#spit hunter: the parenting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starmapz · 3 months ago

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wolf in sheep's clothing || s. gojo

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

❦ oneshot

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

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

❦ words ; 22.4k.

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m… aware.”

“I assume you aren’t in the city.”

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

A werewolf.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, now this trip got a little more interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You got it, take a seat.”

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

“Oh, shouldn’t I pay first?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “An hour or so ago.”

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

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

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

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

With a tilt of your head, you hum questioningly.

He just shrugs, glancing off to the side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…?”

“Alone?”

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

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

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

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

Huh, tough crowd. Odd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See you around, detective.”

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s sure.

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

“I didn’t order-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru.”

“Hm?” You stare at him quizzically.

“My name. It’s Satoru.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Real subtle, Satoru. Humble.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you say your house or something stupid-”

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

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

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

“Taking me for ice cream, Mr. Gojo?”

“I mean, my house is open as-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Superkid.”

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

“I’m not,” he pouts in mock offense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Times were tough,” you shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your, um, lips.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How gentlemanly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru?”

He hums.

“My key card. Back pocket.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. Yeah, sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What-?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Toru- T-Toru, god I-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s on your mind?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wrinkle your nose. “Sounds unsanitary.”

“I’m capable of cleaning, detective,” he snorts with a playful roll of his eyes that you can’t see. He kisses the crown of your head once more, lingering for a moment.

“Give me a half hour before you leave, I’ll come with you.”

“Wanna eat you out in the back room,” he mumbles into your hair through a yawn.

“That sounds unsanitary.”

He sighs dramatically. “Maybe.”

Comfortable silence falls over the both of you as your consciousness begins slipping, warm in Satoru’s arms. It’s the first time you’ve had the time and luxury to enjoy someone’s presence like this in a long time, and you’re thankful to be safely enveloped in his embrace.

“Goodnight, Toru.”

You’re met with his soft snores, held tightly to his chest. He feels like heaven.

–

Although your plans have moved back a day, with no movement spotted on the cameras you set up, you likely didn’t miss anything last night.

Trailing a small distance behind Satoru with a yawn, you aren’t sure you mind either way. As the sun rises and gleams off his snowy locks, you can’t help but admire him. His skin seems to glow, a smile set into his features and he walks with a pep in his step. He’s almost ethereal in the radiance of the warm morning sun.

He swiftly unlocks the door, locking it behind you and throwing his apron over his head. You pause at the counter as he ties it behind his back. Taking note of your hesitation, he smirks as he pulls you around the counter by your hand.

Easily lifting you to sit on the smooth surface, he plants a kiss on your forehead. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to the massive purple bite mark he’d left on your neck, something he seems all too proud of.

“So what’re you catering?” You ask to create conversation, struggling not to yawn. You may be on a job, but it doesn’t mean you have any reason to be up this early normally.

“Catering?” He asks, realization dawning over his features. “Oh-! Right, sorry. It’s just a business lunch but they requested enough sandwiches that I’ll need to stay late for the buns to bake,” he explains as he begins turning on appliances and getting the shop ready for the day.

You hum, not fully registering his words as you feel dangerously close to dozing off. “Do you have help today?” You query.

“Yeah, one of the part-timers should be here in about an hour.”

“I’m glad you don’t need to run this all alone.”

He slows his work for a moment, blue eyes examining you quietly. “Why’s that?”

You shrug, idly kicking your feet. “It’s a lot of work for one person. You deserve to be able to take a break.”

He straightens his posture as he grins at you. “You worried about me, detective?”

“You’re ruining the moment, Satoru,” you yawn, rolling your eyes as he kisses your nose. Returning to his work, he pulls out risen dough prepped yesterday and sets it to the left of you on the counter.

Whether it’s because you’re tired, horny, or both, who knows for certain, you can’t bring yourself to tear your gaze away from his muscular forearms as he kneads and works the dough into the shapes he desires.

Catching you in the act, Satoru chuckles. “You’re fuckin’ my arms with your eyes, sweetheart.”

“I’m not gonna stop now,” you mumble with a smile.

A faint tint of pink dusts his cheeks and he chooses to distract you by booping your nose with his flour-covered finger. You wrinkle your nose, playfully shoving his hip with your foot whilst you wipe the flour from your skin with the back of your hand.

The morning is quiet as Satoru works with practiced ease while you bask in the light that filters through the large front windows. You begin to fight off your drowsiness when you’re handed a coffee with just a bit too much sugar, something you’ve noticed the white haired man has a habit of doing.

With each sip, the caffeine coursing through your system brings you back into the waking world, just in time for one of the part-timers to knock at the door.

Flipping around to face the door, you hop down from the counter as Gojo asks you to open it for the young man. He’s dressed somewhat similarly to the shop’s owner sans apron, though you suppose that’s likely waiting for him. He has spiky black hair and a rather unamused expression.

His brow lifts when you unlock and open the door for him. “You’re looking different today, Gojo.”

“Ha ha,” Gojo rolls his eyes. “Grab your apron, the buns in the back are just about ready to go in the oven.”

The boy shoots you a more earnest smile after giving Satoru a hard time, which you return. As the young boy heads into the back, you turn your attention back to the white-haired baker.

“He’s got spunk. I like it.”

“All three of ‘em are like that,” he tells you with a smirk, though his eyes shine proudly as though he’s looking at his own kid. “Good kids, though. They work hard.”

You smile, glancing at your watch. “I’ve got some work to do. I’ll drop by tomorrow morning after you open.”

“Sure, love. Be ready for our date tomorrow night.”

With an excited nod, you pull him to you by the apron, capturing his lips in yours. “See you later, Toru.”

“Careful out there, detective!” He calls after you.

–

For the first time in days your motion cameras are set off. Sitting at the edge of the forest with your flashlight held between your teeth, you kneel over your briefcase, loading your second gun with silver bullets to add to your holster. You strap a silver dagger to your thigh, covering yourself in dark leather in an effort to conceal your presence.

Shutting the briefcase, you pocket some extra silver bullets and toss the briefcase aside, making a mental note of where it’s stashed.

The forest is deathly silent in the dead of night. Even birds and bugs don’t seem to dare to interrupt the cool still air of the night. Once you’ve broken the treeline and entered the first layer of trees, you move carefully in an attempt to avoid disturbing the brush at your feet. Your flashlight flicks off as you rely on the moonlight, gun loaded and finger on the trigger.

Keeping your back to the trees, you keep your eyes steady as you move towards the camera that was triggered. You had already pulled the footage before arrival, but it didn’t give you much to work with. You could faintly make out the shape of a paw before the footage cuts out.

Approaching the camera, you now see why. With a frown, you pick up the crushed electronic, flicking on your flashlight to get a better look at it. Punctures through the lens tell you that claws were used to damage it. Looking it over, you aren’t able to make out any saliva or blood that you could test, but you figure you can get a better look at it later, pocketing the small device.

Turning the flashlight around the small clearing, you can’t find any other signs of the wolf you’re hunting and your wire trap is still set. Grimacing, you flick the flashlight off and begin the slow and careful journey to the clearing where you had first investigated the disembodied limbs.

A loud bark-like yelp suddenly sounds where your bear traps are, shattering the forest’s silence as suddenly birds erupt from the trees and the night seems to come to life. Using the noise as an opportunity to move faster, you shine your light through the trees and dash towards the wolf.

Flashlight held tightly in your hand directly above your pistol, you shine the light at each bear trap, but in spite of the cry of pain, your monster is nowhere to be found.

When your light comes to rest on the furthest trap, you notice it’s been triggered and fresh blood drips from its teeth, fur wedged between its metal jaws. You smirk, striding easily towards the trap.

As far as you’re concerned, the wolf is finished. You’ll run DNA on its hair and blood and track it down once you have its identity. The hard part is finished.

Pulling a vial from your belt, you take a sample of the blood, using tweezers to grab a sample of hair and shoving them both into your pocket.

With that taken care of, you take a moment to examine the fur yourself. The fur is white as snow, an unusual trait for werewolves, especially those that don’t retreat to a home at night, which you can’t make the assumption that this one does based on what you’ve observed of the townsfolk.

Shining your light across the rest of the clearing, nothing else catches your eye so you reset the trap, cover it in leaves and debris, and head back to your hotel to run tests.

–

Waking up on your own time in the morning is refreshing after the previous night, although you would take an early morning with Satoru any day over a late morning alone. It’s hard to shake the feeling of missing his arms around you.

In truth, you feel selfish for seeking him out and wanting him by your side. You aren’t terribly far away, but if you were to pursue something with him, you would still be long distance. Not to mention how often you travel for work. You frown at the thought. You’re also only a few hours from completing your job realistically, the blood sample has almost finished processing and although you should be happy to be nearly finished with another job, there’s a pang in your heart at the idea of leaving Satoru behind.

Maybe you should quit pursuing him. Leaning over the desk of your motel, staring at the processing blood sample, you chew on your lip. Maybe today should be the last time you visit him, to lessen the pain of leaving. Either way, you need to speak with him.

Throwing on your holster under your jacket, you make your way towards the cafe a few blocks away. It’s a Monday, which you’ve noticed is slow for Satoru, and although it’s selfish, you’re grateful to see him standing alone behind the counter, staring blankly at the wall.

A small bell rings overhead, pulling his attention to you.

“There she is,” he grins at you, leaning forward against the counter on splayed palms. “Your usual, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you grin, smile faltering as you fiddle with the zipper of your jacket. “Hey, um, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Sensing the seriousness of the discussion from your tone, Satoru’s expression falls flat, worry flashing through his gorgeous irises.

“Listen, I don’t think I’ll be in town much longer.”

He frowns, averting his gaze. “Got a lead?”

“Something like that,” you hum, sighing. “I don’t want to lead you on when I’ll be leaving soon. You’re a great guy Toru, and you deserve-”

“How far?”

“Hm?”

