your home. He told himself it was just easier, food and shelter at his disposal whenever, but he knew better. It was so much more than just picking up medicine for Tim and Brian now, it was a solid relationship, a bond that was forming in his eyes. 

It had been almost four months since the unfortunate death of your neighbor, a smile creeping every time he saw the charred flecks of wood buried in the overgrown grass. You had begun to leave the back door unlocked, reasoning that someone breaking and entering would be less of a hassle than him. That was what Toby really hooked onto the most about you, your humor about everything. Despite your hardships and the emotions you had to overcome, you held a caring heart, compassion always lacing every action. He found it admirable, your humor through your busy life. And, likewise, he did feel bad for making you work so much, tired eyes always hurting his heart whenever you were around. But, it wasn’t like he could get a job, so he helped where he could, cleaning and learning to cook for your sake. He needed this medicine, for his friend’s and his own stability, even at your expense.

You were already nestled at your spot on the counter, writing your thoughts in that damn journal. You barely even looked up as he entered, diving for the fridge as he scooped up Addy with one arm, her purs a nice vibration against his shoulder. Popping the container in the microwave, he leaned in over your shoulder, trying to catch a glance at your scribbling before you shoved him off, closing the book quickly. “Ah, ah, mind yours.” You smiled, forking your own food into your mouth. “O- Oh come on, [Y/N], just a pe- peak.” He smiled back, gathering his food as he began to eat, sliding onto his familiar spot on the couch. It was routine now: where you sat, what he watched, what you both talked about. He explained his latest mission with Masky in more detail than you enjoyed, pushing your food away as you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. You both laughed throughout the night before you whisked your food into the fridge, calling your goodnights before heading upstairs. 

Toby continued to watch the television, brushing Addy’s back with his bandaged fingers as he sat his empty container to the side. His curiosity nudging him, he raised up, tossing his trash before he slid to the counter, you all too confidently leaving your journal there. Slipping back onto the couch, he began to flip through the pages, listening closely for your footsteps as he read your entries, smiling as they dated all the way back to your high school years.

It seemed as though everything you thought spilt onto these lines, emotions erratic between every page as he realized just how much of a people pleaser you really were. All through your recent years, it was nothing but service, acting through the goodness of your soul until it felt sickening, fake almost. He cringed, flipping quickly through but finding nothing juicy, no deep dark secrets that he felt were interesting. Sighing, he closed the journal, standing to set it back onto the counter, until a slip of paper fell from between the pages. Smiling, Toby leaned down, arms twitching as he slid the journal back onto the counter, leaning against the marble as he flipped the paper open, reading carefully.

“Sometimes, when I think about it too hard, I get all emotional about myself. I know I put on a front, like everything I do I’m in charge of and can handle, always putting everyone around me first. But what if I wanted to be put first? I do so much for the sake of others but it never seems to be returned, never compensated for the mental strain. Well, maybe I want to. Maybe I want to be loved like I see others, rough and real. I have no clue how I even would, I can barely handle touching myself before I'm overwhelmed. But I just want someone else to take the reins, show me that I don't have to work my brain so hard and can just numb out. That's not too much to ask, right? Just someone who can love me, not some creep or one night thing, someone who cares. If I never ask for anything again, that would be it. Someone who wants me for me.”

He could have died. The brunette’s cheeks dark as he re-read the crumbled page, excitement coursing through him. In his mind, he wanted to storm upstairs and just rattle you then, showing you how good he could treat you. It was like a bomb had gone off, Toby having to pretend like him having a crush on you wasn’t achingly obvious, convincing himself he just didn’t know how to act around women. But now it was clear, his mind racing with a million wants and needs, body spasming under the excitement. 

Convincing himself to leave, he slipped the note into his pocket, body buzzing with excitement as he slid out your door. He would be back, like always. But this time, he would show you what you truly needed, what only he could give you. 

-

Like always, Toby left a note for the medication you needed to pick up, it sometimes changing week to week. Everything looked normal, the usual combination of pills reading off. But as you scanned the bottom, you groaned, shoving the paper into your pocket. Trilafon, Saphris, and… Plan B. As if your desperation for some affection couldn’t have gotten much worse, your heart twisted, a lump growing. Whether it be for some girl he was laying or a girlfriend he already had, you didn’t care, all you wanted was to get the medicine and go. Crawling into your bed sounded like a much more exciting activity than dwelling on the brunette, heart saddened in all the way you knew it shouldn’t. 

To make your night even better, Toby didn’t show. It wasn’t unusual, for him sometimes not to show up for days due to extensive missions. But a part of you longed to see him, especially after today, just to help your mind with the whole morning-after pill situation. So now, instead of imagining him surrounded by his friends on a mission, you imagined him towering over a girl. Strong arms holding her, body contorting to fit against hers… You could’ve been sick, shaking your head as you ate quickly and pressed upstairs, barely petting Addy before you slinked into bed, hauling the covers over your head. 

It was lonely on nights without his presence in your house. But especially tonight, thoughts racing uncontrollably to the point of tears, thick droplets streaking down your face as your chest hurt, longing for a body, any body, to hold close to yours. Maybe you really were just a transactional thing. 

-

Toby smiled as he trekked through the familiar stretch of woods to your house, heart racing in his chest. He had it all planned out, exactly what he wanted to do, his cock already twitching in his jeans. 

He hadn’t shown up tonight on purpose, hanging back at the mansion to take the best shower he could, Ben teasing him about how good he smelled as he was leaving. You had to be well in bed by now, body tired after working all day just for him. He would take care of you, showing just how grateful he was for how much you were giving up just for his friends and him. Pressing past the tree line, he smiled, pulling his hood down as all the lights in your home were out, signaling your retirement. 

Pressing up the steps, he slid the screen door open quietly, careful not to alert you as he clicked it shut. Stripping his hoodie, he tossed it onto the couch, Addy purring light against the cushions. It was warm in your house, black t-shirt hugging his arms as he untucked it from his jeans, climbing up the steps, his mask and goggles quick to come off next. 

He was too excited for his own good, boots stepping quietly against the old hardwood as he slinked to your door, fidgeting with the knob. A rush of your scent blew into his face, your perfume stout in your small bedroom, eyes searching around in the dark space for your bed. It wasn’t hard with your breathing, quiet snores making him smile as he leaned against your mattress, admiring your unawareness. You looked so peaceful, his bandaged fingers tracing your cheeks and brushing your hair from your face, your skin flinching under his touch. “Hi, baby…” He whispered, the pet name sounding right against his tongue as he referred to you, tugging the sheets down. 

Toby always knew how nice of a body you had, you sometimes sauntering around the house with shorts and a t-shirt and making his eyes trail just a little longer than normal. But now, under his cold hands, you were even more gorgeous. You were wearing an oversized shirt, a slight tug at the fabric revealing that you only had panties on underneath, you slightly stirring as his nails brushed your skin. The brunette was excitedly jittering, kicking his boots off as he climbed onto the bed, kneeling at your curled body sound asleep. You shifted, rolling onto your back as you breathed deep, stretching your arms before settling back into yourself. Toby could have died, your legs stretching out to rest around him, his cock twitching with interest against your now visible panties. A quiet sigh breathed through your lips.

That was all the invitation he needed. Running his cold hands under your shirt, he felt your warm skin and goosebumps rising as you squirmed under them. Your brows scrunched but Toby pressed further, running his fingers along your waist and up to your tits, palming the mounds gently as he smiled. It was crazy to him just how soft your skin was, not weathered or bruised from missions or nature, perfectly smooth under his axe-calloused hands. Pushing your shirt up to your chest, he gasped at your round tits, the weight so perfect in his hands as he pinched at your nipples, rubbing the nubs gently. Toby was never very sure of anything, always brushing through life at the command of others. But the one thing he was sure about? His love for boobs, especially yours. 

Nudging closer between your legs, he rested your knees on his thighs, leaning down to your chest as he popped a nipple into your mouth, sucking gently. The nub was hard against his tongue, slowly circling as he massaged the opposite one in his palm, pinching your nipple gently. That’s when you began to stir, hands sliding against the bed and unconsciously searching for the cause of your sensitivity. Lazy hands pushed against his face, soft groans echoing in the boy’s ears as he popped off your nipple and moved to the next one. Your hands fingered through his hair, tugging lightly until your eyes were beginning to flutter, your mind slowly coming alive. Toby let off your tit, kissing along your chest and licking a stripe between your tits, humming as he watched your eyes slowly blink open, confusion rocking you. He kneaded your tits gently, tugging at your nipples as you realized what was happening, eyes slowly widening as you strained to sit up against him. “Toby? Wha-” Your voice was scratchy, ridden with exhaustion as the brunette kissed up your neck to your cheeks, pushing you back down as he slotted himself flush between your legs. Slowly realizing what was happening, your cheeks flushed dark, hands pressing against his chest as you squirmed, nervously babbling as your body was still half asleep. “Lay b- back, baby… You’re so ti- tired, let me take c- care of you…” Toby sighed, running his hands back down along your skin, relishing in the way your body nervously shook under him.

You physically could not believe what was happening. This had to be a dream, some sick trick your mind was playing as you felt cold fingers hook under your panties, sliding them down. Heavy eyes wide, you grabbed his arms, clenching your thighs together against his waist. “No- No, wait- I don’t even, I mean, I’ve never-” Toby was already shushing you, gripping your wrists together and kissing your palms before pushing them back down to your sides, resuming his tug down your thighs. “I’ve go- got you. Don- Don’t gotta worry about a- a thing…” He smiled, raising your legs up to slide your panties down the rest of the way, hooking them off of your raised ankles before pulling you down closer to him, pushing your shirt over your head. “Read y- your journal, you don- don't gotta act protective, ba- baby. I know this is what y- you want…” If you weren’t already panicking, you definitely were now. 

You wanted to hound him for snooping through your journal, mouth opening to tell him off. But as his fingers brushed against the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your folds, you lost all train of thought. He was watching you, eyes excited in the darkness of your room as he swiped his thumb closer again, your thighs flinching shut. “Anyone else e- ever touched here before?” He mumbled, pressing his thumb against your plump lips and tugging them open, getting a nice look at the wetness that was already forming between your folds. Shaking your head, Toby lit up, cock pushing hard against his jeans as he had to adjust his position, using both hands to pull your lips apart, sighing at how pretty your cunt was. Just something about knowing that Toby was claiming his stake on you, imprinting his touch for the first time before anyone else could, made something deep inside of him burn. It wasn’t like the brunette got much play himself, hooking up with a girl here and there, but being your first? That already made this so much better than any other girl could even try. 

Sliding his fingers through your wetness, you gasped, hands clutching the pillow behind your head as he groaned, spreading your arousal across your lower abdomen. You whined, thighs begging to clench together as he purposefully slid your juices over your cunt, pressing his thumb down against your swollen clit and jolting your back off the mattress. You had only ever masturbated here and there, your body getting too overwhelmed after one orgasm and forcing you to stop, but would Toby stop? As he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them into his mouth, you doubted his restraint.

“Please be gentle…” You warned, hands planting on the mattress as you sat up, resting on your elbows as you watched Toby bring his digits back down to your cunt. He rolled his eyes playfully, tugging your folds open with his opposite hand as he pressed the tips of his fingers against your entrance, pressing in slowly. “I’ll try…” He laughed, your fingers gripping the sheets tight as you watched his fingers sink in slow, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. His index and middle fingers screwed into your tight walls gently, twisting his wrist to draw a moan from your lips, digits spreading against your gummy walls and making your entrance ache. “Just i- imagine my dick in here…” He cooed, eyes darting between your nervous face and your pretty cunt fluttering around just his fingers, barely even handling them. 

Pressing his opposite thumb against your clit, he began to rub in small circles, dragging your hips further and further off of the mattress until you were practically rolling your hips against him. His fingers probed in and out of your cunt at a slow pace, just enough to make you comfortable with the unfamiliar intrusion, but his arms ached to go faster, curl his fingers until you spasmed. “Toby…” You sighed, his hands moving in time with other as he screwed his fingers inside of you, angling them just enough so they pressed against your tight walls. His name sounded like heaven against your aroused tongue, so quiet but so desperate, secretly drawling for more. “Tell me w- what you want, ba- baby…” The pet name made your face hot, your stomach fluttering as you pressed back into the pillows, running your hands down to your thighs and squeezing the flesh. “I want… more…” You sighed through your arousal, cunt clenching desperately around Toby’s cold fingers, sucking them back inside every time he drew them out. The brunette laughed, pushing his feet under him to push his hips up against your ass, your hips raising off the bed as he fingered down into you. You could feel his cock straining behind his jeans below your raised ass, twitching needily with every tug of his fingers and moan that whined from your throat. His size was overwhelming, making your heart pound as Toby began to curl his fingers, making your eyes shut quickly. 

His fingers pressed so deep in your cunt, curling against your sensitive walls and making your jaw hang, beginning to press against your walls at a steady rhythm. It was like a new fire had lit under Toby, fingers screwing in at a quicker pace and making your stomach clench, face screwing into an overwhelmed feeling. His fingers pumped in, knuckles sinking in through your wetness and gripped by your gummy walls, curling his fingertips just right as he got deep. It was so intense, so rough, just a mess of slick and your wet cunt sounding through the room with every squelch as he abused your clit, swiping left and right quickly. Your thighs twitched and ached with every curl, trying to close around his hand practically fucking you into sensitivity. Your hands wrapped around his forearm quickly, begging his wrists to stop curling abusively inside of you as you tugged your nails into his skin. Toby wouldn’t, continuing to pump his fingers as he stared at your flushed face, cunt squelching embarrassingly loud. “Just a l- little more… Co- Come on…” He groaned, nudging his hips against your bare ass as his fingers milked moans and whines out of you, his fingers glistening with your arousal every time he tugged them out. He couldn’t feel you clawing at his arms, loud groans begging him to let up as your cunt clenched, molding around his thick fingers. 

You could feel your orgasm rolling through you, Toby huffing as the veins in his arms popped, his shoulder muscles straining against his shirt as he watched your face carefully, picking up as your moans became louder. “Gonna come f- for me? Yeah?” He teased, clothed cock twitching against your ass, pushing your cheeks apart as he rutted against you. He curled his fingers quicker, mumbling his arousal as he watched your cunt swell around him, clit throbbing under his thumb. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, stomach tightening and forcing you to sit up, Toby was quick to let off your clit and wrap his arm around your back, holding you up as he pumped your through your cunt squelching, tightening around his digits. Your eyes rolled, teeth grit tight as he palmed your clit, slowing his pace to a slow thrust as you became undone against him. No orgasm of your own had ever compared to that, head light and chest heavy as you breathed quickly, gripping Toby’s shirt tight. 

Refusing to let you go, Toby leaned in, pressing kisses against your neck and licking at your sweat, relishing in the warmth around his digits. You whined, cunt sensitive as he tugged his fingers out, his skin raw and pruned against the wetness coating his digits. Your folds were absolutely drenched, Toby spreading his fingers through your lips and pushing his sopping fingers over your warm thighs wrapped around him. “God, y- you’re so wet-” He gasped, pressing his fingertips back against your clit as he laid you back, gripping your tit. Your mind panicked, cunt flashing with sensitivity as he began to rub against your clit, swiping left and right against the rub quickly. “Toby- Stop- Toby, please-” You cried, breath catching in your throat as your stomach clenched, his fingers pressing hard as he pinched your nipples, eyes trained on your wet pussy. “You e- ever squirt before?” He smiled, transitioning fast between digging his fingers into your cunt and pulling them back out to swipe against your clit. It was nauseating, cunt crying desperately for relief as he dug nails into your tits. Gasping loudly, you gripped his arms, knees screwing tight against his sides as you cried out, hips bucking up against his hands. 

Every time his fingers slipped into your entrance, they squelched loudly, fluttering around the intrusion before desperately aching as they tugged out and moved onto your clit. “Squirt li- like a whore, m- mkay? Quit fightin’.” He hissed, letting his hand off your tit and scooping under your left knee, pushing it back to open your cunt wider, spreading your legs further apart. Your head was dizzy, heart pounding as you gasped for air, panting at every push of his fingers. You were already quick to cumming, but it felt weird, not that normal clench you felt in your stomach, more of a strain against your cunt itself. You cried out, tears slipping down your cheeks as he forced your pussy against his will, ruining you. 

As he swiped his fingertips down hard against your clit, your entrance clenched, mouth opening wide as you cried out, hips bucking up as you felt your cunt squirt, thighs trembling hard. There was literally nothing to compare it to, mind hazy as you sprayed onto his black shirt, his fingers digging into your entrance and pushing more juices out of your swollen folds. Toby was smiling, moaning his approval as he rubbed your clit softly, pushing the last of your orgasm out as you strained against the mattress. “Gunna fu- fuck you dumb, baby…” He growled, tugging the soaked shirt over his head and tossing it as he unzipped his jeans, tugging them down and off his legs as his cock hung heavy against your drenched cunt. You couldn’t even react, head spinning as Toby gripped your hips, pushing you onto your side as he grabbed your ankle, pulling it onto his shoulder and straddling your other. 

Neck craning with excitement, he teased the tip of his swollen cock between your folds, slicking himself up with your ruined juices. “This is wh- what you wanted, is- isn’t it?” He smiled wildly, pressing his cock into your ruined cunt, groaning loudly as you swallowed him in, warmth gripping tight as he gripped your leg, other hand stable on your tit. You groaned, face turned into the pillow as he began to thrust deep, giving you no mercy as he tugged at your nipple, biting at your calf as he fucked into you. You felt so full, your body so exhausted already as stretched you further, your entrance burning against the sting of this new girth. You squeezed him so tight, cock forcing itself deeper with every tug of his hips as you began to cry, tears staining your pillowcase.

“Fuckin’ tal- alk to me, baby. Gunna mak- make me cum al- already.” He sighed, teeth chewing against the meat of your calf as he pressed your cunt wider, sweat dripping from his nose as his curls clung to his forehead. He let off your tit, left hand slinking up to grip your jaw and turn your face back to look at him, your eyes heavy as they blurred with tears. Toby looked so good right now, cheeks dark against his freckles as he towered above you, cock pushing against your gummy walls and making your mouth hang. “So pretty…” He smiled, slinking his hand down to your throat and squeezing, cock pulsing as your face tightened, mouth gasping out as he clamped tighter, refusing you air. There was something so orgasmic about cutting your airway, watching your body react as he fucked your virgin cunt, holding your life in his hands. He had to breathe deep to stop himself from cumming, his violent brain spasming out. 

He pushed your ankle over his head, pulling out roughly as he rolled you onto your stomach, you gasping from the wave of air hitting your lungs. Pushing himself against your ass, Toby swore, pushing his cock back into your cunt as he pushed your back down, making you arch against him. “Just a l- little more, m’kay?” He growled, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and squeezing hard, pressing your face down into the pillow. With a new pace, he fucked down into you wildly, hand kneading your ass hard as digging his nails into your skin, little welts forming across the soft flesh. Your muffled cries sounded against the pillow, head light and static filled as you gasped for air, Toby’s cock ramming down against your g-spot. “Never s- seen a bitch so willing, so des- desperate for my dick you’d gi- give it up so easily.” He teased, growling as he let off your neck, neck sore as he leaned down, pushing your hair off your neck. Toby hadn’t felt like this before, wanting to mark you, fucking you so desperately he wanted to carve his shape deep inside. He couldn’t let you go without knowing exactly who you craved, corrupting you, ruining you, molding you to fit only him. 

He licked against your shoulder, sucking onto the skin before he pressed his teeth, digging both hands into your hips as he sunk them in, groaning at the pop as your blood soaked his teeth. You were crying, screaming into the pillow as your entire body begged for him, craving him, mind going blank as your blood dripped from his chin as he licked at the wound. He pressed on, nibbling into the crook of your neck and sucking revolting hickies into your skin, marking you like an animal. “Wan- Want you to come on m- my cock, baby. I got- gotta fill you full, want y- you ruined for everyone b- but me.” He mumbled quickly, cock begging to spill inside of your warm cunt as you reached around, gripping his hair as he sunk his teeth in again, walls fluttering around him. You pulled his hair, dragging his mouth off of your neck and to your lips, smashing your swollen, tear-stained lips against his as he groaned, kissing you roughly. 

You were cumming again, back arching onto Toby’s cock as you moaned into his mouth, walls holding him tight inside. He tried to move, to continue thrusting, but you were so tight all he could do was rutt his hips, begging for friction as his own seed spilt, his brows screwing tight as he came deep inside of you, warm cum seeping deep into your cunt. Your mind was blank, eyes rolled as you cried into his grasp, his nails digging into your hips until you were nearly bleeding. Your cunt squelched, milking his cock as he finally pulled from your lips, letting the last of your orgasms fizzle out before he pushed off of you, slowly tugging himself out as you whined. Looking back, his cock was soaked, glistening with your arousal and streaks of blood, Toby’s eyes wide. “Ah… Yo- You tore…” He hissed, wiping his soft cock with his shirt before pulling his boxers on, quickly trotting out of your room. You dropped your head back onto the pillow, cunt aching and body ruined as you sat in your sweat and each other’s cum, mind tired as you slowly blinked. 

Toby was back in seconds, a water bottle, a wet rag, and a small bag all in tow as he climbed back onto the bed, flipping your lazy body onto your back. You smiled, sipping the water bottle slowly as he began to clean you up, gently running the warm rag between your folds and against your thighs until he was satisfied, gently rubbing your skin. Finally, he grabbed the bag, your confusion evident as he tugged out the prescription bag, rummaging for the plan b he made you buy and popping one of the pills out, handing it to you as he smiled. Your chest welled, previous anxiety dissipating until you began to tear up, taking the small pill before reaching to wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him down next to you. Toby went easily, body cradling against yours as he kissed against the bruised spots on your neck, rubbing your bite mark gently.

As you began to doze, Toby mumbled something about your note, your mind too dizzy to hear the rest. The last thing you saw was a subtle flash behind your eyelids, sleep overtaking you as Toby held you close.

-

Morning came quickly, your body stirring, reaching for Toby but finding the bed empty. Confused, you sat up, eyes heavy and head still pounding but you pressed off the bed anyway, searching for the boy. Downstairs, on the countertop, laid his hoodie neatly folded, with a small piece of paper resting on top. Sauntering over, you reached for the top, sliding it over your head, it falling before your hips as you gripped the paper, reading its contents.

On a mission. Be back later tonight. Meanwhile, enjoy ;)

Flipping the paper over, you gasped, slapping your hand over your mouth. A small picture was taped to the back, a polaroid-type photo of the two of you cradled together, your bare body pressed against his, bruises and sweat on full display. Smiling, you tucked it into his pocket, breathing the scent of his hoodie deep as Addy circled your ankles, begging for breakfast. 

Staring out your back porch door, you made sure it was unlocked, always open for him. Killer or not, that boy was yours now, accepting his every mishap the same way he did yours. For the first time in a long time, you felt wanted. 

Rest in Hell, Mr. Higgs.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[angelicsoka]

DISAPPROVAL, t. owens

word count | 1.6k

pairings | tyler owens x fem!storm chaser!reader

summary | in which javi disapproves of his sister’s relationship

warnings | contains spoilers for the movie!! mentions of death, tornadoes, and panic attacks. brother-sister fighting, slight angst. one use of ‘y/n’. not proofread. lowercase intended. 

a/n | i literally can’t stop thinking about this movie. tyler owens x javi’s sister has me in a choke hold

you had never been the type to run from your fears, not now and definitely not five years ago. you used to storm chase with kate carter and your brother, javi, as well as three other of your friends. the six of you, led by kate, had come together to see if it was really possible to reduce the intensity of a tornado. you knew that the experiment would be dangerous, but it had never fully occurred to you that you or anyone else could die. that was a mistake you swore you would never make again. 

five years had passed and you still were waking up, sweating and shaking from the horrid night where you lost three of your closest friends. you shakily tore the covers from your body, walking quietly to the bathroom so as to not wake the sleeping body still in bed. you closed the door to the bathroom before turning on the light. you turned the sink on, splashing water on your face as a sigh escaped your mouth. you gripped the sides of the sink, attempting to center yourself. “fuck.”

“babe, you in there?” you jumped when tyler knocked on the door, your breathing quickening once more. “babe?” tyler turned the door knob, pushing it up to see you slowly sliding down the wall as you began to hyperventilate. he rushed to your side, which wasn't far in the cramped bathroom. he helped you to the floor, sitting in front of you. “hey, hey, let's just sit down. just breathe with me, okay?” you nodded, following tyler in his exaggerated breathing, feeling as your heart rate began to slow down. “you’re okay, you’re safe.” you nodded, finally noticing the tears streaming down your face.

“sorry, ty, i didn’t mean to wake you.” you apologized through sniffles, wiping at your nose. 

“you didn’t wake me. plus, i just wanted to make sure you were okay.” you still felt guilty about it, about him constantly dealing with your nightmares and panic attacks. you felt guilty that you still pushed yourself to storm chase even though you are terrified of losing the ones you love most. you knew you shouldn’t push that guilt or fear away, but there was another part of you that just wanted to help people. “why don’t we go get some breakfast?” tyler helped you to your feet, the two of you trudging over to the diner across from the motel. 

breakfast had been mostly silent, tyler trying to start a conversation but you were too stuck in your head. your knee anxiously bounced as you realized you would be heading to oklahoma, and that you were more than likely to run into your brother javi. you had talked to javi a lot over the phone, but it had been at least a year since you had last seen him in person. he’d been begging you for a few weeks now to leave tyler and the wranglers behind and to join his crew and help with a new tornado scanning system. you knew javi just wanted to help people, but the people funding his projects did not have the same interests at heart. “you ready?” you looked, not hardly having touched your food, accepting tyler’s extended hand. “boone’s getting pretty antsy about leavin’. dude’s been blowing up my phone for like the last thirty minutes.” you giggled when tyler showed you his phone with nearly fifty texts from boone.

“i’m surprised he’s even up, let alone ready to hit the road.” tyler tossed an arm over your shoulders, placing a delicate kiss on your temple as you walked back to the motel.

“yeah, well, best not to keep the man waiting.” tyler went to grab your stuff from the motel room before checking out, leaving you to rig up the gps. 

“boone! you ridin’ with us?” you shouted over to boone who was talking with dexter, dani, and lily. “we’ve got a seat open for you as well, ben.” you smiled to the journalist, who thought you to be the only sane one of the group. ben smiled at you, his body language showing he was clearly uneasy. “don’t worry, the ride to oklahoma shouldn’t be too bad.”

“it's not that ride that i’m worried about.” before you could question him, boone hopped in beside him, tyler entering the driver’s seat not a moment later. 

“let’s ride!” boone whooped, tyler tearing out of the parking lot. you couldn’t seem to find it in yourself to be hyped up like your boyfriend and friend, too anxious about seeing your brother. he had already disapproved of you riding with the wranglers, you couldn’t imagine how he’d react when he found out you were dating tyler owens of all people.

at some point during the ride, you had fallen asleep only to be startled awake by boone, camera in hand as he yelled out the truck. “sorry, babe.” tyler quietly apologized to you, squeezing your hand. you squinted out the window, your stomach dropping at the sight of javi and kate, stood side by side. all the shouting and cheering seemed to be muted when your eyes locked with javi’s. even though you were nervous, the sight of your big brother brought a soft smile to your face. 

tyler put the truck in park, the crowd surrounding them. you pushed the door open, hopping down as tyler got the crowd chanting. boone was walking around, filming, while dani, lily, and dexter began to sell the merchandise. you stood off to the side, watching tyler do his thing, a smile gracing your lips. you looked around, catching kate’s eye, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her friend. she walked over to you, engulfing you in a hug before you had time to say anything. “kate! i wasn’t expecting to see you here!” you laughed, gripping kate tightly. 

“i didn’t realize you were still chasing, i thought you would at least be riding with javi.” you tensed slightly at your brother’s name, pulling back from kate’s arms. 

“uh, yeah, i’ve just decided to ride with the wranglers this season.” your tenseness didn’t go unnoticed by kate, but before she could ask you anything your attention was brought to your brother waltzing over. “javi!” your nerves dissipated when javi threw his arms around you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“i’ve missed you, sis.” you let out a sigh, trying not to let the tears well in your eyes.

“i’ve missed you too, javi.” you pulled back, now seeing your crew watching you. the crowd had mostly left, and the sight of you hugging a man that wasn’t tyler had them concerned. “why don’t you come meet my crew?” you knew javi had no interest in meeting your crew, but you wanted him to see they weren’t just daredevils with a need for a thrill. “hey, guys, i want you to meet my brother, javi, and my good friend, kate!” everyone but boone and tyler had come to meet them. “javi, kate, meet dexter, lily, and dani! oh, and ben! he’s a london journalist writing a piece on american storm chasing.” you pointed to each member, getting soft ‘hellos’ and ‘nice to meet yous’. 

“nice to meet you guys!” kate smiled, javi not saying anything. you felt a pang in your heart when javi didn’t seem to take the people you considered to be some of your closest friends. 

“well, who do we have here?” you turned to see tyler and boone walking toward you, a large smile breaking out on your face. “you must be javi, and… kate, right?” kate nodded, shaking tyler’s hand.

