#the second he decided to leave any and all morals he had behind

[shehungers]

vampire x reader | 18+ | 16.1k

You're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. The ultimate package. Right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. The spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure

story warnings; dead dove do not eat, explicit noncon, major dubcon, explicit sexual details, hypnosis, bloodplay, sadomasochism, cigarette burns, choking, injuries to mc, gun violence, graphic depictions of violence, extreme body horror + gore, murder, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, descriptions of crime scene cleanup may be inaccurate, obsessive + possessive behaviors (yandere), manipulation, gaslighting, religious imagery + symbolism, exploration of morality, dubious morality (mc), allegorical for abusive relationships, very prose + detail heavy.

reposted from my deleted blog theoxenfree.

proofread by @noctis-kingfisher / @ceruleansol-archive

please leave feedback + reblog this piece if you found it interesting!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there. Tonight was a chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands. You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm.

Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you? He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What—" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose. You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light. The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let them rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow. No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ���

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway. The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight. Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her? Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job, tied the bag, and sprung straight up. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood. An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home." Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach. A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles. Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you. It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body. The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom. These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke. You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself. Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air. The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do. He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself. A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering. "Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon. Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him. "A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes. Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway. You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you. The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't loud enough. He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips. All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that. "Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe. You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing. His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded. Just once. A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that." Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in. The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light. A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead. The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—just like Montague said you would be. And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back.

He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

Some fates are worse than death...

[honeysuckle-fic-creator]

So, honest question

Please understand I mean this as politely as possible (I admit I can be something of a Takahashi apologist at times), but

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING TO HAPPEN IN THE NEXT 4 EPISODES THAT’S GOING TO WRAP UP THE PLOT IN A CONCISE AND SATISFYING MANNER????!!!!

[fushipurro]

the gentleness that comes (not from the absence of violence)

masterlist

☆ Synopsis: The Infamous "Invisible Man" is finally caught and detained by the FBI. In recognition of his skills, he's offered the chance of a reduced sentence if agrees to assist with a recent string of murders. He accepts, but under one condition.

His partner has to be you, his arresting officer.

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, f!reader, fluff/smut/angst, no curse AU, mentions of blood/alcohol, graphic violence/murder, guns, porn with plot, hurt/comfort, dubious morality, creampie, fingering, oral (f.receiving), biting/scratching.

☆ Word Count: 17.2k

Toji Zenin.

A ruthless assassin that’s managed to keep himself under the radar longer than you’ve been in the force ─ which hasn’t been all that long, but plenty of time to earn name for himself.

He’s the type of killer that you hear about from ghost stories, a mystery so thought provoking that you find no shortage of true crime podcasts about it online. The Zodiac Killer’s got nothing on this guy.

After growing up with TV shows such as Bones or Law & Order SVU, you jumped at the chance to study criminal psychology in college. This led to you graduating with high marks and officially joining the ranks of the FBI, eager to become your own form of Temperance Brennan or Olivia Benson.

You never for a second thought that of anyone else in the force, you would arrest the one and only assassin. The myth, the legend, Toji himself.

At the time his name was unknown, and even now there’s only a shred of paperwork that proves he even exists. As far as the underworld goes, he’s earned the title of “Invisible Man” through his actions alone. Toji’s never once left a shred of evidence that could lead back to him, despite being the cause of many brutal unsolved cases piling up to this day in the archives.

He’s a hired killer, that much was already certain. Many of crimes linked to the assassin all can be traced back to hits listed on various forums and sites on the dark web. Your fellow agents could never get a read on where the payments went from there beyond layers of encryption, and thus, the trail ends short of any possible suspects.

Really, it was a miracle you managed to catch the man himself behind all the heinous acts. How do you find someone when you don’t even know what they look like; someone who leaves behind zero evidence? Not one hair sample, fingerprint, blood droplet, bullet, casing, nothing. You decided to do what any sane person could do to draw out this enigma of a killer. 

You ordered a hit on yourself.

A fake version of yourself of course to hide the fact that you’re working for the government, but the pretty face in the photos is all you.

Quite the gamble, but it paid off when not even a few days after, he made his move on you. It started small with “accidental” meetings in public areas like at a grocery store or a sketchy bar one night where he offered you a drink and a good time. These little moments all led up to when Toji finally decided to corner you, but your team on standby were more than ready to apprehend him.

It worked surprisingly easier than you ever thought possible, but you chalk it up to him just being rusty. How else could you manage such an impossible feat?

All the cold cases tied to him had stopped for a period of five years before picking back up again a few short months ago. This time around, your team contemplated whether this was a copycat killer or if the real deal came back from the dead.

Nowadays, the killings appeared more spur of the moment rather than sophisticated and with careful planning. He still did his part in staying invisible as perfect as always, but the motives for each victim bounced between money to “someone looked at him funny” at best. Therein lies the problem you face.