“How far is the drive?” He asks, continuing to lean forward on the counter. Given his tall stature, it looks somewhat uncomfortable, but he doesn’t budge.

“About three hours,” you shrug.

“Then you’re not getting out of our date that easily,” he grins.

Wide-eyed, you give him a surprised stare. It’s then that you notice that he looks… Unusually tired. There are dramatic dark circles beneath his eyes and beads of sweat form at his forehead, his chest rising and falling quickly.

You may not truly be a private investigator by trade, but given that it’s your business’ facade, you do have the required skills to be one.

And in this moment, you know Satoru is hiding something. He’s sweating bullets, avoiding your gaze, and most noticeably, he won’t move.

“What’s going on, Satoru?”

“Hm?” He hums nonchalantly, tilting his head as he forces a bright smile. You see right through him, taking a step forward as your eyes rake his figure.

“Why are you sweating?”

“It’s hot in here,” he lies, avoiding your gaze as your brows pull together.

“Do you wanna lie to me again?” You accuse, too confident in your ability to see through him to be worried that your accusation is baseless.

His jaw tenses, teeth grit as he clicks his tongue. “I’m not lying, detective. I’ve been in front of the oven all morning.”

You examine his eyes when he finally meets your gaze. They’re steely, determined. Yet another expression he wouldn’t need if he was telling the truth. You straighten your posture, eyes trailing along the walls of the bakery. For him to be so nervous, you had to be missing something.

Taking a couple of steps, you pace in a small circle as you look over your surroundings, making a mental note of exits and weapons as you mentally prepare yourself to pull your gun should you need it.

Has he been playing you this whole time?

Surely not, after all, you hadn’t noticed anything particularly animalistic about him, it was usually easy to tell for someone like you. He would have no other reason to hide anything, unless he was hiding the wolf. Could one of the part-timers be it? You hadn’t met any besides Megumi and hadn’t bothered to interview anyone beyond the adults given that the tooth and claw markings you had noticed were on the larger side, but it is possible, you suppose.

You let your shoulders fall as you exhale. You may not have known him long, but you do know that Satoru isn’t the type of man who would kill someone. Certainly not twelve someones. There’s no reason to distrust him, surely.

“Just a coffee I guess,” you order, eyeing him over once before you turn to head to a seat at the coffee bar. “Sorry, Toru. You just… don’t seem yourself. My work got the best of me,” you excuse yourself with a sigh, rubbing at your temple. God, it’s barely morning and you can already feel a headache coming on.

Satoru leans over the bar to set your coffee down, an easy smile returning to his face. “S’alright, sweetheart. Just had a long night of prep.”

“Oh yeah, how did the catering order go?” You ask, taking a sip of your coffee.

Satoru keeps his palms splayed over the counter as he leans forward while he chats with you. “Pretty good. I’m having Megumi drop it off for lunch, but the order’s all good to go.”

You nod, distracted once more by his veiny forearms, planted firmly in front of you.

“So the uh- the disappearances. You found a lead?” He asks, busying himself with cleaning the surface in front of you.

You eye him, brow furrowing. Now he sounds nervous too. “Yeeeah. I should have it figured out by noon.”

“That’s great. You must be excited,” he comments, shooting you a brief smile before he returns to cleaning the counter in front of you. You hum as he tosses the rag aside, stumbling awkwardly as he brushes his hands off on the apron against his thighs.

The air between you hangs in an uncomfortable balance. You can tell something is off, but you can’t place what it is.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, you let the feeling go once again as Satoru grins up at another customer. Pulling out your phone, you pull up the number of your client to send an update, occupying yourself with that as Satoru takes the order of an older gentleman.

You glance up as the baker returns from the back of the shop with something fresh for the man, just in time to see something that makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

You move slowly, standing up from your seat and moving your hand under your jacket, letting your palm rest on the loaded gun in your holster. You grip it tightly, eyes wide as they come to rest on Satoru when the older man walks out of the bakery.

“Satoru.” Your voice trembles, something you mentally berate yourself over. You’ve never hesitated in this line of work. You’ve never needed to. Not when you’ve seen the remains of those who did hesitate. You don’t normally have that luxury. “What did you do to your foot?”

He pales, swallowing heavily as his eyes flicker to your hand hovering over what he knows to be your gun. “I fell,” he lies through his teeth.

“You fell,” you repeat his words as he nods blankly.

Your free hand drops to your belt, gripping your flashlight. Satoru’s eyes follow your every action intently, his chest rising and falling quickly as though struggling not to pant.

A click punctures the air as the flashlight comes to life and you shine it in his eyes. They gleam and reflect the light in an undeniably inhuman way. You shut your eyes for a moment, processing just how much of a fool you’ve been.

He’d been playing you since the beginning. You wonder if he knows your gun is loaded with silver bullets. You wonder how long he knew you weren’t a private investigator.

“You fell,” you repeat again, lashes fluttering as you meet his gaze again, flashlight lowered. “What are the odds you fell in the forest?”

He doesn’t respond, his pupils mere pinpricks.

“Your cast,” you question further, taking a step closer to glance at the massive boot around his leg. “Is there much left of your leg under there?”

His adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

Your gun clicks and Satoru stumbles a step backwards as you draw it.

Even with a gun to his head, he looks beautiful. He looks like heaven, images of his body wrapped around you glued to you like the sweetest honey. You suppose in your line of work, you shouldn’t expect to find someone so seemingly perfect for you. Someone willing to drive three hours just to make things work.

At the end of the day, you live a life where monsters are real and love is a fairy tale. What kind of cruel irony is that?

“There’s enough,” he replies, strained.

“They’re intended for bears, y’know. Not wolves.”

Vocalizing it makes it seem so real, and clearly he knows the charade is up as he finally averts his gaze, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as he exhales heavily. “I’m not who you’re looking for.”

You scoff. “You’ve been playing me since I got here and you expect me to believe that?” Your hand shakes as you continue to hold the gun up to him. You’re not sure if you can go through with firing it if it comes to that.

You suppose you may not have a choice if it’s you or him.

“I was never playing you.”

“Then what do you call this?” You ask, motioning between the two of you with your chin.

Slowly, he brings a hand up to card it through his hair. He inhales sharply. “I didn’t realize what you were ‘til I saw your gun. By then though-” he pauses, examining your eyes before he stares at the trembling gun you hold out to him. “I’d already caught feelings.”

Your jaw trembles and you grit your teeth. A muscle in your arm twitches and you disarm your gun with a click, shutting your eyes again as you groan. The silence in the air is palpable, the dullest of knives could cut the tension between the both of you.

Your hand falls down to your side. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Satoru? I- I can’t-” you rub your non-dominant hand over your face, trying to make sense of the situation you’ve gotten yourself into.

Even if you were just a private investigator, Satoru still played a dangerous game getting so close to you. He still played you like some sort of toy, which undeniably hurts, but worse still is the fact that your heart aches for his touch still. It aches for his kindness, even if it comes with a side of cockiness. It’s all so undeniably him and draws you to him.

Your heart aches for a monster. A creature responsible for the deaths of many of his own townsfolk, his own customers. What a fucking mess. What a fucking joke.

“It wasn’t me,” he repeats again, his tone now tinged with concern, bordering on desperation.

You shoot him an incredulous look. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that. I’ve interviewed everyone here, I’ve done my due diligence. If it wasn’t you then what were you doing out there last night anyway?”

“I know and I don’t know who it is but-”

“So you have no alibi and no proof that it’s someone else? What a fucking joke.” You scoff in disbelief, heading to the counter to pick up your bag and phone. Shoving your phone in your pocket and hauling your bag over your shoulder, you turn towards the door, leaving Satoru standing in complete and utter guilt, at a loss.

“Listen, please, I was looking for proof that it was someone else-”

“Satoru!” You interrupt him, raising your voice as you turn back to stare at him in disbelief. “For fuck’s sake stop lying, I need to go fucking-” you make a hand motion in the air, searching for words.

What do you need to do? You can stop the DNA sample, for one. But then what? You can’t cover up the evidence, some monster hunter you would be if you covered up after Satoru and returned to your client empty-handed.

Yet… you don’t want to kill him. You’re not even sure you can. Not after seeing such a gentle side of him. He claims it’s not him you’re after, but how are you meant to trust his word? He’s a killer, and he played you. So why does it hurt to think of killing him?

“I- I can help, it wasn’t me, I promise!” He raises his voice to match yours, stumbling another step forward on his cast with a visible wince as he pushes himself.

Shaking your head, you turn away again. “I need to go figure out what to do.” Your mind is rattling with frustration that you fear will turn to red-hot anger if you’re here any longer.

You can hear him shuffling behind you as you reach for the door. “No, no, no- detective please, I-” His hand comes to rest on your arm in an attempt to keep you from leaving.

“Don’t fucking touch me, Gojo!” You hiss, eyes full of malice as you turn towards him. Hurt flashes through his eyes, but he drops his hand shakily, finally letting you leave as your anger bursts through the seams of your composure.

When you’re long out of sight, Satoru hobbles slowly back to the counter, splaying palms over the surface as he stares down at his hands. With teeth grit and eyes shut, he groans. The image of your gun pointed square at his forehead is burned into his brain as he wondered if he could have done something differently to prevent this from happening.

No, at the end of the day, he’s just a werewolf who was naive enough to fall for the exact person out to kill people like him. With eyes shut tight, he rakes his fingers over the counter until his hands are balled into fists beneath him.

He lets out a sigh, long white lashes fluttering open finally. He frowns as he takes in the sight before him. Eight long trails are carved through the wood of his counter, freshly dragged through the grain by the claws of a predator.

Stumbling back, he stares at his hands, having not realized his claws were out.

Is he truly no better than you make him out to be?

–

As the afternoon sun washes over you, you return your pistol to its holster and sigh, running both hands over your face. Beginning a slow trek back to your motel, you decide the best course of action is to clean up after yourself and leave. You’re compromised and at the end of the day, it’s better to hand this off to someone else. You’ll have to deny payment, but you can make suggestions. Someone who won’t hesitate.