“kate, javi, this is boone, and this is tyler owens.” tyler walked to your side, slinging an arm loosely around your shoulder while boone waved, going to put the camera back into the truck. “nice to meet you both.” he tipped his hat to the two. you watched javi closely, he practically had steam coming out his ears at the sight of tyler’s arms around your shoulder. javi had always been overprotective, and you wished he would realize you can hold your own. “we’re headin’ out in a few, ‘kay?” you nodded, tyler pressing a kiss to your temple before jogging over to boone. you looked back to javi who was red in the face, and kate who was clearly shocked.

“javi–” you started, javi pulling you to a quiet spot away from everyone else.

“really? tyler owens?” he spat out tyler’s name like it was venom. “c’mon y/n, he’s an idiot who drives into tornadoes! he doesn’t give a shit about anyone, especially those affected by said tornadoes!” tears welled in your eyes, anger bottling up. 

“oh, and you do? javi! your investors don’t give any shits about these people! they only care about the money! and you, you’re helping them by getting this data!” you wiped at the tears that spilled over, “we help people, javi! we sell the merch to pay for the supplies, and the revenue we make off the streams and videos go to families in need. we just don’t show that part on the internet.” it seemed to dawn on javi that you would have never ridden with the wranglers for as long as you had if you weren’t helping people. “tyler treats me well, and maybe you’d have seen that if you weren't so busy making assumptions about him.” you spat at him before turning on your heel, walking toward the truck, actively ignoring javi’s shouting. 

“you okay?” tyler asked, noticing your rosy cheeks. “want me to beat his ass?” you glared at him, a smile tugging at your lips. tyler was mostly all bark and no bite.

“no, he just needs time.” you reached up, kissing tyler before taking his hand in yours and walking back to the truck. javi watched as tyler opened your door and helped you in, watching tyler stare lovingly at you. and javi knew that he had fucked up.

[enhard]

park sunghoon — “birthday sex”

pairing: best friend!p. sh x fem!reader

: you celebrate your birthday with your friends. who knew that your best friend had a special present to offer?

cw: SMUT, everything is consensual, implied first time, car sex, alcohol usage, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (both receiving), squirting on face, making out, spitting, somewhat pussy drunk sunghoon, fluff (if you squint)

this is so long for no reason ejrisjsjssk

not proofread, specially made this for my wife 🩷 happy birthday love !

————————⁺˚⋆｡°✩🎂✩°｡⋆˚⁺————————

“WAKE UPP!!” is all you hear in your ears while being half asleep. you jump out of bed terrified, then sigh when you see that it’s just heeseung. you refuse to make eye contact being mad pissed that he woke you up like this.

“well… happy birthday grumpy!! you have so much to do today. come in the kitchen, jay made breakfast.” he adds, smiling at you while you’re fuming trying not to curse him out.

“k..” is all leaves your mouth, pairing it with a death glare, giving heeseung the sign to leave. he luckily gets it before you jump him so you start getting ready. you spent the night before in their dorm, in their spare room. you decide to look through the dresser to see if you can find any clothes to wear for the day since you didn’t bring any..

you find a grey hoodie, you can tell it’s one of theirs but you just shrug your shoulders to yourself and wear it. you take off your shirt, with your bare back at the door since you didn’t wear a bra to sleep.

right as you were almost putting your hoodie on, sunghoon comes in through the door. he freezes seeing your bare back like that, and he does stare. but he quickly apologises and closes the door when you scold him to get out.

it wasn’t alot and.. he did see you in a swimsuit before, this couldn’t be any worse right? why is he feeling different about this? well he just bites his lip, gives himself a slap over the head and sits down with the others.

you’re mad embarrassed, in shock even. but you quickly put the hoodie on and do your hair a bit. you go brush your teeth and awkwardly sit down at the dining table.

all members are smiling at you, about to say happy birthday. you slowly look up at them except sunghoon, giving them a smile.

jake breaks the silence by clearing his throat. “happy birthday y/n!! sooo… what plans do you have today?” you shrug your shoulders at him. “i’m not sure.. i was thinking about spending my day with you guys.. if that’s okay.”

sunghoon suddenly chokes on his ramen, looking at you with wide eyes. you glare back at him giving him a “what?”. he shakes his head, trying to swallow his food. his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with his swallowing. “nno im fine.. nothing”. you sigh at him and look back at jake.

sunoo furrows his eyebrows at the hoodie you’re wearing. he points at it while pouting his lips. “isn’t that sunghoon’s hoodie?” your eyes widen again. “..huh?” . sunghoon looks a bit embarrassed remembering what happened before. “you can keep it..” he says, looking down. —

you all finish eating what jay made, and start getting ready to attend a bar for your birthday. the led lights from the dark room are shining in your eyes, seeing so many people there. you notice jungwon and go up to him. he made you a flower crown, softly putting it on your head. you smile at him widely. “thank you won, seriously it’s so pretty!” he smiles back, “anything for our queen afterall.”

you notice sunghoon staring at both of you, then looking away when you make eye contact. “the fuck??” you think. what is wrong with sunghoon today? he’s always so nice, why is he avoiding you now? well still. you brush it off to hang out with the others.

your girl friends are there too, dancing to certain songs with sunoo and riki. you laugh at them by how not in sync they are it’s actually hilarious. then you notice heeseung and jay playing a game involving shots at the bar. you go up to them, trying to lift up your mood a bit. “heyyy guys, what are you doing?” “oh! y/n ‘sup! wanna join us?” heeseung says. “you know what, sure. give me that.” you down 2 shots before thinking its enough for now.. you don’t want to get too drunk.

you start dancing along with the others, enjoying yourself and smiling.. until someone grabs your hand. it’s jake. “hey y/n .. let’s go outside, the others are waiting. we got a surprise for you.” you get a bit confused but you hold jake’s hand tighter, letting him guide you outside. you see the others sitting on a big blanket under a tree very close to where you are. you walk with jake up to them, seeing a lit up cake in the middle. you smile, appreciating their gesture. sunoo picks the cake up to hand it to you while they start singing you happy birthday.

“happy birthday to you,

happy birthday to you,

happy birthday dear y/n,

happy birthday to you!”

they all sing at the same time with big smiles on their faces. the sun is out already, yet your face lights up with the light from the candles. after they finish singing, you make a wish and blow the candles. they clap and sunoo screams out of excitement. you put the cake in a box to bring home. “now.. the presents!” sunoo says. you get pretty shocked that they even got you presents but you sit down in between sunoo and jake, smiling at them. “guys.. you didn’t have to..”

“nonsenseee!! of course we had to! you’re the best.” sunoo smiles at you.

they all take turns giving you a symbolic present or the stupidest but cutest present you’ve ever seen. no in between. you notice that sunghoon didn’t give you anything but.. you don’t pay much attention to him, being busy thanking them all and giving them hugs. “thank you.. guys seriously you’re the sweetest.” they all smile at you, standing up finally. “well, what are we waiting for? let’s go party now.” riki says. they all nod, running back to the building. you’re the last one to stand up so you’re a bit behind.

then..

you feel sunghoon’s hand grabbing yours, forbidding you from leaving. “wait.” he says in a low voice. before you can reply, he pulls you into an embrace. your bodies so close to each other, holding eye contact.. you were freaking out a bit. “hoon..what are you-“ but before you can finish your sentence, he pulls you into a kiss. you two never kissed before, yet you loved it so much. you push your lips onto his even harder, beginning to make out right there.

you slowly wrap your arms around his neck, forcing him to take steps back. you break the kiss to look into his eyes then back to his lips. “hoon.. should we really be doing this?” “what, you don’t want to?” “i do… i really do.” sunghoon smiles, grabbing your hand again. “alright then, let me show you my birthday present.” he walks with you to their shared car, making you get in the backseat. you lay down, waiting for him to get on top. as soon as he does, you start kissing him again, craving his lips endlessly.

“take my shirt off.” he says. your eyes widen a bit but you do exactly as he says. you lift his shirt above his head, revealing that abdomen you missed seeing each winter. only then you realised how badly you needed him, and how badly he needed you.

you move your hands down to caress his body, stopping your hand at his pants. you get this sudden urge to please him. you want to see all his reactions.

you manage to flip both of you over, now you being on top of him, looking down to focus on his bulge. you quickly unzip his pants and take his boxers off. sunghoon was surprised how fast you were too but, he does not mind a bit. you stare at his cock, already leaking precum, looking so pretty, so untouched. you grab it to start stroking him, but sunghoon grabs your wrist, making you stop. “spit on it first.” and you do. that lubes it up pretty good so you keep going.

you stroke him a few times but then you decide to just get over your fears. you move your body downwards, now facing his cock. “let me suck it, please?” i mean, how could he refuse. he nods once, sitting up to grab onto your hair. you start licking at his tip, slowly pushing him in your mouth. you start choking a bit but he encourages you to keep going. so you start bobbing your head up and down, making sure to get his whole length in. he lets out small moans, assuring you that you’re doing well.

you never thought you would do this with your best friend but you don’t regret it. in fact your subconscious has been waiting for this moment.

since he sat up, you can’t look at him anymore, so you push him back down so you can make eye contact again. the way you pushed him caused him to pull at your hair, you don’t mind but he really thought he hurt you so he caresses your head a bit to ease the pain.

this keeps going for a pretty long time, drooling all over his cock getting so messy all of a sudden, he’s even getting closer to cum and you can feel that. you try sucking him as fast as you can, the lewd wet sounds overpowering the silence from the car.

when he’s right about to cum, you pull your head away still drooling a bit. you pump him a few more times with your fist but he actually pushes YOU down now. he needs to taste you right now, and he’s going to show you what he can do. he looks up at you for reassurance before taking off your clothes, one by one.. leaving you in your underwear. he slides your panties off, revealing that pussy he’s been dreaming about.

“fuck.. baby you’re perfect.” he bites his lip, getting ready to go down on you. he starts with licking your folds, moving up to your clit.. sucking and licking that bud so roughly. it caught you off guard but you don’t want him to stop.. you grab onto his hair tightly, throwing your head back. after he moves back down to your folds, to insert his tongue inside you. he whines a bit as he’s eating you out and those vibrations made you squeeze his head between your thighs. you’re moaning constantly like your mouth is chatterbox. he uses his hands to part your thighs again, keeping them there. you can barely hold on anymore, getting close to your release. “cum on me love..” he says between licks. his words giving you goosebumps, you squirt all over his face.

he gives your pussy a little kiss before standing up, now you can barely look at him.. he’s drenched. you try to wipe it off how you can but his face is still glistening from your wetness. he smiles at you to reassure you again that he enjoyed it. a bit too much.

“please fuck me hoon.. fuck me already i need it please..” you’re becoming so desperate for his cock like you’re about to explode. he doesn’t keep you waiting though, he gets into position, stroking himself a few times before shoving his cock inside you. you’re gonna drive him crazy with how good you feel around him. you’re so wet it’s making his head spin.

he wants to fuck you dumb right now. but he needs to be patient for you. he lets you adjust to him and when you give him the signal, he thrusts into you like there’s no tomorrow. he makes sure not to hurt you but at the same time he’s bending your legs into a mating press just to get deeper inside you. he’s fucking you so rough the whole car is shaking with both of you worried that someone will catch you.

you’re both letting out such loud noises, moans snd curses that you swear someone from the bar could hear. he grabs your legs to place on his shoulders, just to fuck you until you can’t anymore.

after a bit of that, he finally grabs onto your thighs, as he’s about to cum. you clench around him out of pleasure, making it impossible for him to continue.

“fill me up..please fuck fuckfuck”

he fulfills your birthday wish. he cums deep inside you, still leaving small thrusts after he was done pumping.

he slowly pulls out, all that cum oozing out onto the seats.. heeseung won’t be very happy about this that’s for sure. but atleast you had an amazing time.

you pull him into a hug, kissing his neck a few times. you both catch up your breaths not actually believing what just happened .

you both help each other clean up but there’s no way you’re returning to that bar. you might as well go home.. but there’s one thing sunghoon forgot to say.

“happy birthday, pretty girl.”

[mywritersmind]

girl i need something - comfort, fluff whatever about that race yesterday with lando, my heart needs somethingggg thank you <3

HOME SWEET - LN4

listen up : comfort!!!!!! thanks for the request i think we all needed this.

word count : 643

⋆｡‧˚⋆

As soon as I hear the dropping of bags by the front door, I jump up and run to him.

“Lan!” I scream. He catches me in his arms, my feet hovering over the floor as his arms go around my waist. His breath on my skin only excites me, his head resting on my chest as I mumble into his hair, “I missed you.”

He shakes his head, setting me down softly but not letting go, “You have no clue how happy I am to be back.” His hands go to my face, holding me as if I'm about to run away.

I take his hand from my face, smiling up at him. This whole weekend has been hell. I watched his every move on TV, had every alert on for his texts, and sat in my bed on the phone with him as he vented.

I take him to the couch, he lays down and I promptly climb next to him, nestling close to my boyfriend. His eyes are closed when I run my hand up and down his arm.

“Wanna talk about it?” It. It as is every death threat, comment, or video that’s been sent to him. It as in the media. It as in the race.

“No. I want to talk about you.” He turns to me slightly, kissing my head as his hand runs through my hair, “Weren’t too worried?”

I scoff, “You know me. I’m always worried.” This looks like it hurt him. His face morphs into a frown, “But I'm proud of you. And I definitely wasn’t screaming and running around the apartment so if we receive a noise complaint, it’s all a lie.”

He finally cracks a smile, “I love you.” he whispers as I press a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet.

“You’re everything to me.” I whisper back, even though it’s just the two of us, “I just hate seeing you sad.”

He breathes out, “I’m never sad with you.” He pouts a bit, not meeting my eyes and playing with my hair. I sigh because I know that’s not true, but my job isn’t to bring him down more.

I push my face into his hoodie, he smells like cologne and the airport, “I made you cookies.”

I can practically hear the smile in his voice, “So that’s what that smell is.” I giggle, standing up as he follows.

We stand in the kitchen with a shared glass of milk and twenty mini cookies, “No offense love… but this is the best thing you’ve ever made.” I laugh, trying not to choke on the chocolate in my mouth.

“I’m not that bad of a cook!” I slap his chest teasingly even though I know I am.

He gives me a little smirk, shoving another cookie into his mouth as I scoff, “You said you love my pasta!”

He’s laughing with me now, “Yeah- the buttered noodles!” I roll my eyes, attempting to walk away before he corners me.

He’s smiling still, it makes me smile. Lando’s hands on my hips hold me still. “I love you.” he presses a kiss onto my neck, “And your cookies. And your pasta. And your shit food.” I'm giggling as he covers me in kisses.

I try to move back but am intercepted by he countertop, he’s tickling me and knowingly making me laugh and squirm. He slows down, meeting my eyes.

“I love you too.” I say, my hands on his arms, “You and your pickiness.” He scoffs then, laughing and leaning in to kiss my lips.

He’s warm and comforting, just like my magical cookies that seemed to heal him. When his lips leave mine, his head drops to my shoulder; his curls brushing against my neck as he leaves a soft kiss onto my shoulder.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

“I think we should break up.” Simons words were like a ton of bricks, nearly taking the wind out of you. He stated it so plainly, without any hesitation that it had your entire world spinning.

“Wait, what?” You asked, struggling to blink away the hot tears that were threatening to fall. “Simon, you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His eyes landed anywhere but you, a trick you knew he had in order to keep his composure. There was something more he wasn’t telling you.

“But why? What’s changed?” Your voice was quivering now, praying the man you loved so dearly would just look at you. “Simon, what’s going on?”

Simon said nothing, his eyes glued to the floor as he tried to steady his breathing. He couldn’t look at you. He knew if he did, he’d go back on his word.

“Simon Riley, you answer me right now.” Tears were flowing freely down your cheeks now as you were no longer able to keep your composure. “Simon!”

“I don’t deserve you alright?” Simon finally looked up at you, the harshness in his tone causing you to flinch. “For fuck sakes, I don’t. You are everything I’m not. You’re gentle, you’re kind. You care about everyone so selflessly, and you deserve someone who can be on that level with you.”

“Si.”

“No.” Simon cut you off before you could speak, his eyes flickering back to the floor. “I’m a broken shell of a man, Y/N. You deserve someone who can take you on dates. Someone who can bring you home to their family. Someone who you’re not waiting months on end for, wondering if they are even alive. You deserve anyone but me.”

You choked back a sob, the words of your lover causing your heart to shatter. Is this truly how he felt? Had you failed as a partner to make him feel that he is worthy of love?

“I got my family killed. My best friend died because I wasn’t there fast enough. Everywhere I go, death follows me.” Simon continued. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.

“Look at me.” You spoke, your voice stern as you blinked away some of the tears. “Simon, look at me.”

Simon’s gaze lifted, and the sight of him caused your tears to flow down your cheeks once more. He was crying. His cheeks were blotched red, something you’d never once seen on him in the years you’d been together.

You took a step forward, slowly moving your hand to cup his cheek, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn’t pull away. “I don’t want, nor need anyone that’s not you.”

Simon blinked, clearing his throat to speak, but you cut him off. “You are the man that I want. You think you’re a broken shell of a man, but every single person on this planet is broken, in their own way. I want every part of you.

I want the late night phone calls when you’re on the other side of the world. I want the reunions when you come home, the feeling that I’ve finally got you back. I want the corny at home movie dates. I want the burnt dinners, the late night fast food runs. I want the man who so deeply cares about everyone but tries so hard to deny it. I want the man that would put his life on the line for anyone who he considers a friend. I want the dry humor, I want the witty remarks. Simon, I want you. Always.”

Simon’s tears now flowed freely down his cheeks, his lips quivering as he struggled with what to say. His arms wrapped around your torso, holding you tightly to him as a sob wracked his body. “I fucking love you, Y/N. I don’t deserve you but gods I’ll fucking try to.”

Little did he know, he never had to. You’ve loved him from the moment you met him.

[phantomrose96]

What the hell happens in the pikmin game?? Those little colourful bitches have been around for ages, but i never bothered looking them up, i just figured they were cute little mascots of some game. But your posts are making me question everything. Is it a horror game? (I know i could just google it, but asking you is funnier)

Yeah you're right asking me is much funnier :)

Pikmin is a fun and relaxing game! You play as a little astronaut man who gets to spend his days growing Pikmin, who are sweet and peaceful little plant creatures with leaves, buds, or flowers on their heads. You can corral them around with a little trumpet, like a bouquet of flowers following you through the pretty and whimsical landscapes of planet PNF-404 :)

Wait did I say fun and relaxing?

Sorry, typo.

It's a brutal skill-based survival game (❁´◡`❁)

So then maybe you're wondering, what's up with the Pikmin? What was that about growing a bunch of little flower guys? Well growing the Pikmin is super important!

It's super duper important mainly because you need to replace the Pikmin who die in the carnage of battle for you!

Battle against what?

Everything.

See on PNF-404, Pikmin are the bottom of the food chain. Just about every living breathing creature on this planet is orders of magnitude larger than the Pikmin and munch Pikmin by the hundreds for breakfast. Predators will do this instinctively. They will do this unprompted. They will do this while you're not looking. They will do this endlessly until every last Pikmin is dead.

So... what good are the Pikmin? What chance do they stand?

Really easy. Pikmin are the most violent creatures in the entire game 🥰🥰🥰.

How else do you survive when you're small and fragile other than incredible violence? Pikmin can exist out and about in swarms of up to 100. And the only way to survive predators as small little leaf creatures is to beat those predators to death with incredible mob violence before they can kill all of you.

Pikmin don't die like plants. They die like warriors.

And sometimes, this is the hardest mechanic to handle. Left to their own devices Pikmin will seek to shed blood. It's up to you to call them away from orchestrating their own demise, their own pursuit of the glory of Valhalla. It's in their nature. It's in their plant-blood.

And they go down hard. They shriek when snapped up in the jaws of predators. They glub and wail when drowning in water. They trill out screams when on fire. They choke and cough in poison. They die instantly to electricity. And you'll know a Pikmin is well and truly dead once it lets out a final whimper, and a ghost drifts away from where it once stood. This can happen by the dozens. This can happen to all 100 at once.

So wait, wait I've gotten far ahead of myself. Why the violence? Why the death? Why the fighting? What was that about a little astronaut man?

Well your astronaut man is Olimar, an honest and simple family man who's a freight ship captain from his home planet of Hocotate. He's a truck driver! He's just a guy taking his first vacation in years.

And a meteorite strikes his ship, tearing it to pieces as it crash-lands on a completely uncharted planet. Welcome to PNF-404...

And so you're Olimar. A truck driver. A nice dad. A victim of capitalism with the world's worst boss. Out on vacation.

Your ship is destroyed. No one is coming for you. No one will save you.

The oxygen on PNF-404 is poisonous.

You have 30 days before your life support system runs out.

You have 30 days until you die a brutal and lonely death.

Your only hope is to find every scattered missing piece of your ship--30 of them--strewn across the planet, return them to your ship, and repair it, before your 30 days are up.

But this is simply impossible. You're one tiny little man. You wouldn't be able to lift a single piece of your ship, let alone 30 of them, let alone doing so while fending off the wildlife hellbent on killing you.

But the Pikmin seem to like you...

So all that death? All the carnage and destruction? It's all in the effort to repair Olimar's ship before he suffocates. You pave a path of destruction decorated with the bodies of any creature that stands before you and your missing ship pieces.

The Pikmin do it. The Pikmin trust you. The Pikmin follow your command and die by your command. After all, you're growing their species. Oh did I forget to explain that part? The "how" of how growing Pikmin works?

Simple. Pikmin are grown from the corpses of the creatures they kill :).

If you kill something, the Pikmin take it back to their base and process it for pieces, and grow new Pikmin from it. That's how you get all the nice little flower creatures following you around. :)

Is it good enough? Can you sleep at night knowing that 50 creatures who trusted you implicitly were slaughtered under your misdirection? All to retrieve a hunk of metal which is 1/30 of the hope of getting you home alive? 100 slaughtered? 200? Day 30 is approaching. Things are looking bleak.

You're Olimar. Day 30 has arrived, and you haven't fully reconstructed your ship. You have no option to stay. Your life support has run out. You watch the Pikmin you've left behind, as you attempt to start up your ship which has not been safely repaired.

You try to take off, and try to make it home.

It does not go well.

But at least the Pikmin have another corpse to carry.

[the-boy-meets-evil]

34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | jww

(your latest assignment has you jetting off to argentina hoping to finally catch the infamous art thief that's escaped your agency one too many times already. you know what's at stake if you lose your focus. enter the beautiful stranger that has you questioning everything you know.)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f.reader genre: strangers to lovers, (kinda, v light) enemies to lovers | smut, fluff, angst rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~22.8k (idk what happened) warnings: art thief!wonwoo, secret agent!reader, brief mentions of death & bloody past (again, reader is a secret agent), mentions of past violence, mentions of weapons, food, drinking, VERY ambiguous ending smut warnings: multiple smut scenes, multiple positions, unprotected sex (don't do this), slightly rough sex, mild dom!wonwoo?, fingering, oral sex, choking, spanking, multiple orgasms, squirting, light marking, semi-public sex, food play (whipped cream, chocolate), i think that's it

a/n: this is for @svthub's world tour collab (check out the other fics here). i had so much fun writing this even if it got away from me a bit. thanks to @effortandmore for lending me her art brain. thanks to @highvern for constantly listening to me and @multi-kpop-fanfics for fit inspo. and as always, thank you to my bby @wongyuseokie for the banner & divider.

edited to add: i am considering an epilogue if that’s something anyone is interested in

tag list: @wonustars, @minisugakoobies, @crepecakeu, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @amoryeonjun, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizoon, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @naajaeminsgf, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @pyeonghongrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @tomodachiii, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @sdoulc, @wonwootakemyheart, @divinityyyy, @nightshadeinmoonlight, @imma-queencard, @jelly-n

“We’ll be landing in about 45 minutes, according to the pilot,” a voice says, interrupting your laser-like focus.

You look up from your tablet and blink at him for a second. It takes you a moment or two to register he’s even standing there. Another moment to register what he actually said to you a second ago. In the meantime, you switch the program open on your tablet.

“Oh, thanks,” you say in response. 

He sits down in the seat opposite you and fixes you with a smile. “Must be a good book, you’ve barely looked up for the entire flight.” 

“Guilty,” you say with a practiced smile. 

Chan, you think that’s his name, seems nice enough. A little overeager and too ready to agree to something when his bosses tell him what to do. There’s that real thirst to prove himself. But, at least from what you hear, he’s got a bright future. He’s done well with what he’s been given so far, which are increasingly difficult assignments. You can see why. He’s easy on the eyes and he’s got that soft smile down. The kind of unassuming smile that makes people want to trust him. If he can keep it up, he’ll go far. 

“Thanks again for letting me catch a ride,” you say to fill some of the space between you. 

Chan only shrugs. “Any friend of Mr. Choi’s is always welcome. Plus, nobody really says no when the boss says something.”

A lesser person would have probably laughed at that. Hearing him referred to as Mr. Choi and the boss is a little comical to you. Not that it isn’t true because he is definitely Chan’s boss. It’s just, well, it’s a little more complicated than that. 

“Honestly I don’t really even understand what Cheol does,” you lie and turn on a little bit of the charm. It’s always good to practice on people that are trained to be charming themselves. 

“Do you call him that?” Chan wonders.

“Call him what? Cheol?” you ask and Chan nods, eyes a little wide. It catches him just off guard enough. “Yeah, but I’ve known him for years. What do you call him?”

“Sir, usually,” Chan answers too quickly. You can’t fully fight the smile that answer brings to your lips. “Glad to see I entertained you.” 

“He’s not nearly as bad as I’m sure he seems at work,” you say like you’re sharing a secret.

The truth is that you’ve been hearing about this new agent that Seungcheol is personally training for over a year now. So, you know that eventually, you’re going to all be laughing at this conversation in hindsight and he’ll also be calling his boss Cheol. For now, though, things are a little bit different. 

“He mentioned that you were heading down to do some research?” he asks and you nod. 

This part has always been a little tedious to you, the part where you come up with a cover story that you even have to feed to other people within the same organization. It’s been this way for your entire career. You were recruited at 18 years old and went through special training along with obtaining a degree. The Agency had two divisions, but you only ever learned about the second one if you were recruited to work there. It was that second division you joined right away. 

Training had been grueling. If it wasn’t some kind of physical endurance training, it was sitting in a windowless room studying history or a foreign language. Or it was combat training with whatever weapon was on deck that day. Or working to blend into any situation. You quickly learned that did not mean not being memorable. At least not in every situation. Sometimes that meant looking at ease in your surroundings even if eyes were on you. Thankfully, the charm seemed to come naturally to you and that was one less thing you had to worry about learning. 

The Agency officially works in maintaining international relationships between countries. That can mean a number of different things. Sometimes it involves an agent or team heading out to a location as official representatives. They can help with negotiation, security concerns, smoothing out issues, anything really. Unofficially, it often involves going undercover on a mission. That can involve either division, depending on the sensitivity of the mission. If it’s simpler, then someone like Chan gets sent out to work his way into a situation and influence the outcome so that everything stays calm. In fact, he’s here to charm a wealthy heiress that’s getting a little too close to revealing confidential information on government contracts. 

You, on the other hand, are officially here to study Argentinian culture and immerse yourself in local traditions. Chan doesn’t know that you work for The Agency as well. He doesn’t know that Seungcheol is like a boss to you. It’s not his preference. Seungcheol misses the days when he was by your side in the field instead of stuck in the office behind a desk. Unfortunately, several years ago he suffered a severe injury that just made field work impossible for him. It took a lot of convincing, most of which fell on your shoulders as the person closest to him, to get him to transition to his current role. Where you had never set foot in the main offices, he had been there periodically. He was known to people there. And he was so insanely smart that you pointed out he would be bored trying to assimilate into regular life. Why not get to do one of his other favorite things and tell younger agents (or even older ones) what to do? That had been the biggest selling point because he was good at being in charge. It had been a bit of a rocky transition at first, but now it’s smooth sailing. 

Unofficially, you’re here tracking one of the most infamous art thieves in the world. This is the kind of thing that has to be handled with the utmost secrecy. Other agencies and your own have tried to track him down and apprehend him only to have him slip into the wind. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d assume that there had been leaks during the previous attempts. You’ve also considered that he’s just really good at making a mark and blending into his surroundings. This is one of the most secretive missions you’ve ever been sent on despite seeming relatively innocuous. How much harm can an art thief really cause, right? Except, The Agency is largely funded by private investors and several of those investors have been victims and had art stolen. Despite that, the only people that know you’re making this attempt now are Seungcheol and the head of covert operations. His counterpart doesn’t know that you’re handling it, or even who you are. Instead, the main division of The Agency has a team headed to Amsterdam thinking that they’re after the notorious thief. 

Although it seems like it should be straight forward, this thief has been working in the shadows for years without anyone really knowing what he looks like beyond him being a man. The reports about what he actually looks like vary so greatly that nobody really knows what to believe. You and Seungcheol have spent months trying to put together a profile that seems most realistic and you feel as comfortable as you can. His appearance seems a little elusive, but the information that he’s going to be in Buenos Aires is the best lead you’ve gotten. It comes from someone that you worked with on a previous mission. You had been studying your profiles when Chan came over and quickly exited to a different application. 

“I am. I’m working on understanding the history of Argentinian culture through the eyes of Buenos Aires for a project,” you say with all the affection of someone who was actually going to be doing that. “I’m going to spend most of my time just out talking to people, learning their stories, that kind of thing.”

“Do you, uh, speak Spanish?” Chan wonders with clear apprehension. 