No evidence? No conviction.

It’s one of those situations where everyone knows that the suspect is guilty, beyond a reasonable doubt, but at the end of the day, it’s conjecture without proper evidence like DNA or a confession.

Toji is a hell of a lot smarter than he looks and he knows it. You’re willing to bet if you got a peek at his brain, it’d be just as muscular and veiny as the rest of him. It makes him all the more terrifying to deal with if you’re not careful enough.

After his detainment, you thought that might be the end of it. Even if he can’t be tried on the counts of a dozen killings, there’s still the fact he was arrested on the charge of attempted murder in the first degree with you as the target.

You’re confident the jurors will find him guilty on that charge and spend the next 20 something years in prison if all goes well. Early release on good behavior seems far from likely for someone so dangerous with a capital D. All you can hope is that the justice system pulls through when it matters, and you won’t have to worry about him ever again.

…Right?

You got a sweet little promotion topped with a raise following the arrest, and most exciting now are all the new cases you’re in charge of, including the recent serial murders performed by the newly notorious Cupid Killer.

When you arrive at the bureau, you’re more than eager to start working until your boss calls you into his office upon arrival. You take a seat in front of his desk, not at all ready for the words you’re about to hear.

“The higher ups and Toji’s hotshot lawyer, Higuruma, have settled a deal. We’ll have him on our side assisting with the case.” His brows furrow with annoyance, but the psychologist in you can tell he’s conflicted. “I’m assigning you to supervise him out in the field. You caught him once, now you get to hold his leash.”

“Sir, with all due respect, you can’t possibly be serious,” you drawl, looking at the man behind the desk completely dumbfounded that such a thing could even happen. “We finally caught him so why risk him running off?”

He sighs, “I’m aware of the trouble this presents, but this is a good chance for us to kill two birds with one stone.” He reaches his hand out to the landline on the table, pressing one of the buttons. “Send him in.”

Your stomach immediately drops into what feels like a bottomless abyss. He’s serious. This isn’t some nightmare either, you know full well you’re awake and pinching yourself a thousand times doesn’t change anything.

“Y/N, I want you to learn all you can from his fucked-up brain. This is the perfect opportunity for someone of your talents to pick him apart so future criminals won’t even stand a chance.”

“But sir, out in the field? Why not keep him in an interrog-“

You’re cut off by the office doors bursting open, followed by the sound of heavy handcuffs. You turn in your seat to see the six foot however many inch wall of pure muscle walk into the room like a Greek God descending from the steps to Olympus.

May as well refer to your boss as Apollo from now on if he wants to play the twelve labors with this much better-looking Herakles. Too bad you weren’t given the gift of prophecy to see this coming. He should be in Tartarus, right where he belongs. A guy like Toji surely has a reserved space down there waiting for his arrival (he doesn’t, thank you Gege).

His eyes no sooner land on you causing your chest to tighten. You’re too afraid to even breathe, his presence is so overwhelming it has you in a chokehold. “There she is,” he drawls all low and husky-like that you can’t help the shiver that comes after.

He’s escorted in with the help of a few officers who lead him to the chair at your side. You shoot a look back to your boss that resembles a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train, and not just any train ─ no, we’re talking the 777 runaway from the movie Unstoppable.

Toji wastes no time sitting down, his body easily spilling out the sides of the chair. He’s unbothered, maybe even happy about it once you feel his knee grazing your own. He moves with purpose, just like any other action. When it comes to Toji, there are no such things as accidents.

You don’t dare look his way, but you can feel his predatorial gaze aimed right at you point blank like a green dot laser sight. He doesn’t need to see a demonstration of your fear because he already knows it ─ like he can smell it. With how skillful he is, that wouldn’t surprise you if he could like this is all some alpha/omega type story. But who can blame you for being afraid?

It’s horrifying when you know you’re sitting next to a killer capable of committing the perfect crime. One look was all it took to have you ready to turn and run with your tail caught between your legs the night he was arrested.

It’s a miracle he even was caught, and you can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than some divine intervention. There’s no closing Pandora’s box now, not when the monster inside is fixing to be put on a leash for your very own hands to control.

Your boss clears his throat, “Back to the matters at hand, I’m trusting you with this. You’re new to working in the field, but I expect good ─ and fast results.” He then points to Toji. “I expect you to behave as well. Otherwise, I’ll make sure the only thing you see for the rest of your days are four white walls.”

“Yes, sir,” you meekly respond, hearing an amused huff come from your new hunting dog of a partner. Actually, a hunting wolf would be a better comparison over a mutt, unless of course we’re talking Cerberus.

Either way, you can’t help but feel like a rabbit that’s wandered onto the dinner plate of this vicious canine, awaiting your demise with a pretty little bow taped to your body. Instead of letting fear control you more than it has, you close your eyes and exhale.