Your hand falters even as you reach your door. You don’t want to be an accomplice in Satoru’s murder. It doesn’t matter how much he lied and led you off-track. To some degree, you care about him.

Maybe even more than you’d like to admit.

Unlocking your door, you toss your jacket and holster aside.

“Fuck!” You toss your bag carelessly, letting it slam against the wall with your laptop. You can only imagine the scolding you would be getting from your father if he knew what was going through your mind.

Your eyes flicker to the tests you were running, now complete. It doesn’t matter anymore. You found your wolf. Unfortunately he’s caring, charming, and you’re hopelessly into him.

Laying back on the motel bed, you shut your eyes and curl into yourself, letting sleep take you.

–

The snap of a bear trap fills your ears as you set off the first trap you need to clean up from a safe distance. Your brain is foggy with doubts and frustrations and despite the setting sun keeping you warm, a shiver runs up your spine.

You sigh, tossing a rock at the next bear trap and dragging it along the ground with you. Even in broad daylight, the forest seems to hold its breath. There’s no rustling of leaves surrounding you, the birds are silent, and there’s no idle buzz of insects. It’s almost as though it’s taunting you for your naivety in believing the wolf hidden right in front of your eyes.

You toss the rock, letting the third trap snap shut. The sound pierces the air and the forest shudders. Picking up the trap’s chain, you drag it along with the other two.

The walk back to your wire trap is a slow one, burdened by the traps in your arm and the pit in your stomach. You almost feel sick to your stomach at the idea of turning down a job. Exhaling heavily, you wonder if Higuruma will recommend you to a client again after this nightmare.

Probably not.

You’ll have to pay back what was already paid to you. Likely pay for the motel as well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you lean down to disarm the wire trap. As the wire loosens and you begin to coil it up, rustling nearby catches your attention.

You lift your head, scanning your surroundings, but nothing in particular seems out of the ordinary. Likely a fox or a deer. Probably no big deal.

You finish coiling up the wire and tug the traps along, heading to the next site where you had traps set.

When you reach the bloodied trap, you stop, staring at it. Within the forest it seems the only lively area is right over the trap as flies buzz and lower themselves over the bloodied steel trap. You take a step back and toss a rock, letting it snap again.

It’s eerie, the sound of the snapping metal in an otherwise silent forest. Staring down at it, a shiver runs down your spine. You hadn’t seen it in daylight yet, but with the amount of crimson coating the jaws of steel, it must have done a hefty amount of damage. Enough to make you feel guilty.

Fuck, even after everything he pulled, you still feel guilty.

Yanking the chain of the trap, you toss it over your arm with the rest.

Stupid. So stupid.

Turning to the next trap, something catches your eye. It’s a split-second, but you see a flash. Blinking, you back yourself carefully up to the tree behind you, hand hovering over your pistol.

You had to be imagining things. Or maybe it’s just some harmless animal. A coyote or fox.

Still, you don’t let your guard down, slowly surveying the area.

“Satoru?” You question, keeping your voice low. You’re met with the sound of rustling, and another flash of eyes.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest as thoughts race through your mind. Were you so foolish that not only did Satoru slip past you unnoticed as the exact creature you’re hunting but you also didn’t believe him when he was telling the truth?

Well, you’re fucked now.

You pull your pistol from the holster, snapping it in the direction of your new assailant as he slips between trees before you with an eerie grin. He’s human, for now, but his eyes tell you all you need to know.

“So you’re the lil’ monster hunter they sent after me, huh?”

The man’s stature is tall, similar to Satoru’s, though he carries himself with menacing pride. Raven hair falls over his eyes, emerald green and filled with confidence. A tight black shirt is pulled taut with every step he takes, very little of his broad shoulders and muscular torso left to the imagination. His lips quirk upwards into a smirk, a scar at the edge of his lips the only sign he’s ever taken damage in a scuffle.

“Y’know, you reek of wolf. Woulda thought they’d send someone a bit better at their job.”

You swallow in an effort to hide your wince as he hits you right where it hurts. Steeling yourself, you remain silent, focusing your narrowed eyes on him as you evaluate your target while he taunts you.

He’s confident you won’t hit him if you shoot now, that much is clear. He wouldn’t stand at such a close range if he thought you could hit him. It means he’s fast, and he’s clearly muscular too. That doesn’t leave much for weaknesses, but he’s cocky enough that at some point he’ll surely slip up and you’ll find an opening. It’s always like that with the overconfident ones.

“Not so talkative now, are we?” The tall man chuckles, taking a step towards you. Dropping the chains of the traps dangling from your arm, you discreetly shuffle to allow yourself room for an exit, all of your instincts kicking in at once.

You were so caught up in your anger with Satoru that you didn’t prepare for this. Your dagger is on the side table in the motel room. Your extra bullets are in the pocket of your other pants. Your extra gun is on the bathroom counter.

Your gun has ten bullets remaining.

It’s enough for a young or inexperienced wolf, but he’s smarter than that. He’s been watching you, he’s waited until your traps are all disarmed. He’s waited until you’re alone and vulnerable without your weapons. He’s cunning.

“Countin’ your bullets?” He sneers, taking another step towards you. He holds his hand out in front of you, sharpened claws decorating the tip of each finger as he counts aloud. “Two, four,” green eyes flicker up to your face as he smirks, “six, eight, ten.”

You slip around the tree, giving yourself an exit route, but the wolf moves too quickly and he’s blocking the area you had mapped for yourself. He’s been hunting you the whole time, right under your nose.

“Poor thing. No way out n’ only ten bullets,” he chuckles darkly, rolling his broad shoulders back. His eyes narrow. “Let’s see what ya got f’r me, hunter.”

He dashes forward, so quickly that your heart nearly leaps from its cage as you barely manage to duck and roll beneath his claws. They collide with the tree behind you and he snarls, pushing off of the bark as he bares long fangs at you.

Shit, he’s not even transforming. He doesn’t even consider you a worthy opponent. It’s almost humiliating, not to mention the genuine fear coursing through your veins for the first time in a long time. Doubly humiliating.

Keeping a careful count on your bullets, you know you need to devise a strategy. As the man lunges forward, you grab one of the disarmed bear traps, launching it at him as you grapple around a tree trunk to avoid his jaws.

The wolf recovers quickly and turns on a dime to follow you. Firing off a shot, you force him to veer away.

“One,” he growls in a low chuckle.

He’s playing with his food. You’re better than this and you know it.

Inhaling, you take a breath to level your head. The wolf peers down at you like prey from a tree above and you know you have to catch him off-guard if you want any chance at living through this. That, or you needed to find a way out.

Your chest rises and falls heavily with each breath as you keep your eyes locked on your target.

With your gun held steadily in front of you, you feign making a dash for your mapped escape, grateful when your assailant takes the bait and you’re able to double back in time to grab the three disarmed traps piled on the ground.

His head tilts curiously, focused on your movements.

With the ends of each trap’s chain held tightly in your hand, you divert his attention with a carefully aimed shot that chips away at the branch just above his head as he ducks out of the way. The fact you weren’t aiming at him goes unnoticed, you think.

“Two,” he growls.

Not taking your eyes off of him, you deftly hook the chains together.

As he darts forward, you slide beneath him, firing off two shots in an attempt to make yourself look desperate. In reality, you are, but you need him to know that.

Either way he’s too fast and the bullets go flying past him.

“Four,” he hums, turning on his heel to launch himself at you from off a tree with claws outstretched.

Another bullet flies through the air, careening past him, but he twists and manages to slice his claws through your arm.

Hissing through your teeth, you tighten your grip on your gun, letting your adrenaline carry you forward.

Exhaling through your nose, you lift your gun again, the branch that you’d previously shot now directly behind your enemy again. Three more bullets fly out, two hitting the branch squarely while the other zips by the raven-haired man.

“Eight,” he grins, eyes narrowing as he herds you back against a tree trunk.

Two bullets left to make your escape. Your only chance.

With your back to the wall, you wait for the wolf to dive forward, shooting your ninth bullet straight for his head. He dodges to the side at the last second and your last chance opens up. You take your chance, putting your gun back in its holster as you fling the chained traps up at the branch you’d been shooting. The weight of the traps manages to pull the branch down behind you, just as you’d hoped it would.

The crackling of the branch snapping sounds off louder than any gunshot as it crashes down behind you. You hear a surprised huff, followed by a growl as you run for the treeline.

Your chest heaves, adrenaline coursing through your veins as it keeps your focus from the crimson that stains the sleeve of your torn jacket. The sting of his claws is nothing in comparison to the humiliation of this hunt, but worse still is the dread that tears at your chest when you hear the rustling of steps behind you.

They’re too fast. He’s too fast. You pull your gun back out, but it’s no use. You have one bullet left. You’re dead and the wolf knows it.

He tackles you to the ground, a pained grunt parting your lips as his full weight pins you to the ground.

He grins, one set of claws digging into your shoulder as he pins you down, forcing you to drop your gun, while his other clawed hand is held steadily at your neck. “So y’r the best they got, huh?” He chuckles darkly.

You let out a pained gasp as his claw pierces the skin of your neck. Your eyes shut tight as you wait for death to come, when suddenly his weight is lifted from you.

Your eyes shoot open at the sound of a pained yelp and all you can see is a flurry of white fur as your assailant is sent flying straight through a tree. If the sound of the branch snapping was louder than a gun, the sound of the tree snapping in on itself is like thunder. You recoil from the noise, pushing yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at what’s happened.

Fur as white as snow decorates the figure standing in front of you from head to toe, a long tail swaying back and forth as its ears point straight towards the other wolf. Though his features are primarily that of a wolf, when he turns his head towards you, the shimmering blue eyes that find you are undeniably those of a worried Satoru.

You can only stare, hand still gripping your gun as Satoru stands over you protectively, balling his clawed hands into fists.