“I do,” you say with a light laugh. “Be a bit awkward if I didn’t, right?” 

“That’s impressive,” he says. 

“I speak several languages,” you say nonchalantly and then make a show of catching his eye. “I studied language and culture in university.” 

“You’re not what I’d imagine for one of my boss’s friends,” Chan admits. “Especially one close enough to get added to the manifest.” 

You shrug. “I’ve known him for a long time.” 

“He doesn’t strike me as someone with a lot of time for friendships or someone that you can ever really know,” Chan presses and you laugh.

“Married to the job, right?” you agree. “I’m a low maintenance friend. I spend a lot of time out of town for research, immersed in local culture. We’ve probably got more in common that you’d think.” 

“That makes a lot of sense,” he concedes, seeming to easily buy your cover. He stands up. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

The rest of the flight goes smoothly and you say your goodbyes to Chan and the others from the flight once you get off the plane. As is the plan, you take your suitcases to a local taxi and head to your hotel, checking in under one of the many fake names you used when on a mission. The room is nice, too, even if it’s nothing all that extravagant. It’s just another part of the cover. 

Since it’s been a long day, you figure that you might as well just order room service and settle in for the night. It’ll give you the chance to start getting your body used to the local timezone. Not that your body really has a home timezone anymore with how you’re constantly on the move. But, you still don’t mind the idea of resting for the night. 

You’re incredibly thankful to be in Buenos Aires in July since it’s the coolest month. It makes it easier for you to just walk everywhere. Before leaving your room for your first full day in your new city, you double check your messenger bag to make sure everything is in there: camera, multiple lenses,  journal, tablet and keyboard, sunglasses, wallet, and all your little bits to make it look like a bag you wear all the time. You smile at the receptionist on your way out, letting her know that you’re going off to explore what the city has to offer. She seems happy to see that you look better rested than after your long travel day. Even if heading out is mostly a cover for your mission, it’s also a little true. This city has been on your bucket list to visit for years and you’re not going to waste what might be your only opportunity to explore. It might even make it more believable as you’re trying to blend into the crowds around you.

After spending several hours wandering around and taking in everything you could, you find yourself at a local cafe in the early afternoon to have a cup of coffee and a light lunch. The whole morning flew by in a rush of colors and culture. It’s so easy to be interested in everything that’s before you because it’s just so vibrant. So full of life. Such a juxtaposition of history, tradition, and new influences. It’s one of the first times you’ve been somewhere and had to remind yourself that you are actually on a mission. You’re not just there to sightsee and fall in love. 

There are a lot of tourists in the cafe, which doesn’t really surprise you. Most places in Buenos Aires stay open during the afternoon for tourism, but you know that cafes in smaller towns would close. You figure that most locals probably avoid shops during this time of day as well. It feels lucky when you spot an open table in the corner until another patron moves and you see there’s actually someone sitting in one of the seats. It’s an uncharacteristically awkward moment for you, especially given how confident you are with everything else, that he catches you mid-decision. His eyes meet yours before looking at the coffee in one hand and the plate in the other. When he looks back down at the table, it clicks into place before you can turn around. 

“You, uh, can sit…” he starts with deliberate slowness that shouldn’t be throwing you off even more. 

You shake your head to clear it and smile. “It’s fine, I don’t just speak Spanish.” 

“Oh,” he says with a breath of relief. “Well, you can sit here.” 

“I don’t want to intrude,” you say and go to turn around.

“It’s busy. Are you going to just eat standing up?” he asks with a challenging raise of his eyebrow. 

“Well,” you start.

“I probably won’t be here much longer anyway,” he offers.

Reluctantly, you move to sit down with him. It’s kind of insane the way he’s thrown you off your game by just existing. Usually, you’re the one that’s disarming strangers with your charm, not the other way around. As soon as you sit down, he looks back at the book he has open in front of him. It gives you a chance to figure out if he’s actually that attractive that it’s thrown you off or if you’re still just jet-lagged. 

His glasses slide down a nearly too perfect nose and he pushes them up without missing a beat. His black hair is a little messy and a little long, falling carelessly around his face as he gets lost in whatever book he has open in front of him. His clothes make him look a little too fancy to be sitting in a cafe overrun with tourists like this. Somehow, he makes a cardigan over a dress shirt with nice, pressed slacks work without looking like he’s trying too hard. Everything about him just exudes calm, confident energy. Like the kind of person you would assume comes from old money. Unassuming, yet standing out without even meaning to. It reminds you of some of the landmarks you saw that morning, like rich history perfectly combined with modern needs. 

Thankfully, at least some of your training kicks back in and you manage to keep it from being too obvious that you’re one step away from fully checking him out. Your new tablemate seems content to sit in silence, though, so you pick at your food while going through some of the pictures on your camera. Today is about getting the lay of the land as much as anything else. It’s not like you can just find your infamous art thief without knowing where to look. 

“I’m sure you got some great shots,” he says, drawing your attention again. When you look up, his eyes are on your camera. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s so hard to really capture the feeling of something through a camera, but I definitely try,” you say.

“I saw you at The Obelisk and I thought, I’ve never seen someone so focused in my entire life,” he says, except now he’s looking at you.

“There must have been thousands of people there. How did you pick me out?” you ask with a laugh. 

The mystery man shrugs. “Like I said, you were focused. And not in the way a lot of influencers who travel for the perfect picture are. I knew that it was more than that for you.” 

“It is,” you agree. “I’m studying the history and the culture down here. Just got in last night.” 

“Can I see the picture you landed on?” he ventures. 

You hesitate. Your pictures are good, sure, but you’re not actually doing anything that serious when you’re down here. Since it’s supposed to be part of your cover, you should feel confident. After a moment, you hand your camera over to him with your favorite picture in the display window. 

“Be kind. My focus is language and history first, not photography,” you toss out. Another layer to the cover. It’s convenient, though. Not that you expected to be talking to someone like him about photography.

“This is amazing,” he says and seems earnest. “Can I look through the rest?”

Again, you pretend to consider. This time it’s for the sake of the persona you’re committing to. It’s not like there’s anything on there from before today since it’s a fresh SD card. 

“I promise to be kind,” he presses and you roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you say and he smiles. 

It’s hard not to notice the amount of care he uses while handling your camera. Maybe he knows something about photography and realizes it’s an expensive model. Or maybe he’s just gentle with something that clearly means a lot to someone else. It’s also easier to feel like you can appreciate things about him when his attention is somewhere else. Like he won’t notice the way your eyes map his features, noting the furrow in his brows or how smooth his skin is. Or the way his hair seems absolutely perfect without any product in it. None of it seems fair that he should just get to walk around looking like that.

“I’m surprised not to find a picture of myself on here,” he starts and it pulls you from your thoughts. There’s a moment where you wonder if he’s secretly self-centered, until you meet his eyes and see the glint there. “You know, with how you’ve been studying me.” 

“I appreciate beauty wherever I see it,” you answer, trying to channel more boldness than you feel. 

“Are you saying I’m beautiful?” he questions, entirely too at-ease. 

“I don’t think you need confirmation on that,” you scoff and look out the window. “Besides, it wasn’t me that noticed you earlier.” 

“A shame for me,” he muses. “I appreciate beautiful things as well.”

He hands your camera back with his eyes locked on you. It makes your skin feel a little flushed and you hate it. Hate that you’re always able to keep your cool in any situation and still so completely disarmed by this man. Hate that it’s him that breaks the moment, too, when he looks down at the expensive watch on his wrist with a sigh.

“Late for something?” you venture. 

“Something like that,” he agrees and puts his book away in a bag you hadn’t noticed. “I’m glad you sat down though.” 

“Me too,” you admit a little too quickly as he’s standing up.

“Enjoy your afternoon, beautiful stranger,” he says and you twist around.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” you call and he stops by the door. The smile he throws your way sends a tingle down your spine.

“I hope we’ll run into each other again, then,” he says.

And just like that, he’s gone. Slips into the crowd like he wasn’t even there in the first place. It makes you wonder, just for a second, if the entire exchange actually happened. Until you look back at the table and see the cup of coffee he had been drinking. Beside it, you notice a small piece of paper advertising a new installation at one of the local art museums. Not entirely out of the question, you think, for someone visiting this city and also interested in seeing your camera.

It’s then that you remind yourself why you’re actually here. You shake your head to clear it of any thoughts of the stranger, knowing you can’t make any effort to run into him again. The mission is the only thing that matters. Getting close to someone that could distract you in that way is not part of the plan. So, you can appreciate the banter and get back on track.

The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You continue to explore the city while always keeping your eyes and ears open for any indication of the art thief. It’s a little frustrating to not have much to go on, but you’re also one of the most patient agents and you know it’ll pay off eventually. Seungcheol keeps in regular contact, sending along each new nugget of information he’s able to find. Even if they’re seemingly insignificant, you file them all away, appreciating how hard you know he’s working given how few people know about the mission. He has to pull the relevant pieces to send to you without tipping off the team in Amsterdam. 

You’re also splitting your days. Making sure to get out to experience the local culture to maintain your cover, while spending just as much time locked away in your room so that you can do your own research. Everything points to him already being in the city as well. It also seems like this next heist might be two-fold for him. It appears that he’s got a client that wants a specific piece of art and that he’s also going to steal some pieces for himself to sell at later dates. It’s a bit unusual, from what you’ve been able to tell. He usually likes to keep each job simple to reduce the likelihood of getting caught. Then again, he’s been active for years and doing just fine. 

Today you decide to go to check out a museum that you’ve been putting off. It’s silly, but you didn’t want to show up there the day after that cafe since it seemed a little convenient to leave behind. You have to familiarize yourself with all the museums in the city, though, and it seems like this one could be your thief’s target. It has just the right amount of traffic. Just the right combination of popular pieces with lesser known artists. 

Once you’re there, you immediately move away from the popular sections. That’s not the kind of art you’re after because it’s not the kind of art the thief ever steals. It’s too recognizable. Too hard to move. Just too risky. Once you’re in a quieter part of the museum, you fight off any feelings of being a fraud. Art has never really been your strong suit. If it weren’t for this mission being so sensitive, you definitely would not be the first agent anyone would choose. But, it is sensitive and so you have to rely on your training to carry you through any conversations that might pop up. You have to rely on the hours spent pouring over lectures about the different styles and influences, the different periods, different techniques. Hopefully your talent at rote memorization will serve you well. 

“It’s a shame they keep one of the best artists tucked away in a corner like this,” a voice says from your side, pulling you from your thoughts. 

You answer without even thinking much about the voice or even turning to see the person who appeared next to you nearly soundlessly. “Makes it easier to appreciate in peace, though.” 

“You like surrealism, then?” he asks and it’s only then that you notice something familiar about the voice or the manner of speaking. Or the fact that he’s not speaking to you in Spanish. 

Before you even turn to your side, you know who you’re going to find. He’s looking just as put together and at-ease as he did several days ago in the cafe. His hands rest in his pockets, but his eyes on you are sharp. There’s something a little hard to read about him, you think. 

The smile you give him is practiced, designed to seem genuine. “I like Leonor Fini.” 

“You’ve got good taste,” he says and turns back to the piece. 

“I do like surrealism,” you carry on, turning back to the piece yourself as well, “but, with her work, I really appreciate the way she used female subjects through a female lens. Too many artists…”

You trail off, pretending you’re unsure if you should continue. He falls into the setup easily. “Men could only show female subjects through their own eyes, but women look different through the eyes of other women.” 

“Exactly,” you say and smile at him before turning back to the painting again. “There’s something so captivating about the work she did.” 

“I agree. That’s why this is my favorite piece here and in my favorite section of works,” he says confidently. 

“You already have a favorite?” you joke.

“Well, I’ve been here every day for the past several days,” he shares.

This makes you turn to him fully. “Because you love this section and this work so much?” 

This mysterious man actually looks down like he’s embarrassed to admit whatever he’s about to tell you. Like he’s gotten shy for a moment. “I do, but I was actually hoping to run into you.” 

That catches you a bit off guard and it takes your brain a minute to remember, once again, you’re here on a mission. “It would have been easier to run into me if you just asked for my number.” 

“Kind of ruins this whole mysterious thing I have going on, though,” he shrugs. 

You roll your eyes and extend your hand, giving him your fake name for the mission. His eyes sparkle for a second before he takes your hand. 

“Wonwoo,” he answers.

“Nice to finally get your name,” you tease.

“I figured you’d come check out the museum when I left the card there at the cafe,” Wonwoo says. 

“I knew that was on purpose,” you mumble.

“Yet you didn’t come until today,” he observes.

“I wasn’t trying to make it easy on you,” you throw out quickly.

“Okay, time to switch tactics, then,” he says. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?” 

“I’m not sure, can you?” you ask.

“Please let me take you to dinner,” he says.

It’s a bad idea and you know it. Everything about him screams distraction. This isn’t what you’re in Buenos Aires to do. Yet, there’s something about him that has you curious. There’s also the fact that this museum seems to be the most likely target for the art thief and this man admitted he’s been here every day. A small part of your brain is sending up alarm signals to keep an eye on him. He doesn’t seem like a secret art thief, but hasn’t your training taught you how to hide in plain sight? It’s entirely possible he’s doing the same.

Your brain goes into overdrive as it often does on missions. There are a million little details in the pages of your profile on the art thief. They come flooding back to you. The profile so thoughtfully pieced together by The Agency says he’s probably unassuming. The kind of man that fits into any situation in the same way as you do, like he’s not trying to fit in and it means he doesn’t stand out as not belonging. The profile suggests that he’s confident. That he would appear calm. Most importantly, he’s the kind of person that would absolutely look at home in the midst of art. So, whether it’s a good idea or not, you know you’re going to say yes. He must see the answer in your eyes before you voice it because he smirks. 

“What time?” 

Wonwoo offers to pick you up at your hotel, but you insist that you’ll meet him at the restaurant. It’s safer that way, after all, being a woman traveling alone. At least that’s what you tell him. Not that anything about Wonwoo seems that threatening and you’re better equipped to handle yourself than most. You just don’t need him anywhere near your room even with everything put away. After going back to get ready, you made time to pour over the information you have. The more you consider it, the more it seems plausible that he could be exactly who you’re looking for. There’s only one issue: he asked you out. Everything you have suggests that he made agents in the past and slipped into the wind. You’re not cocky enough to think you’re too good to fall victim to the same fate. You keep your update to Seungcheol vague in case the lead doesn’t pan out. 

Surprisingly, Wonwoo picks a nice place off the beaten path for dinner. It’s not overrun with tourists and it’s not too expensive. Like him, it’s unassuming but quietly impressive. You try not to let your heart skip a beat when you see him in a simple white dress shirt and black dress pants. He stands to pull your seat out for you and then settles back into his seat across from you. This is for the sake of the mission. Either he’s the person you’re looking for or you’ll have enjoyed a free and tasty meal. Nothing more to it. 

His Spanish, it turns out, isn’t that great and so you help him through ordering since it’s definitely a place more for the locals. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get your help. You’re not really sure you mind either way. He makes suggestions about which wines he prefers, but ultimately lets you pick, insisting that he will take care of whatever you land on. Once you get through ordering and all the small talk, it gives you a chance to really get to know him.

“Have you been here before?” you ask.

“This restaurant or this city?” he asks.

“Either,” you shrug.

“No to both,” he answers. “Clearly, my Spanish is a bit rusty. I’m so lucky that I found someone who’s so fluent.” 

“I’m not sure I believe you can’t speak the language,” you muse.

“I can speak enough Spanish to get by, but it’s not that good,” he assures you. 

“Interesting place to visit, then,” you observe.

“I’d miss out on a lot of beauty if I only went where I spoke the language fluently,” he retorts and you smile genuinely at that. He’s right. 

“Like the art in the museum?” you suggest.

“Or a charming stranger,” he counters. You’re impressed. “I do like the art as well, though.” 

“What other beautiful places have you visited?” you ask.

“Oh, I hardly think it’s that interesting,” he dismisses.

“Humor me,” you say. 

There’s a moment where he’s careful in listing off places. Like he’s weighing something that you can’t really place. He ends up listing some places that catch your attention. Each of them has some wonderful art museums and it piques your curiosity. You try to look just politely interested, commenting on how he’s lucky to be able to travel as extensively as he seems to. He plays it off with a vague comment about being fortunate with help from his family. It’s the kind of thing that you know passes on a first date. It’s not appropriate to mention money on a first date. So, that would be fine, if it didn’t also make you curious about who this man really was. After all, your art thief being well connected through family would definitely make sense.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, you try to enjoy it. Not that it’s hard to do. Wonwoo is actually a lot of fun to be around. The conversation flows easily and you’re able to connect on a lot of shared interests. At least, interests that you pretend to have for the sake of this mission. But, it feels like he might also be pretending on some of his interests. He’s just a little too calm and put together. A little too quick with his answers. A little too rehearsed with his comments. Maybe you wouldn’t think twice if you weren’t doing the same. 

By the time you finish the main course, you’re pretty sure that you managed to stumble into a date with the exact person that you’re here looking for based on his stories. It may have been a guess before. It feels nearly for sure  now. He mentions how you have to visit Japan when the cherry blossoms are blooming, which sounds stunning. He mentions Oktoberfest in Munich and how he barely remembers anything from that trip. Then there's the ice festival in China, Nordlysfestivalen in Norway, and a few other locations that sound beautiful. They also have one thing in common. Each place is also on your list for stolen art around the time of the events. 

Once you finish dessert, you’re making a decision that you know you should really clear with someone else before making. Sure, you’re pretty sure that Wonwoo is the art thief. And yes, it’s true that keeping an eye on him is in your best interest. One way to do that is to continue with the date. Yet, you’re not stopping to check in with Seungcheol. You’re not analyzing the pros and cons of doing this. After giving Seungcheol a vague update about a lead and promising you’ll have more information later on, he should be the first person you call. He’s not swept up in the atmosphere of a foreign city with a gorgeous stranger. No, you don’t do any of that. You’re just agreeing to go back to his room with him without a second thought. He’s painfully hot and you’re incredibly attracted to him, which is wildly unprofessional. But, you’re not sure you care. At least for the night. You can figure it all out later.

Wonwoo is quietly confident without being cocky. His gaze is so penetrating that it feels like he’s undressing you without it being slimy. He can hold a conversation about seemingly anything, but he’s also just as interested in what you have to say. In fact, you have his attention the whole night, regardless of anything else going on. It’s a little overwhelming to have someone so focused on you. But, when it feels a little overwhelming, he makes a perfectly timed, slightly sarcastic joke that makes you laugh harder than you should. The smile you wear all throughout the date is genuine. You’re actually enjoying yourself so much that you’re not sure you want it to end. Life has never felt so simultaneously complicated and easy.

Wonwoo’s lips are hot on yours as he cages you against the door of his hotel room. That intensity you saw all dinner reappears and you feel like you might burn under his touch. He’s so in control. You’re still not entirely sure how you wound up here, but you’re not really trying to think too hard about it. The fact that he’s almost definitely the art thief becomes an issue for future-you the second he kisses you like it’s your last day on Earth. It’s not like he knows you’re tracking his movements and it isn’t exactly a bad thing to keep a closer eye on him. Nor is it the first time you’ve done something like this. It is the first time you’ve done it without thought, though, and genuinely been interested in the man you let seduce you.

He has his body pressed against yours with his arms on either side of you so there really is nowhere to go. It’s kind of hot and you’re not even pretending to be turned on. A definite bonus. Your hands quickly undo his belt so that you can pull the edges of his shirt out. The moment your hands make contact with his skin, he pulls away and hisses. They’re likely cold, not that you care. It gives you the chance to catch his lower lip between your teeth. You watch his eyes darken with lust as you run your hands up his back, scratching down lightly. 

“Just who do you think is in control here, baby?” His voice is so low in your ear that it makes you swallow hard. Everything about the endearment sounds sarcastic and it shouldn’t work, but you’re only human. Then he nips at your earlobe and you actually moan. 

“What are you going to do about it?” you challenge. It feels like a lot of heat between you. If your head were clearer, you might consider that it feels like two people who know they shouldn’t be fucking. Almost like he’s punishing you a little, which he might want to, given why you’re here.

“That’s a dangerous question,” he warns you. 

“Afraid I can’t handle it?” you ask and watch the way it nearly breaks his composure. You press forward into him, pulling him down so his ear is by your mouth now. Barely raise your voice above a whisper. “I’m not that fragile. I can handle a little pain.” 

That seems to set him off. You’re worried for a second when he pulls away, but that disappears as you watch his nimble fingers rapidly undoing the buttons on his shirt. He casts it aside and looks back at you. 

“I want you stripped naked and on the bed,” he commands. 

You’re not typically in the habit of taking commands but something about him makes you want to listen. Even if you want to challenge him a little. He turns his back and you do strip down. Mostly. You climb onto the bed wearing only your panties, legs spread open and waiting for him. When he turns around, you miss the flare of his nostrils at your defiance looking at his muscles. For someone so unassuming, he was certainly in good shape. 

“Is this your idea of naked?” he questions.

It’s funny, since he’s still got his boxer briefs on, though they leave little to the imagination. You can already see that he’s getting hard from the lead up. 

“I thought I’d leave that honor for you,” you say, injecting as much innocence as you can muster into every word.

Wonwoo looks at you for another long second before climbing onto the bed and getting between your legs. He pushes them further open and you bite down on your lip. 

“You don’t get to muffle those moans from me, sweetheart,” he teases, running a hand up the inside of your thigh.

“Or what?” you challenge again.

He raises an eyebrow at you and pulls his hand away from your thigh. You’re about to whine when he brings it back in a sharp slap. 

“Shit,” you hiss. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks. You nod with big eyes. “Use your words.”

“Fuck, yes, I liked it,” you rush out the second his finger traces a light line up your clothed cunt. 

“I can tell,” he snarks. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be,” you insist. He pulls his hand away and looks at you surprisingly soft for a second.

“Tell me if it is,” he repeats.

“I will,” you promise. 

“Good,” he says and hooks his fingers inside the band of your panties, pulling them down your legs and casting them aside in one motion. “That’s better.” 

In another surprise, Wonwoo doesn’t dive right into your cunt the way you expect him to given how frenzied everything has been so far. Instead, he trails kisses from your knee up your inner thigh. Pausing occasionally to nip into the skin before running his tongue over the mark to soothe it. You’re writhing on the bed by the time his breath ghosts across your cunt. The chuckle is low and deep as you squirm when he moves to your other thigh. You’re going to die before he even touches you. 

“Jesus fuck, Wonwoo, if you don’t start eating me out…” you start, a hand winding into his hair.

He pops up and glares at you. “You’ll what? Did you already forget who’s in charge?” 

“I’ll…” you start, before cutting off with a sharp, “FUCK!”

He’s still got his eyes on you when his thumb runs quickly through your folds to press against your clit. There’s barely any movement but it anchors you in place. “That’s what I thought.” 

His kisses up your other thigh are much sloppier with a thumb still in place. It only makes you squirm more, searching for some kind of relief. When he finally gets to your lips, you expect he’s going to tease you again. You’re wrong. Again. His tongue dives into your pussy while his other hand keeps you spread open. This man knows what he’s doing and it’s immediately more than you’re expecting. You can’t stop your legs from snapping closed to box him in. That is, until he pulls his hands off you to spread your legs wide again, giving him the best access to you. It’s clear that he’s in charge and he wants you to know it. 

It’s everything you can do not to thrash around, but Wonwoo seems to be ready to help there. He’s got a hand on your stomach anchoring you down to the bed. You’re not even sure how he’s got enough hands to move them along your body the way he seems to. Without warning, he moves his mouth up to pay attention to your clit. And he doesn’t give you a break, sliding two fingers into you and immediately scissoring them open. He sets a brutal pace, curling his fingers to hit you where he seems to know you need him on some of the passes. 

“Fuck, Wonwoo, oh my god, fuck,” you scream out.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he sneers at you from between your legs.

“Yes, fuck,” you moan. “Your fingers, oh my god.” 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans.

In the next moment, you’re coming so hard you squirt over those amazing fingers of his. Your vision whites out around the edges and your toes are curling. It’s all you can do to catch your breath as Wonwoo’s fingers pump through the high. 

“I don’t remember the last time I came that hard,” you admit.

“We’re not done yet,” he shares and the tone of his voice has you nearly clenching your legs together. “Turn over. Get on your hands and knees.” 

“So bossy,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You turn over anyway, though, and put your ass in the air. 

“This is a really good fucking view,” he says. You feel the bed dip when he gets back in place after removing his boxers. 

Wonwoo has one hand on your hip and the other is running up your back to press you down further. To help you get that perfect arch of your back. You wiggle your ass at him and are rewarded with a stinging smack. Your moan is muffled by the pillow, so you turn your head to the side. Already know he wants to hear you. When he smacks your other ass check, you nearly scream out.

“That’s it, I want to hear you,” he encourages. 

“Please, Wonwoo, just fuck me already,” you beg. 

“One orgasm wasn’t enough?” he asks and you can hear the cockiness in his voice. Bringing a ringing smack down on your ass again. You scream out at the sting. 

“No, I want you to split me open,” you whine. In any other situation you might be embarrassed by the admission, but not now. Not with him. Not when it’s so clearly turning him on. 

“Greedy little thing,” he comments. His fingers press into your cunt again and you nearly yelp. 

There’s no time to adjust when Wonwoo removes his fingers and immediately lines himself up at your entrance. With one snap of his hips, he’s fully inside you and you’re hissing. He’s bigger than you were guessing, even with the outline in his boxers. And he doesn’t give you a break as he starts fucking you hard. All you can hear is the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the mingled moans from both of you. You’re sensitive from both the pace and the earlier orgasm. Your legs feel like they would collapse under you if they could. 

As if the pace isn’t enough, Wonwoo snakes an arm around you to reach for your clit, rubbing circles into it at the same pace as his thrusts. You can tell he’s nowhere near close, but you’re about to lose control again and you’re not sure how to stop it.

“Fuck, Wonwoo, slower, I’m going to - fuck!” you whine out. 

“You gonna come again? So soon, baby?” he taunts. 

“I can’t - fuck, please,” you beg. “I’m so close.” 

“I want you to  make a mess of my dick the same way you made a mess of my fingers,” Wonwoo directs. 

“But you haven’t…” you start and Wonwoo removes his hand from your clit. You cry out at the loss until his other hand grabs your hair to yank you back against his chest. When it’s clear you’re not going to move, his hand moves from your hair to your throat.

“I want you to come for me. Right now. Show me how good I feel inside that tight pussy,” he directs.

It’s one of the most surprising reactions, the way your body immediately responds to him. He’s got you coming just as hard as the first time and he doesn’t give you a chance to second guess any of it. As the shocks rip through your body, you notice that Wonwoo does slow down his thrusts. Doesn’t pull out of you, though. You collapse forward and arch your back again so it’s easier to meet Wonwoo’s continued pace.

“You’re so good at listening,” he praises.

“Not usually,” you mumble into the pillow through the haze. 

“I must be special,” he says as he lazily fucks into you.

“Jesus Wonwoo, you can fuck me. I know you haven’t finished yet,” you grumble.

“In a rush to go somewhere?” he teases. 

“No, but it must be…well, I don’t know. Hard for you,” you mumble into the sheets. 

“I’ve got excellent control,” Wonwoo says, all confidence. “I’m not in a rush to end this.” 

Despite your instance, he continues to lazily snap his hips into you. It’s so slow, way too slow. He reaches down to pull you up against his chest again, still keeping the pace. His hands are on your breasts, squeezing them to anchor you to him. He rolls one of your nipples roughly between his fingers to see what he gets as a reaction. Your moan seems to spur him on further. Each time pain shoots through some part of your body, it only seems to turn you on more. It’s easy to forget why you agreed to this in the first place. 

For all the demands, Wonwoo is actually very attentive as well. He peppers kisses from behind your ear all the way down your shoulder and back, paying special attention to the areas that seem to get the best response from you. He’s also careful with where he nips you, never biting hard enough to leave a mark somewhere that couldn’t be easily hidden. The entire experience has been so all-consuming that there isn’t space for any other thoughts in your head. It’s just him and this hotel room that’s entirely too fancy. 

He must feel that you’re starting to get worked up because he pushes you back down into the bed. His pace finally picks up again, which is good because you’re sprinting towards being too sore to actually enjoy it anymore. The pace gets much faster again, not nearly as rhythmic as before. His fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts. It’s the first time it actually feels like he’s losing control. 

“Oh my god,” you cry out. “I’m gonna come again. Oh my god!” 

“Me too,” he groans through a stuttered breath. “Fuck, where can I come?” 

“I don’t care,” you cry out. You’re about to have your third orgasm. “On my back, on my ass, I don’t fucking care, just come with me.” 

You press a finger to your clit to try and help you over that last bit to tumble over the edge so that Wonwoo can chase his own relief. The second your body starts shaking, you feel him pull out. He must pump his cock a few times because there’s a slight delay before you feel something hit your back. You feel a little proud with how much cum you feel on your skin, like maybe he was a little more affected by you than he wanted to let on. 

As soon as Wonwoo lays down next to you on the bed, you also collapse onto your side. The bed is soft, but your knees are still a little sore from spending so much time on them. Wonwoo immediately pulls you into him so that he can kiss you breathless. His hand is behind your head, keeping you from pulling away. The chemistry between the two of you is intense. Not something you were prepared for. It’s clear that if one of you doesn’t stop, then you’ll be fucking him again. And your body needs a break.