Stay calm. Relax. This could be fun if he behaves.

You’re a criminal psychologist, and from your profile analysis, Toji is the best possible specimen to work with. Everywhere he goes, he’s a force of nature leaving a trail of wreckage in his wake. It’s like he’s got some point to prove to the world, presumably caused by his upbringing you hope to learn about, as with most other criminals.

The contracts he picks up usually lead to a lot of faces the FBI has had their eyes on; sex traffickers, drug lords, serial killers, hell he's even taken down whole gangs in one night. You can’t lie that his morally gray work doesn’t make your own life easier, as cruel as his methods are.

There are numerous questions you’d like to ask him, enough to make a whole college dissertation surrounding the organ in his skull alone. The one on your mind the most is why he stopped for several years. What happened during that time span that led him to go radio silent? You have some theories, and all you need now are answers.

“Do I get a gun now?” he asks, looking to your boss with a hopeful expression.

“No.”

“Hell no.”

He looks away, clearly annoyed with that answer. “Tch.”

“What do you expect? You’re a criminal,” you say directly and right to his face. Guess your little breathing exercise really did help you get your spunk back.

“Innocent until proven guilty, sweetheart.” His tone is mocking and the smirk he flashes infuriates you. “I think if I’m going to be doing your job, I should have a way to protect myself, don’t ya think?”

“What, those muscles of yours aren’t bulletproof?” you respond, laying on the sarcasm, not forgetting to roll your eyes after for dramatic effect.

“Enough,” your boss growls, glaring back and forth between the two of you. “Learn to play nice, we have a killer to catch before another body ends up as a file on our desks.”

“Yes, sir,” Toji drawls mockingly, adding in a two-finger salute. You can already tell he’s the type of person that has to have the last word in an argument.

This is going to be a pain in my ass.

After the meeting ends, Toji’s escorted away while you finalize the details with your boss and all your favorite “squints” at the lab. You love your job for making every day feel like an episode of all your favorite crime dramas.

Later on as you sat at your desk going through files, you’re disrupted by the sudden hand that comes down over the stack of papers in front of you. You follow the cobweb of veins up to a pair of stunning green eyes.

“Jesus ─ fuck, don’t sneak up on me!” You slap his arm with the back of your hand, but he doesn’t budge.

Instead, he leans down until you feel his sultry breath right up against your ear. “I wouldn’t be good at what I do if I couldn’t sneak up on someone, ya know?” he teases, pulling away when you about stomp on his foot with your heel.

“And what would it be that you do, Mr. Fushiguro?” you ask, hoping to get an easy confession out of the man to put an end to this headache.

“Name’s Toji, sweetheart.” He grins knowingly, and you feel a flicker in your chest as a result of that devilish face and choice of words. You tell yourself it’s just agitation, I mean what else could it possibly be? You deal with emotions for a living so you should know these things.

You huff at him, of course he won’t make this easy. You grab a few folders as you stand, wordlessly making your way out the door from the office.

“Where are we goin’, sweetheart?” he questions, trailing closely behind you like a puppy ─ a dangerous puppy.

Forget thinking it would be fun to pick his brain, now you’d rather find joy in picking him apart with your bare hands. “Name’s Y/N, Toji, feel free to use it,” you scoff.

You’re playing a risky game, and you know it. Choosing to challenge Toji is like throwing gasoline on an open flame, waiting to see if the flames grow or follow the stream back until it explodes in your hand like a backyard barbeque gone wrong.

You don’t care if he does erupt, the sooner he tries anything or confesses, you have the killer of a lifetime stuck behind bars and the world becomes a safer place. Until you remember that he’s not some chaotic evil underworld tycoon, just a hired killer that’s taken down some truly sinister individuals. That much makes you question your moral compass on whether he should be locked away.

No, he needs to be locked up. You’re the one in the FBI, crime-fighting is your job, not his.

Toji doesn’t talk much the way down to the parking lot, and you’re thankful for that. The man casually strolls up to the driver’s side with you and holds out his hand expectantly. When you don’t respond he even does a little grabby hand motion.

“Toji.” You stare back at him like he just insulted you. “I’m not letting you drive a government vehicle. Do you even have a license?”

“Come on,” he groans, and now he’s pouting like a toddler fixing to throw a tantrum. “If you aren’t giving me a gun, the least you could do is let me drive.”

“Forget it, it’s not happening,” you tell him, opening the door for yourself and closing it before he has a chance to complain. His eyes narrow with his ever-growing frustration as he walks around to the opposite side.

When you put a guy like Toji into any room, he has a way of making everything ─ and everyone ─ feel tiny in comparison, and that’s especially true when the room in question is the interior of the average Dodge Charger.