As the other wolf gets to his feet, he chuckles in amusement, spitting blood in the dirt. “Knew I smelled another wolf on ya. Didn’t know it was the Gojo kid.”

Satoru’s ear flicks as he growls. “What do I call you, then?”

“Fushiguro Toji,” the mutt answers as he pushes himself to his feet.

Satoru straightens slightly at the name, but he shakes his head, steadying himself to take on the wolf. He barely looks steady at all, and that’s when you realize just what’s hampering him.

Of course, his leg. The cast has held steady, somehow managing to stay on even in this form, although he’s trying to stay off of it, balancing precariously. He’s down a limb and you’re down to your last bullet, all the while Toji has a few splinters and that’s about it.

Well, shit.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you take cover in an effort to evaluate the situation as Satoru snarls at Toji, now taking the form of a lupine. He stands just as tall as Satoru, his pelt as dark as his raven hair.

“What’s some rich heir doin’ out here anyway?”

“What’s the father of the year doing out here?” Gojo rebuttals, a prideful smirk crossing his canine features.

With a furious bark, Toji leaps at Gojo in time for you to duck behind a tree. The way Toji fights tooth and claw against your savior isn’t like how he fought against you. He dashes around, bounding off of trees as he attempts to confuse and out-speed Satoru, who only lashes out his claws when necessary in an effort to defend himself.

Still, you can’t help but feel as though to some degree, Satoru is enjoying this just as much as Toji clearly is. A twisted smirk dons his fanged mouth, curling upwards as he slams a forepaw into Toji, sending him flying through the trees.

With Toji temporarily down, you make a dash for the branch that you had pulled down earlier, gritting your teeth as you keep an eye on your peripherals while you attempt to untangle the traps.

As you fiddle with their chains, Satoru barks out a warning as Toji leaps forward again, landing them both in a tussle. Tooth and nail collide as barks, growls, and whimpers pierce the air to your left while you desperately fumble with the traps, though you fear it may be of no use.

Swallowing hard, you roll out of the way when Toji’s claws extend towards you, but Satoru drags him back. Your heart pounds hard in your chest as your ragged breaths come quicker at just how narrowly you’re managing to escape the feral wolf.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, waiting for the wolves to separate for a moment as Toji resets himself for an attack that Satoru fends off easily. Now with an opening, you slink back over to the bear traps, when a shrill yelp suddenly pierces the air, pulling your attention to the wolves.

Satoru’s shoulder is caught in Toji’s jaws, blood trickling out from under his fangs as neither wolf moves. Satoru’s blue eyes are wide as Toji’s claws lift, a snide grin curling at his lips even as he holds Satoru down with his teeth.

BANG.

The forest grows silent again. The birds and insects have long fled, the deer and foxes peer from between the brush in an effort to catch a glance at what’s happened. The wind no longer whistles and the trees hold their breath.

Your chest heaves as you lower your gun.

“Ten,” you mutter just loud enough for Toji to hear as his emerald green eyes find you for the final time. Blood trickles down between his eyes and around his snout, dripping down his jaw into Satoru’s fur beneath him.

“Gojo,” Toji grunts, barely holding himself up, “don’t let those assholes take the kid,” and with that, his eyes lose their luster as he slumps forward. Satoru pushes his body to the ground, laying flat on his back for a moment as he catches his breath.

Your gun clatters suddenly to the ground as you scramble over to Satoru, kneeling hesitantly beside him.

“Believe me now, detective?”

You swallow hard, running a hand over the shoulder where Toji’s teeth sank in. He hisses, pushing himself up. Even sitting up, he towers over you in this form. Your every instinct tells you to run, all except for one, as your heart tells you that this man would never dare hurt you or anyone else.

Your lips part to reply but all you can manage is a shaky “are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” he grumbles, “but I’ll be fine. I’ll lick my wounds or whatever dog analogy you wanna use.” His ear flicks in amusement at his own lighthearted quip and you can’t help the relieved smile that spreads across your lips. “Are you okay?”

You quirk your head to the side in an effort to figure out what he could mean only to realize blood is still dripping down your arm from where Toji sliced you, not to mention the sting of his claws in your shoulder and neck. Adrenaline still courses through your veins, keeping the pain at bay for now.

“Oh, yeah. I can’t feel it right now.”

Satoru hums as he pushes himself up, pupils mere slits as he reaches for you. He may be a hulking and monstrous werewolf, but somehow he’s still so Satoru. His blue eyes are tired, but they glimmer with that familiar swirl of mirth that always seems to come out around you. He still carries himself confidently with an air of goofiness that lightens the silence between the both of you, although much remains unsaid.

Clawed hands delicately reach for the hem of your shirt, easily tearing a portion of the fabric off. He takes your arm carefully from your jacket, pulling it from the confines of the sleeve and wraps it around your wounds tightly. Thankfully, you still can hardly feel the pain.

“You should go to the hospital,” he grunts, sitting back on his haunches.

“I’ll be fine,” you brush him off, “you look worse than I do,” you comment, looking over several claw marks and the chunk torn from his shoulder, not to mention the blood coating his fur.

“Can’t exactly go to the hospital for things like this,” Satoru shakes his head. “I’ll stitch myself up later.”

“Let me do it,” you blurt out.

His head tilts. It’s such a dog-like movement it’s almost adorable. His ear flops slightly, tail twitching. “I thought you wouldn’t wanna be around me.”

“I was wrong,” you blurt out without a second thought. “You never lied to me, you never played me. I just didn’t listen.” His ears perk up, his tail twitching as though he’s struggling not to wag it. It’s hard to deny just how adorable he is like this.

In the same way that Toji grew more menacing covered in fur, Satoru somehow felt more like putty in your hands, unable to hide his emotions now that so much of his body language gave him away.

“I wanted to be honest with you,” he admits, “but I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“I wouldn’t have,” you agree, reaching forward to cup his cheek. It’s a foreign feeling, so covered in fur, but somehow familiar as he leans into your touch. “But I think I might be bad at my job,” you chuckle, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of your head. Pain jolts suddenly through your arm and you hiss, staring down at your blood-soaked upper arm. The blood was beginning to soak through the material of your shirt that was wrapped around it.

Pushing himself up on his feet, Gojo tests his weight on his broken ankle before making a move to pick you up. Werewolves heal unreasonably fast in comparison to humans, but you still don’t love the idea of him carrying you while in a cast.

“I can walk,” you insist. “Stay off your foot, Toru,” you push yourself up, glancing at his broken foot.

This time, he can’t help it. His tail wags. Like an excited puppy, it damn near knocks you over with the way it sways. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat as you have to side step to avoid his powerful tail.

“You really do like it when I call you that, huh?” You tease with a grin.

You’re certain he would be blushing if he could. “It sounds pretty comin’ from you.”

Though there are still things left unsaid, the silence that settles between you as you make your way back to the treeline is an easy one. You’ll need to come back for Toji’s body and the traps left behind, so you leave your briefcase behind as well. You can’t imagine many of the locals make a point of going to the forest anyway these days.

As you reach the edge of the forest and the town comes into view, something occurs to you.

“Why haven’t you changed back?”

Slits of pupils surrounded by oceans of blue flicker towards you. “My clothes are shredded.” He’s grinning at you, something of a suggestive grin on his wolfish face.

You can only groan at that. “How the hell do we get you to my motel then?” In truth, you aren’t sure you can afford to wait for night to sneak him through the town as your adrenaline is quickly wearing off. Between the blood loss and the pain, you’re growing more light headed by the moment.

“I could pretend to be a dog,” he suggests, but one look from you tells him otherwise. Even on all fours, he’s absolutely massive and he’s far too humanoid to ever look even remotely like a full canine.

Not to mention, you had been hired by someone in the town to hunt his kind. He couldn’t get caught.

You cast a glance at the setting sun, frowning.

“Go on ahead. I’ll catch up when it’s dark.” Clearly, he’s on the same page.

You shoot him a hesitant glance. “I don’t want to leave you behind,” you admit, voice nearly a whisper. The moment has a certain sense of déja vu as you think back to Satoru being unwilling to fuck you and disappear. You can’t help but feel as though you’re somehow betraying him by parting ways, even if it’s only for an hour.

His ear flicks as he examines your features, an understanding expression passing over his lupine features. “I’m not hurt too bad. Honestly your trap did more damage than Toji.”

Guilt floods your body at the reminder that his ankle was likely nearly torn from his body by a trap set by you.

“Stop worrying about it. We can talk later, get to the motel.”

You nod, making your way back.

–

Using your teeth to pull the final stitch of the second claw slice tight, you lean back in the chair at the window, draping your arm tiredly over your eyes. It’s not like you haven’t stitched yourself up before but it doesn’t make the pain any less daunting.

You jolt as someone knocks at the door, moving the curtain aside in time to see pupils flash.

Dashing to the door, you grab a towel and use it to twist the knob in an effort not to spread your blood everywhere given the current state of your hands.

Satoru ducks into the room, shutting the door behind you and glancing around until troubled eyes find you, slumping back in the chair. You look queasy, blood pouring down your arm and coating your fingers in crimson.

Glancing around the room, massive paws reach for a towel and you watch in awe as his bones jolt and twitch, shifting to a human size. His fur recedes into his skin, leaving behind only a bloodied mop of white hair on his head. He wraps the towel around his waist before turning to face you.

The bite mark on his shoulder doesn’t look anywhere near as bad now in this form, the injuries having shrunk along with his body. You suppose he was right to say his wounds weren’t as bad as they looked.

Your eyes shamelessly rake across his body after evaluating his wounds. For a werewolf, you’re almost surprised he doesn’t have more scars than the ones that will surely be left behind from Toji. His skin is nearly flawless, marred only by crimson stains that cover him from head to toe, drying strands of his usually snow-white hair together.

For how much damage you thought Toji did, he seems mostly unaffected.

You, on the other hand, look worse for wear.