“I should get cleaned up,” you say when you pull back, more than slightly breathless. 

“Let me just get cleaned up a little and then you can take a shower,” he says. 

He presses a kiss to your temple and then gets up off the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t watching him as he walks to the bathroom. He’s all lean lines and unexpected muscles. Nobody should be allowed to look the way he does, to look so good that Greek gods would be jealous. And yet here he is. 

A few minutes later, he emerges from the bathroom and arches an eyebrow at you. There’s a towel slung low around his hips in a way that should be a sin. “You’re going to make me think that you want more.”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to stand,” you joke as an answer.

It surprises you a little when he comes over to the bed and helps you up. That is, until you see the way his eyes take you in. There’s nothing soft there, only predatory. Like you’re a meal he wants to return to. Your brain still feels a little slow to catch up, but registers something like he’s analyzing you. Still, he helps you get to the bathroom, points out the toiletries, and then disappears back into the room. 

By the time you’re clean and wrapped in the softest bathrobe you’ve ever worn, Wonwoo is sitting at the table wearing shorts and his glasses with nothing else. He’s scrolling absently through his phone and picking at some snacks that hadn’t been there when you had gone to shower. You didn’t think you’d been in there long, so it’s surprising he was able to get something up so quickly. When he notices you’re out of the bathroom, he indicates the food.

“I ordered us some snacks and they were happy to get them up here quickly,” he says. 

You take a seat across from him a little apprehensively. This is the part that you hadn’t really considered. How do you excuse yourself from the situation in a way that ensures you’ll see him again? It’s not that you want to have a repeat, though there’s part of your brain that is not opposed like you should be. It’s just…well with the room and the toiletries and the fast room service, you’re sure that this is the man you’re looking for. Which, admittedly, might make things a little complicated. But, you do have a job to do.

“I guess I am hungry,” you admit and reach for something.

“Glad you’re not going to make me eat alone,” he muses. 

“You already paid for dinner and drinks, I wasn’t expecting more treats,” you admit. 

“Seems fitting after the mindblowing sex,” he says and watches you, a clear glint to his eyes. “I can’t get over how insanely hot it was to watch you squirt for me.” 

Your cheeks redden without your permission. He’s so free with admitting it even with the moment having passed. Maybe he’s more trouble than you realized. 

“Seems like I wasn’t the only one to enjoy myself if my back is any indication,” you toss out. 

“I really enjoyed the way you told me I could come on your back,” he shares.

“And my ass,” you remind him.

“I got that too,” he reminds you. “And what a nice ass it is.” 

“Careful or I’ll ask you to blow my back out again,” you say, voice slightly betraying that you’re affected by his very presence. 

“That makes me think you were going to head out and never see me again,” Wonwoo ventures.

“I haven’t decided yet,” you say, trying to be coy.

Wonwoo fixes you with a stare that you can’t quite decipher. It nearly makes you squirm under the intensity. Is he just like that? The kind of person that does everything with that burning look in his eyes. 

“Let me ask you something, Agent,” he begins and your mouth runs dry. You do everything you can not to let him know that you’re a second away from losing it. “Do you fuck all your targets? Or am I special?”

The way he smirks at you lets you know that he knows he’s onto something. Knows exactly who you are. Or maybe who you work for, at least. He’s made you and you’re not entirely sure you’re safe anymore. You’re also not entirely sure what the best move is. Probably take half a second too long to decide if his face is any indication. 

“Agent? Target?” you laugh out. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Don’t you?” he presses. “Really, we shouldn’t be lying to each other so early in the relationship.” 

“I’m here doing…” you start.

“Research, yes. That’s what you said. And you almost had me when it took so long to run into you again. Your Spanish is flawless. It doesn’t sound like someone that learned at some secret agency. You’re much better at languages than any of the other agents that have come after me. And waiting so long to meet me again, genius. It really had me second guessing who you were,” he says. “But then, you made a mistake. Do you know what it was?” 

“Going on a date with someone that’s clearly a little delusional?” you ventured. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, I think you do,” he says, confident. “I’ll tell you where you fucked up. It was dinner tonight. No, not something you said or did because you were shockingly smooth with it. It’s that you agreed to it at all. I suggested a place no researcher would ever go to. Because it used to be the site of a religious monument, but it fell into disrepair. A local crime family took it over. Only locals bother going there, but no researcher ever would.” 

Your heart sinks. Through all your research and all your planning, you knew that you would never be able to get everything. There just wasn’t the time. So, you had to hope that the person you were chasing wouldn’t notice any small missteps. Or would write them off with your cover story. What you had not planned for was this. In all your careful consideration, you had not planned to go on a date with the art thief himself. He had you and he knew it. It’s hard to see the right path out of this. 

It had been a gamble to get close to him the way you had. A gamble that you questioned taking and took anyway. A gamble you took without clearing it with Seungcheol. Usually, getting close to a target this way, you talk to him to make sure that he thinks it’s a good idea too. Make sure that this kind of move will fit the profile for the person that you’re chasing. This time, you’re flying blind. You had gotten a little ahead of yourself. A little sloppy. This isn’t the type of work you’re known for. It’s not the reason that you were sent down to Buenos Aires to chase him on a secret mission. 

“One mistake,” you sigh with a shake of your head. 

“Yeah, just the one,” he agrees. 

“So why did you invite me back here?” you ask. 

Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m curious about you.” 

“Curious? You risked inviting me back to your actual hotel room over curiosity?” you ask, looking around. 

“Who’s to say this is actually my room?” he says with another casual shrug. You clock it on his face as soon as he says it. 

“No, it is your actual room. The comfort, the speed of the room service, the way things are laid out. It’s not staged. This is just where you’re staying,” you observe. That makes him smile in a way you’re not expecting.

“Good eye,” he agrees. “Now for my question. Do you fuck all your targets?” 

“No,” you say shortly. 

“Why even agree to go on a date with me, then?” he presses. 

You sigh and sit further back into your chair. Take a piece of fruit from the table to buy yourself some time. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a good decision, obviously. I wasn’t even sure you were my target. There was just…something about you.” 

“So you’ve never fucked a target before? I’m special?” he asks with a smirk.

“I didn’t say that,” you respond. “I just don’t usually fuck a target without clearing it first.” 

“Who knows you’re here with me?” he asks.

“Nobody,” you answer. It’s too honest. 

You’re not sure if you should have admitted that and even less sure if he’ll believe you. It is the truth, though. Nobody in the world knows where you are right now. It’s kind of a crossroads for you because Wonwoo isn’t dangerous. He’s never been violent, as far as your information shows. Despite being physically separated from your bag, you’re not exactly unarmed. And yes, he does look like he’s in shape, but you’re still confident that you can take him if it comes to that. Once again, your mind is running through a million calculations a second as you realize you definitely should have talked to Seungcheol. 

“I’m trying to figure you out,” he admits.

“How’s that going?” you ask sarcastically. 

“Not as well as it would normally,” he says. It’s something else that’s honest between the two of you. More honest than you’re expecting. “Most people are too easy to figure out. It’s boring. Nothing about you makes sense to me.” 

“And what about me is so difficult for you to figure out?” you ask, still lacing your words with sarcasm. 

“You know, despite me figuring out that you’re after me, you’re actually the best agent that they’ve ever sent. You fit into your role seamlessly. You’re just the right amount of charming. You blend into your surroundings because you don’t try to do anything to dull yourself. Against my better judgment, I am impressed. And yet, you still decided to come on the date. You’re clearly the best they have and you’re still here,” he says, gaze soft but analytical on you. 

“I’m going to keep my mouth shut,” you say carefully. 

“Why?” he asks. 

“You disarm me,” you admit. “I know so much about you and yet, here I am. Unwilling to leave even though you know what I’m here to do.” 

“Do you still want to turn me in?” he asks.

“Are you going to disappear into the wind the second I walk out that door?” you counter. 

He regards you for a moment. A moment too long, really. It makes you squirm in your seat. This isn’t going at all how you would have imagined. “No.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I’m waiting to see how this whole thing plays out. You haven’t said that you want to turn me in. I can see you’re conflicted about it. So, I’m going to see how this plays out,” he answers. He holds up a hand when you open your mouth. Seems to predict you’re going to ask why again. “Because…okay, look. I know this is really weird. I know you’re here to try and find me. But, you’re actually interesting and that sex was fucking good. So, I don’t know, call me cocky. I’m not ready to let you walk away just yet.”

“If I can walk at all,” you grumble. 

“You were walking just fine from the bathroom. Maybe I need to really make sure you can’t walk,” he muses. 

The eye contact is too much and you turn your head away. You’re positive he’s onto you, especially when you carefully cross your legs. It’s just that he’s right, isn’t he? You can sit here and pretend that you only slept with him to keep him close while you tried to figure him out. Can say that it was all just part of the job and you didn’t enjoy it. Can say that you wanted to take a different approach since nobody else has been able to catch him.

That’s also very clearly a lie.

Seungcheol likes to know what his agents are up to, particularly when it comes to agents like you that deal with secret missions. Since you started as friends before he had to retire to his desk, he’s also very protective of you. He hates it when you suggest using your charm on a target like this. So, no, this isn’t just another target. This is something else entirely. You have to admit that you actually enjoyed it. That you would like to do it again. That you actually don’t even want to leave his room because you’re not convinced you’ll ever see him again. Which is really stupid, isn’t it? You should not care if you never see him again. Unless it means that you failed your mission. That’s not why you’re worrying about never seeing him again, though. 

Just as you’re about to open your mouth and say something else, your phone chirps from your bag. It’s a sign. You know it is. The sound is tied to Seungcheol. Which means he’s looking for a check-in. Which means you’re late, something that never happens with you. You’re standing up to get your phone before even realizing it. Wonwoo’s eyes track your movements. 

Cheol: hope you’re enjoying your trip! Send pictures when you can

It’s code. Sent through a normal message so that it doesn’t look suspicious. And so that it gives you the chance to ignore it if you’re not in a place where you can answer him. You don’t even hear Wonwoo approach as you’re mentally calculating how to respond to this.

“Is that code?” he asks and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his low voice by your ear. God, nobody should have a voice like his.

“It’s my handler, I guess you could say,” you answer.

“Are you going to call him?” he asks.

“He’ll worry if I don’t,” you say and realize it’s true. 

Wonwoo steps around you to grab his own phone and then returns to his position at the table. “I’ll be quiet if you want to call.” 

There’s something kind of hot about how he says it. Like he doesn’t actually want to let you leave. Or like it’s an order to stay. You’re not sure if you’re reading too much into it. When you look over at him, his eyes are on his phone, but his lips turn up in a smile. He knows your eyes are on him and he’s still playing a game. A game that you just might lose, for the first time in your life. 

With a sigh, you shake your head and just fire off a text in response. You don’t have it in you to call Seungcheol and you also aren’t exactly sure what to say. He’s always been able to read your tone like it’s his own. After telling him you might have a lead, he’s going to know something is wrong. This is going to be a problem.

You: it’s been amazing, i’m loving each new thing i get to see in person. I’ll have some pictures to show you tomorrow!

It’s a signal that you’re not going to have anything new to share with him tonight and not to contact you again until you check in the next day. You’re not really sure if this is the right decision, but you need time to clear your head. This is the only way that you can see getting that. It’s too hard to think about making a decision when Wonwoo is still half naked and looking at you like you’re prey. At least you can assume that you could take him if you needed to. Thankfully, he’s not really looking at you like that kind of prey. 

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” you say.

“And what will you do tonight?” Wonwoo asks, looking up at you.

“I’m all yours, at least for tonight,” you say. 

You’re surprised the look he gives you doesn’t melt you into the floor. “I can work with that.”

The next day brings more confusion than the night before. At least you’re back in your own hotel room and out of the intoxicating orbit of Wonwoo. The downside is that you couldn’t leave his bed without agreeing to lunch plans with him. Both of you wanted to get breakfast together, but hadn’t been able to get out of bed in time for that. You turned down his offer to just buy you new clothes so you wouldn’t have to leave his sight. Thankfully, he does seem to understand that you need a minute to process everything in the last 24 hours. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind.

That’s not what you need to focus on right now, though. You don’t have any more messages from Seungcheol, which is what you expected. Still, you need to call him before he doesn’t something to check on you. Like sending Chan to your hotel with some made up story. You don’t want to put anyone in that position. You also don’t really know what you’re going to say. When you left Wonwoo’s hotel room, he made it clear: the choice was yours. He wants to see you again and he also knows that he’s asking a lot. Too much, probably. So, he’s giving you a choice. If you show up at lunch to meet him, then you’re at least willing to get to know him a little more before deciding anything. If you stand him up, then he’ll know you can’t agree to that. It’s a major gamble for him because you know what he looks like and his real name. You have more than you need to put an end to years of his hard work. 

Nothing in your life has prepared you for this. Not really. Sure, you train for missions and you perfect your skills. But, emotions have never been part of it. It’s always been so easy to separate your humanity from your job. Kind of like you just switch of anything that makes you normal and go into mission-mode. You once compared it to being an actor because you’re just playing a part. None of it is real and none of it is really your decision. This is uncharted territory for you.

Once you catch your breath, you pull a device out of the secret pocket in your bag so that you can connect it to your phone. It’ll scramble the signals and make the line secure so that you can call Seungcheol. It’s a bit of normalcy that you’re craving in the madness around you. 

“Finally, I’ve been worried,” Seungcheol answers. 

“I answered you right away,” you point out.

“Yes, to say that you would not be calling me,” Seungcheol presses and you sigh.

“Because I don’t have anything new to report,” you say without even realizing when you made the decision. The lie flows so easily. “I’ve been cataloging everything on everyone I see at the museums and galleries. Cross checking the names coming into the country. Surveying anyone that sticks out as I check things out.” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Seungcheol cuts in.

“I’m here to find him, though,” you point out. You’re not sure why you’re doing this. 

“I know,” he says. “But, I’d rather you be safe.”

“I’m always safe,” you lie. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to pick up on it. 

“I know, but I also know you’re competitive,” he says. “Remember, we’ve already sent no less than 6 teams to find him and they’ve all failed.” 

“I don’t fail, though. That’s why you sent me,” you say. You’re not even sure why you’re arguing with him. 

“Just be careful. What happened with that lead you thought you had?” he asks. 

“A dead end,” you say with a practiced sigh. “Does the intelligence say he’s still in the city?” 

“I can’t imagine he’d leave without taking anything,” Seungcheol says. 

“Good point,” you say. “I’ll keep looking.” 

“Do you want me to send back-up?” he asks.

“It’s your mission,” you say noncommittally. “If you think it’ll help and we can still fly under the radar, then by all means.” 

“I was thinking of Chan since he’s still kind of in the area,” he says.

“Ah, yeah, I’m not sure,” you admit.

“You’re right, I know. I do want you to formally meet him soon, though. But, definitely not mid-mission,” he agrees. “Just be careful and keep me updated. If it goes on too long, we’ll just pull you. Maybe he got spooked.” 

“Yeah, that works,” you agree. 

“See you when you’re back,” he says.

“See you,” you answer and hang up.

It feels awful to lie to him, of all people. He’s one of the only people that you’ve ever trusted in your life. The only one that knows exactly who you are, knows all your demons, and still accepts you. He knows just how many people are six feet under because of you, knows the ways you’ve had to use your body, knows the lies you’ve told and the people you’ve hurt, both physically and emotionally. He knows all your scars and he accepts it. Because you know all his scars, too. It sucks to lie to him.

Sometimes they say that indecision is still a decision. That’s where you are now. You can say that you haven’t made a decision about what you’re going to do with Wonwoo. You can say that you’re waiting for more information. But, in a way, you’ve made at least one decision in his favor. You didn’t tell Seungcheol that your lead turned out to be the art thief himself. No. Instead, you’re showering and getting ready to meet him again, about to make yet another decision. Maybe you were always going to agree to lunch rather than stand him up. He’s got a lot to lose here too. It’s far more complicated than it should be. 

Your head is a little in the clouds by the time you leave your room to head down to the lobby and out into the comfortable winter air. If you spend a little more time than strictly necessary making sure you look nice, well that’s your business. The only drawback is that you don’t have Wonwoo’s phone number, at your own insistence, and so he may think you decided to stand him up. That worry lasts as long as it takes for you to reach the lobby. That’s where you see him, sitting casually in an armchair with his eyes locked on you. There’s no reason for the way your heart skips over such a simple outfit. It’s just a t-shirt and a leather jacket. Why are you nearly losing your mind?

“What are you doing here?” you ask and he gives you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. It probably even puts your own smile to shame.

“I took a chance that you would decide in my favor,” he says and stands up.

“Confident,” you say, “but still, I was supposed to meet you at the restaurant since I hadn’t decided.”

“It’s a date. I’m picking you up,” he says and surprises you by placing a gentle kiss on your cheek . 

“Isn’t that chivalrous of you,” you comment while trying to convince your heart to stop beating out of your chest. 

“Shall we?” he asks and motions for you to walk ahead of him.

The chivalry doesn’t stop at picking you up at your hotel, unfortunately for you. He opens the door and then gently takes your hand. There’s a hand on your back when you step around him. He puts himself between you and any traffic. It’s the best anyone has ever treated you and you hate that you’re even noticing that. Now, you’re thinking that you should have stood him up for an entirely different reason.

Lunch feels like the most normal thing in the world. The real reason for being in this beautiful city doesn’t come up at all. Instead, you talk about life and interests. The type of music and food that you like. What you do in your free time. It’s exactly what you imagine first or second dates to be like. Not that you have much experience with actually dating. 

It only gets deeper from there with Wonwoo telling you more about himself. Not about how he really makes money, but it certainly helps you understand how he got involved and how he stays under the radar. As it turns out, he comes from a lot of money. He doesn’t say it in a way that sounds like he’s bragging. It makes sense, though. Everything about him screams old money, which fits the profile you put together. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks, the way he dresses. It doesn’t feel like someone that’s made his money from stealing art. You learn that he’s involved in a lot of charities, which surprises you a bit. You also learn that he sponsors students in a video game design program in his home country. There’s so much more to him than stealing art. In fact, that seems to be such a small part of who he is. It’s more than a little surprising, which is odd since it’s usually so hard to surprise you. It’s clear that he’s grown up around art. All this time and he’s just been hiding in plain sight. 

The two of you sit at lunch for so long that the servers finally, very politely, indicate that it’s time to leave. It’s never been this easy to sit with someone in your entire life. It’s a level of comfort that you should absolutely not feel with someone like Wonwoo. But, you can’t help it. You can’t help the way you feel around him. Can’t really fight the feelings that keep threatening to bubble up. 

The roads aren’t nearly as busy when you walk back towards your hotel. Even though it’s a tourist city, it still quiets down in the mid-afternoon when the local businesses close down. The tourists seem to use the time to also relax or take advantage of certain monuments being quieter. It lends itself to the comfortable silence that settles around you and Wonwoo on the walk. 

When you reach the lobby, you turn to face Wonwoo and your breath catches a little. The sun in July isn’t as strong, but it still provides a backlight like he’s some sort of dark angel. Which sounds insane, even if your head. There have been so many beautiful people in your life, yet this is the one that has you forgetting how to put words together. It’s like he knows exactly what you’re thinking when he steps into your space and takes your face in his hands. He kisses you so fiercely that you forget your name. It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t look like much from the outside, but changes your entire world on the inside. 

“Well how am I supposed to go back to my room and leave you now?” you ask against his lips when he pulls back. You can feel the smile on his own lips when he kisses you again.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispers. 

“No,” you whisper back and kiss him again.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” he says. 

That makes you pull back sharply so that you can search his face. Does he realize how that sounds? It makes you wonder if he means more than just tonight. What is he trying to do to you? How many ways can one man make you reconsider everything you stand for? Nothing about his face looks smug or even insincere. In fact, he looks the way you imagine you feel. A little smitten and a lot unsure of what to do next. 

“And what would I do instead?” you ask, though you have an idea where he’s going.

“Go pack a bag of some of your things and come stay with me for the next few days,” he requests. It’s just bordering on a demand, even though it’s clearly your call. 

“Are you crazy? We barely know each other,” you protest without much heat. 

“What better way to get to know each other?” he counters. He grabs your hips, pulling you close to his body so he can wrap his arms around you. “And think about it. I can see you’re still not sure what you want to do. If you’re with me, you’ll know where I am at all times. I can’t get into any trouble while you’re still deciding.” 

“I suppose you do make a point,” you concede. 

“I have never done anything this reckless in my life. So, I’m just asking for a chance,” he shares.

It’s a little insane for him to say this is the most reckless thing he’s done in his life. Surely, stealing art is crazier than this. Which would make you lean towards not believing him if it weren’t for the voice in the back of your head. That little voice that agrees with him. You’ve put your life in danger more times than you can count, but saying yes to the man in front of you feels like the most dangerous idea yet. Maybe it’s because you know it’s not your body you’re putting on the line, but your heart. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what he means too. That he’s never taken the chance to chase someone like this. Or maybe you just want to believe that you might be special. 

All you can do is nod at him and watch the smile that breaks across his face. It’s honest, unguarded. It’s real. There’s nothing behind it except genuine happiness that you agreed to spend the next few days with him. Before you can second guess your decision, you give him one more kiss and nearly run up to your room. 

Being separated from him gives you the chance to actually catch your breath. To focus on what you need to bring with you. Since, apparently, you’re not going to reconsider if this is actually a good idea or not. You know you should. You know that this is another one of those moments that you chalk up to indecision when your actual decision could not be any louder. Again, you’re reminded of what you’re doing here. What you’re supposed to be doing here. This man is your enemy. He’s the person you’re supposed to be arresting and bringing into The Agency to face sentencing. You’re a good agent. You always put the mission ahead of yourself, your thoughts, your beliefs, or even your relationships. This isn’t a version of yourself that you recognize and it should stop you in your tracks.

Instead, you decide which dress to pack away and what pair of shoes looks best. For the first time in your life, you’re diving in first and asking questions later. Or never. 

It shouldn’t be surprising that you end up naked in Wonwoo’s bed minutes after crossing the threshold to his hotel room. Not with how things have gone so far for the two of you. Yet, what is surprising is that the sex is even better than the night before. You’re catching your breath, tucked into Wonwoo’s side, body tacky with sweat but so impossibly happy. His hand that’s around you absently traces patterns into your skin. It’s honestly like you’ve known him for years. It’s insane to realize how comfortable you feel when that’s not something you ever experience. Not like this. 

It’s also shocking to you how much this man wants to share with you. He carries on your chats from lunch as if he hadn’t just fucked you into his mattress yet again. Like this means more than some dirty sex holed up in a hotel in a foreign city. Makes you feel like you might actually mean something to him, which is a very dangerous feeling to have. Both of you know that this can’t mean more than what it is. At least, you think you know that and you think he might too. But, there’s a clear understanding that you won’t talk about it. Not now, at least. 

Wonwoo decides that he wants to take you somewhere fancy for dinner. The type of place that you would never consider going to while on a mission. Though, you’re always prepared for anything. When you were packing up your things in your hotel room, you even grabbed a couple nicer dresses. All they needed was a quick steam, which the hotel staff had been only too happy to accommodate. Any protests about it being too much fell on deaf ears. He was set and the two of you were going to a famous restaurant. All you had to do was shower and get ready. Your dress would be ready by the time you needed it. 

It’s clear you don’t really understand the limits to Wonwoo’s wealth, if there even are any, when you arrive at the restaurant. It’s the kind of place where you usually need reservations well in advance. It’s not the kind of place you can just show up at. Despite that, the host leads you back to a semi-private area where you’re tucked into a corner booth. It’s clearly one of the nicest tables in the place. You think you catch Wonwoo sliding the host something when he shakes their hand before he turns back to you. All thoughts go out the window when he slides in right next to you, not leaving any space. 

Wonwoo’s Spanish really is very remedial and so you help him decipher the menu and order. It gives you pause when there aren’t prices anywhere on the menu, but he’s quick to wave off any concerns. Insists that it’s his treat. You don’t want to think that’s something you could get used to. It isn’t like you have any real trouble affording nice things. Your salary is high and you don’t have much to spend money on. This is a different level, though. It’s even different from the times you’ve gone on a mission and charmed your target. That always feels temporary. Like you’re something of an imposter. You don’t get those feelings here with Wonwoo.

Letting him pick out which outfit you wore may have been a mistake. You discover this once you get your drinks and the waiter leaves you alone. His hand rests possessively on your thigh, against the bare skin of your leg exposed by the slit in your dress. His body is angled towards you and he’s encouraging you to continue telling your story. But, he has to know he’s distracting, too, with the way his hand slides further up your thigh. What started as arguably innocent ventures quickly into dangerous territory. 

“You were saying?” he prompts. His hand is inside the fabric of your dress now, keeping you from pressing your thighs together like you want to. 

“I, uh…” you stutter as he digs his hand into the soft flesh there. “Wonwoo, aren’t you worried?”

“About what?” he asks innocently.

“Getting caught,” you hiss and look down at your lap.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not worried,” he says and you glare at him, “because you’re going to be good for me and be quiet.”

“I don’t know…” you start and stop as soon as his pinky grazes along your entrance through your panties. “Fuck.” 

“Doesn’t seem like you actually want me to stop,” he points out.

“I, fuck, you know I don’t but there are people,” you say softly.

“I paid good money for this table. I don’t think we’ll be disturbed,” he tells you. 

“I…” you start. When he pulls his finger away, you nearly whine.

“I need to hear you say you want it,” he says.

“What?” you ask, a little louder than you intended.

“Use your words,” he directs and you glare.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, earning a chuckle out of him. 

“Not yet,” he retorts.

“Fine, yes. I want your fingers inside me here in this damn restaurant,” you say.

He’s expecting this answer. It’s written all over his face. This time, he doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t waste any time because you may not have much of it. He simply pushes your panties to the side and slides his first finger into you. The angle doesn’t make it easy but his fingers are long and slender, like they were built for something like this. It’s hard to keep from making a sound, so you try to do anything to distract yourself from the way he pumps into you. Or the way he adds a second finger so quickly. 

When you pick up your drink to take a sip from the straw, you watch his eyes on you. They seem to darken the second that you wrap your lips around the straw. His fingers pump into you even faster. And his lips are demanding on yours when you set the drink back down. You moan softly into his mouth without really considering if anyone is paying attention or if they can hear you. His tongue tangles with yours frantically while he tries to get you off right in that booth. 

This is new for you. You definitely didn’t think you would get so turned on by the fact that anyone could walk back over to see what you were doing. Anyone could hear the noises you’re making. Anyone could figure it out. When he feels that your pussy clenching around his fingers, he pulls away from the kiss. Leans his forehead against yours so that he can whisper filthy things in the space between you. Tells you how good you feel and how he loves watching you when you’re about to come. Moans about how tight you are. How pliant you are for him. Reminds you to be quiet. Tells you he can’t wait to taste you on his fingers. That’s what finally pushes you over the edge.

Your fingers grip the edge of the booth underneath you as you come hard and fast. He lazily guides you through it and then follows through by bringing his fingers to his lips. It’s so hot that you consider asking if you can just leave and go back to the room to be fucked properly. But, then your stomach rumbles and you think better of it. It’s only another few minutes before the first course arrives with a slightly knowing look from the waiter. After that first course, you excuse yourself to the bathroom to clean up, at least a little. You deem your panties ruined and just remove them, tucking them away into your bag. You’ll have to be a little more careful the rest of the night.

This dinner is somehow even better than the first and it has nothing to do with the place being expensive, though the food is definitely amazing. You also don’t think it really has anything to do with the way Wonwoo fingered you under the table. That’s definitely a first for you. Exhibitionism hasn’t been your thing before, but maybe he’s got you learning new things about yourself. It had only taken him a minute to realize that you weren’t wearing underwear anymore. It definitely took him another minute to regain his composure.

The thing that actually makes this dinner better than the first is the man across from you. With his walls down, the entire night just feels that much more. It’s one of the only times you’ve ever felt your own guard come down. It’s not smart and you don’t care. You think you probably look a little punch drunk to anyone that can see your table. Then, you meet Wonwoo’s eyes again and think he probably looks the same. You never really have the chance to enjoy dates, but even if you did, this would still probably top them all. It’s all the little things. The way Wonwoo carefully brushes a strand of hair out of your face. The way he offers you a bite off his own plate when you say it looks good. The way he brings your knuckles up to his lips and presses feather light kisses to them. 

“Are you going to insist on ordering dessert here too?” you ask after the main course. 

“I was thinking we might have dessert back in our room,” he says and you raise an eyebrow.

“Our room?” you question.

“Don’t test me,” he cautions. 

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say and lean into him to press a slow kiss to his cheek. Your hand brushes over his lap as a way to get closer.

“Is this you not testing me?” he asks when your hand brushes across his lap again.

“What? You can make me come on your fingers but I can’t tease you a little?” you ask innocently.

Wonwoo grabs your hand and anchors it on your own thigh. “We’re getting out of here and then you can show your appreciation however you want. We don’t need to give them more of a show.” 

It seems like it takes an eternity to pay the bill (which Wonwoo doesn’t let you see) and get a cab back to the hotel. The promise of something else simmers between you the entire time. Wonwoo keeps a hand on you the entire time. A hand on your lower back out of the restaurant, fingers intertwined with yours in the cab, an arm around you walking into the hotel. When you get into the elevator, he pulls you back against his chest as more people join. He masks it as affection and presses a kiss to your cheek, but you feel the desire beneath it. 