You gotta admit, they cleaned him up nicely. His suit pants fit nice and snug, but the white button down looks a size too small as the fabric strains around his muscles. The black tie is out of place on Toji, but you think it adds some charm like the scar over his lips. He seems to look good in anything he wears, even an orange jumpsuit, but that’s a given when you’re an already attractive person. Fuck, he really is a devil in the body of a god.

“You gonna ogle me all day or take me somewhere fun already?” He rolls his head in your direction; obviously still upset you won’t let him drive. Typical.

“This isn’t a date you know,” you say back as though you aren’t blushing like a woman in heat. You turn the car on and are met by “I Hate Everything About You”by Three Days Grace over the radio. A funny coincidence given the situation, really. That’s all it is, right? No way could you feel that sort of affection for a man that kills for a living.

You proceed out of the lot, changing the topic before he has a chance to make another comment, “I assume they filled you in on what we’re dealing with?”

“They did but I didn’t care to listen.” He shrugs and you feel the vein on your forehead throb. I’m going to kill him, I really am.

“…Why?” you drawl, further losing patience with the man. Being cute doesn’t give you a pass to have a shit personality.

“Because none of the people talking were you and that was the whole point of this.” He gestures with his hand in the air, but you’re unsure the exact meaning of his words at this moment in time.

“I swear, are you ever going to stop with the flirting?” you sigh, resting your head against your hand as you slow for a red light. “Reach into my bag and pull out the folders, there’s some autopsy reports you can look at.”

He does as you ask, forcing you against the car door to accommodate his volume in the process. With your bag in hand, he settles back into his seat, giving you a quick wink that’s met with a deadpan stare. The light changes back to green and your eyes go forward to the road ahead.

“This your boyfriend?” You glance over to find your phone in his hand as he admires the lock screen. It’s a photo of you smiling, side by side with Suguru after your first case-closed.

“Put that away.” You swat your hand at him which only makes him chuckle. “And no, he’s my partner. Least when I’m not working with a killer.”

“You say that like you aren’t one, but that’s okay because you’re FBI and I’m the big bad criminal?” He rolls his eyes to further mock you before staring into the side of your face, practically burning holes into your features. After a moment, the scarred corner of his lip rises with sudden realization and his face lights up. “Wait…” He lets out a low gravelly laugh. “You’re a fuckin’ virgin, aren’t you?”

You immediately choke on air, swerving the car a bit. “E-excuse me!?”

“You haven’t killed anyone yet.” He leans back against the cushion, grinning like a maniac. “It’s nice to know you’re a virgin in other ways too though, my offer from the bar still stands. I can make you feel real good.”

He leans in over the console and of all the times you’ve been close to him, only now do you catch a waft of cologne mixing with his natural musk. It’s scary how captivating the smell is, bringing every nerve in your body to life all at once if you don’t open a window right away, which you do.

“Unless you want me to drive this car into a ditch, I suggest you shut the hell up.” You’re not serious, but if he keeps provoking you, that vision will quickly become reality. Some medical leave might do you some good.

“Ooo, scary. Your loss though.” His hands raise in a mock surrender before returning to the files in his lap. “Tell me about the case then, I want to hear it from you.”

A sigh escapes you for the nth time today. “For starters, we’ve dubbed the assailant as the “Cupid Killer”. Namely because their targets are always those in seemingly happy relationships,” you emphasize with air quotes.

“Why do you think that?” His brow raises, flipping through photos from the autopsy before landing on some of the ones from the crime scenes. “Ouch,” he hisses.

You catch him adjusting in the seat with careful consideration for a certain area, not missing the soft outline of something huge to say the least. God, get it together!

“Yeeaah, the killer enjoys making our victims choke on their own family jewels. As a psychologist, I’m inclined to believe there’s a reason for that.”

“You think they’re cheaters?”

“Bingo, hence why we suspect the killer to be female. They likely have emotional trauma that ties into to their choice of targets ─ like a revenge motive maybe.”

“What’s with this?” He holds a photo in front of you showing one victim’s exposed chest cavity.

“Every victim thus far has had their heart removed, but we’ve not been able to locate any part of the missing organ. It’s a mystery.” You turn off the road and into an empty amusement park, parking just in front of the gate. “It’s possible the killer is taking these hearts as a trophy or for some other purpose we’re just not seeing yet.”

He acknowledges you with a hum, putting the folder away carelessly before stepping out onto the concrete. With a few calculated strides, he’s back at your side scanning the area like some oversized bodyguard or protective boyfriend. It’d be sweet if he wasn’t a walking criminal that could easily snap your neck and ghost himself before the FBI even knows what happened.

The rest of the walk is quiet as you lead the hitman to the remnants of the latest crime scene, a Ferris wheel. There are still remnants in the area from CSU’s search, including all the various “keep out!” tapes or evidence numbers littered across the ground around the attraction. You walk up the metal steps leading to one of the empty bloodied cars of the ride.