With the towel wrapped soundly around his waist, he approaches you slowly, grabbing the chair across from you and moving it until he’s sitting before you.

“Let me help,” he insists. You don’t have the energy to fight him and give in immediately, handing him the needle and thread and a bottle of alcohol. With warm hands, he douses the wound in antiseptic, frowning when you flinch. He mutters a ‘sorry’ as you lean back and throw your other arm over your eyes. “You better not pass out on me, detective.”

“I won’t,” you grumble, taking a breath as the needle pierces your skin.

Satoru is surprisingly deft in his motions as he stitches you up, the first of the remaining two deep slices complete fairly quickly and with little blood loss in comparison to the ones you had managed to do on yourself. Not to say they were done poorly by any means, you had the skills necessary to patch yourself up, but doing so with one arm had proven to be a challenge.

“Why did Toji mention his kid? Was he talking about your employee or something?”

Satoru lets the questions hang in the air for a moment before replying. “He was,” Satoru confirms, replying with his own question that doesn’t seem to have a connection as far as you can tell. “What do you plan on doing after this?”

You hum thoughtfully, too tired to question his thought process. “Dunno. I don’t think I can call myself much of a monster hunter at this point.”

“Why not? You killed Toji,” Satoru points out.

“I guess,” you mumble, lifting your arm to stare at the ceiling. Even if you dealt the killing blow, it still felt like Satoru’s kill. You let the silence hang for a moment as Satoru works on your wound. “You know, even if it had been you, I couldn’t kill you.”

Your voice is meek as you admit this to him. He knows already, but the statement still hangs in the air, the tension interrupted only by a hiss as he continues his ministrations, giving his latest stitch a tug to pull it taut.

“Maybe that makes you a better monster hunter.”

You lift your head, carefully observing his expression. “How?”

“Not every monster is heartless,” he shrugs, brow furrowed as he keeps his gaze focused on his movements. “The world could use more people like you to look out for those of us that aren’t so bad.”

You blink at him, somewhat unused to the very serious but also very genuine advice he’s giving you. His usual goofy demeanor seems to be on pause as he finishes up the last stitch before taking an alcohol wipe to clean the wound once more, carefully running the wipe along the holes left by Toji’s claws in your shoulder and throat as well.

You can’t help but gasp as the alcohol burns on your arm. You inhale sharply, pushing through the pain. “Wouldn’t I be more of a monster lawyer then?” You chuckle, voice strained.

Satoru’s lips quirk up into a smile. “Maybe. I could get used to calling you ‘lawyer’ instead of detective.”

You can’t help the giggle that bubbles from your throat, keeping your arm held out for him as he wraps it in thick bandages. Once he’s satisfied with his work, you half expect him to turn tail and leave. You don’t deserve his kindness after lashing out at him, but in truth you know there’s more to what pulls you and Satoru together.

Despite the obvious differences between the both of you, there’s a strong connection that ties you both together already. One that you want to explore, one that feels forbidden. A monster hunter and a werewolf? It can never work. To make matters worse, even before the revelation of his secret, you already were on your way to end things just based on distance.

It just won’t work.

But still, you owe it to him to at least make things right before you leave.

“I’m so sorry, Satoru.”

“It’s alright,” he brushes you off with a grin. There’s no hesitation as he accepts your apology without a doubt in his mind. Bile rises in your throat as it becomes glaringly obvious just how much you don’t deserve this kindness. He only further proves the point as he takes a face cloth in one hand, pouring alcohol over it and wiping it over your blood-encrusted fingers to clean them. He’s so gentle with each movement that it makes your head spin.

Maybe that’s just the blood loss. You can blame it on that for now.

Shaking your head, your brow furrows. “No, no it’s not. I judged a book by its cover and that’s not fair at all to you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and even when you found out I was here to hunt you- or, well, not you but I thought I was hunting you- that didn’t change how you saw me and I should have extended that same courtesy to-”

Satoru’s thumb brushes your lower lip, effectively shutting you up as your heart palpitates. “I forgive you. We both kept secrets.”

Still, you can’t help the guilt that boils in your stomach as he’s so quick to forgive you.

“Oh! And while we’re airing secrets I should probably let you know my employees are all werewolves,” he grins as his expression turns to a cheerful one.

“What?” You gape in disbelief.

“Yeah. Megumi is Toji’s son. I took him and his sister in a while ago, something about Toji’s family rejecting them when his sister wasn’t a wolf. Dunno, Megs doesn’t talk about it much. Oh, and then the other two as well-”

He talks so casually you nearly have to pick your jaw up off the floor.

“I’m so bad at my job,” you groan, earning a laugh from Gojo. He has a funny way of easily flipping a serious conversation to a lighthearted one.

“Nah. You were right the whole time. You weren’t hunting me or the kids anyway,” he shrugs easily, taking in the scene around him as he finally realizes just how bloodied both of you are. “We should shower.”

You hum, leaning back in the chair again. He’s right, but your head is still spinning and your arm is throbbing.

“Tell ya what. I’ll shower, then I’ll grab you some food. It should help with the blood loss. You shower while I’m gone.”

You nod slowly, watching the bare-chested man get to his feet. “I have some sweatpants and a big shirt for pajamas in my suitcase. You can use those.”

He grins thankfully before disappearing into the washroom.

–

You’re surprised to find that Gojo has already returned when you leave the washroom, feeling refreshed albeit sore. Laid out on the table by the chairs you’d been in earlier is an assortment of pastries and sandwiches. It figures that nowhere would be open at this time besides corner stores, so he’d likely just pulled something together from the bakery. How he’s managed to hobble around so competently on a broken ankle is beyond you, even if werewolves heal faster than humans.

Satoru is in the clothing you’d offered him, a pair of sweats that ride up past his ankles and seem fairly tight at the waist, and a pink t-shirt pulled taut with each movement of his bulky upper chest. It’s a sight to behold and you can’t help but to smile.

Catching sight of you in his peripherals, his blue eyes brighten. “I wasn’t sure what you would want, so I-”

“You brought the whole bakery?” You chide, sliding down in the chair beside him.

“Well I left the custard donut behind, actually. So not the whole bakery,” he chuckles. “I’ve been told that one wasn’t my best.” His fingers card through his white locks, pushing stray strands of hair from his eyes.

“I dunno, I might have wanted to give that one a try,” you hum as you grin up at him through long lashes.

He scoffs, playfully nudging your uninjured shoulder. “Okay now I know the blood loss is a problem.”

You giggle, picking up a croissant and taking a bite with a pleased smile. “Thanks for doing this, Toru. I thought you would just pick up a snack from the corner store or something.”

“Have you checked out the corner store? Guaranteed you’d get food poisoning.”

You barely make it a quarter of the way through the spread of food he’s brought before leaning back in the chair with a wince. In an instant, Satoru’s at your side, finger running delicately over the bandages he’s wrapped as he searches for a sign that his stitches may have come undone.

“Satoru, I’m fine,” you mumble, weakly shoving at his chest. The man doesn’t budge as his hand trails down your arm, sending goosebumps up your skin from his feather-light touch. It sends a shiver straight up your spine, one that you’re certain doesn’t go unnoticed when you find yourself staring straight at pupils so dilated that the blues of his eyes are hardly visible.

Like pools of lust, they beg for your attention and you don’t stand a chance of resisting. That’s just the kind of effect he has on you.

Balling the fabric of the shirt he’s wearing into your fingers, you pull him down. He melts against your lips, electricity shooting between the both of you like lightning, followed by the thunderous growl that Satoru doesn’t bother trying to mask like the last time you had had sex.

Suddenly the biting, the marking, the guttural groans and near-growls and him effortlessly ripping your panties the other night all makes sense. Satoru didn’t lose control at the first smell of blood or on the full moon, he lost control to your intoxicating touch.

His fingers move from your arm to your waist and down your hips, before lifting you into his arms, large hands supporting your ass. He stumbles slightly on his broken ankle, dropping you unevenly on the bed with a charming laugh as he does his best to hold himself and you up on his ankle, failing somewhat. You can’t help but to laugh along with him as he crawls on top of you.

His lips are back on yours in an instant, and it’s in that moment that his self-control begins to slip away. He deepens the kiss, smirking when a whimper leaves your parted lips, swallowed in the landscape of his tongue.

Acting on instinct, he ruts his already rock-hard length against you, pulling a whine from your pretty lips at the delicious friction of his cock against your bundle of nerves. His eyes are a wildfire of lust when he pulls back, eagerly leaving kisses and nibbling on the uninjured sode of your neck. As any sense of control slips, each kiss grows sloppier and each bite grows harder, until you feel fangs graze your skin.

You gasp at the foreign feeling, securing your arms around his neck as he bites down on your shoulder. He wouldn’t dare break skin, even fucked out of his mind he would never intentionally bring you harm. As pain and pleasure mingle together, you drag your nails down his back.

A guttural groan leaves his throat as he continues to grind hard against your core, your slick soaking through your panties and driving his enhanced senses crazy. In a haze, he moves to grip your shoulder in an attempt to move you up the bed, but his grip on your arm causes you to yelp in pain.

Satoru goes rigid, completely frozen as his pupils narrow to pinpricks, taking in your expression before he realizes what’s happened.

“Shit, sorry baby,” he pants, eyes wide with fear. “I forgot, I promise I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, Toru. I know you didn’t mean it,” you reassure him with a smile as he creates a suitable distance between his hand and your arm, pressing a languid kiss to your forehead.

“I won’t hurt you. I won’t hurt anyone,” he whispers, sitting back on his knees. The look he’s giving you tells you everything you need to know. He’s more than just desperate for you to believe him, he needs you to trust him.

People like Satoru don’t get chances at love. Werewolves are old wives’ tales, fake to the general public and the admission of monsters to most was enough to scare even the most open-minded people off. He counts himself lucky that you didn’t put a bullet between his eyes, but even in the moment he knew it wasn’t luck. Just like it wasn’t luck that he heard gunshots go off and rushed to the forest.