The moment you cross into the room, you slip out of your shoes and turn around to press a kiss to Wonwoo’s lips. The tension between the two of you is thick and it’s hard to remind yourself to come up for a breath. He overwhelms every one of your senses. There’s nothing but him in every corner of your brain when he kisses you like that. 

It’s almost embarrassing when he breaks the kiss and you chase his lips. “How about dessert?”

“I thought that was just your way of saying…” you start and he directs your attention to the table. There’s an assortment of fruit, whipped cream, and melted chocolate there. 

You’re a little hesitant when he starts to walk to the table. It just feels incredibly intimate, which is true for a lot of what's happened with Wonwoo. But, this still feels different. It feels like more, once again. Wonwoo realizes that you’re not behind him and turns back to you. He closes the space between you yet again and places a hand on your cheek, impossibly soft. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asks. 

“I’ve never done…this,” you say softly into the quiet between you and him. 

“Pretty sure we’ve already fucked several times,” Wonwoo says to lighten the mood.

“No, I mean, this…I don’t know. The desserts and the whipped cream and chocolate. It just feels, I don’t know, intimate,” you admit. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he assures you. 

It’s absolutely insane that you’re hesitating. It doesn’t have to be some super intimate thing. It’s not like Wonwoo hasn’t already seen every inch of you and gotten to know your body better than anyone should in that period of time. But, this is far beyond the point where you can convince yourself any part of this is for the mission anymore. This isn’t just to keep him close. This is no longer indecision, as much as you want to pretend that it is.

“Is this your go-to move, then? Have a bunch of sweets delivered to the hotel room and seduce people with being all gentle?” you ask.

“I’ve definitely never done this before,” he says and it’s too honest. 

Instead of answering him you just kiss him because it’s the only answer you can think of. Somehow, knowing that this is different for him too makes it feel less overwhelming for you. You drag him back towards the table until you’re leaning against it. Your back arches into him as he licks into your mouth. His hands wrap around you to keep you tight against his body. He pulls away again and you’re ready for it this time. 

Wonwoo reaches an arm behind you and dips a strawberry in some of the chocolate. He brings it to your lips and watches intently as you get your mouth around it. The first bite sends a little bit of juice and chocolate over your lips. Just as you’re about to wipe it away, Wonwoo pulls the remainder of the strawberry back and kisses it away. It’s like that one action unlocks any hang ups you have. You twist around to scoop up some whipped cream with your finger. Your eyes lock on Wonwoo as you slowly lick it off. With it still in your mouth, you kiss him hard, enjoying the way your tongues dance and the tastes. 

The two of you take turns dipping fruit and feeding it to each other. The kisses become more and more desperate in between feeding each other. It’s a little messy, though, so you unbutton Wonwoo’s shirt and slide it off his arms. He undoes your dress to slide it off your body, removing your bra along the way. You rid him of his pants and briefs as well so that you’re not the only one standing there naked. 

When you reach back to get more fruit, Wonwoo grabs your hand to stop you. There’s a question in your eyes that he leaves unanswered as he moves things out of the way behind you. Then, he’s sitting you on the edge of the table and reaching for the whipped cream, which also answers your question. He puts some of the topping on your breast and sucks into your skin to lick it off you. Your legs part on their own as you lean back on the table to encourage him to get closer. He swirls his tongue around your nipple before softly nipping at your skin. Without warning, he bites into the flesh of your breast and laves over the spot to soothe you. 

Food should not be this sexy. Maybe it’s just that it’s Wonwoo tempting you, but you’ve never been this turned on. His tongue is everywhere across your breasts and your stomach. Covering you in kisses while also licking the whipped cream or chocolate off of you. Your nails scratch down his back each time he nips into your skin. Somehow the sensations are everywhere all at once. You wrap your legs around his waist to anchor him closer to you. 

“I need you inside me,” you whine out with Wonwoo kissing along your neck.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he asks into your skin.

“Feel for yourself,” you encourage. 

Wonwoo pulls away from your neck and looks at you with lust. He presses his fingers to your mouth and you suck them in without even thinking about it. They’re sweet as you swirl your tongue around them. “Fuck, that’s hot.” 

As if it’s confirmation, he ruts against you, seemingly hard just from all the making out and the food. You pull his fingers from your mouth and guide them to your already dripping pussy. He’s not the only one that’s gotten insanely turned on. As soon as you guide his fingers through your folds he groans again. 

Neither one of you is in the mood to wait and he doesn’t waste any time angling his hand so he can pump his fingers inside you. Just presses two fingers right in and adds a third to try and open you up. It makes you scream out, praising his fingers with how quickly they work you over. He removes his hand entirely too quickly and you’re whining at the loss. Wonwoo runs a hand along his cock, pumping a couple times and catching some of the precum to spread it along his length. It’s not enough, but you don’t really care right now. 

“Please, Wonwoo, I need you,” you beg.

“Feeling a little desperate, princess?” he teases, that cocky smirk back on him. 

“Just fuck me already,” you whine. 

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything else, just lines himself up and presses his tip into you. It stretches you out and you’re a little surprised that he goes so slowly. Then, you realize that it feels like more when he’s inching into you like this. His eyes watch you for any signs of discomfort. He leans forward and catches your lips in the neediest kiss of the night when he bottoms out in you. You lean back onto your elbows, bringing him along with you. The kisses get sloppier as he starts to thrust into you. 

He pulls away from you to reposition and presses your leg up so that he can get deeper. You let your leg fall over his arm so that you don’t have to hold it up. The moans between the two of you are loud enough to drown out the sound of skin on skin as he fucks into you hard. You can’t help it, though, and you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Look at me,” he directs roughly. 

You moan in response but tilt your head back towards him. It feels like a chore and that’s when it occurs to you. Taking hold of his free hand, you move it to your throat. For a second, his eyes go wide and his pace slows. He’s searching your face for a clue before he grabs your throat a little more forcefully.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes, fuck,” you groan out. “I’ll tap you if it’s too much.” 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he utters, flexing his fingers on your throat.

Somehow, Wonwoo seems to know the perfect amount of pressure. It’s just tight enough that it makes it a little harder to breathe, but not so much that it’s actually choking you. He seems more comfortable than when he did it the first time. It also makes it easier to keep your eyes on him the way he wants. Everything feels heightened and it’s entirely too soon that you’re rushing to your high. You clench your walls around Wonwoo and he fucks you harder, groaning at the increased tightness.

“Gonna come all over my dick again?” he asks and you moan. 

You can’t really say anything and you don’t want to. This is all you need. Your hand winds down your body and you look at Wonwoo with a question in your eyes.

“Go ahead, baby, touch yourself,” he directs you. 

Asking for permission to do anything is unlike you, but there’s something about wanting to please this man that drives you to all sorts of new things. You rub your clit in time with his thrusts and it seems like only moments pass before you’re tipping over that edge. 

Heavy breaths eventually subside to find Wonwoo slowly, almost lazily, fucking into you. His hands are now both on your hips as he waits for you to come down. You sit up with him still inside you and kiss him, slow and full of all sorts of unspoken things.

“You really are fucking amazing,” you say, voice a little hoarse. “You can move faster.”

“I was thinking we might need to get into the shower,” he says with a smirk, pressing a finger to your skin. You’re about to object when you watch him pull it away and it sticks. 

“Maybe I can take care of you in there, then,” you say and kiss him softly. 

His eyes seem to light up a little at that. He slides out of you gently and walks slowly into the bathroom. You meant what you said. Shower sex is definitely not your thing because it’s never as sexy as people make it out to be. It can be slippery and there aren’t really any good positions. That doesn’t mean you can’t help him out a little. 

Wonwoo has other ideas first, it seems. Once the water is warm enough, both of you get in and he lathers up a loofah to gently wash all the stickiness from your body. It’s gentle in a way you’re not expecting and impossibly thoughtful. You relax against his back with his arms around you while he makes sure all the remnants are gone. 

When you’re clean, you turn around to face him and kiss him hard. The water falling on your back creates the perfect sensation with the heat between the two of you. He gathers you against his body, hands sliding down to grip your ass. It’s all you can do not to melt right on the spot. You think that you could probably kiss this man for the rest of your life and never get bored. Or never fully prepare yourself for the way it makes you feel. 

You drop to your knees and take his cock in your hand. He leans back against the wall of the shower as he looks down on you. It’s crazy to you how turned on this man gets (or stays) just from kissing or skin contact. No matter what, his body always seems to be ready for you. You run your tongue along his length and swirl your tongue around the tip. You’re impatient and you know he’s been waiting, so you don’t waste any time before you suck him into your mouth. You relax your throat and swallow as much of his cock as you’re able to, alternating between bobbing and hollowing out your cheeks. 

“You look so good looking up at me like that,” he groans. 

You hum around his dick and Wonwoo grabs the back of your head to anchor you there. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes before he releases you and you can get a breath. Even in this position, you can tell that you actually have control over this man. It’s a great feeling since he’s been in control every other time. His hips buck when you suck him back into you. It’s definitely a powerful feeling. The groans also tell you what you already know, you’re good at this. He’s putty in your hands. 

With a few more bobs, he’s coming down your throat and then slumping back against the shower wall. It doesn’t stop him from helping you up off your knees. You pepper light kisses along his collarbones before he surprises you and pulls you into another kiss. It’s never been your experience that a man wants to kiss you like that, but he doesn’t shy away. 

“We better get out of this shower before we run through all the hot water,” he says between kisses.

“You’re right,” you say with a sigh. 

The two of you step out of the shower and Wonwoo is quick to wrap you up in a towel. It takes everything in you to tell your heart to calm down. You know Wonwoo feels all the same things you do. Even if he's not free with vocalizing his emotions, his actions tell you exactly what he’s thinking. If you know where to look, that is. You’re realizing that you definitely know where to work. 

Twenty minutes later, your skin care routine is done and you’re curled up in bed in one of Wonwoo’s oversized t-shirts. You know your alarm is going to be too early tomorrow since you need to check in with Seungcheol, but all you want to do tonight is curl up and talk more with this incredibly interesting man. 

Something seems to shift now that you’re holed up in Wonwoo’s hotel room with him for the next however many days. Before, he seemed hesitant to talk about the real reason you two crossed paths. You’re not sure what causes the change or why he trusts that you’re not going to just turn around and burn him. Maybe it’s just that you haven’t done it yet. 

“What made you want to start stealing art?” you ask while the two of you are sitting outside on the balcony. This room really is too nice. It almost makes it hard to leave and explore. 

“I don’t know if it was that I wanted to steal art,” he chuckles. 

“Okay, how did you start, then?” you ask with an affectionate eye roll. 

“It’s going to sound stupid,” he says with an uncharacteristic shyness. “I guess, I don’t know, I grew up in this house where nobody ever seemed to care what I was doing. I stole the first piece from my parents and sold it off to someone I’d met at this underground club. I figured my parents would catch me and then at least I’d have their attention for a minute.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t catch you,” you comment.

“They didn’t even notice it was gone,” he says with a chuckle. “How old were you?” you ask.

“16,” he answers immediately.

“So you’ve been doing this…?” you start, doing the math in your head.

“12 years, yeah,” he says. “It took awhile to get to the point I’m at now. I think for a while I was figuring that my parents would somehow catch on and give a shit about my life. By the time I was 19, I was really good at it and I’d made a lot of contacts. I still moved in all those circles so I never looked out of place at a gallery or a museum. Nobody looked twice at me.”

“Did it ever get lonely?” you ask and Wonwoo regards you for a moment. “I just mean that you were still part of all these circles. You still went to all these parties and it seems like none of them knew you at all. You were hiding in plain sight because nobody knew you well enough to see it.”

“I had the networks of people that I sold to or accepted jobs from,” he says.

“But everything I’ve ever seen says that you rarely met with those people in person. It was always online contact and leaving pieces somewhere after the money had been wired,” you share.

“I guess your agency got a few things right,” he mumbles.

“It sounds loney,” you say sympathetically.

“I wish you were a little less observant,” he says like he’s trying for a joking tone. 

It’s immediately obvious that he’s a little tired and definitely lonely. You can’t really imagine that type of life. Sure, you’ve been working on your own or with a single partner for your entire adult life. But, you’ve still been part of an organization. There are people that know you at your core. There are people that you can turn to when everything in life feels like it sucks. No matter how bad things get, you know there are people out there who can support you.

Almost involuntarily, a series of images pop into your head. Wonwoo in a suit at a charity gala, the type of person that everyone wants to approach. You can imagine people whispering behind their hands about going to speak to him or ask him to dance. Maybe trying to approach him at the bar. Then you see him just as clearly at home afterwards, alone and sitting on his couch with a drink in hand. You see him perusing a museum to get the lay of the land so that he can steal it later. Once again, alone. You see how he probably sits at home communicating with all his potential buyers. 

Wonwoo reads the look on your face and assures you that it’s probably not as bad as you’re imagining things. Yes, he admits that he’s lonely sometimes and that he’s alone more than he’s with other people. It’s hard for him to let anyone in. He doesn’t want to have to account for his time or trust that they won’t blow his cover. There’s nobody in his life that he can be totally himself with, at least not until meeting you. But, he insists that it hasn’t been so bad. Mostly, he prefers to be on his own anyway. He likes the quiet and the solitude. Likes to be able to enjoy his down time however he likes. He gets enough socialization when he goes to events as he’s expected to. 

Which brings up a question. After over a decade of doing everything solo, why has he trusted you with all of this now? His answer comes more immediately than you would expect, yet it makes sense. You have something to lose here, too. Possibly even more than he does. After all, there have been a lot of teams that have been close to unraveling his mysterious identity. You, on the other hand, are supposed to be tracking him down. Not spending time locked away in his hotel room with him. That brings you up a little short because he’s right and you’re not planning on going anywhere. 

He admits that you intrigue him. All his life, Wonwoo has appreciated a good puzzle or a good challenge. You present both to him, though it hasn’t been as much of a challenge to get you to give him a chance as he expected. It is a challenge to try and unravel you. To try and figure out what made you say yes to the date and what makes you stay now. You also meet him on a level that nobody ever has before. You nearly blush at the way he describes your intelligence and how he feels more turned on by your brain than anyone before. Normally something like that would make you cringe. But, somehow Wonwoo makes it sound both sexy and endearing. You’re just as challenged by him, too, so maybe you get it. 

It also brings up some very conflicting feelings in you because it’s a reminder that you have a life entirely separate from him. You have a life that doesn’t allow you to account for this time. At some point, you have to make a final choice. It’s way too late to just turn Wonwoo in without any sort of repercussion. It’s too late to act like this is all just in the name of bringing down one of the most difficult targets you’ve had to track. In the name of getting to know Wonwoo better, you’ve also shared a lot about yourself. A lot that someone like Seungcheol would be able to clock immediately as being true. Every moment you stay with Wonwoo makes your future more complicated. Things are already too hazy. 

“Okay enough heavy stuff,” you declare and stand. “Let’s go do something.”

“Such as?” he prompts. 

“We’re in a beautiful city, let’s go see some of it,” you suggest.

Wonwoo wants to take a minute to actually plan something, but you veto that. He’s definitely not the spontaneous type, which you figured out before you were even sure who he was. It makes more sense now, knowing who he is. So it feels like more of a win that he relents and agrees to just go with the flow. It’s not as if you’ll be flying totally blind anyway. You did a lot of research before coming down for the mission and you know a lot of the places to see, both tourist places and some that are off the beaten path. 

Once you’re outside of the hotel room, things feel different in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. Everything in the hotel room feels real in the sense of getting to know each other. The conversations can be heavy and there’s that constant need to rip each other’s clothes off. Being outside exploring a foreign city feels real in an entirely different way. None of the conversations are heavy since you’re just appreciating the sights. But, you and Wonwoo trade off in taking pictures of each other (or even snap some together) and it feels like a glimpse at another life. It isn’t a fantasy world because it does feel real, but it doesn’t feel like an actual reality either. It almost feels like a mission you’re on where you and him would pretend to be a couple. You have to remind yourself this is actually a mission and you’re running around with your target because Wonwoo isn’t your partner.

When you’re in Plaza de Mayo, you take a step back to allow Wonwoo to purchase something to eat. It’s too cute to watch him stumble through his Spanish, constantly looking over at you as if asking for help. All you can do is smile as he mixes up hombre and hambre. The older woman putting the food together only smiles softly. There’s something incredibly cute about watching this stoic man get flushed over ordering in another language. 

The next few days follow mostly the same pattern. You wake up earlier than Wonwoo so that you can pretend to work on the mission and actually check in with Seungcheol. Wonwoo pretends that he’s still asleep sometimes. Other times, he gets up and works on his own things. It’s cute that he’ll do anything to make it seem like you have privacy. Breakfast in the room always comes next because it’s an easy way to get ready for the day. 

The days themselves are all a little bit different. You see the Piramide de Mayo, the Floralis Generica, the monuments to Juana Azurduy and General Jose de San Martin, Teatro Colon, the planetarium and several other interesting sights. The planetarium is a personal favorite of yours because it’s just kind of weird in an affectionate way. It’s hard to truly pick a favorite though because each new stop teaches you more about the local culture. It’s the kind of place that just makes you want to fall in love with it. There’s so much beauty and so much to appreciate. Each new stop also seems to involve learning something new about Wonwoo and somehow him trying his hand at Spanish again, only to fail. You’re wondering if he does it just to entertain you. 

While you’re seeing all the tourist spots, you take time to see the things the locals recommend as well. Sometimes that’s hole-in-the-wall food places or stands that someone mentions. Other times it’s a park that’s too out of the way for tourists. Even other times still, it’s a hidden access point to the beach. Thankfully, it’s still cool out and getting Wonwoo to agree to the beach isn’t difficult. You idly wonder what it would be like to try and get him to visit the beach in January when it’s the dead of summer. 

You want to try as many local dishes as you can while you’re there, too. Given his way, Wonwoo would probably eat in the hotel room just as much as out of it, but you don’t know when you’re going to get this chance again. So, even though he’s worn out from spending so much time around people, he lets you drag him out again every night. He even seems to enjoy himself.

At the start of whatever this is, it was always you asking Wonwoo all the questions and trying to volunteer as little about yourself as possible. You’re still an agent and you’re still supposed to be after him. The least you can do, while you’re totally ignoring your mission, is try to better understand Wonwoo and his motivations. Even if you don’t end up turning him in, it's an invaluable experience to get to look into the mind of a criminal. When will you get another chance like this? When will you be this close to someone to ask personal questions? No part of you even considers that he’s lying to you. You’re positive that he answers everything truthfully.

Somewhere along the line, it shifts. Maybe because you know everything you want to know about the man across from you. Or maybe because you genuinely feel comfortable about him. Either way, he’s the one that’s asking you questions now. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t want to know anything about your work. He doesn’t seem to care about any of that. There’s a nagging thought that thinks he might just be trying to make you comfortable. You try to quickly brush it away, though, and just answer any of the personal questions he asks. Wonwoo wants to know the simple things like where you grew up, what your family was like, and what you wanted to do when you were younger. The things that allow him to really know you. It’s terrifying. 

By the time you get back to the hotel that night, you’re exhausted. It feels like it’s been a never ending span of days in the best way. You collapse on the bed without changing. All you manage to do is take off your shoes. Wonwoo leans over you and kisses you, softly at first. But, like every other kiss with him, it leaves you gasping for air after a minute.

It’s amazing how he seems to take your breath away and even more amazing how he always seems like he’s ready to tear your clothes off. You’ve never had someone like him in your life. But, that also brings you back to reality. Wonwoo asked you to give him a few days staying in his hotel room. It’s definitely been longer than that without either of you seeming to notice. There’s a level of comfort that neither of you talk about given that this all has an expiration date. And that expiration date is rapidly approaching. 

Staying with Wonwoo turns out to be longer than either of you planned and neither of you has a complaint about it. You’ve been checking in with Seungcheol every morning and Wonwoo pretends not to listen. It’s been like living in a little bubble where reality isn’t a concern. 

That’s just the thing, though, isn’t it? This isn’t real life, not for you. This isn’t something that lasts long term or that you can even sustain. The reality is still there. Wonwoo is one of the most infamous art thieves to ever live and you work for a secret agency tasked with bringing criminals like him to justice. You’re not exactly sure what the last however many days have been. All you know is this is just a break from reality. A brief glimpse into an alternate life that can never be. It’s been amazing and something you won’t ever forget. You’re hoping that you’re both on the same page about that, at least.

“I should probably go back to my hotel today,” you say. 

Wonwoo looks up from across the room where he’s reading while you pretend to work on your case. It helps to at least log in to the system. “To get more stuff?”

“I can’t stay here forever,” you point out. 

“No, I expect at some point we’ll leave and head to the next place,” he agrees with a shrug. 

“We?” you ask, eyebrows flying up. 

“Yes, we,” he says like suddenly you’re slow on the uptake. “I’ve got a few places in mind that I’d love to take you, but it’s really up to you.” 

“Wonwoo,” you start and your heart sinks.

You are definitely not on the same page. Probably not even in the same book, if you’re honest. Everything over the past days with him has been amazing. The perfect little escape from your reality. But, that’s all it’s been: an escape. Or maybe that’s all you’ve let yourself think it was. Anything else seems like entirely too much. His face drops as he watches you.

“You’re not coming with me,” he realizes.

“I didn’t even know you would want me to!” you state, too loud for the space.

“How could you not? I’ve been telling you all the places that I wanted you to see,” he says and that hits you harder than a physical blow. He’s been giving you all the signs that this isn’t just a bubble.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” you point out.

“Clearly,” he says, voice thick with disappointment. 

“Wonwoo, come on. It’s not like I can just, what? Run away?” you say.

“Oh, no, there’s a whole life waiting for you back at your precious agency,” he says with derision. 

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” you plead.

“And I’ve shown you that there’s more to life than whatever this is for you,” he counters.

“I can’t just leave them,” you say with a shake of your head.

That seems to make Wonwoo angrier than you expect. “No, of course not. How silly of me. You have to get back to your handler that so clearly loves you.” 

“Seungcheol does not love me. We’re friends, sure, but that’s it,” you disagree.

“Let’s pretend that’s true and it’s normal for a handler to speak to you the way he does. Or that it’s normal for him to worry so much about your safety. Who are you going back to apart from him? Who’s waiting for you?” Wonwoo asks.

The questions wash over you like acid rain. Painful and harsh and unrelenting. The worst part is that he’s right. You have wondered if there are some feelings there from Seungcheol. You also don’t have anyone waiting for you. It’s really a half-life, if you’re being honest. Less than a half-life, probably. The past few days with Wonwoo are the most alive you’ve felt since you were a child, before joining the agency. 

“I can’t just…this is my job, Wonwoo. And you’re an art thief. A very famous one and…” you start.

“Have I stolen anything here?” he asks and that brings you up short.

“Well, no, of course not. You’ve been with me,” you say simply.

“And I will leave this city without stealing. I will switch careers entirely if it’s that important, though it doesn’t seem like it is since you haven’t turned me in,” he says and it’s almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’ve been all over the globe trying to feel something. Trying for anything. I started stealing because I could. I wanted to get the attention my parents never gave me. I kept going because I was looking for a challenge, which it is, at least sometimes. I was looking for someone, I think. Then, I find you and you’re everything I didn’t know to ask for. But, you’re telling me some job where you can’t even have a life is more important than this? That my job, which I’m completely willing to give up, is too much of a barrier?”

“I have a life,” you scoff.

“Really?” Wonwoo challenges and folds his arms. “When was the last time you went on a real date? Not with a target, but a real date just with someone you wanted to know? When’s the last time you let yourself just breathe and explore a city? When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”

“Plenty of people are married to their jobs,” you begin.

“I thought you were brave, you know,” Wonwoo muses. “I thought you were someone who would realize how rare this is. It’s not like everyone is lucky enough to meet a person that completes them like this. I guess I was wrong. I guess all I was really good for was fucking you and that’s all it was.”

“Of course that’s not all it was,” you disagree. There are tears threatening to spill over. This isn’t at all how you imagined it going. You weren’t prepared for him to try to fight for you. “The last few days with you have been everything I never thought I’d experience. But, it hasn’t been real, Wonwoo. It can’t be real. Life doesn’t work that way.” 

“Why can’t it?” he fires at you.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” you scream, tears finally streaming down your face. “Because you don’t know my scars. You don’t know the things I’ve done. You don’t know the mistakes I’ve made. You don’t know that I have demons that are constantly chasing me.” 

“I’m a fucking criminal,” he points out. “Who am I to judge?”

“Exactly,” you agree but rush to finish your thought before Wonwoo can interject. “You don’t…question the decisions you’ve made. You stand on everything you’ve done. But, you also do so much good with charities and helping students and just giving back. Plus, I’ve looked at your crimes. You only ever stole from the rich to sell to other rich people.”

“Yet you still were sent to chase me,” he points out. 

“Yeah, who do you think pays our salaries?” you ask flatly. “My point is that…I don’t know. I’m standing here across from you and I feel like I’m the infinitely worse person in this situation.” 

“It really can’t be that bad,” he reasons.

“I’ve taken lives, Wonwoo. More than I can count. And without even questioning if our reasoning was solid for taking them out. I’ve used my body in ways that I may never recover from, thinking it was my choice at the time. I’ve done what I was told and I’ve been good at it. Too good, maybe,” you say. You’re talking to yourself more than him at this point. “I’m the one they send when they don’t want a record. I’m the one they send when nobody else can do it. I’ve spent the last 10 years of my life training and doing what I was told. It’s given me scars that you can’t see and won’t ever heal. All I know is this. They’re not just going to let me go. And even if they did, you don’t deserve all the baggage that I come with. You’re not a bad guy.”

“And you think you are? A bad guy?” he asks.

“I know I am,” you say.

“That’s all you are if that’s all you see, but I see so much more,” he argues. 

“I still can’t just ask them to walk away,” you press.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you ask,” he says. “You deserve a chance to start fresh. To see what you can be without the weight of the world hanging over your head.”

“I don’t deserve anything more than what I have now,” you disagree.

“What about love? Do you deserve that?” he asks, changing directions.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“And me? Do I deserve love?” he asks.

“Yes, without question,” you answer immediately.

“So give me the chance to experience love,” he begs. “I never thought I’d love anyone and I’ve never taken this kind of chance on anyone. But, I’m asking you for a chance. Just one more.” 

There’s so much tension in the air between you. So many things still left unsaid and so much emotion. The air between you and him seems to crackle. A storm brews behind his eyes as he waits for you to answer him. It seems insane to think that he could feel that for you after such a short time. But, really, what do you know? You have unquestionably never been in love before, not really. There’s never been the time or space for it in your line of work. Relationships never seem to get deeper because you’re always keeping secrets. Can’t ever tell them what you really do for work. And then there’s Wonwoo. He knows so much about you already and even though it’s barely scratched the surface, it’s still more honest than you’ve ever been. He doesn’t want to run away and that scares you more than any mission you’ve ever had.

It’s just…it’s too much to decide now. You spend your whole life having to make split second decisions, yet can’t about this. Don’t have the data that you have on missions. Don’t know the pros and cons. It’s uncharted territory. It’s scary in a way you’ve never experienced. You’ve stared down the barrel of too many guns and this still feels infinitely more terrifying. Maybe he can love you after such a short amount of time because he seems to realize what you’re going to say before you say it. 

“Don’t,” he says softly when you open your mouth. “I’m going to leave the day after tomorrow. I’m going to set the flight to leave at 1 in the afternoon. That gives you time to change your mind.”

“And if I don’t reach you before then?” you ask softly.

“Don’t ever expect to find me again,” he says with a finality that surprises you. When you meet his gaze, it’s harder than you’re expecting. “I really care about you and I’d love you to come with me. But I know how stubborn you are. It’s part of why I love you so much. So I’m leaving my heart open until the day after tomorrow. Then it’s over.”

“You’re an amazing person, Wonwoo,” you say and press a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve challenged a lot of my ideas about right and wrong. I’ll never forget that.” 

“I’m not accepting this as goodbye. I’ll still hope to see you before I leave,” he says and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. 

Your throat is too tight to say anything in response to that. All you can do is gather up your things and head out of the hotel room. Everything in your body feels tired from the unexpected heaviness of the conversation. It hurts to see Wonwoo looking so hurt. As crazy as it sounds, you do mean that he deserves the absolute best. You also meant it that made you rethink a lot of your preconceived notions. You actually questioned things for the first time in your adult life. Despite all of that, you still walk right out of the hotel room.

You spend nearly every minute after walking out of Wonwoo’s hotel room considering his offer. Go as far as scheduling your flight out of Buenos Aires for the same time as his. Genuinely, you’re not sure what you want to do. At least Seungcheol understood failing the mission. Somehow, he still sees it as a win that nothing was stolen from anywhere in the city while you were there. He assumes that your presence somehow spooked the notorious art thief. Thankfully he doesn’t realize just how right he is. 

The biggest surprise is that Chan, the slightly overeager agent from the flight down, will be meeting you when you get on the plane. He’s only wrapping up a second mission that popped up in the area. The Agency is sending him along so that you can debrief about your actual mission and start looping him in going forward. Apparently, as great as you are and as (almost) perfect as your record is, the agency still wants to have someone for you to work with when you need them. Since that can’t be Seungcheol, he’s recommending a promising younger agent. This apparently also includes you being the one to tell him all of this yourself. 