“The body obviously isn’t here anymore but…” you pause, pulling out one of the folders and scanning through until you found some photos from the scene, passing them off to Toji. “Maybe you’ll see something we missed, with your experience.”

Toji takes the photos from you, laughing through his nose. “What I can see is that this chick likes adding a bunch of extra steps. I find it much more efficient to just stab someone and dump ‘em in a river.” He makes a sly and toothy grin.

“Hey, you mind repeating that for me?” You pull out your phone, nonchalantly opening a recording app. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Nice try, sweetheart,” he says with an amused expression, pushing your hand away. His head lowers towards you, hoping maybe he’ll get another reaction out of you without the threat of you driving off the road. “You didn’t say please.”

You flutter your eyelashes at him all innocent and pretty. The last thing you want to have to resort to with Toji is begging. You do have some dignity after all. “Please?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, ya missed your chance. Better luck next time.”

Your face turns to a pout as you throw your phone back in your bag. You hate how much of a fool he makes you feel like. Even your ingenious brain can’t keep up as it turns to mush in his presence. Not a wrinkle in sight as far as you can tell so long as he’s around like some walking ironing board or steamer.

You have to remind yourself that he’s been at this longer than you. A man like Toji was always going to be a challenge one way or another, but you’ll crack him somehow eventually. You know you will.

“What did you learn from this scene?”

“Well for starters, our forensics division found the victim to have been deceased a few days before they were moved here. Another so-called happy couple whose girlfriend had nothing but good to say.”

“So,” he prompts, looking off into the surrounding distance. “How did they move the body here?” The way he makes himself sound like a college professor isn’t doing your mood any favors. He’s here to assist, not tutor you.

“There’s no evidence the victim was dragged, and even in a body bag we would’ve seen some form of chafing or fabric samples. The killer could’ve carried the body in, but that’s less likely given what we know about their physical strength.”

Toji gives the area another glance and you can hear him audibly sigh as disappointment takes over his features.

“What?” you ask, sounding a little too offended in your tone.

“Nothing.”

“Obviously it isn’t nothing.” Your hand moves to your hip, shifting your weight to one side. “I know you’re lying, Toji.”

“Yeah, cause you’re a shrink.” He scowls. “You should know when I’m lying.” You feel like there’s an underlying point he refuses to highlight on, but before you can ask, he’s already hot on the trail in the direction you entered the park from.

The nerve of this guy!

“Hey, wait!” you shout, running off after him. “Where are you going!?”

Another fun trait about this man you’re finding out is that he even walks like a serial killer. Think of any horror movie villain ─ Jason Vorhees, Michael Myers, even the damn Predator. You can be running for all you care, and the killer will still out speed you without even trying.

That’s Toji.

By the time you got back to your car, he’s already inside and buckled in. “What’s your deal?” you question, tossing your bag onto the backseat without a care.

“I expected a little more from you, to be honest.” He meets your eyes with a bored, lifeless expression. “It’s no wonder you guys are begging me to do your job.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He lifts one finger up, jabbing your forehead to push you back down into your seat. “Figure it out with that brain of yours, Y/N.”

For a psychologist, you’re not sure why it suddenly bothers you that he’s using your real name instead of the usual “sweetheart”. You choose to ignore it, turning the key in the ignition and driving off without another word.

There’s no radio this time or conversation, nothing to drown the awkward silence that hangs in the air. You glance over from time to time at almost every red light, but Toji’s expression remains the same. Eyes closed, his head leaning against a fist propped up along the door, just a resting stoic face. Fuck, even that’s a good look for him.

Your eyes trace lines down from his pointed nose to his chiseled jawline, taking note of how that very jaw clenches every so often or the small movements from under his eyelids. His black hair falls neatly over his face and you imagine how soft it must be to the touch.

Why of all people does the Invisible Man have to be this guy? This incredibly sculpted, god of beauty and sexual ferocity with a slutty little waist to match.

No matter how hard you try to avoid it, you’re slipping, and you know it. The longer this goes on, the harder you find it to continue trying to deny the obvious here. So deep into denial that you don’t even realize the web of red silk you’re ensnared upon.

BEEEEP.

“Shit,” you mutter, pressing on the gas pedal all too quickly as evident from the tires squealing. Toji muffles out a laugh and you spot a faint smile creeping up his face from the corner of your eye.

Damn him. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s a murderer, he’d be exactly your type of guy. You’re still reeling from his earlier comments, knowing he does have a point.

You’re an FBI agent, out in the field. At some point, you will be the one pulling the trigger and ending someone’s life. You understand perfectly well his line of thinking about justice and all, but when you’re the one standing on that threshold, it’s different, and you aren’t sure if you’re truly ready to cross the boundary.

“Where are we off to now?” he questions, and you’re at least thankful he dropped his attitude.

“A bar.”

“Oohh,” he snickers. “You trying to win me over with some alcohol? Good luck with that, I don’t get drunk.”