It wasn’t luck that Satoru was there for you.

Satoru wants to be there for you in more than just life or death situations. In fact, he’d prefer to be there for you mostly outside of those situations.

“I know you won’t. I trust you,” you breathe.

His toothy grin is still fanged, perfect rows of teeth bared in a sparkling grin in spite of the sharp canines that decorate his smile.

He’s gentler as he leans forward, parting your legs to make space for him between them. Gentle fingers trace your jaw, tilting it to give him the optimal angle to press soft lips to yours.

“Detective,” he whispers against your lips. His white lashes flutter as he rests his forehead softly against yours.

“Yeah, Toru?”

“Let’s try this.”

You pull back slightly to get a better look at him, amused. “Try what, Satoru? Sex?”

“No,” he chuckles breathlessly. “Let me make you mine.”

Your eyes widen. “Yours?” Your heart races in your chest, pounding at the confines of your ribs as though it stands a chance at escaping. “Toru, it’s my job to hunt you.”

“So? You’re under me right now, what difference does it make?”

“I-” you hesitate, glancing at the curtains of the motel room as though they’ve suddenly grown more interesting than the man in front of you. “I’m not really good at anything else, Satoru. I can’t quit, and what if you get caught? I work with other hunters.”

“I won’t get caught,” he mumbles against your skin as he continues his ministrations of leaving kisses along your jaw. He’s soft this time, each kiss more delicate than the last.

“What if you do though, Satoru? I’m serious,” you insist, gripping tightly to his shoulders in an effort to get eye contact. His expression hardens as he examines your expression.

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

You’re almost shocked by the solemnity of his voice. You want this just as he does but the odds aren’t in your favor and he doesn’t seem to realize that.

“I can’t put you or the kids at risk,” you pause, brow furrowing, “you shouldn’t have told me about them, by the way.”

“I trust you,” he shrugs, pouting, “you won’t put us at risk. You can visit us between jobs and if things work out, maybe we can move your office here.”

It’s a big ask, effectively a long distance relationship between an unlikely duo. It’s not like Satoru can uproot his life and leave the kids to fend for themselves but you can’t uproot your life for someone you met last week.

Still, it’s not unreasonable. It’s not like long distance is impossible given you’re only three hours away, and fuck, you can’t deny just how much you’ve enjoyed being around him for the past week. Even before you knew he was a wolf, you struggled with the idea of ending whatever it was between the both of you.

As if to help your decision, Satoru moves a warm palm over yours, lifting your hand to rest over his heart. It’s pounding, his chest not just warm but hot to the touch. Just the thought of you saying no has set his entire body on fire, stressed at the idea of your rejection.

Just for once, Satoru wants to be selfish. He hopes you’ll be selfish too.

“One condition, Toru.”

His eyes gleam hopefully as he leans in, listening intently.

“You owe me that dinner date,” you grin.

He chuckles happily, leaning forward to capture your lips once more. “Don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart.”

His hands are back on you in an instant, exploring every inch of your body with the fervor of a man starved. Something brushes your leg and you gasp, holding his shoulders tight.

“Y’ scared of the big bad wolf?” Satoru grins with lidded eyes as you stare past him at the fluffy white tail flicking back and forth wildly.

“That might be the cheesiest, most embarrassing thing I’ve ever heard,” you groan, rubbing your palms over your face.

“Get used to it,” he chides against the skin of your neck, nipping on the sensitive skin just above your collarbone, opposite your already very purpled hickey he’d left the other night. His hands come to rest on either side of your head as he leans over you, effectively pinning you to the mattress under his weight.

He mutters praise against your skin with each nip and kiss like a mantra, the feeling of your hips bucking desperately beneath him sending him spiraling once more into a lustful state of desperation.

Whimpers fall from your lips with each drag of his hardened cock against your soaked pussy, each moan sinful as you beg for more. You cling to his shoulders for purchase, ragged breaths and pants filling the cool air of the motel room.

With each roll of Gojo’s hips, his fingers grip the sheets tighter until claws are tearing through the fabric, a huff leaving his lips. You slide your fingers down his torso, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it up over his head. He obliges, tossing it to the floor across the room and leaning back to discard the sweatpants you’d lent him, careful not to hit his ankle.

With no boxers, he’s bare before you, a sight to behold as his cock stands at attention, tip flushed and angry with pre-cum spilling from the tip. He wastes no time in stripping you of your clothes as well, eagerly tossing your pants and shirt aside.

“Easy, Toru,” you warn as his clawed hand grazes your injury, but he’s careful this time, intertwining his fingers in yours as he passes control to you by flipping you on top of him.

Gojo would give anything to pound you into the mattress with his fat cock, but in relinquishing his control to you, he knows he won’t hurt you. He’ll be soft for only you.

The feeling of his length twitching beneath you pulls a gasp from your throat. Leaning forward on his chest, you cast a glance at the tail flicking wildly from where it’s curled on his left side, brushing your thigh every so often.

Veiny hands find your waist as he holds you in place while he bucks his hips upwards, pulling a ragged moan from your sweet lips. It’s then that you finally start moving and Satoru’s head falls back against the headboard in bliss as your slick folds coat him in arousal.

A groan tears through Satoru in time with your moan of his name as his tip grinds against your clit. His fingers hold you in a bruising grip, his claws dancing along the surface of your skin, though they never pierce you.

“Shit, Toru-” you breathe, glancing down as you line yourself up over his cockhead, lowering yourself onto him.

His jaw hangs slack with pleasure as your walls grip him tightly, fluttering with desire as you lower yourself slowly down on his length. Bottoming out, you brace yourself on his chest as you give yourself a moment to adjust to his girth that stings and stretches your walls.

“Fuck, y’re tight, baby.”

As the pain shifts to pleasure, you roll your hips, pushing off of his broad chest to gain momentum as you bounce on his cock. He sits back, his fluffy white tail twitching as he resists the urge to thrust up into you, allowing you to set the pace.

He fills you up so much that each bounce on his length causes your thighs to shake in bliss, the vibrations of your trembling sending pleasure straight through the man sitting beneath you. His cock jerks as your shakiness causes you to slow your ministrations and he can’t help it anymore as he holds your hips in place and fucks up into you.

Satoru wants control.

His pace is cruel, his cock tip brushing the depths of your cunt. Each thrust brushes your g-spot so deliciously as though he already knows your body inside and out, because he does. Satoru has memorized each and every one of your moans, burned into his brain to tell him exactly what you want and need, all from your first night together. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t make use of it.

The babbles of his name that fall from your lips are so pretty that he can’t help the way he roughly grabs your chin, tilting your fucked out expression to face him. The eye contact sends him into a frenzy, flipping you both once again to push you into a nasty mating press.

He’s careful of your injury as he presses your knees into your shoulders, his cock buried into your cunt as the new angle sends sparks of pleasure straight to your stomach, coiling tightly as your release nears.

“Toru- hah- please-” you beg him as you near your release and oh how pretty he thinks you look with pleading glazed eyes looking up at him. He loves to have you folded so beautifully beneath him as he fucks you relentlessly.

His own climax fast approaches as he pounds you into the mattress, letting out a guttural growl. “You take me so well, pretty girl,” he praises you, compliments falling from his lips so easily. “Love the way you say my name like that,” he continues lowly, lowering his head to press a sloppy kiss to your lips.

“‘M so close, Toru.”

“Atta girl,” he hums, running his tongue along the bruised skin on your collarbone as he leans over you further, reaching down to rub circles over your clit with the pad of his finger.

“Toru-!” You gasp as the coil in your stomach releases suddenly when he introduces the friction of his finger and your walls clench around him. A wave of pleasure crashes over you like a tsunami and you throw your head back into the pillows, scratching harsh red lines into the muscles of Satoru’s back.

He doesn’t slow his pace as he rides out the pleasure with you, feeling each wave of your orgasm as your walls squeeze him and milk his own orgasm from him, sending the same euphoria through his own body. His muscles tense and contract over you as he holds himself up, his body jerking and jolting in time with yours as he paints your walls with his cum, the mixture of both releases pooling and dripping down your ass.

Barely managing to hold himself up, he hisses from the overstimulation as he pulls his throbbing cock from your pussy, a ring of white coating his length. With a groan, he rolls to your side and off the bed to grab a towel. With a gentle kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, he cleans the pooling arousal from between your thighs and crawls back into the bed. Immediately, he pulls you into his chest, cradling you so softly you would hardly know he had you in a mating press moments ago.

You bury your face into his neck, giggling when you feel his tail brush your leg. “Do you have no control over that thing?”

“I do,” he hums, “but it makes you laugh so I’m not bothering.”

You grin against his skin, sweat-slicked skin sticking to his as you enjoy his presence in the afterglow of sex. The room is silent save for quiet pants and the occasional thump of Satoru’s tail against the bed.

As you both catch your breath and the air around you grows serene, the quiet thumps of Satoru’s tail eventually come to a halt. The arms that encircle you are no longer clawed, his teeth dulled in his somewhat parted lips.

He looks angelic like this, white hair mussed and lashes fluttering very lightly as your breath fans his chest. There’s a sort of charm to knowing that even if you can’t see it, there’s a happily wagging tail that isn’t all that metaphoric hidden deep within the soft man before you. It’s funny to think of him as a clawed and fanged monster when he’s as goofy and sweet as you’ve come to know him.

You know it won’t be easy to manage a relationship with everything working against you, but somehow you think it just might work. Maybe it’s knowing you can’t possibly go through worse than being attacked by another wolf, maybe it’s how safe you feel wrapped tightly in his arms as his legs tangle with yours, or maybe it’s the fact that you so selfishly want it to work, but you think a future with Satoru sounds like heaven.