The airport is busy when you get there, an unsurprising side effect of planning flights during the afternoon. There’s also the fact that private planes have to leave from the international airport, which is always somewhat packed. Getting through customs and security is surprisingly smooth and soon you’re going to have to face your literal crossroads. 

In one direction is the familiar. Nothing about working for The Agency is easy. There’s a sense of routine to it, though. A sense of generally knowing what your days or weeks or even months will look like. You know how to make coffee in the shitty break room when you’re actually on site (a rarity). You know how to play nice with the other agents. You know how all the tech works. And you’re good at the missions themselves. That’s just to say you don’t have to learn anything new. You’re lucky enough to have a semi-boss that you get along with. There’s a sense of routine to everything from mission briefings to flights to the missions themselves. There’s comfort in knowing you don’t really have to make the decisions. Sure, you have to figure out which course to take on the ground with a mission. But, that usually only means picking option A or B. All of the possible courses of action come in the briefing. You just have to evaluate the factors and figure out which pre-determined option fits best. It’s easy. As fucked up as it might be to admit, you like doing something that you know you’re good at. It’s nice to get praised for constantly succeeding. It’s the easy decision.

And in the other direction…well, it’s the unknown. Being with Wonwoo has been nothing short of the best feeling of your life. The most alive you’ve ever felt. It’s kind of crazy but part of you thinks you may love him. Can see how the whole future plays out, even if it’s not crystal clear. The two of you could start over somewhere new where he doesn’t have to steal art and you don’t have to chase criminals with questionable methods. Both of you have the funds (even if he’s better set up) to start over. Both of you clearly have the skills to disappear into the wind, too. It’s not like your legal name exists anywhere anymore. Very few people even know it, not that you would go back to it. 

It’s easy to get lost in the daydream. As much as you love the sun of Buenos Aires, you can’t imagine Wonwoo in a place like that during the actual summer. Everything about him makes you think of somewhere cooler, somewhere that you’re not constantly sweating. That would let you take breaks to sunnier weather. Places where you could soak up the sun while he took refuge under an umbrella, watching you with all the affection in the world. Actually, you can picture visiting a lot of places with him. He would be the perfect travel partner to see all the beautiful corners of the world that you’ve never been able to appreciate. It’s like going somewhere for a business trip. You’re there working, not to appreciate everything around you. 

There’s something kind of poetic about being at an airport as an actual crossroads in your life. It’s like you can get on a plane going anywhere. Quite literally, since you’re not sure where Wonwoo’s plane is going. Not that it really matters. If that’s the path you pick, then it’s for him rather than the destination. 

The only question left is whether you’re ready to leave your entire life behind. Are you ready to say goodbye to the agency that saved you? Are you ready to cut yourself off from the few people who actually know you and accept you as you are? Can you live without having any closure on that part of your life? Would you feel guilty that Seungcheol would be left with a million questions about what happened to you? Or would it hurt you to know that he would blame himself for your disappearance somehow? Then again, maybe he would know, on some level, that you just finally reached the point of needing to walk away. That’s something you and him have talked about before, in the early hours of the morning after too much to drink. What would you do if you could walk away from this life? What would life after The Agency look like? 

With a deep breath, you pick your path and you don’t look back. That’s the only way you know you’ll have the strength in your decision. 

i hope you all enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it! please reblog or comment and let me know 💕

[jackmanwife]

You picked at the food on your plate with your fork, something your father cooked up a couple times a week—a pile of mashed potatoes that had long since gone cold, some roasted asparagus you hardly touched, and a piece of chicken that tasted bland after the first few bites. You weren’t even hungry, really—just wanted to get dinner over with.

Your father was going on about one of his favorite old stories—something about a fishing trip he’d taken a few summers ago, the same trip he brought up every chance he got. He told it the exact same way, too: the “massive fish” that got away to the epic battle with his fishing line. You nodded along and gave him the occasional “oh, really?” like the good daughter you were. Your mind, however, wasn’t on fishing—or the food.

You took a sip of water, looked down at your plate, then glanced up at the man sitting in front of you. There he was, Logan—and fuck, did he look good. He was patiently listening to your father, sometimes letting out a chuckle, drinking a little bit of beer from the bottle next to his plate—barely touched, too. You can tell he was just as bored as you were. Only difference was, he wore it better.

Then it came to you. You didn’t have to sit here quietly, bored out of your mind. Not when he was right there, so close, looking so put-together. No, you wanted to fuck with him a little, have some fun.

You took a quick look at your father, making sure he was still caught up in his stupid story, and after what felt like hours, he was. Good. You slipped off one shoe under the table, feeling the cool floor against your bare foot before reaching out, letting your toes brush Logan’s jeans—feather-light. Just a little something to get his attention without making it too obvious.

You stared at your plate, even though a smile tried to pull at the corner of your mouth. After a few seconds, you looked up at Logan, expecting him to be looking at you, too, but he wasn’t. He just continued to drink his beer, talk to your father, take a small bite of food from his plate. He wasn’t doing anything. Why wasn’t he doing anything?

Okay, maybe he didn’t really feel it. Beneath the table, you pressed your foot a little higher, up along his calf. Still, nothing. Logan barely blinked, even, he just leaned back with a small smile on his face as he listened to your father, bringing his bottle back to his mouth for another drink. Fine. You slid your foot higher, pressing along his thigh, harder this time. There was no way he wasn’t feeling this. And yet—he just went on, acting like he hadn’t noticed a thing, even though you knew he did.

But then, just when you were about to drop your foot, Logan casually reached under the table, catching your ankle in his hand. The move was so sudden you almost choked on the food you were keeping in your mouth. His fingers tightened around your ankle, holding you in place. Your hand tightened around your fork, trying to pull your foot back, but he wouldn’t let go. He made it clear that he was aware of your little game—and that he was going to win it.

You yanked your foot back hard enough to slip out of Logan’s grip, causing the table to shake. Your father paused mid-sentence, looking over at you.

“Oh, um—I think I’m full,” you forced a small laugh out, pushing your chair out from under the table as you got up.

Logan finally looked over at you, lips curling in the slightest smirk. You knew that look. “Leaving so soon, sweetheart?” He nodded toward your half-full plate, “Barely touched the food on your plate.”

Jesus Christ, was he going to be the death of you.

[mellowwillowy]

𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲

Yan! Lawyer Husband x GN Spouse Reader

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

CW: mafia related stuffs (ALL FOR READER...), disturbing ideations. NSFW

You were the subject of envy for everyone, the spouse of the infamous lawyer, Yulian de Alpheus, who possessed wealth, reputation, intelligence, and undying loyalty to you. To people, you were the beautiful dove living in the gilded cage he had given you, luxuries that fulfilled anyone's needs and wishes.

𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆?

To him, the one who was truly locked in the cage was him. He was and would forever be locked in the gilded cage, forever drowned in his adoration toward you. If he had to live in a world where you did not exist, he would not hesitate to shoot himself to death and find you again.

--

"Dear, how about we go on a vacation this month?"

His words had you choked on your food. He immediately stood up and pat your back, a handkerchief that you embroidered for him handed to you as he handed you a glass of water, "Apology, did my question catch you off guard dear?"

You shook your head while you regained your composure, "It's just that I was surprised, you had been busy these days so how could you spare me your time for a silly vacation?"

Yulian chuckled as he patted your head, "True, and I plan to work even harder to finish all the mess they had shoved me to work on, I'm sure I could finish it right in time before our estimated vacation."

You frowned to yourself, your husband had always been a hard-working man. It was no surprise judging by the amount of assets he could own at such a fairly young age. While some of it was thanked to his father, you knew those would not remain had he not worked hard to keep and grow.

"Dear, I don't want you to over-exert yourself with this case just for a vacation. If you were worried about me then please pay no mind, I am content with everything but you stressing yourself."

Yulian sat back and started slicing the meat on his plate, "Dear, I did not marry you just to have you live in this house as a prisoner," the way he sliced things was of good etiquette but you knew. You knew how he always looks at the things he sliced as a subject of... low-life. "I want my beloved to live in happiness, a life where you get to have and own anything you want without a single worry," It's almost as though he wished he could use more force with the knife, "A life where you do not wish to end," Yulian used his fork to pick the sliced meat up to your lip, "A life where you wish you could live in for eternity."

You thought to yourself for a moment, drowning in thought before smiling at him, "Yes, a vacation this month sounds nice." You opened your mouth and ate the piece.

--

"What were you even thinking about to the point you tangle yourself into this mess?" Yulian furrowed his eyebrow, in his office was the leader of a renowned mafia group in the underground world and Yulian sat on the leathered chair with his hand wiping his white gun.

The ringleader's subordinates were clearly displeased with the way Yulian easily belittled the case and him but they knew better than to cause a mess.

"So? What do you need this time?"

Yulian stored the gun back in its respective place, locking the shelf with the key before handing the ringleader's subordinate a folder of files.

"I'll need you to fabricate everything I handed you. I've given you options of people for you to use as a scapegoat as well."

The ringleader took the folder and started reading the files in it, scanning the words that were typed on it.

"And I expect you to finish it all by this week. I'll be taking a vacation for myself by the end of the month so I'll finish the case in a few trials. I'd like you to find a way around the judge and jury as well. The more the better, understood?"

Yulian was an infamous lawyer. A lawyer who would validate any way to make his client proclaimed 'Not Guilty'. As much as he hated having to drag his name around the underground world, he had no choice but to work together with them. Why?

"Fine, I'll inform you everything this weekend." The ringleader left the room with his subordinates following behind him meekly. The moment they had walked out of his building and entered the car, one of them posed a question.

"Why did you let that shrimp belittle you, boss? It's not like he is the only lawyer we could have our hand with."

The ringleader did not look at his subordinate as he was still analyzing the content of the files. Even so, he was still attentive enough to answer them back, "Well, if you know exactly how strong my influence is, why do you think I allow him to boss over my men?"

The man gulped as his hand held the steering wheel tightly. Why would a measly bug be able to hold power over his boss?

"... He somehow got his hands into our mud. In simpler terms, he blackmailed me."

His right-hand man sighed, "Yulian is nothing but a coward, Kaspar. A coward."

What difference did it make to him? The fact that the two of them blackmailed people to survive while the ideations were biased to each side was nothing but hypocrisy.

"And yet he is the coward that dared to step into the underground world just to protect his spouse..." Kaspar winced at the word 'spouse', "he did all of that just for the love of his life. Is that supposed to be considered foolish or not...?"

The men fell silent until one of them proposed a question, "Then why not use his spouse against him?"

--

The basement that you did not know even existed. You knew there was a bunker down your house but you were never aware of the existence of the basement.

You were asleep so technically you couldn't have heard anything. No, the room was made to be soundproof, no one could hear what was going on in the room.

But you heard it anyway. You heard it faintly, the sounds of people screaming. It wasn't clear, almost below a whisper but it kept you awake. You looked to your side and found your husband absent from the bed again.

"Is he working again?"

You stood up and slipped your feet into the slippers before walking out of your shared bedroom. The hall was lit up by the warm white lights, the light that always comforts you no matter what. You walked toward his office which was located on the first floor, giving the grand door a knock before entering it.

"Dear?"

No one was inside the room. The room was laced with the smell of coffee, the only thing that he probably could love aside from you. You walked to his desk and read some of the files on it. The words on the paper were beyond your comprehension so you stopped reading it, glancing at the cup of coffee, you feel the cup with your hand. It's cold and full. Weird.

You took a look around his office, bookshelves on the side while a framed portrait of you and him hung on the other side.

He must have really loved this portrait, refusing to change it with a new one.

"Dear?"

You jumped at his voice, where did he come out from?

"Dear, where did you come from?"

"Ah, I was in the washroom. What brings you here? Did something wake you up?" Yulian asked you as he approached you while drying his hand with his handkerchief.

You took a closer look at it, it's not the same handkerchief you gave him. Weird. He had always been insistent on only using the handkerchief you embroidered for him.

"Dear?"

"Ah," you snapped out of your thought, "it's just that... I felt lonely. How long are you going to stay up again tonight dear?"

Yulian thought to himself as his eye shot toward the corner of the room, "Please, don't wait for me. I won't be finishing my work in any time so I hope you would use those time to retreat yourself to bed." Yulian pat your cheek before giving your cheek a peck, his emerald eyes had always drowned you in a ripple of the lovesick sea.

His hand snaked its way to your waist as he led you back to your shared bedroom, opening the door for you and urging you to lay on the comfortable white bed. He placed the blanket on top of you before sitting next to you, humming a lullaby while easing you down.

"My little Lily of the Valley is a curious soul hm? Your husband told you to sleep and you naughtily sneaked out of your room..." He playfully reprimanded you while you tried to drift yourself back to sleep. Hearing him teasing you like this was weird, but at least in a good way. What boosted his confidence?

"Someone like you should not wander around in the mercy of nighttime, even if it was in our own house," his hand caressed your hair while his eyes stared into your half-lidded ones, "my lily-of-the-valley should not wander around in the darkness anymore..."

Did you hear him right? Come to think of it, what woke you up earlier?

"Good night, my love."

--

"Good night, bastard."

A thud and the man who was tied to the chair plopped down, lifeless. The other men could only tremble in horror as they waited for their turn. Perhaps death would be the only slightest bit of virtue that he could offer, a mercy at his hands that was covered in bloodstains.

Just as he approached the other men, the alarm rang. Someone had entered his office. Yulian turned on the screen to the camera and saw you walking toward his desk, observing everything that was scattered on it.

He was glad that he didn't put anything 'suspicious' on it even if you wouldn't understand it. He didn't want to risk it.

Yulian went to the sink and washed his hands before motioning for someone to come out from the darkness. The members of the mafia walked out and waited for his order.

"Ah right, relay this message to your boss. Not only do these bastards will have to face the consequences of trying to touch my beloved, you guys too, will have to face it."

The men shuddered in fear as they thought of what he could do to them. The greatest mercy they could have would be that their boss would be the one who punished them and not the lawyer himself.

"Remember," Yulian walked toward them, hand taking out the handkerchief you embroidered for him, "I work for Kaspar so that this kind of thing won't happen. If this happens again, I'd personally make you guys crawl through the tunnels of prison for eternity."

His emerald orbs almost lit up into a burning fire as his jaw tightened in anger. He made his way toward the door before taking a look at the handkerchief.

He shouldn't use it for something so filthy.

He slid it back into his pocket and used another plain handkerchief instead.

--

"In short, he is the man who would not hesitate to kill his own children, his own blood and flesh, or his family just to save and love his beloved Lily of the Valley."

Kaspar sighed as he read the report. The scapegoats that he offered were his men who were on duty to protect his spouse.

"He is the man who had lived for eternity just to find and love his beloved again and again."

-- log end

Afternotes:

I didn't expect the fic to be this short (says the one who got lazy mid-way and cut half of the story...) anyway, I thought to myself, rather than let this rot in the draft, wouldn't it be better to post it even if it was only half completed without any proofread yet?

I'm really happy my first LIfE Project event features my favorite son, Yulian first! The next one might be Eleanor!

Complete Posts

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fic Idea: A little bit of Home

One day, out of the blue, J'onn J'onzz asks if he could celebrate a Martian holiday. He hadn't before, seeing as the pain of losing his people and his home was too fresh, but he missed the holidays of Mars. He felt that if he didn't try to bring back some of his celebrations, then they, too, would be lost to death.

His teammates were happy to celebrate with him; they were touched by his sharing this part of his culture. J'onn explained that all they had to do was bring a childhood food item to feast on. He explains that on Mars, recipes were passed down for generations, and having the ancestral food of friends and family was the second most crucial part of his holiday.

They are then left stunned when he admits that the feast is traditionally held that same night, but he had been too nervous to mention it beforehand. He allows them to change their minds, but no one dares to.

Heroes pour out of the Watch Tower, racing home to begin cooking, and the Martian is told that as soon as they have something, they will return in time for the meal.

No one mentions the tears gathering on the smiling Martian's face. Nor do they say that his humanoid form falls away to his proper form, a rare occasion to witness.

J'onn then starts decorating the Watch Tower as the Justice League members work on what they will each bring.

He places a lot of shimmering rocks in patterns on the ground. They weave and curl through the hallways as members are careful with no stepping on them. He then has Batman help him find different minerals that change the color of sand used in gorgeous art portraits of each member. (The man was more than capable of sending him information while helping Alfred bake cookies)

It took a bit of flying around the world, but he was able to return to the tower a few hours later with all-natural colored sand. (Thank goodness for the teleportation technology Bruce installed)

By then, a few heroes had returned, each carrying a food or drink container.

Those he forms in the cafeteria where the feast will be held. A crowd of heroes stands around, oohing and ahhing, as J'onn uses his telekinesis to move the sands and create all of them simultaneously, putting on a show.

He is singing hauntingly beautiful songs while hanging colorful drapes around the walls in the last few hours leading up to the feast. No one could understand the words, but everyone agreed that J'onn had an incredible voice.

Clark, arriving with three Kent apple pies, smiles. "He sang that at my house on Christmas Day."

J'onn informed everyone that the event would be formal wear- and everyone showed up dressed to the nines. Heroes who still hid their secret identity- like Batman- had arrived in their costumes, but they had added bowties or some other little accessories to make it formal.

Seeing Nightwing fix the tophat on Batman's head while Red Hood was dressed in a lovely suit, forgoing his usual helmet for a red half mask, was..... enlightening.

A few drinks were served while people walked around admiring the sand painting that J'onn had made. He depicted not only the heroes but also multiple parts of the world, then a section of their best missions, and finally, paintings of good memories they had all shared.

It was like a walkable photoalbum.

Spirits were high as members enjoyed themselves, smiling at the memories and chatting with friends in the few peaceful times of their crazy lives. No one could hold in the gasp when J'onn finished getting ready and arrived at the party. He had painted himself in different shades of blue, beaming in pride at the praise for his cultural markings.

He asked everyone to sit, standing to pray in his native tongue. A few heroes bowed their heads, and others merely sat comfortably, waiting for the Martian to finish.

He picked up his cup, raising it high in the air with his hand

"Friends," J'onn started, voicing, choked up with emotion. "I thank you all for joining me today. It means the world to me that you come here to celebrate the King's Feast. May Phantom watch over you all and freeze all your enemies!"

His cup floats out of his hand, turning to the side so the water can fall out and take the shape of a strange D. J'onn bowes his head, crossing his arms and muttering more prayers.

John Constantine, who had been attempting to sneak bites from the steak and kidney he brought, drops his fork. He stares in absolute shock at the flouting water symbol above the martian before Zatanna slaps him on the shoulder. "Don't be rude!"

He points one shaking finger at the Martian, turning to her with a pale face. "The Martians worship King Phantom!?"

She blinks. "Who's that?"

John moves his jaw, but no words leave his mouth as J'onn finishes his last prayer. He then holds up a plate proudly, explaining what it is and why he chose it to share. He encourages every hero to do the same, so voices fill the air one by one as they present their offering and the memory attached to it.

No one pays much mind to the blond British man desperately drawing wards on the ground using his green-colored chalk. When asked what her husband was doing, Zatanna shrugs helplessly.

Likewise, no one notices some of the plates mysteriously lose some of their contents. The food appears on Earth in the room of a very excited Halfa, who feeds on the foods and the emotions weaved into the meals.

J'onn later claims that this Great One Day felt like King Phantom was slightly closer than usual.

[allurilove]

Yandere Stalker x you

Rated 18 + -- mature short content !

Content Warning: This story contains themes of obsession, stalking, manipulation, and violent fantasies. It delves into the unhealthy and dangerous mindset of a stalker obsessed with you. Reader discretion is advised.

WORD COUNT: 3.6K

INCLUDES: Stalking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, cunnilingus, fingering, fem reader, choking, mentions of cheating, p in v sex in public, murder, death, he's not a good person, dom yandere?, degradation?, he can be a bit of a gaslighter, gore, and more.

*This is the third fic to this little mini series. Check out the first part, and the second part for a better understanding! He is referred to as "your stalker." The italicized portion is his inner thoughts! This fic is inspired by the show You, and this is purely fictional writing!*

SYNOPSIS: Your stalker's obsession intensifies as he becomes involved with another woman named Daniella Foster, who he views as inferior to you. Despite his disdain for your best friend, he engages in a flirtatious and sexual relationship with her, all the while fantasizing about you.

What's more dangerous than a sick, psychotic, and perverted man?

I ran out of your blood today.

Just four hours ago, I was completely fine. The vial of your period blood was nearly empty, but I was able to stick my finger inside to collect the last of your crimson essence. I sucked a particularly big blood clot off my finger, and I was able to start my day with a huge smile.

Four hours ago, I could claim that I was a normal and functioning man, someone you wouldn’t blink an eye at, and that was all thanks to you.

Four hours ago, I was able to brush my teeth, take a shower, and clean myself up for the day. I had an extra pep in my step, and I felt like I could take on the world with a positive outlook.

Don’t you see how much life you give me? Your blood alone has made me feel like I was on top of the world, like I could float up into space with just your plasma to help me survive.

But now, it was gone.

Your stalker stared blankly at the window as his body was jostled side to side, his hands tightly gripping the handle of his tote bag that rested on his lap. He tried to ignore the obnoxiously sick person near him, who didn’t even bother to cover their coughs. He closed his eyes to avoid staring into the eyes of another person across from him. He was sandwiched between two burly people: one shouted loudly into their phone, clearly having zero spatial awareness, while the other snoozed. The woman's head drooped as she nodded off, and her greasy hair brushed against his cheek.

She had a distinct smell of sweat and wet socks. Your stalker apologized to the man next to him as he slightly leaned his body away from the woman. He was stuck in this position unless someone took pity on him and spoke up.

His car was in the shop. The tire had unexpectedly given out, causing him to swerve into oncoming traffic. The car was old anyway, a gift from his parents when he first got his license in high school. That must have been, what, ten years ago? He didn’t like to think about his age; nothing good ever came from it anyway.

Your stalker rummaged through his bag, his hand searching for the familiar plastic tube he used to steal your period blood. His fingers brushed against a particularly sharp blade he kept for “safety” reasons before they wrapped around the vial. He had really tried to savor it. He would carefully open his mouth and tilt the vial just enough for a single drop of blood to settle onto his tongue. Sometimes he would pour a bit into his coffee, or he would put it into his food. Either way, it made him feel closer to you. It was a comforting notion to think about, that he was the only man and human who had access to you in such an intimate way.

Your stalker sighed as he put the empty tube back into his breast pocket for safe keeping.

He didn’t like taking public transportation. New York was known for having odd things happening on the trains, buses, and subways. He was pretty sure that last week someone had set a rat on fire, a poor woman got robbed in broad daylight, and a group of teens were filming their dumb YouTube prank videos on the elderly.

Your stalker felt a flare of irritation as the woman leaned on his shoulder again. He gently nudged her off and ignored the way she woke up all startled. He glanced down at his phone, counting the number of stops, and saw he had twelve more before he could get off.

He was going to Manhattan for a job. An absolute douchebag had hired him, and his name was Myron Vykolv. He was the type to spend his money on trips and a bedazzled car rather than giving back to charity. Vykolv was an artist's worst nightmare: fickle, a headache to deal with; but surprisingly, he had good taste in art. He had to; he hired your stalker, after all.

He pulled out his phone to scroll on social media, his eyes scanning the copious amount of braindead content, and he paused when he saw a familiar face. He pressed the buttons on the side of his phone, his screen flashing, and the screenshot he took was saved in his photo album. Your stalker zoomed in, and his eyes widened as he saw the perfectly harmonious facial features. The baby tee top had a cute graphic splayed on the chest area, hair slicked and pulled back into a bun, and gold hoops dangling from those nicely formed ears.

It was you.

He glanced down at the caption: "a coffee date with my favorite bff." Posted exactly five minutes ago. It wasn't your account, but it was the closest thing he had to you. Your stalker decided to follow your coffee-manic and bikini-loving friend, and every post and picture she had, you were in it too.

She made it almost easy to stalk. Jesus, what if a deranged man had decided to show up to her place in the Beverly Hills area on the street of— seriously? Did she really just post her full address online?

Daniella Foster. The epitome of a fun and ditzy socialite who spent way too much time at parties and clubs. A trust fund baby if there ever was one, with her daddy being a big shot in the entertainment industry. Despite all that privilege, she never quite made it big herself.

Your stalker snorted as he saw the array of failed projects she had been in. Modeling? Wasn't in the cards for her. Acting? Horrible. A piece of cardboard would've had more personality than her. Originally from Tampa, Florida, then she moved to California, where she had her comically large house, and then… she decided to bless us by coming to New York. Lucky us, right y/n?

Your stalker looked up from his phone and realized the train had come to his stop. He got up from his seat and quickly made his way out. He felt his phone vibrate in his hand and looked down: Daniella requested to follow you. That was fast.

He clicked accept.

She's a shameless flirt, your stalker soon found out, and he’s not the least bit surprised. Daniella slid into his DMs with a picture of her provocatively sucking a lollipop, and her first words to him were: “What do you look like?”

Gee, take a gander, Daniella. My profile picture is a high-definition shot of my handsome and sexy fucking face. But sure, ask me about my looks as if you were actually interested. Your stalker rolled his eyes. He didn’t even want to respond to that message, but he had no other way of seeing you again. You would probably run at the sight of him, and that would be the most sane and correct thing you could do.

So, what does a man say when he’s mediocre, average, and you’re clearly out of his league? “I look like the man of your dreams, sweetheart.”

Your stalker had spent hours sexting and courting this woman who had flooded his inbox. Even when he was painting for a client, he managed to multitask and send a dick pic. He sent her whatever she wanted to keep her hooked, and just by her messages alone, this must have been the only time a man actually matched her level of craziness and horniness.

Days turned into weeks and then soon into months. The moment he woke up, he would see that she had sent him hundreds of messages in one night—she must've been drunk again.

He spent hours reading each message, and he hearted the ones that he felt were the most important. It was actually coming to an end, thank God, but to his surprise, she asked him out on a date.

"So, what do you do? Who are you?" The girl in front of him asked.

He shouldn't have said yes because now he was sitting in a restaurant that he could barely afford or get a reservation to, and he had to be with this woman who wasn't you. She was dressed beautifully - he'd give her that. He liked the dark colors of her red dress, the way he could drink in the curves of her hips and chest, and how it gave him a clear view of her body.

Now, he wondered what you would have worn if you were on a date with him. Would you have put in this much effort and shown this much skin? Would you have laughed at all of his jokes to boost his damn ego, or knocked him down a peg? Would you have ordered something light so you could have sex afterward, or would you have eaten something hearty and called it a day?

He pretended to think for a while, all before he gently touched her hand, and his fingers caressed her soft skin. "Who am I?" He teased, his voice slightly deepened as he gave her a playful once-over. "I'm hurt. After all these months, you still don't know who I am?"

"Why don't you refresh my memory?" She tilted her head.

Your stalker sighed and he looked around briefly. This place was intimate, for high rollers only, and he could just imagine how much of his money was going to go down the drain. The tiny candle on the table, the white clean cloth, and the vase with a single rose was still too romantic for his taste. His thumb traced circles on her hand, and the other grabbed for his steak knife.

“I'm an up-and-coming artist,” He replied with a bit of a shrug.

“An up-and-coming artist, huh?” She echoed, her fingers now interlocked with his. “Do you come often?”

Lord, please have some mercy and shoot me. Do I come often? Wouldn’t you like to know, you slut. Is this the type of person you really want to spend your time with, y/n? Daniella is not you, and she could never be you. She parades herself around for anyone and everyone to ogle at—she is the epitome of what’s wrong with the dating scene. No wonder she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No wonder she’s desperate enough to entertain me—of all people.

I know the type of people you like, Daniella, and it’s not me.

“You know what you’re doing when you ask me that.” he brought her hand up to his lips and he kissed it. “I can tell you can make a man come often.“

Daniella giggled and her chest puffed out. She leaned closer to him, and he can practically drown in her scent of vanilla and cake. “I have an art piece that I think you'll appreciate. It's back at my place… wanna see it?”

Fuhhhhhck no. Your stalker slipped the knife into his pocket.

Your stalker smirked and he leaned in closer as well. He could see the makeup on her face, the gloss on her lips, and he could see a glimpse of her ample breasts. “I don’t know… is it one of a kind?”

Underneath the table, her leg started to caress his, and her foot slowly found its way to his crotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped, and he held onto her hand tighter. As much as he hated this, he would have been lying if he had said that the attention wasn’t nice. He felt the pressure around his groin tighten as she pressed her foot onto it, and she gently rubbed it up and down while maintaining eye contact.

“It’s an original piece…something that can’t be replicated. I’m sure you’ll love it.” Daniella said coyly, and she bit down on her plush lips.

She knew when to strike when the iron was hot. A taxi was called, and she made out with him in it. Her body was pressed up against his, and she felt his hand grip on her ass. His hand then slid up her thigh, his fingers ripped her black sheer stockings and two of them found their way to her entrance. He bit down on her bottom lip and his tongue slipped into her mouth.

She's a fun girl. She knew exactly how to inflate a man's ego and pride. He heard her sweet, light moans, and her hips started to grind onto his hand. His thumb played with her clit, and they only pulled away when the cab arrived at her house. He grabbed her hand and tossed a couple of bills at the driver. He slammed the door shut, and before she could unlock the door to her house, he pressed her against his body.

"W-We're in public...!" Daniella's face was flushed and she tried to close her legs, but your stalker was quick to pull them back apart.

He narrowed his eyes and tugged down her panties. "So? Don't tell me you have morals all of a sudden." he snorted.