“I’m not doing this for your entertainment, I’m doing this for the case.” Your fingers anxiously tap the leather of the wheel. “I am going to ask you though to play along with my idea.”

He raises a brow all too eagerly, “What would that be, sweetheart?”

You swallow the lump in your throat before speaking, “…Pretend we’re dating.” You refuse to look at him after, not wanting to see whatever look is plastered on his face. Unbeknownst to you, he’s actually surprised.

“Don’t take it the wrong way.” You immediately cringe at your meek tone, knowing full well it’s his fault. “All of our victims have had alcohol in their system prior to their deaths, so it might be safe to assume a bar is where they find their targets.”

“And you want me to be your date, why?” he asks with that same annoying teacher tone he used on you earlier. How can one person be so insufferable and alluring at the same time?

“Our suspect is the Cupid Killer. They likely only go after men who are obviously in a relationship with someone. The bar we’re going to is having a Valentine’s Day special, which makes it a prime location our suspect could be in.”

“Smart,” he hums with approval. Does this mean you get that extra credit now? “You’ll have to be the one to treat me since the bureau locked all my cards.”

“Fine, but only because it’s covered under my expenses.” You roll your eyes, finishing the drive in silence until pulling up a few blocks away from the bar, intent on walking the rest.

As you come around to the sidewalk, Toji gets right up at your side and places his hand on the small of your back. Before you even have a chance to protest, his mouth is hot on your ear whispering, “Don’t forget that you asked for this.” His voice sends a shiver down your spine that doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s in his nature to not overlook a single detail after all.

If you only knew what else he knows, then it would be a real treat. From the way your thighs subconsciously squeeze when he violates your personal space to the hitching of your breath when he leans in close. He knows all too well what you won’t allow yourself to feel, and for that, he has a plan.

You make sure to send a message to your coworker, Kento, about having reached the destination. He’s like the Angela Montenegro of your division with his computer skills, always keeping a lookout over you in and out of work. You hate the ideologies of “work husband/wife”, but Kento’s become a “work dad” to you, without all the issues.

Toji’s taken on the role of a pretend boyfriend better than expected, making sure to open the door of the bar for you to enter, and even taking off your jacket to hang. He takes your hand and leads you over to some empty stools at the bar, tapping the counter to make his order.

The venue itself is louder than you’d prefer but go figure. There’s a crowd of couples celebrating the day of love. The lights were all shades of red and hot pink, and the music consisting solely of love songs.

The bartender returns shortly with drinks in hand, passing them to you both. You can easily tell he’s tired given the eyebags present and the disheveled bangs that hang loosely down over the tattoo across the bridge of his nose. His ghostly pale skin making a sharp contrast to the rest of him.

You take this chance to scan the rest of the bar, using your profiling experience to draw up any possible suspects from the groups present. Nothing too major strikes your fancy so far, but the night is early, and happy hour has only just begun.

“You should keep your eyes on me, sweetheart.” You snap your head to the assassin, ready to protest before he interrupts with two fingers under your chin, “You want to show off how in love~ you are with me, don’t you?”

“If it weren’t for this whole thing I’d be spilling this drink over your face,” you spit, ignoring the fiery aftermath of his touch against your skin. It’s just the alcohol, not him. You shouldn’t even be drinking on the job!

“Ouch, am I not your type?” He feigns hurt feelings. “No…that’s not it.” He corrects himself, eyes burning into you as though he’s the shrink in this totally fake couple. “You’re just frustrated is all, I can tell.”

That’s it, I’m done.

Your hand attempts to move on its own, ready to follow up with your threat until his own locks around yours. “Aht aht, sweetheart,” he purrs with a salacious smile.

“Why are you like this?”

“What can I say? You interest me deeply.” He closes the distance between you both without breaking contact with your eyes. Obsidian swallowing his green pools, fuck ─ even his eyes are hypnotizing!

He allows his lips to ghost over your own for a moment before grazing your cheeks on a path up to your earlobe. “How can I not be when a girl as pretty as you also had the balls to put a hit out on herself, all for me?” He licks his bottom lip afterwards, watching the goosebumps trail down your neck before pulling back.

You try and hide your flustered expression with the drink in hand, but you’re too late as always when it comes to Toji. Remember the part about him never overlooking details? All in the job description.

“I had to do something to get your attention,” you say in defense. “We were all freaking out when you suddenly popped back into existence after a stagnant five years. What’s the deal with that anyways?”

All of a sudden, his eyes went dark. The twinkle he had in eyes before extinguished and replaced with coldness. Or maybe loneliness? “That isn’t your business.” His voice drops an octave and for once instead of misplaced arousal, there’s some actual fear present in your core.

“Hey at least you aren’t denying it this time,” you tease. “Too bad I’m not recording this time around.”