If it means becoming a ‘monster lawyer’ or whatever silly idea Satoru would come up with, then you were willing to give it a try for him. Anything for one more moment tucked tightly into the valley of his chest.

masterlist

❦ a/n ; i honestly had a lot of fun with this one and hope you did too ♡ kinda obsessed with werewolf!gojo tbh. fangs make me feral or sm idk. anyways likes/reblogs/comments are always super appreciated! ♡ ❦ taglist ; @ackermendick

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unicyclehippo · 4 months ago

Text

ok so i submitted a story for a competition & didn't get far but i was pretty happy with it so imma post it here for y'all. pls enjoy!

YEAR OF THE WOLF

Blood and shampoo wash pink down the shower drain. My body aches, back hot with pain. I gotta stretch more, I think, before remembering what time of month it is.

I’m not stupid, I want that to be known up top.

Tired? Yes. A bit forgetful now and then? Certainly. Overly reliant on blind optimism? Of course. Who can afford for things to go wrong these days? But stupid? No. Not about this, anyway. I’ve known for almost a decade that I’m a werewolf. I just thought if I ignored it long enough it would stop, or at least stay low on the list of important things I had to deal with—somewhere between turning thirty and the world burning down around our ears.

Still, it manages to take me by surprise each month. I see the blood, feel the shift-pull-crack of bones and vitals, the wet throb of viscera and organs, as my body reshapes itself. The wolf and I share a space not big enough for two; something must give way.

I lose time daydreaming about it. Transforming. My only plan for the day is work, maybe video games later, cooking dinner. I could call in sick. I could clear away the bathmat and towels and fall to my hands and knees and change into something bloody and terrible and wonderful, I could lay myself down on the soft carpet in the sunrays, decadent, I could leap from my balcony, powerful, and lope away into the bush off the track to explore the silver-blue of the leaves and the cathedral termite mounds, I could—

The shower pipes groan, rattle, and spit freezing water down onto me.

I don’t transform.

I towel off. The mirror shows me a human with the same soft features as ever. Shampoo suds clinging to my shoulders. Hair cut short and plastered down on chalk-white skin paler than usual. The doctor warned me low iron was a side-effect of transformation but I look myself over for another cause. Lift my arms, twist to check my back. There’s a pimple or two where my binder digs in but no injuries. I promise the doctor in my head I’ll bring it up at our next appointment.

My doctor is a careful woman, dedicated and precise. She sits primly and dresses well—her blouse is fashionable, flowery, her trousers professional and practical. She keeps notes in a leatherbound book and her thoughts securely behind her eyes. She asked me to keep track of any changes Inoticed. I pull out a crumpled receipt where I’d scrawled some notes.

tired

hungry

headaches

more dreams than usual

tired—oh I already wrote that down. still true

irritated way more by stuff?

jaw hurts?

‘Alright,’ she says, writing it down on her page about me.

I sit hunched opposite her, then fix my posture, then let my shoulders droop again, conscious of being too broad, too big. In the time it takes for her to commit a few brief notes to paper, I’m struggling not to get distracted by the lights and their electric buzz—the popping stop and start as the filaments crackle in the bulbs. My eyes wander over neat stacks of paperwork, a penholder with all the pens pointed in the same direction.

‘We’re going to order a blood test. You’re right, the fatigue and headaches could be an indicator of iron deficiency.’

‘Okay.’

‘Do you know if there’s a history?’

‘Of…iron deficiency?’

She smiles. ‘Of lycanthropy.’

The question makes my head spin. There’s been some excitement about there being some genetic predisposition to lycanthropy (unconfirmed), which half my friends were leery of, seeing the research as another way for hunters to exterminate us, and half took to romantic spirals, daydreaming about their ancestors being just like them. But the doc is asking about, like, my parents and grandparents, and it makes me laugh.

‘No. No way.’ I think harder. Is it possible? My maternal grandparents, definitely not. But my dad’s parents…I don’t know that well. ‘I could ask, maybe.’

After the three haphazard sessions we’ve had stretching across eleven months, which chiefly feature my repeated and sustained reluctance to talk, she indicates her doubt with a quiet raised brow.

It’s fair. I don’t tend to do things I don’t want to do, even if they’re important. Sometimes, especially if they’re important.

At the end of our fifteen-minute session, she walks me to the door and beneath the stench of eucalyptus-scented cleaner that makes my nose itch and head ache, I catch a whiff of her cologne. Wood pine and wild.

I think about it all day.

Has she helped me because she’s like me? The thought races ahead of me, tempting; I sprint after it. I wonder what she wears at home. Does she google boxers for bed because they seem so comfortable? Does she veer at the last moment to Boyfriend shorts! Now in satin – for HER! Or does she kick the world off at the front door next to her shoes and just…exist. Is she like me? Just a person who does things? Or is she a woman who does things? Or a person who does woman things or a woman who does womanly things or a woman who does things knowing they’re not womanly and caring or not caring? Does she splinter the cage that would contain her and let the hungry animal of her body carry her to meat and sleep and hunting and to the warmth of her partner at rest?

Is she like me?

As a kid, I wanted to take karate. My brother wanted to sing. Somehow, I ended up in the music class. It was in a demountable that creaked, off-key, with every step and stunk of the creek next door. The singing teacher had a red round face and told me not to sing too loud—I was practicing to be part of the choir, I should be part of the group. That group was made up entirely of nervous and near-silent girls who shivered with the desire above all else not to stand out. (I learned that part well.)

On the other side of school, my brother stood in karate class with a teacher who ignored him and older boys who picked on him—he was short back then, with baby fat still on his cheeks, and had a close relationship with boredom and distraction that came from being smarter than most.

Once we figured out the joke being played on us, our places switched, we made a pact to teach each other what we learned. It didn’t last. Within three lessons, I spent more time on the walk to the classroom than in class; I dawdled in the fields and by the creek, tracking beetles and digging for dinosaur bones in the mud. When I did arrive, it was twenty-five minutes late with dirt under my nails and finally the teacher told me not to show up. My brother took a faster approach and called the teacher a moron. Mum had to pick him up early from class and neither of us learned very much.

My gran lives hours away and I never got the impression she liked me much. I think about sitting in her drawing room, the sticky-sugar smell from bottles of fancy port on the shelf, and her sitting opposite, eyes hawklike, mouth pursed and tongue sharp. I don’t visit her. I think about asking my dad instead and, while he does like me, he doesn’t like werewolves and I’m not ready to risk exile.

I get my blood drawn. The doctor prescribes iron pills and congratulates me on my teeth coming in.

My mother doesn’t like my sharp teeth or short hair or the way I sit. I want to tell her I didn’t do anything to my teeth; that if anyone is to blame for the handsome jut of my canines, the neat, careful way they can tear flesh from bone, it’s her. She made me. But saying stuff like that only opens up the room for more questions.

‘Do you like it? Looking like that?’

It will hurt her if I say yes. When you are a daughter, wanting to change means you don’t want to become your mother, which means you don’t love her.

I can’t say no.

The wolf stirs. It wants me to say yes. It loves fiercely and loves me most of all. But it isn’t the one who has to live here—work, be a daughter, a sister. It won’t be the one who has to listen to my mother tell me to be sure before I tell anyone else because there’s no going back and people will hate me for it, just for being, and that she can’t support me doing that to myself, that it’s against the god she’s never thought twice about, and has someone talked me into it?

I’m not ready for that.

‘It’s just teeth,’ I say.

She shakes her head but doesn’t ask any more questions. I think she’s scared I’ll tell her the truth.

am i a coward?

My friend Luna takes a long while to answer.

While I wait, I wash the dishes I’ve been “soaking” for three days; the kitchen smells of dish soap when I’m done and the world is a little cleaner. Outside, my balcony is drenched in sunlight. I make my coffee and sit out there, turning my nose to the wind. Somewhere close by, someone is cooking chicken loaded up with paprika. It’s more accurate to say they’re burning chicken. Next door, my neighbour digs through the rich dirt of their garden and plants rosemary and lavender.

My phone lights up.

No, she says. Then, Why do you ask?

the whole werewolf thing. i won’t transform, wont tell my family.

This reply is much faster. Definitely not.

i feel like one

First of all, you transform when it’s right & as much or little as you want & that changes from person to person. Second, being safe is not cowardly.

yeah

Do you want to tell them?

The coffee is gorgeously strong. After a few gulps, I feel like someone has brushed the cobwebs out of my head.

it’s like. there’s this version of me in their heads that isn’t real yknow. like im not a person im a cloud in person shape & sometimes they get a glimpse of my hand or whatever. & its safe inside the cloud its harder to hit me but . they cant see me

sorry i know this is teenager shit

In the distance, a fire alarm starts to blare.

No it’s good. I get it, obviously. And you know my parents were awful when I told them but we go running every month now. The question isn’t “am I a coward”. The question is, are you prepared to confront that version of yourself in their heads? Are you ready for it to change?

i wish i knew. how it would change i mean. bc i feel like if i knew for Sure that they would take it badly then that’s one thing & i could deal w that. & if i knew theyd be fine w it i could deal with That but. i don’t know. & its freaking me out. but it’s also like…ok i don’t live w them, i’ve got a job, idont rely on them for anything. what real bad consequences could there be?

Dots pop up at the bottom of the screen. They disappear after a minute, then reappear, as Luna takes her time to answer. Finally, she says,

By announcing the real version of yourself, you open yourself up to vulnerability. Things that didn’t bother you before will feel uncomfortable or hurt because it touches you. And when you change the way that you exist in the eyes of people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, you invite the possibility that they will reveal the love was in fact conditional & not for you, that you somehow failed to live up to the person they imagined you to be

mate i’m already scraping the bottom lol

You’re wonderful, Luna says, because she can tell when a joke isn’t really a joke. Her worst trait. If they can’t see that, it doesn’t mean it’s not true.

yeah

You don’t have to tell everyone. You could pick whoever would take it best & get someone on your side. When I take too long to answer, Luna sends a string of photos—her dogs, her family in matching hiking shirts, the view of the nearly full moonon her side of the world. I’m on your side, she says. Always. Let me know how it goes.