He wished that she would just shut up. She opened her mouth to rebuttal but he wrapped one hand around her throat to keep her still and quiet, and he shimmied off his pants just enough for his cock to be out. "I didn't come here for you to talk all the damn time. Shut it, before I put that mouth of yours to good use."

Your stalker lifted her up and made her wrap her legs around him. His dick then entered inside her, and he groaned at how wet and ready she felt. It's been awhile since he felt actual warmth, and her walls started to clench around him. His breath is ragged as he fucked her. His eyes were closed and he couldn't help but bite down onto her shoulder. Daniella cried out, and her body was tense as his teeth broke into her skin.

"God... you needed this, didn't you?" He purred as he licked up the puncture wound. Your stalker then looked down to watch his cock disappear into her. "You need someone to fuck your brains out." He sharply thrust into her again, and his hands dug into the plush of her ass to help with the momentum.

Your stalker dragged his tongue across her bleeding shoulder, then pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. With one hand still gripping her body, he used the other to shove his fingers down her throat, silencing her whimpers."You're the prettiest whore I have ever seen. Isn't that right, y/n?"

Your stalker truly believed he was being intimate with you. Daniella, who? All he knew was you. All he ever wanted was to feel you, to taste you, and to be able to hear you mewl around his cock. He wanted to see your eyes roll back into your skull, to paint your skin with butterfly kisses, and for him to finally come inside you again and again. It actually pissed him off to no end that he had to be stuck here with her.

When he felt himself getting closer to the edge, he unceremoniously pulled out of her, and his white stream of cum dripped down onto the ground. He sighed as his dick softened, and he gently helped her stand on her own legs again. His hand dipped underneath her body, his fingers playing with her wet folds, and he spread them apart to furiously rub at her clit. Daniella gripped onto his arm to keep him firmly there until she felt her leg shake.

Your stalker watched with a bit of fascination as what seemed like an endless amount of juices squirted out of her. He got onto his knees and helped her to sit onto his face. After he cleaned her all up, your stalker suddenly remembered something and his hand patted down his pockets.

"Hey... I think I'm missing my phone." He started his little lie. "Can I borrow yours? I forgot that I had an important call--"

"Bag." She just said and pointed to the one that was tossed to the side.

He muttered a "thanks" before he went over and rummaged through her purse. "What do you think about doing this again?" he kept an eye on her as his hand aimlessly tried to look for her phone. "I had fun tonight, and I'd like to see you one more time."

He could feel the various items in her bag. A packet of cigarettes, two lip products, house keys, a whole perfume bottle, but fuck where was her phone?

He watched as Daniella rolled down her scrunched up dress. The woman then raised her brow and she crossed her arms. "I'm pretty sure you said another woman's name."

"I didn't." He said rather quickly. "You drank a lot of wine--it was almost like you were trying to bankrupt me." He joked, and his hand firmly gripped onto what felt like a smooth case. He pulled it out of her bag and there it was. "What's your password?"

"Trying to change the subject, are we?"

"I'm pretty sure your phone is the subject, unlock it pretty please?"

Daniella pulled back her hair and she stared at him expectantly.

"I said give me your password, not a blowjob." Your stalker frowned.

She gave him an exasperated look. "It's my face dumbass." she then snatched her phone back from him.

"You don't use your thumb? What kind of update is that?"

"God, you're so poor." He heard her mutter.

That was so unwarranted, and sort of hurt.

Though it made him feel a lot better when he finally decided to slit her throat. Now that she was distracted, he discreetly pulled out the steak knife from his pocket before he dropped her bag and roughly yanked her back to him. His hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her screams as he dragged the serrated blade across her neck. The knife sawed through flesh, muscle, and sinew, blood spurting and gushing with each desperate pulse of her heart. It took him a while to sever her head completely, his arm burning with exhaustion as he hacked away, the blade catching on bone and gristle, her life draining away in a torrent of crimson.

Your stalker wiped his bloodied hand on her dress, he grabbed the phone off the ground, and he groaned when he saw that the screen was cracked. He tried his best to work the damn thing, his finger poking at the messaging app multiple times before it decided to open. Daniella had a plentiful amount of unsaved numbers but they had weird emojis next to them. One number was from a different country and had the eggplant emoticon.

Then he found the only saved number: y/n.

You're apparently a good girl and shared your location with your best friend. How adorable, you even share every given moment with her too. You even talked about how you were thinking about going back to your serial cheater of an ex.

Your stalker gasped, his head reeling back in shock. You were about to go back to your ex? Your ex, of all people? You couldn't have, what—moved on like a normal person? You couldn't have gone out and fucked around with someone new? Someone like him? It's like you purposely make the wrong choices just to be saved. Before he could be your little personal super hero... his eyes slowly made its way back to the body on the ground, and then to the keys that were in her bag.

Have you ever heard of cuteness aggression? The rush of impulsive behavior that you get after seeing a cute and defenseless puppy? I get that when I see you. I think you're so adorable that it makes my heart burst. Your stalker stared up into your apartment, and the car windows were rolled down to air out the perfume he dumped into the body bag.

However, there was nothing cute about this ugly pig-like fuck that touched your waist. That man had no redeeming qualities, and boy, did I want him to start squealing in pain. I wanted to pinch his body until he had yellowish-brown bruises all over. I wanted to crush his skull with my bare hands and feel his pulse drop. I wanted to be able to drink the blood shower that would come from their body and bathe in it. I want them to realize that you’re off the market, and that you’re solely mine.

They’re not good for you, love. You have seen that time and time again, and they have disappointed you before without fail; so why do you welcome them with open arms? It hurts to see your legs over their shoulders, and to see a bit of your face contorted in pleasure and ecstasy. Is it the sex? Is it the way they give you a fleeting moment of what could have been if they weren’t constantly cheating on you?

That’s pathetic, and you know it. But it’s okay, I’m willing to look past this little transgression. It’s not completely unforgivable. They must’ve broken you down and made you vulnerable enough to pull your pants down. It’s not your fault. It’s theirs.

Your stalker continued to stake out your house, patiently waiting for your ex to come down to the lobby. The moment he did, your stalker would be ready. He might not have been able to get your blood, but killing your ex and taking his was like killing two birds with one stone.

Allure: This is the first fic I wrote that actually has y/n in it! And it's pretty unedited, so if there is mistakes I will probs fix it later on. This dragged on for waaay longer than it needed and tbh, I am never writing a long fic like this again LMAO

[hvhvmoc]

🖤🖤🖤

Characters : Art the Clown (Terrifier), afab!reader

Warnings/CW : kinda slowburn, Art almost kills you on purpose, funny stuff, rough smut, wall sex, spanking, hair pulling, overstimulation, choking, pussy slapping, oral (f! Receiving), multiple orgasms, you pass out mid sex, Art is stumped and confused, you're ok tho, talks about blowjobs, bit of fluff at the end, tell me if I missed anything

A/N : I have nowhere to go this Halloween ☹️ just stay home, write and take photos of myself

Its around midnight, you're in your kitchen cooking dinner. Usually you don't cook at midnight but you were busy all day and it just got pushed back. Plus, your boyfriend wasn't home yet. The infamous Mikes County Killer, Art the Clown. He was taking his usual time out there, spilling blood, guts, and pain, while you were home, working or being lazy.

You're surprised your still up with this much energy. You did wake up really late today, since you didn't have work that day. You took that time to organize the house, clean everything up, shower, maybe even trim your hair with a pair of random scissors you prayed didn't belong to Art- knowing what he does with them- and knowing that although he has okay hygiene, he doesn't properly clean his weapons like at all.

You switch between mixing and checking on the red rice, stirring the big pan of cooking chicken, stirring the smaller pan of cooking beef, and finally stirring the pan of cut up bell peppers, broccoli, corn, and onion. The rice finished cooking and so did the vegetables- the chicken and beef still needed some time- when Art busted through your front door, a scowl on his face, his leg and torso cut up a bit from (what you can only guess) a victim fighting back, and blood all over him. He drops his bag of weapons and goes to find you, the scowl not leaving his face.

That expression would've terrified anyone. But really, you were used to it. The more logical side of your brain knew it was only a matter of time before he treats you like any other victim of his; scalping, cutting, drugging, stabbing, torturing. But you decided to just play along with him. Maybe if you act nice and continue to treat him like this, he'll make your death less brutal. Hopefully. But truly you don't know. Nobody but him knows what's going on in his head. He's like a wild animal; sometimes you can get close and they look still- froze- waiting for you to get close and closer, before they pounce on you and attack. Brutally attack.

Art stands by you, not really doing anything but standing with the scowl on his face, staring at you. You smile and wave up at him, giving him a little "Hi baby", before turning your attention back to the food. There was silence, the only thing making noise being the food cooking.

You feel something cold on the back of your neck. You look up at Art and in the corner of your eye, you see his hand outstretched behind your neck. You can't really tell what it is he has but you will admit, it's scarring you. You tried not to show it though. You know Art loves when his victims show fear. If he has thoughts of killing you, fear will only fuel it.

He lowers his hand while you watch. Now you can see what he had pressed against you. A knife- which is probably the least painful object he owns for killing. You again, tried to show now fear. Your eyes didn't widen and your breathing stayed like before. But your heart is beating faster. That's something you can't control. You just showed confusion. Art drops the knife onto the floor- thankfully missing his and yours feet- and turn around, leaving and disappearing into your bedroom.

Once he leaves, you sigh. What the fuck was that? This isn't the first time he's pressed a weapon against you but it still shakes you up everytime. And maybe that's what he wants. You bend down and pick up the knife, throwing it in the sink. You continue cooking, acting like your boyfriend didn't just hold a knife against you.

You taste test everything, ensuring that everything's thoroughly cooked. When the taste is up to your standards, you go to turn off the stove. As your reaching for it, you hear a loud "honk" right in your ear. You jump and turn around, more terrified than when he held a knife to your neck. Art is there, now fully cleaned of blood, and silently laughs. Hard. And buckles over in laughter and pointing at you. He then puts a hand of his heart and mocks your shocked expression and the way you jumped. You bend over the counter, holding your head and laughing too.

Art comes over and grabs a hold of your waist, wrapping both arms around you and lifting you up. He swings you around a bit and kisses your neck. You laugh as he does, now forgetting about the past incident. "Baby-" you laugh. Art perks up and looks at you. "Go sit at the dinner table, I'll bring out your dinner." Art rolls his eyes and gives you once last squeeze before he lets go and slumps over to his spot on the dinner table.

You serve two plates; Art has some chicken, beef, rice and vegetables, which yours has the same but less beef. You bring out his plate first, setting it in front of him and kissing him on the lips. And go back to get your plate and when you come back and set your plate down across Art, you notice his vegetables are gone from his plate and... on the floor, a very thin, useless napkin covering them.

"Babe." Now it's your turn to scowl at him. Art was some of the beef in his mouth. He looks up at you, dumbfounded. "Why the shit is your food on the floor?" Art shrugs and looks around at the floor around him and looks puzzled, like he's pretending the food on the floor doesn't exist. "Art." You glare at him and he just looks like he doesn't know what you're talking about, doing hand movements to tell you you're crazy.

You opened your mouth to speak but Art held up a finger, shushing you. He points to the beef and then his arm, his eyes questioning. "What?" He does the same again. You shrug, looking confused. Art rolls his eyes like you're the dumb one and points to the beef and then to you and him. "I dont-" Art rolls his eyes harder, throwing his body back in dramaticness too. He points to the beef again, and shrugs, looking at you like it's so obvious to know what he's trying to ask you.

"What is it??" You ask, trying to guess what he's trying to say. Art nods, happily and relieved that you finally got it. "It's beef. It's cow." You say and start eating, taking a bite of the chicken. Arts grin is quickly wiped off his face and he slumps. "What?" You ask and eat. Art does a handmovement to say "oh nevermind" and he starts eating. "I'm not cooking human, Art. Don't even think about it." You scold and Art mocks you in response. You just roll your eyes and eat, forgetting the vegetables on the floor.

🖤🖤🖤

After dinner, you two clean up the kitchen. Art washes the dishes while you put the dishes in the sink and wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor. You have music on, singing along as Art bops his head dances a little to the music.

After cleaning, you two go to your shared bedroom. As soon as your door closes, you pounce on Art. You wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips against his. Almost like he was expecting it, Art instantly grabbed onto you and kissed you back, using tongue and gripping onto your pajamas.

Art pushes you against the wall, his hands still gripping your hips. Your hands reach behind his back and zipped down the zipper on his clown suit. Art starts peeling off your clothes until you're completely naked. You pull off arts clown fit until he's naked too, just his facepaint and mini tophat on.

Art flips you over so you're pressed against the wall. You open your legs a bit and Art grabs your asscheeks, opening them apart and angling his dick with your pussy. He spits on his dick and slowly slips into you, his hands moving to your hips. You let out a soft moan and press your cheek against the wall, looking back at him. Your full body is against the wall, your ass poking out a little.

Art starts slamming his hips against you, his pace getting rougher and rougher. Your body jolts and you moan louder. With every thrust, your thighs slap against the wall. Art reaches around your neck. He wraps his bare hand around the front of your neck and he flips you two over. His back lays against the wall, one hand on your hips as he continues to thrust into you. He pulls your head back by your neck, squeezing a little. Your hands reach back and grab onto his legs as his pace becomes almost unhuman.

Art slaps your ass hard as he does, grinning at your yelp in response. He trails is hand down, roughly grabbing your tits, then trailing fully down to your hip. He pushes down on your back to make you bend over and his other hand grabs a fistful off your hair and pulls your head back. Art grabs your thighs with the hands that was once on your back and opens your legs more. He then grabs your hand and places it on your pussy, and you start mastutbating yourself. All the while his pace stays harsh and rough like usual.

After a while you warn Art of your upcoming orgasm, to which he replies by slapping your ass harshly a couple more times until you cum on his dick; your fingers still circling your clit and Arts pace not faltering. Art abruptly stops his movements, planting himself balls deep into you. He lets go of your hair, his hands just resting on your hips. You slowly stand up straight again. Art grabs the hand you used to pleasure yourself with, pressing it against his lips and into his mouth, licking your juices off your fingers. His other hand pulls your hair back. He slowly turns to look at you, a grin on his face, and he dives in to kiss your lips.

He lets go of you and peels you off his dick, walking you to the bed and pushing you on your back, onto the bed. Art opens your legs, kneeling between them. He uses his fingers to massage your clit for a while before he raises his hand up and slaps your pussy. Not too hard but enough to sting. When he hears you moan and watches your legs jolt, he does it again. And again. And again. And again, till your pussy was wetter and red.

Art stops slapping you, then leans down and starts roughly eating your pussy. You moan loudly and wiggle a little as he does. He forces your legs open and keeps them there as he makes out with your pussy. You grab his head and push it closer to you, his large nose pressing against your clit.

You grind against his face until you cum on his face and he keeps eating you out. Your body spasms. He finally pulls away and licks his lips, standing up again. He lines his dick up with your pussy, instantly pludging himself into you and his expression contorts at the feeling. He starts moving his hips again, fast.

You cry out in overstimulation, your nails digging into his arms as his hands grip your hips tightly. A single tear runs down your face. Art sees this a grins, enjoying the pleasure- and pain- he's giving you. He licks the tear, biting your cheek a little before he comes back up. Your legs shake and tremble and your face looks disheveled. But Art loves when your helpless like this with him. Because of him.

Art winks down and at you and blows you a kiss. He then slams into you, hard, and stays there for a second, balls deep inside you. Then he does it again. And again. And again. He grins wider and wider with every moan you scream out.

He then wraps his hand around your neck, tightly, and starts up his fast, rough pace into you. Your hands claw at his arm as he chokes you, but not too hard. Well... not at first at least. After a couple more minutes, and a couple more orgasms pulled from you, he grips your neck tighter. Your face is now redder than it's ever been.

Art slams into you, cumming inside you, his grin not leaving his face, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your pussy. Even after he came, he kept going, moving fast like before. Like he had all the energy in the world. He squeezed a little tighter at your neck for a second, cutting your airways for only a second before he let you breath again as he fucked you.

Your body slowly became more and more limp, your eyes getting loopy and your heart racing. Your moans start getting fainter and quieter, which makes Art falter a bit but he doesn't stop. Seconds later your body goes limp and your eyes close. You passed out. Whether that be from the choking or from the overstimulation, you don't know. You just know you knocked out.

🖤🖤🖤

You woke up minutes later, now laying against a pillow on the bed. You have a blanket over your still-naked body and the ceiling fans on. You see Art sitting next to you on the bed, now in sports shorts and a T-shirt. He's looking down at you as you wake up, and you have a feeling he's been like that for the whole time you've been asleep.

Art has confusion and... fear in eyes. Fear for Art is rare. Rarer than rare. Someone like Art is never scared. Confused yes, he's sometimes confused, but not scared. He's watched you almost cut a finger off while cooking and his eyes looked more hungry and like he was holding back than scared for your life. But now he's scared. There's finally some human emotion in his eyes.

You two don't do anything but stare at eachother for some time. Didn't Art almost kill you when he got home? Why does he look worried now? It's like he's not even blinking.

Arts tilts his head, looking down at you. He slowly inches his hand to your neck, lightly touching the red marks of his hand left behind. You turn on your side, smiling tiredly as you look up at him. Art touches your face and raises his eyebrows, still confused on why you just knocked out mid sex. "Ya kno-" you stop talking when you hear your own voice. It's very very raspy. You clear your throat and go to talk again. That didn't help. Still raspy. But you talked anyway.

"A girl can only take so much, baby." You laugh. Art rolls his eyes and mocks you. He's back to his usual self. "Whaat??" You laugh again and wrap your arms around his waist. Art ruffles your already-messed-up hair, grinning down at you playfully again.

"Maybe if I wake up first tomorrow, I'll wake you up with a blowjob." You rub your elbow on his crotch and he instantly gets hard again. You get off him and lay back on the bed. He looks down at you with a frown. "Tomorrow." You remind him. Art huffs and rolls his eyes, getting into bed with you. You two sleep, clinging onto eachother.

🖤🖤🖤

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

[saeist]

a/n: another ua student!touya ft. hawks and mirko as his classmates!! + basing this "long eyelashes" debacle from the fact his eyelids are a little thicker than todoroki's + it's canon that he has long lower eyelashes since it's prominent when he was young lol

"i'm jealous"

you casually drop a bomb on touya, who was currently in the kitchen eating piping hot udon.

touya's eyes widens, ultimately choking on his food. like you just didn't witness him knocking on death's door, you casually slid to the seat next to him, watching him just choke there

"being jealous is one thing, but not helping your poor boyfriend who's choking? that's a little overkill don't you think?!" touya exclaims, after regaining his own composure

instead of answering, you shrug, staring at the now pouting boy beside you

"i'm not a mind reader you know?" touya points out, catching your gaze. it's making him a little uncomfortable being put on the spot like this. last time he checked, he didn't even look at another girls direction! so what could have made you jealous?

"..."

the way you were just staring at him in silence is making him uneasy. it's almost like you were making him admit to something he didn't even do

touya racks his brain for any close encounter he had with any female today during class. maybe he accidentally brushed hands with a classmate earlier today, maybe he bumped shoulders with a third year student back at lunch rush, maybe he made eye contact with another girl for a split second on accident when he was scanning the hallways for you

his mind ends up dating back at lunch where you two were having lunch with your two other friends being keigo and rumi

wait a second.. could it be rumi?

"is it rumi? but i thought you two were best friends so you were cool with us messing around with chicken little back there at the cafeteria? if it is rumi then i'll try not to interact with her that much if it makes you jealous, i'm sorry, doll. forgive me" touya rambles, suddenly getting on his knees and bowing down to (almost) kiss your feet

your eyebrows shot up at the mention of your best friend

"what are you rambling about? of course not! i'm not jealous over her, dummy" you finally break your silence. "i'm talking about your eyelashes"

touya's eyes widened once again. he slowly rises from your feet to shoot you a dirty look. did you really just make him kneel and kiss your feet over the thought of you being jealous over someone else when you were just jealous of his eyelashes all along?

"run that by me one more time?" touya puts his hands on his hips

you let out a fit of giggles watching his now irritated face.

"i'm jealous of your long eyelashes, touya" you grin, standing up to reach his face, cupping his cheeks as you run your thumb against his eyes

touya's eyes flutters shut, letting you touch his face this up close and personal. he won't admit it out loud but it tickles when your thumbs run through his long lower lashes

but the way his face scrunches says otherwise

"it tickles, doesn't it?" you giggle

"no? who said that?" touya denies, turning his head away to hide the impending blush that's rapidly spreading across his cheek

you can feel the cuteness aggression rushing in. you turn his head to force him to look at you. you squeeze his cheeks as you lean in until..

"if you're gonna suck faces could you guys at least do it in the privacy of your dorm rooms? ever heard of that?" keigo casually walks in with rumi on tow

"yuck" rumi gags, skipping past the two of you to get a carrot from the fridge

"i suggest you two get the fuck out of here unless you want roasted chicken and rabbit for dinner" touya growls, (softly) prying your hands off his face as he glares at his two best friends who were now running away while laughing

"so, doll.. where were we?" touya smiles softly, acting like he didn't just threaten his friends just a second ago

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐒 | General Acacius x reader x Emperor Geta

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | living under emperor geta's rule was never supposed to be easy, but he aims to make it nearly impossible, even if he has become fond of you.

author's note | i never really intended for this to get another part, but since seeing the movie and wanting to expand on these characters and possibly writing for geta on his own, i thought i would turn this into a little passion project. i know there's a niche group of you that have asked for a second part to this, and as much as i crave chaos, i hope you enjoy where i took this and know that i am all for the crazed man that is emperor geta. (can be read as a standalone, but the first part can be read here)

content warning | 18+ mdni, DDDNE - heavy dubcon (due to sex work, ect), heavy themes of abuse under the rule of a vile emperor (mention of injury, slapping, ect), normalized degredation, exhibitionism and exchange of bodily fluids, smut galore (oral, unprotected piv, ect), choking tw, death tw, use of opium poppy, drugging tw (not against reader), named side character, marcus acacius being the real knight in shining armor. this is unbeta'd so i apologize for any spelling mishaps.

word count — 8k

You live within him, it feels. 

Geta never let you stray farther than a touch, within arms distance. 

You were no longer yourself, rather an extension of him.

He prefers you naked. But, he often dresses you up in gowns; modest sometimes, occasionally leaning toward more revealing fabric—sheer lace, high slits, deep-cut necklines that accentuate your breasts and hips, the soft but tight curve of your ass. Sometimes you wondered if he liked the clothes more accessible to his wandering hands, his fingers fluttering under your gown during public meetings, even.

The men never said a word, they wouldn’t dare.

If you were given the opportunity to be away from him, it was always under the watchful gaze of his guards, and only to complete tasks he has ordered to you—fetching food when he was too lazy to leave his bed and when you were feigning the grimace in your face, itching to wander.

Your relationship is complicated in the beginning but easier to manage as you become accustomed to his personality and outbursts, learning what makes him tick. He’s easier to manipulate with sex, something you have no issue taking full advantage of.

And he fancies an audience, usually. Other servants, less privileged women that trembled in his presence, fearful that his next move would be their last, somehow comforted by your confident and guiding touch. It made no sense to not enjoy what you could while you were imprisoned here, even if Geta and his brother did nothing to soothe the discomfort they left in their wake, making your skin crawl as his fingers drifted along your skin.

Caracalla could not touch either, his brother forbade it. An eager boy, riddled with a brain-eating sickness, he was dutiful to his brother but harmful in his own ways, fickle with thoughtful choices and often making important decisions on impulse. 

They were destroying Rome, that much you knew to be true.

-

Geta’s hand guided up your stomach, his palm curling around your breasts as he squeezed, your own hand flat against his chest as you rode him with fervor in the early morning hours, dawn peeking over the warm, lilac sky. 

In this light, he seemed almost normal. Eyes drifting shut in the silence of his quarters, just you—just him, he often made the mistake of weakening his defenses like this. He growled, low and quiet as his hands traded your breasts for your hips, spinning you in an instant and pinning you beneath him, soon his hand like a vice grip on your neck as he thrusts into you with little care or regard, a string of spit connecting his parted lips as he laughed, an eerie cackle as he came inside of you, admiring the tremble in your lip as he released his grip on your throat, subtly intaking the breath you had been deprived of as he pulls away from you, falling against the mattress and pulling the silk bed sheet over himself.

You move to do the same, but he grips the sheet.

“Make yourself come,” He demands, a sneer across his face as he yanks the sheet away completely. 

It was routine, now. You part your thighs without hesitation, leaning back on your elbow to allow him an unobstructed view, a tired but amused expression on his face as you play with your clit, fingers sliding through your folds, eyes drifting shut as they often did. 

It was easier to picture him this way, brown curls buried between your thighs and the tanned-skin of his backside as he stretched out below you, rutting his cock into the sheets as he ate you like his final meal, eyes like warm honey as they peered up at you.

Acacius, sweet Acacius. 

You were thankful you could remember his face, a memory you would pray to the gods to stick with you forever, a blissful crest of pleasure as your middle finger circles over your clit in a hurried manner, heels digging into the sheets as you feel it—fuck, it’s there, right there—

“Look at me,” He leers, his hand twisting into your hair at the crown of your head, a searing pain that makes you gasp, but your eyes fly open, mouth parted in a mix of pain and pleasure, “tell me how generous of an emperor I am to be so kind to a little whore like you.”

You nod shakily, swallowing as your mouth dries, “You have given me everything, your highness. Everything. I may never be able to repay you such a debt,” It was a script, one you’ve memorized and dare not forget, “May I—” You’ve learned to ramp up the dramatics when he’s lips part in anticipation, fingers itching as his thigh as they curled, his dick twitching beneath the fabric, “may I come?”

So fucking full of himself.

Whether you did or not didn’t matter anymore, but he allowed it. Insists. Your eyes never leave him.

–

Even as you dress, again, he hovers. 

You’ve learned the proper customs and rules, always making sure you look perfect. Pristine. Scrubbing your body down so harsh and deep that it makes your skin feel raw, because if Geta noticed anything—anything at all, it would mean punishment. 

He liked lashings, but that was too exertive for him.

His handmaidens aided the swelling and cuts as well as they could, ice and creams, clever ways to cover the wounds to your face. You were starting to feel a numbness when the anger would rise and explode, only praying that he would remove his rings before doing so.

“He’s visiting,” Geta speaks as though it was a secret, squeezing your chin between his fingers before they predictably fall to your neck, squeezing in the perfect spot to make you feel light, airy, and not in a good way, “I best not get a whiff of contempt, understood?”

“I am yours, Geta,” You knew he liked the more relaxed approach, his grip easing up, “he is nothing, nothing compares to you.”

His nostrils flare, a half-hearted smirk crossing his face as he shrugs.

“I have a task for you,” Geta teases, before his finger trails toward your nose, thumb rubbing against the soft, bulbous curve and down your lips, pushing his fingertip inside, prying your lips apart, thumb tucking against the inside of your cheek as you mouth falls open, “but, not in this moment. The timing must be…perfect.”

Your eyes squint slightly—he was up to no good, that much you could decipher. 

–

He gave the other servants a look, shooing them away as you stayed on his heels, your dress flowing at your ankles, feet bare against the marble floor. He pulled faintly at your wrist as he took a seat, maneuvering you into his lap, his own legs outstretched, fingers traveling up the center of your chest before his hands curving around the back of your head, his thumb rubbing at your jawline.

“Try anything, I will kill him first. Then you.”

You smile, syrupy sweet, playing with a thin strand of his fiery locks underneath the lip of his crown.

“You worry so much, Emperor,” Your own hand covers his, a bold touch as you stare him down, “It does not suit you.”

He’s emotionless for a moment too long, fearing you may have finally overstepped, before he breaks out into a laugh, one final squeeze before he relinquishes his hold.

The General and his entourage arrive soon after your conversation, Caracalla having joined shortly before the approach of many guests—most thanking their Emperors for no apparent reason other than because they enjoyed watching people kneel before them, confessing their undying loyalty.

It was pathetic, but what you were doing—forced or not, was no better. It was much like being stripped bare, the way the others' eyes prowled, watchful of Geta’s wandering touch.

“Quite the whore you’ve acquired,” One embolden man comments, his slimy smirk coming moments later, before calling over his shoulder, “General Acacius, you must tell me where you acquire such…toys. Such a generous gift you gave.”

You smiled with faked confidence, sat in his lap, one leg draped over his own, the other dragging along the floor where it rested through his split thighs, a kneading hand dragging along your inner thigh. Your fingers drag along his own, his tongue shoving into his bottom lip and over his teeth, a tick you’ve learned meant no good, his eyes turning quickly to rage.

You could hear the deep timber of the general over your shoulder as he is called forward, your eyes never leaving Geta, even as he straightens in his throne, his palm flattening against the arm of the chair digging into your back. You slide a hand inside his robe, fingertips dragging along his collarbone, “He knows I am yours now, Geta.”

“General Acacius,” Geta greets with a poorly faked kindness, one that Acacius returns with a curt nod and the usual bow that one of higher ranking would offer, the traditions were different for townspeople, but it was still ridiculous in any manner, “I take you have good news to share.”

Otherwise, he would not be here.