He ignores you, taking a long swig of his drink. You watch the way his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, resting your head against your hand on the counter. While his brows knit together, you can make out the faint little crinkles forming around his eyes for someone of his age. He’s not old ─ no, but he’s at least in his thirties and most likely doesn’t have a strict skincare routine like you.

Your attention is drawn to the newest song playing overhead, “Lover’s Rock” by TV Girl. Toji must’ve noticed your interest for how quickly his mood shifts and you find your hand encased with his own.

Are you sick of me? Would you like to be?

I’m trying to tell you something. Something that I already said.

He pulls you out onto the dancefloor, intertwining your fingers together with his free hand on your waist. Yours settles on his ridiculously large bicep. Does he stuff himself with steel? Throw a jacket and shades on him and you’ve got yourself a living, breathing Terminator.

You like a pretty boy. With the pretty voice.

Who’s trying to sell you something. Something that you already have.

You could feel him softening up as you find your pace, letting him twirl you around between the other couples like you’re his doll. The look on his face remains nearly unreadable each time you meet his jade eyes.

But if you’re too drunk to drive. And the music is right.

She might let you stay. But just for the night.

The longer you stare, the more you catch glimpses of the emotions he won’t share. Curiosity. Confliction. Affection. Hurt. Love. Grief. It’s as though his body is actively fighting against them surfacing in order to steer away from vulnerability. You see it all too clearly. Behind those mesmerizing orbs lies pure heartfelt honesty.

And if she grabs for your hand. And drags you along.

His lips meet yours in an instant, closing the window view to his soul in the blink of an eye. You didn’t fight it, how can you? It felt like time had stopped and the universe only consisted of you and Toji, side by side like two neutron stars spiraling inwards to meet the other in a phantasmal display of cosmic power.

Even your traitorous pussy is firing off gamma-ray bursts in the form of pulses perfectly in sync with the beating of your two hearts as one united being. You’ve officially crossed the event horizon into the singularity. To think you even had a chance to resist his gravitational pull was a foolish dream.

She might want a kiss. Before the end of the song.

Because love…

You push away from Toji who stares back at you through half-lidded eyes swarming with desire. “I-I’ll be right back,” you murmur, rushing off to the nearest restroom.

…burns like a cigarette.

And leave you alone with nothing.

When you made it just outside the restroom, you took one last look to where you left Toji, seeing him talking with some chestnut-haired woman. Jealousy fills your throat, stinging like bile.

And leave you alone with nothing…

Once inside, you waste no time approaching the sink and splashing some cold water on your face. The reflection you find in the mirror looks like you, but her pupils are blown into heart shapes with twinkling little stars of adoration.

Get it together! You clap your cheeks with the palms of your hands. He’s a killer for god’s sake! Anything he’s doing is just a lie to get what he wants (it’s not, and you know it). Another voice calls out from lower in your body, Oh, but I think I’m in love with this criminal…

Fuck.

You exit the bathroom a few minutes later, sighing heavily as you walk down the dimly lit hallway back to wherever Toji is. Out of nowhere, a hand coils around your wrist, yanking you into one of the storage rooms.

You’re fixing to yell and go for the gun hidden under your shirt, but a large, rough hand clasps itself over your mouth and the other keeps your arm fixed behind you.

“Shh, don’t,” Toji warns in your ear. His body is actively caging you against the wall and you can’t help the fear that bubbles up until the voices outside the room draw your attention.

“Oh, come on~ I think it’ll be fun!” a female starts to speak.

“Baby,” another chimes in, male this time. “I’m not so sure about this.”

“Don’t you want to spice things up a bit? I’m getting a little bored, don’t you want to do something different for once?”

Considering Toji’s urgency, you can only assume this isn’t some normal couple chatting outside. Could it really be the Cupid Killer? If that is the case, then this is your opportunity to arrest them and put a stop to the killings! What is Toji doing!?

You squirm in his grip trying to break free, but he refuses to budge even as you bite down on the hand covering your mouth. The door is slightly ajar and peeking through, you can just barely make out some features of the man. Older, dark hair, glasses maybe too?

“Quick fuckin’ moving unless you’re trying to start something with me,” he groans. You’re unsure what he’s getting at, but after he adjusts his body, a heavy weight along your back tells you all you need to know. He exhales deeply, and the heat of his breath hits your neck all at once like a dragon fanning flames.

When the coast is clear, he spins you around so your back is against the wall, arms planted on either side of your head. Even in the dark, you can make out the starved eyes ready to eat you up for dinner.

“Toji, what the fuck was that about?” you whisper-shout at him, your anger evident. “If that was the killer, then we could’ve done something, we had the chance to!”

“You really want to confront them in a public place and put the lives of others at risk? You think a virgin like you can handle that?”