The full moon burns, beckons. We are both gloriously awake this time. I have never been more awake. The sky is a black lake and when it rains we taste space and stars and smog. The stairs are slick with the rain. On all fours we are sure, quick, eager! The grass is waiting for us! Splendid! Everything is incandescent in silver, including me. The grass—dew-wet, green scent full in our nose—invites us to roll in it, sticks its seedlings to our fur, tagalongs on our adventure. We run! Smell everything! ticklegrass wetmoss possum pee BUG rough brick mud SPIKY plant big tree lavender dog smell road gutter old leaves bird feathers vinegar shARP on my tongue bag crinkles between our teeth

The days’ heat still smoulders on the surface of the road. We are standing in the centre of it, massive, when a car crests the hill. It stops, engine rumbling and blue-glare lights illuminating us. It waits for us to cross the road before driving on. The driver stares from their seat. In one easy jump, we clear the fence and disappear.

Three more streets and the road ends. The world is huge, bigger than I could have imagined. There’s dirt here! dirt mud rocks beetles scuffling under the leaves koala musk leads to claw marks at the base of trees.

The wolf likes it when I’m awake. It wants to show me the world. Look, its questing nose says, look what you miss out on when you sleep.

It takes us to a termite mound and we listen to them sing.

We stay out all night, trekking through the pocket of national park. I am the biggest thing in the forest. Nothing frightens me. We find a creek filled with every fascination the world has to offer. Ten thousand wet stones, bottle caps, an ill-tempered fish.

When the sun rises, I am sore and covered in blood. I call my brother to pick me up. I stand by the edge of the park to wait for him; at the bottom of the hill, the highway stretches out like a grey branch, cars buzzing along it like bugs. A firefly splits off from it, flying towards me.

The yellow of the headlights cuts through the trees. Inside the car, my brother jumps when he sees me and the light reflecting off my eyes. The wolf is still awake and we move fast and strong to the passenger side door.

He knows.

I can tell. Smell it on him, see it in his uneasy posture. He knows and still I can’t say it. It feels like I’ve swallowed a bird whole, alive. It trembles, stuck in my throat. When I think about talking it pecks at my tongue and if I open my mouth, if I try to explain, he will see my bloody tongue and the bird and he’ll see me all wrong, all the ugly brutish parts of me I’d like to keep hidden, if I can.

The wolf is still awake. It isn’t scared; it is massive and powerful, it can bite through anything, it can run forever without getting tired. We can. And if there is ever a time to talk to my brother, to let him know who I am, it is now.

I do not want him to think I am a bloody-mouthed girl.

I want him to know I am not a coward. I am myself, a werewolf, alive and finally happy for it.

The wolf yawns. I catch a glimpse of my teeth in the mirror, sharp.

‘Hey.’ Of all the ways to break a very tense silence, it’s not the worst. ‘Thank you. For picking me up.’

He risks a look at me, away from the road. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah.’

A muscle tics in his cheek as he chews on silence. He’s upset that I won’t say more. So am I. I want to. The bird is in the way. I have always had to trick myself into talking; it is never easy, not in doctor’s office, not in my parents’ home, not in the forest, or my brother’s car.

We slow. Ahead, the traffic lights paint the dashboard red. The car shivers around us, idling. I can feel it shake through my bare feet, dirty and scratched up from the rocks, pressed to the rubber floor mats.

The first word comes out like a pulled tooth.

‘I—need to say.’ He glances my way. I think, briefly, about jumping out the window but the light turns green so I can’t. I have to talk instead. ‘I’m a werewolf.’

He drives. I realise he must have been waiting to talk, really talk, because this is the first time I’ve been in his car without music playing.

‘I think the proper term is lycanthrope,’ he says, finally.

‘Dude.’

‘Sorry. Just, medically speaking...’ He shakes his head. Drums his fingers against the wheel. ‘How long?’

‘I dunno.’ I do. A decade of knowing and doing nothing about it. Almost a year of thinking very hard about it and doing slightly more.

He knows me better than my doctor; both his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, entirely unconvinced.

‘I’m still me,’ I tell him, because that’s what everyone says in books and movies. I guess it’s what you’re supposed to say. What I want to say is that I’m more me than ever. What I want him to say is thank you, and I’m his favourite person, and that he understands how hard it was for me to share but he’s proud of me. But I would have to ask for that and the bird in my throat won’t budge.

‘Okay. Wow. So… Are you going to move? Change your name? Are you going to get claws? A tail?’

‘Okay, never ask me that again.’ He laughs. ‘And no. I don’t think so. I kind of like that it’s not super obvious. It’s no-ones business but mine.’

‘And mine now.’ I think he’s smiling, a little. ‘Why did you tell me? If you don’t want anyone to know?’

I wish I was still a wolf. If I were a wolf, I would howl and people would understand. The tenor, the tremble, the shivering cadence. There would be no need for picking the right words, no eye contact, no consequences for an ill-timed joke, no shame for feeling everything so big and weird, like there’s a forest in my chest and a songbird choir blocking up my throat. My hands itch as the claws retract under my skin and I fight to keep from scratching, fidgeting. I turn to stare out the window.

To his reflection in the glass, I say, ‘I want you to like me.’

‘Of course I like you—’

‘I’m louder like this,’ I whisper. He looks unconvinced, which is fair. I’m still hiding. ‘Messy. Bigger and stubborn and hairier and angrier. It’s not the wolf. I’m like that too. I wanna be like that. Real. I’m so—I’m so tired. All the time. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to be me and I want you to like me as me.’

My back aches as everything in me crunches back into place. The wolf is asleep and it has left me alone with my words and my brother.

‘I really love you,’ he tells me as he pulls up outside my house. He puts his hand warm on mine. He doesn’t flinch at the blood. He hugs me close. Plucks a leaf from my hair.

My brother offers to come with me to tell our parents. It probably would have been smart but I’m still wary. If it goes bad…I don’t want him to see that.

‘How did it happen?’ my mother asks when I’m done, like it’s something you can catch.

For a moment, I entertain the thought of lying.

Do you remember my uni friend? Verne? Well he’s part of a pack and if he brings in three new werewolves over three months, and they each bring in three new werewolves, he gets a bonus. Why? Are you interested in this exciting new life opportunity?

I can’t joke about it yet. Worst outcome, she thinks I’m serious about it being a some kind of cult. Less worse but still bad outcome, she thinks I’m being unserious about the whole thing. Nevermind that I have thought about it every day for ten years, this inevitable confrontation, this moment where I have to explain myself, defend my existence, back up my claims with proof and research like it’s my thesis. I tell her,

‘It just made sense.’

She likes that less than she would have if I’d joked about it, gets all stiff and pinched.

‘It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t understand where this is coming from—you’re human. You’re not –‘ She shakes her head. ‘Maybe if you left the house more often. These things you’re imagining about yourself, if you were around more people…you’re not like that. You’re lovely,’ she insists. ‘You’re not that.’

It should hurt to hear. It probably does, in a way I’ll feel five years down the line, and I’ll wish that I had bit back, told her that just because she thinks there’s something wrong with me doesn’t make it true.

My dad hasn’t said anything.

When I look at him, he’s staring down at his plate. He eats everything on it, even the tomatoes he usually tries to hide under the broccoli stems. Then he stands, puts it in the dishwasher, and walks away.

‘It’ll pass,’ my mother tells me. ‘You’ll come to your senses. This won’t last—don’t do anything permanent. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

Don’t give in.

Don’t transform.

Don’t smile wide enough to show your teeth.

Don’t tell anyone else.

I realise I’ve been trying my hardest not to do anything, like being nothing would be preferable to being me. When did I get the idea that to starve would be better than anyone seeing me hungry?

‘I don’t want to hide anymore.’

‘But it’s no-one’s business,’ she insists. ‘I don’t understand why anyone needs to know, I mean, I don’t go around telling people I’m human.’

The words sound different coming from her mouth but they’re the same.

It’s no-ones business but mine. That’s what I told my brother and I thought I meant it but now I think I was still scared. Biting off bits of myself before anyone pulled out the silverware and cut it from me.

There’s a bird in my throat and the little bastard is choking me. It’s not fair. I don’t want to die without saying what I mean for once.

I bite down on it, blood between my teeth.

‘It’s not the same thing,’ I snap. There’s a gorgeous growl to my words I’ve never heard before. No one told me that would happen. I love it. I love the sound of my voice. ‘No one tries to kill you because you’re human.’

‘Exactly!’

When I stand up fast, chair scraping against the floor, she freezes. Caught between telling me to pick up the chair first and not knowing how to talk to a monster in her daughter’s skin.

It hadn’t occurred to me that telling the truth wouldn’t change just me.

Staring back at my mother, I find I don’t much like the woman I see. If that’s what awaited me, I’m glad to have changed. The world is huge and beautiful and painful and I am kinder, stronger, hardier for it.

I pick up my bag from the floor.

‘I’m the same person, it’s just now you know I’m a werewolf. When we went out for lunch last week? Werewolf. When I got you groceries when you were sick? Werewolf. Every birthday, holiday, every vacation we’ve had since I was nineteen? Werewolf.’

She looks sick. Puts a hand on the counter to steady herself.

When I get home, I’m going to curl up in my closet for a week. The bird is going to come back any second now with backup. Eagles, this time. ‘I’ve had a really long time to think about this and you haven’t so I’m - I’ll give you time. But you should know that I’m happy and healthy and safe. All the things you said you wanted for me.’

As I leave her house, maybe for the last time, I hope she’ll call. I don’t know if she will.

I have been sleeping better and dreaming more. In my dreams, I am always the same. I have a wolf head, with sharp teeth and keen eyes. I sing with a powerful voice that has unsettled for centuries. I cannot see my pack but I can hear them out there, howling. My body is the same; the only difference are the claw marks across my flat chest, red and raw and careful. I am not dead, only transformed.

#tagging my stories #original fiction #werewolves my beloveds.......

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