“Austria will be conquered within the next fortnight, Emperor Geta,” He explains with a rigidness that oozed discomfort, ignoring the smarmy look of another nearby general, one of much lower important, but nonetheless—

“Ah, it must feel strange,” The man suddenly interjects, a finger circling the steel goblet in his hand, filled to the brim with wine, “trading whores, doing business—rather messy…”

Geta’s jaw tenses, his anger suddenly directed elsewhere.

But, as usual, Acacius knows how to defuse a tense situation.

“She was a gift to the Emperor,” The general clarifies, “for what he does with her is none of my business, I only knew her as a loyal servant,” not a whore, never had those words left his mouth.

Geta’s chest rumbles softly, his hand squeezing painfully tight at your thigh.

Your teeth clench to silence the pain, dreading his next words as they leave his mouth.

“Call her what she is, Acacius,” He goaded, “a whore—and she excels.” 

His other hand slides through the open back of your dress, slipping one fold of fabric down your shoulder as he grins, all of the lower society bystanders having filtered out of the palace by now, leaving a large group of generals waiting for Geta's official dismissal.

“Give them a show,” He boasts, shoving you off of him rather abruptly, but you quickly plant your bare feet into the flooring, steadying yourself as you kneel before the Emperor, spreading out the spare fabric of your dress to act as a temporary comfort to your knees as you work at Geta’s robe, hesitant as you peer up at him briefly, he nods slightly, but taunting, “go on.”

It wasn’t the first time you’ve performed for an audience, feeling eerily normal now—but in a room full of generals? Acacius? You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, deafening everything else around you as you split his robe apart and dragged your fingers up the inside of his thigh, his tongue peeling slightly through his lips as you wrapped your delicate fingers around his cock, watching as he hardened under your skilled touch, despite how incredibly awkward the air felt, some of the men murmuring around you quietly.

His fingers dig into your hair at the start of your scalp, unhappy with your pace as he grips, pulling you forward until you get the idea, your tongue licking slowly along the head of his cock, the reddened tip glistening with a small drop of precome. You circle around it, slow and tantalizing before you run down the length of his shaft, having memorized every ridge and vein by this point that it has become second nature to instinctively know what pulls him toward the edge faster, easier. But, he wasn’t even looking at you. He was staring through you, behind you.

He was staring Acacius down, guiding you down his cock without much relief as your eyes flutter shut when his cock head nears the back of your throat, using practiced breathing as you focus. He didn’t like it when you gagged, eventually allowing you up for air as you claw gently at his thigh, but the process is repeated over and over again until you’re tearing up, drool collecting down your neck and chest, hand still secured tightly at the root of your hair as he pulls you off suddenly, demanding a tense, “Open, tongue out,” as he comes in short, but forceful spurts against your tongue, swallowing the heady taste of him without another thought. 

He pats at your cheek lightly when you open your mouth, showing it empty.

“Stand,” He ordered, adjusting your dress back up slightly to cover your breast, chuckling underneath his breath at how disheveled you looked otherwise, hair an absolute mess and your chest slick with spit, “oh—why don’t you give him a kiss? As a thank you for his generosity.”

Geta covers himself lazily, uncaring as if a dozen or so men hadn’t just watched him come down your throat. You turn on your heels, approaching Acacius who was simmering with rage, it was subtle, but you could sense it as you came closer.

You smile softly, a silent apology as you touch him first, fingers curling around the side of his neck as you press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, knowing Geta would allow nothing more. And it doesn’t surprise you how easy it feels to fall back into his touch, the polite press of Acacius hand at your hip catching you by surprise, feeling the faint adjustment of fabric, invisible to the naked eye, but you feel it.

Geta doesn’t appreciate Acacius reciprocity, cutting the moment short.

But, Geta is more relaxed that night after Acacius departure than he’s ever been.

He’d won. 

At least, he thought so.

–

“An entire limb seems harsh,” Geta thinks, twisting the rings on his finger as you dry from the bath he had ordered you take before lying in bed with him, always wanting you perfect and clean, “maybe a few fingers would suffice as punishment.”

You keep your silence, letting him think aloud as you squeezed the water from your hair with the cloth, but eventually Geta’s hand wanders, pulling at the cloth covering your body, forcing it to drop to the ground, “What do you think?”

Your eyebrows raise in faint shock, that he was legitimately addressing you about a concern, a choice he would happily make himself—so, why? Why was he asking?

Whatever, you’ll bite.

“What did they do?”

“The general—from the other day, who had such choice words for your dear Acacius—”

“Geta, I have told you—”

“Do not interrupt me,” He seethes, pulling at your wrist, forcing you to be done with your hair and climb over him in bed, “He assaulted a maid of ours—or Caracalla’s specifically, we had caught him up in his room, trespassing, touching things that did not belong to him—”

People, he means. But, he would never be so generous.

“And, you think a few fingers? An arm? That taking away a limb would keep him from doing it again?” You clarify, rolling to your stomach as you crawl toward him, your face level with his own as you rest your head into your open palm.

“Unless, say, you suggest something different.”

“Kill him,” You offer lightly, “If you think one less appendage would teach him a lesson, your highness, I hate to speak out of term, but—”

Geta considers the thought, head tilting to the side before he slowly opens his mouth to speak, “No…I do understand. But, he is a general. It would be something to discuss with a council.”

Your fingers slide across his chest, fingertips rubbing against the small patch of auburn hair at the center of his sternum, slowly crawling up his neck, idle movement that you didn’t think about at all anymore.

“You are an emperor. The people of Rome listen to you,” He and his brother were burning it to the ground, but that wasn’t something you could stop alone, “you are powerful—and, forgive me, but watching you command a room,” It amazes you sometimes how easily it was to play into his weaknesses, a smile spreading across his face as you boosted his ego, “—it does things to a woman.”

His hand, like a magnet, attaches to your thigh to spread you out on top of him, straddling his groin, your bare pussy pressed tight against the cloth of his robe, your hands pressing into his naked chest.

“You are smart,” Geta notices, “educated—a keen eye unlike I have seen on someone of your social status, I do not know much about you.”

“You have never asked,” You reply honestly, “though, it does not matter. I am here for one reason, to serve you.” His grip shifts your waist slightly, aiding the slow, but gentle rock of your hips against his hardening cock and if you closed your eyes long enough, you could enjoy it.

“Yet, you may be of more use to me than I suspected,” Geta teases, his hands rising to massage at your breasts, casually nodding to the maid who had peeked her head inside after a quiet knock, nodding as he answered, “—yes, bring them in.”

A line of varying women filter into the room with somber faces.

And just like that, the moment was lost.

–

Geta was such a heavy sleeper, fortunately. Gently prying yourself away as he rolls onto his side, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep as you quietly step toward the the attached room where you bathed, pulling at a loose tile in the floor where you had stowed away what Acacius had slipped into the fold of your dress, withholding for the right moment to peek.

It was a tiny scroll, rolled up with a thin string and no bigger than your thumb, your nails pulling at the slab until it pops free, quietly unfurling the curled up paper as you read what was carved onto the thin paper, an overuse of ink smudged in spots.

It listed a place, a monument he knew you’d remember and a promise that he would visit every night after the sun set for a small window in time, hoping to catch you. 

He was still trying to reach you, to provide himself as a comfort in such a time.

You had to plan accordingly, find someone you trusted enough, and convince Geta of your undying loyalty—though, it seemed that you were breaking him down. 

And luckily, you did have a maid you trusted, to a degree—a young woman of similar age, meek but unsuspecting, she often sensed your displeasement and unease, didn’t fit in like the rest of the women that bowed so loyal to the emperors. But, she was a gossip, a troublemaker like Caracalla who she served loyally. She tended to him more regularly, often dealing with his breakdowns and tantrums caused by Geta or, lately, anything. There was never a way to know when he would blow a fuse and cause more bloodshed, he was unruly. 

There was only one hour of the day when you see her—morning proceedings, food served to their royal highness, the two brothers chatting amongst themselves as everyone moved fluidly around them. Caracalla had requested fresh squeezed juice, a rather tedious task, but you sneak away with her as the opportunity arose, digging through the oranges without prying eyes.

“I must ask you a favor,” You begin in a hushed tone, rubbing your thumb over the skin of the orange, “and I will owe you immensely.”

She looks at you curious, but expectant.

“The stuff…that helps Caracalla sleep,” You hint at out of habit, paranoia getting the best of you, “I would…I require it, for Geta. He sleeps heavily, but I need…to be sure.”

“He is insatiable as of late, that act in front of the generals—”

“Irene, I am at my end, please—do you have any remaining?”

It was opium poppy, it had many forms but the one you knew most of was powder. Easy to slip into a drink, often undetectable. It was worth a shot, even if it meant your life.

“At dusk, by dinner. Is that enough time?” She answers easily, a sigh of relief breathing past your lips as you nod, cradling a few oranges in the crook of your elbow.

You had only prayed Acacius hadn’t given up hope, that he might still be lingering in the shadows in wait, hoping for a glimpse of you again.

-

As promised Irene delivers, dousing both of the boys inconspicuously as you kept watch, tainting their wine with the sleeping drug, watch as his eyes began to tire before you as you slipped a grape between his teeth, a sated and happy smile on his face. 

You hate it, but he almost looks normal. Like he wasn’t slaughtering people for entertainment and ruling like a madman—he was still young, just beyond his teenage years and into adulthood, like yourself. You wonder where things went wrong and why, that someone could be filled with such unrestrained rage and hate.

Caracalla beckons for Irene eventually, Dundus hopping from her shoulder to his as she trails alongside him to his quarters, suddenly feeling the nudging of a sharp nose into your neck, a faint sniff and a hum as Geta appreciates the flowery smell, a faint lavender on your skin.

“I need you,” He speaks against your skin, nearly sliding your dress down then, your hands grabbing at him quickly and his reaction is delayed, almost confused, “did you not hear me?”

“Let us retire to your bed,” You suggest, dragging your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as his wine-stained tongue licks at the digit, “and you will have all night to ravish me as you please.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much convincing. Though, he’s less coordinated than you’re anticipating, draping himself over you lazily as he kneads at your breasts, cupping your cunt over the fabric of your dress, the silk halfway down your body as you step beyond the threshold and Geta is on you without a moment to breath, peeling his clothes of layer by layer before he’s bare before you, a surprising gentleness to his movements.

He takes a seat on the side of his bed, at the edge as he pulls you into his lap, hands spread out against your spine, fingers digging into the skin and begging to make it ache, hurt, but he doesn’t have the strength, his kisses become increasingly more lazy as the opium takes hold.

Eventually, his eyes flutter as you pull back, your lips barely brushing against his as he fights the exhaustion, but eventually succumbs, falling slack on the bed as you climb off of him, leaving him sprawled out in his bare state to your valiant amusement, given the amount of times he’s taken to shame you rather than show sympathy, it seemed fair.

Sneaking out of the palace is easier than you expect, having spent endless weeks being mindful, watchful of even the smallest of things. Paths, open windows, learning the schedules of staff and guards, it was almost too easy as your feet fell against the broken pavement, the quiet footfalls following in your quick departure, praying to whatever deity above that General Acacius believed in you enough that you would fight to see him.

–

When you show, it is quiet. Dark, not a soul in sight, tugging the cloak hastily over your shoulders, sending a chill up your spine against the bare skin underneath, a small inkling of doubt seeping into your thoughts as you stare around aimlessly, wondering if you were too late.

Your frame slumps against a nearby pillar, secluded in the shadows, the cold night biting at your feet, the faint sound of hooves off in the distance, realizing just how noisy the streets could be outside of the palace—it was comforting, in a way.

“You came,” The words come from your left, behind you as your head whips over your shoulder and he’s touching you before you have time to take him in, a gentle but firm press against your clothed arms, holding you still, “you are here, dove.”

It was a tone of disbelief, like he had lost hope.

He wouldn’t tell you that he almost didn’t come tonight. It didn’t matter, because you were here.

The visceral reaction you have at his endearing name for you is like a vice grip on your heart, mouth opening to speak but words falling short.

Eventually, the tears fell.

“I am sorry, General,” You speak with a shaky timber, “I am—that act, his performance the other day—“

The general soothes your worry, dragging his thumb along your cheekbone to catch a stray tear, “That has no meaning to me, if anything, it was his mistake for allowing us so close. Otherwise, you would not be here with me now.”

You peer at him through tear-soaked lashes, feeling as if you would be snatched away at any moment, your fingers curling into his similar clothing, a cloak covering what you could assume to be a more relaxed attire, a toga that he would often where around his home, strolling barefoot through his atrium. 

“Why am I here, Acacius?”

“You must trust me,” He urges, “that when the time is right, I will come for you.”

“We could go now,” You plead, “he would never know, he does not care enough to go after me, I swear—“

“Little dove, he cares for you much more than you know,” The general counters, “you are valuable to him.”

“He asked something of me the other night,” You speak absently, rubbing a fingertip along the frayed thread of his cloak at your eye line, “what a fitting punishment I thought would be of a man who assaulted a servant—I believe he was testing me.”

Acacius furrows his brow, “You loyalty, it seems. You are getting under his skin, I see it. He knows of your value to me and that as much as he tries, you will not be tamed. But, he is trying.”

You chew at your bottom lip quietly, a nervous tick that Acacius picked up on long ago, both of his thumbs pulling your lip away from further mutilation.

“Little one, what is on your mind?”

“I have to go back soon,” You say with an obvious bitterness to your tone, “though, I do not wish to.”

His large hand curls around the side of your face, cradling your head as you lean into the touch, warmth spreading like fire over your skin, “You will be with me again.”

He barely registers as your lips touch his, a blink and you were there, lips pressed so tightly against his own that they might bruise, leaning into him like he was the only thing keeping you upright, pulling at the fabric of his toga as his hand wanders beyond your cloak, in search of a touch.

“Dove,” He breathes at the realization of skin, “you are bare, your clothes—“ 

“I rushed,” You stare at him impishly, “I did not think, I know, but,” the general smiles, cheeks dimpling with the show of emotion as he shakes his head.

“You have me wanting what I cannot have,” He sounds somber, his hand still lingering against your hip, “I know he does not cherish you the way he should.”

You laugh softly, your stomach fluttering at his wandering hand, drifting along your public bone before the full expanse of his hand was cupping your cunt, welcomed by warmth and the sticky wet sensation of arousal that he’s been longing for, like an addict.

“General, would you like to know something?”

“What is it?” He inquires to your obvious amusement, his and cradling your head back, neck exposed slightly, thankful that the streets around you were empty.

“He likes to watch me pleasure myself,” You admit, “mostly because he cannot achieve the feat himself, but as I close my eyes I picture those mornings when you snuck under the sheets and spread my legs open,” Acacius leans forward greedily, hot breath fanning over your face as he yearns for another kiss, moving away from him tauntingly as you finish your speech, “that sweet look on your face as you taste me, thankful that you expertise was not contained to only battle—“

“Careful,” He warns, “I am not against a reminder if you continue.”

You peer over the broken set of stairs behind him, attached to an abandoned structure, eyebrows raising expectantly, “A parting gift, General?”

—

The discomfort was nothing compared to a general kneeling into the dirt and stone without a hesitation to please you, a whore, a servant—your title no longer mattered, having carried so many. 

He’s still hooded, your legs hanging over his shoulders as he kneeled against the steps, forcing you down flat against the concrete as he licked a slow line through the seam of your cunt, again, again. A teasing trace over your clit as he pressed two thick fingers inside of you, lapping at you loudly.

“Did he bed you tonight?” Acacius inquires curiously.

“Nearly,” You sigh, a high-pitched breathy noise as his pace quickens, knowing that you both were on a time limit, “he—huh—was far too tuckered to be fulfilled.”

His brows raise subtly at your choice of words.

“I drugged him,” You admit, an unexpected moan ripping from your throat as his tongue flicks over you sensitive clit, fingers digging into his cloak-covered shoulder, “seems the Emperor is not as untouchable as he thinks, and tricked by a whore—he would have a fit.”

His fingers dip into your thighs as you squeeze them together around his head, his tongue working quickly over your clit until you’re breathless and whining, feeling the rushing wave of your climax as it crashes into you, Acacius licking up the mess like a starved man.

It takes you a few moments to come back to earth, feeling a gentle tug at your hand as Acacius helps you up, readjusting your cloak over your naked body without much of a word, knowing your time with him was up.

“Wait for the bells,” He tells you, “light, delicate—look for me, I will be near.” 

You begin to speak, but are silenced with a kiss. 

A final goodbye. 

“Remember what I told you?”

Live.

You nod.

“At whatever cost, little dove.”

—

You go to great lengths to make it back to the palace before dawn, hiding behind every pillar, sneaking around corners, somehow managing to slip back into Geta’s bed without so much as a sound, his body still mostly laid out as you had left him, aside from a little rousing around.

When morning breaks, Geta wakes with an obvious grogginess to his tone, forcing his eyes to stay open.

“You stuffed me full of wine,” Geta jokes, “I cannot remember anything from our night prior.”

You’d tried to look particularly exhausted, hair slightly disheveled and the satin bed sheet askew, “It was quite a night, your highness. Such a shame,” You reply mockingly, though there’s a sweetness to your tone, almost teasing.

And if Geta suspects anything, he doesn’t say it.

It takes a day, two, silently mulling over the events.

He wasn’t a half-wit like his brother, his brain like mush beyond repair, useless by result of the infection in his loins. He was helpless, spiraling deeper into madness.

Geta had his wits about him—his eyes drag along your body, the deep swooping fabric showing off your exposed back, the soft skin and gentle slope of your spine, a look shared between you and Caracalla’s most trusted maiden.

Along with the lightness in your tone, a revered outlook, a bounce in your step that most people wouldn’t catch, but Geta—he’s just as much an observer as yourself.

He suspects, no—senses, feels, the deceit in your challenging gazes, the additional touches with an air of confidence, too cocky for someone who has been nothing more than a whore and housemaiden.

He’d always known you were particularly special; smart by means of General Acacius, knowing how to read and write and many other things that others of your station did not have the luxury to learn. And you were hard to break, though Geta had worked at it for weeks, he’d gotten you there.

Obedient, compliant, merciful. 

At least, he’d thought so.

He knows he won’t get a word out of you.

So, he goes for Irene.

-

The guards corral you at dinner, sitting silently with Caracalla as Dundus perched on his shoulder, eating quietly. They aren’t kind either, grabbing hard at your bicep as they drag you from your spot on the floor, Geta’s throne eerily empty.

Your stomach turns at the slow realization as you’re dragged down the hall, tossed beyond the threshold of Geta’s room as you stumble to the floor, groaning at the impact, head hitting the ground first as you roll over in pain, opening your eyes to an even more horrific sight.

Geta, hovered over Irene, lifeless eyes staring back as he dropped the thick cord from his hands, something he must have ripped from the curtain as one drooped down from its normal placeholder. 

There was no blood, no mess, but the light in her eyes was gone, and Geta stumbled over, crawling—hunching down to intersect your bleary eyesight as you slowly came to the realization of what was happening.

“You have betrayed me,” He announces calmly, despite the eyes of a crazed man staring straight through you, face void of any emotion, “after all I have given you.”

“Geta—“ You plead, pushing up on your palms to sit up, his foot coming in contact with your shoulder as you roll into your back forcefully.

“I AM YOUR EMPEROR,” He seethes, spitting as the words left his mouth, “YOU—BETRAYED—ME!”

And left a mess in the process, unfortunately.

“If you would…let me explain,” He stalks closer, watching as you rise slowly before his hand is striking across your face, the sting almost immediate, “I—think…that you—“

“You do not think,” He spats through clenched teeth, shaking with rage as he kneels to your level again, like a rabid dog, “whores do not think, they are fucked until there’s nothing left and then they are tossed out. Like trash.”

In desperation, the words slip out.

“I love you,” You say softly—it was a careful bundle of words that you’ve never spoken before, not even to General Acacius, “whatever she has told you, it is lies.”

His silence isn’t an answer, but you took the opportunity, unsure if he was stunned or gearing to explode.

Convince him, at whatever cost.

“She knows—of my past with the general. She was jealous of me, you. She drugs your brother, you must know. And she tried it with you too, it is why I did not leave your side, why I insisted we come back to your room.”

“But, you knew—“

You reach for him, a hand circling his wrist.

“No, no,” You speak softly, “It was small things. Your speech, it was slurring. You were drifting away, almost as if you were floating. I could see it. I have seen it before, with your brother. The nights when he is unruly, she…calms him.”

“Her story is entirely different,” He challenges, “you see my issue, yes?”

“Geta,” You challenge him, reaching forward to cradle his face, surprised by his willingness to allow it, watching you carefully, “I am loyal to you—no one else. I do not know another way to show you, but I will. I will, you must—“

“Strip,” He orders, “—on the bed,”

It makes your stomach twist, but you follow his orders.

His demeanor is unreadable as he watches, mirroring your movements before he’s climbing over you in bed.

He settles on his calves between your open legs, a blanket of silence falling over as he reaches for your hand, a surprisingly gentle touch as he brings your fingertips to his cock, slowly hardening at the sight of you.

Your fingers circle his shaft as you lean up on your elbows, ignoring his intense eye contact as you drag your palm along the velvety soft skin, feeling him grow to a stiff hardness within a few minutes—it should disgust you.

It does, to a degree. It wasn’t that Geta was unattractive in a physical sense, but the mental picture was hard for you to overlook. But, for the moment, you could pretend like he wasn’t the worst human being to walk the earth.

His fingertips brush against your cunt slightly, fortunately your body has adjusted to the pleasure of such a complicated predicament. You’re sure if you tried hard enough, you could truly enjoy it. But, you’re thankful that your body connects with the severity of the situation, quivering slightly at his touch, mouth opening in a small gasp.

“Are you nervous?” Geta inquires.

You shake your head, “No—it is only, we have never…”

“Let us try something new, hm?” He offers with a grin and you nod instinctively, feeling two thick digits dip inside of you with no warning, not so much grace as Acacius would have, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

It seems Geta has his wits about him, fortunately, diminishing you to nothing but a whimpering mess after a while, some of it a little bolstered for his benefit, but the pleasure was real. 

And god, did you crave that release.

Soon, his hand is gripping his shaft, sliding between the folds of your pussy as he coats himself, mouth twitching at the sight as he speaks, “I want you to watch.”

And you do, his cock pressing into you slowly, “It is such a generous act, you see, feeding you my cock like this,” another slow push, “you should feel special, little dove.”

The words are jarring, but you try not to react. 

“It is not everyday you are fucked by an emperor,” The dichotomy to his words almost makes you chuckle, as if he wasn’t fucking you every day, sometimes even two or three times, “you should be thankful.”

“I am.” You quickly appease.

“Then thank me,” His voice was tense again, his neck flexing with the tightness to his words.

“T—thank you, Emperor Geta.”

“For?”

One last forceful push and he’s seated fully inside of you, your brow pulling together at the pressure, lips parting open, “For your cock, for making me feel so—oh,” His thrusts are careful, calculated, your head falling back at the divine angle he’s found, “for—oh, gods—so good.”

You fist the sheets in desperation, back arching up slightly, watching his jaw tense at the way your breasts bounce, his eyes darkening over time, only a shell of himself as he thrusts into you, two firms hands on your hips slowly making their way upwards, wondering if he was following the path toward your breasts before they are bypassing and going straight for your neck, his hands encircling your throat.

It is merely a second too late before your brain catches up, too overloaded by pleasure that you don’t see the definite switch, quickly going from gentle pressure to the type of force that makes your vision white out.

You choke, gasping for air as you try to speak his name, plead, anything—his eyes are locked on your face, a sick determination as your stronger, forceful blows to his chest quick become weaker, weaker, feeling yourself teetering on that edge before he’s releasing his hold, forcing you to gasp for air.

“Do you still love me?” Geta asks.

And despite yourself, you lie.

“Yes, I love you, Geta.”

He was a sad boy, you’ve come to realize, wanting love but also craving unyielding power. He did not want equals, he wanted subordinates, fans, people that would sacrifice everything in his name. But, underneath it all, Geta was just as broken as you suspected.

—

A parade of the gladiators wasn’t a normal occasion, but it was quite the event—a way of wealthy men showing off their new toys, dangerous murderous machines out for blood.

It was the entertainment before the big show, sitting in the expansive throne room underneath the colosseum as the rich drowned in wine and food, you and several other servants surrounding the two brothers, eagerly awaiting your next order.

At least, for you, it was being obedient.

It felt like a collar around your neck, his fingers tracing along the back of your spine and up, fingertips resting against your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against the column of your throat.

Geta spots him from a mile away, that trademark white against gold, gaudy armor fit so perfectly for a man like Acacius, you bow your head at Geta’s push, the footsteps approaching steadily.

Your throat ached still, eyes slightly bloodshot. He hid your face, the evidence, speaking to the line of approaching generals as they greeted the two men with high regard.

“I commend you, your highness,” A general speaks, faceless but you sneer at his tone, fists balling into the fabric of your dress, “she is so well behaved, you must teach me your tricks.”

You bite down at the inside of your lip as Geta pets your head, tilting your head to the side slightly as you close your eyes, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone.

“There is no trick,” He retorts, “my little dove is loyal, a hard thing to find in a world full of deceit.”

It was laughable, coming from the emperor. 

The moniker is an even lower blow, knowing that General Acacius was a few feet away, the white fabric of his traditional armor dragging along the ground.

“Ah, Acacius,” Geta boasts, “I hope you have come to bring me good news.”

It best only be good news.

As he approaches, Geta’s grip tightens, curling around the side of your neck as a show of dominance as his finger digs into your skin, daring you to defy him. 

The soreness is pertinent, causing you to grimace in pain at his actions, something that Acacius spots but does not acknowledge.

“Yes, our army is nearly ready, Emperor Geta,” He nods before acknowledging his brother, “Emperor Caracalla,” but Geta is not amiss to the way his eyes drag toward you for a brief moment.

“Careful,” He warns, “doves are…so sacred, yes?”

Your sideways gaze peeks through as his eyes bore into Acacius, the subtle glimpse of broken capillaries and a plea for help as you lock eyes with Acacius is all he needs.

It would be tonight—it had to be tonight.

—

He’s a horrid mess, drunk off his ass as he drags you back toward the room. His brother and he were always more rowdy after gladiator games, riding the high of an entertaining act of violence, slaughter for mere amusement. Geta nearly topples over you as he opens the door, pointing hastily toward the bed with a slurred speech, “Naked, on the bed.”

He’s heading for more alcohol, a table tucked away in the corner of the room with a plethora of choices, pouring lazily as he stumbles, the utensils from an earlier meal falling to the floor as he bumps into it, looking displeased at your state of dress. He grimaces, nose scrunching as he reaches for the knife that had clattered to the floor, twisting it in his hand to point it at you.

“You dare—you dare to defy me?” 

Your eyes squint, narrow as he jabs at you sloppily, dodging the action with ease.

“You cannot even see straight, your grace,” You jeer, watching as he gulped down the crimson liquid, remnants trailing down the side of his mouth as he threw the glass away carelessly, the glass shattering against the floor as he charged at you, pressing the tip of the knife under your chin as he backed you into the wall, his eyes capturing the similar essence of rage when you knew there was no saving him, determined to cause bloodshed no matter the consequence.

You can hear the soft lilt of bells in the distance, the sky as black as the darkened state of Geta’s eyes—if he had any humanity in him, it was gone.

“You are…broken,” You speak to him, accepting the consequence, even if Acacius failed to save you, “A poor, poor boy with no one to love him—your confidence, it will be your demise.”

The knife knicks your skin, a subtle sting.

“Are you unaware of Caracalla’s plans?” You inquire, privy to Caracalla’s incoherent babbling, often feeling like Geta’s scapegoat, the constant source of blame. It was true, Geta had never accepted responsibility for anything in his life, “You should be careful, Geta. He has a slippery hand and a temper. If given the opportunity, I am sure he would do away with you. I cannot say I blame him—you are a disgrace of an emperor, ruling Rome like it is a playground—”

His eye twitches, the slight hesitation. It gives you enough time to react, twisting his arm away from your neck and on himself, “Unfortunate that you cannot do that as a dead man,” You bite, pushing against the force of the knife, knowing that Geta had no instinct of survival, a feeble man raised in a glass house for the entirety of his life.

The blood quickly pooled in his mouth, pouring out as his body slumped. 

You had prayed it would be slow and painful, that the misery would last.

The rustling near the window pulls your attention, the city quiet and unsuspecting of the violence having just taken place, Acacius' frame obscuring the view of the stars as he climbs through the window.

“Oh, dove,” Acacius sighs, taking in the sight of the slowly dying emperor, his fingers weakly grabbing for you as he choked on his own blood, “you have made a mess.”

“I could not survive him any longer,” You admit, feeling his arm encircling your waist as he tugged you away, “—what—what is to happen now?”

“It is a fate he would have met eventually, if not at the end of my own blade,” Acacius admits, “–—come, we must go. We only have a few moments, my lady.”

Your breath catches at the words, nodding in agreement as you allow him to tug you along, met with a few men on the other side of the wall, catching you as you dropped, draping you in a thick cloak.

“General,” You breathe, sensing his overpowering frame behind you as he grabs the reins of the horse in front of you, assisting you in climbing on the creature, “where are we going?”

“Away,” He promises, “somewhere we can both be free.”

“But, your status—does it mean nothing?”

It never did, not since the minute Geta had stolen you away.

You peer over your shoulder, his eyes soft.

“I love you,” He utters, answering your question without direct confirmation.

And for the first time, you say it as you mean it, feeling the tug at your heart, “I love you, too.”