“I could’ve called for backup or better yet, let you at them since you’re so experienced! Since when do you care about the lives others anyways?” Your patience is dangling by a thread. “Have you spent the past five years being a saint or something? Huh? Do enlighten me, or better yet I’m sure I can do it myself now that I’ve gotten the chance to know you.”

“Cut it out,” he growls, pulling harshly on your wrist as he exits the closet space. He leads you out through the main area of the bar, seemingly uncaring to what others might think watching you both.

“Let go of me!” you futilely attempt to pry his fingers off with your own. He doesn’t so much as spare you another look as you’re taken out of the bar and led in the opposite direction away from your car. “Where do you think you’re taking me?”

“Be a good girl and shut up until we’re there.” He exchanges his grip around your wrist to that of your hand, encasing it perfectly inside his own. It’s odd, but you’re too distracted by whatever’s going on to think much about it.

“What if I don’t want to? I don’t have to listen to you, I’m the one calling the shots here.”

His head snaps your way with a petrifying glare. “If you want to be a brat, then I’ll treat you like one. You’d do well to take my advice.” You click your tongue spitefully in response, the one part of you not turned to stone by his eyes.

The man’s as stubborn as the Cretan bull with horns to match. Having a gun and a badge don’t make you the next Theseus either. You’re sure Toji could easily take down a Minotaur with his own hands and walk away scot-free.

The tension between you two now is thick enough that you’d need a chainsaw to cut cleanly through, but you refuse to be the one pulling the startup cord to do so. Well, at least until you see where he so insistently dragged you along to.

“Toji?” You act innocent, pretending you’re not surprised while blinking upwards at the neon sign overhead. “Why the hell did you bring me to a love hotel?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Not really.”

“Tch, then act like you do.”

He releases your hand and pulls flush against his body at your waist, ushering you inside. The worker at the front desk is quick to greet you both. “One night, preferably somewhere quiet,” Toji says to them as he leans over the counter pretending to whisper, “This one’s got a tendency to scream.” He winks, and your jaw goes completely slack.

I’m going to kill him; I really am.

The receptionist passes you a look of…pity? Jesus fucking Christ.

“Toji~ don’t say something like that, it’s embarrassing!” You laugh it off while at the same time digging your elbow into his side, "I keep telling him the clit doesn't need to be pounded on like a trampoline, but at least he can figure out where it is on his own now!” You smile innocently to the worker, not even bothering to whisper.

“W-what name for the room?” they ask with an awkward look on their face. You’re sorry to put this person just doing their job in the middle, but someone has to humble Toji. Paybacks a three-folded bitch.

“Fushiguro,” he responds, pulling out your wallet to pay from your back pocket. You did say you’d be charging the bureau but you’re not going to enjoy explaining this one charge to your boss.

They hand you a key which Toji snatches up, wasting no time in pushing you on your way. The room itself was exactly what you expect a love hotel to look like, especially around Valentine’s Day.

Red satin or velvet everything, rose petals scattered on the floor and bedding, various red and pink sex toys lined up. There’s even a clothing rack with several costumes to choose from if you’re into that.

Toji pushes past you, shutting himself away inside the bathroom. You figured he might try and say something to defend his masculinity, but not saying anything at all worries you even more.

Moments later you hear the shower kick on, so you opt to lay down on the heart-shaped bed to wait, letting Kento know what’s up and ordering a room service pizza delivery.

He comes out after around ten minutes, still drying his damp hair with one towel while another loosely hangs off his waist. Oh sweet Adonis. If you thought he was attractive before, then you’re in the presence of the almighty now.

Every inch of his skin is a perfect ratio of muscle, scars, and veins. Even his abs have abs that all trail down the V-shaped landing strip barely visible above the hem of the towel. Phidias himself would have a field day with his body. You’re surprised there isn’t any steam radiating off him, but a peek into the bathroom behind him doesn’t reveal any foggy mirrors.

What the fuck am I doing?

You roll away to face the wall, hoping it might stop the incessant meows coming from your body. You’re supposed to hate him, not want to fuck him!

Clearing your throat, you brush away those indecent thoughts. “So…Fushiguro, huh? Care to explain that?”

“Not really.” He stops short of the bed, tossing the towel in his hands somewhere else in the room. You can feel his presence hovering over you, but you refuse to look. You know if you do, then something inside you will snap.

“Look Toji. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine, I get it,” you sigh. “But figure your shit out so we can work together properly and catch our killer.”

“You still can’t see it with that brain of yours?”

“Huh? What do you even mea- hey!” His hand latches onto your ankle, pulling you to the foot of the bed. You’re about to kick him but instead make the mistake of looking into his eyes first and once again you find yourself at the other end of Medusa’s stone-cold glare.

“Do you think I’m stupid? Do you honestly believe I would be careless enough to be captured by the FBI if I didn’t have a reason?”

“I don’t know, Toji! W-we all just assume you’ve gotten rusty.”

“What do you think, Y/N. I don’t give a shit what your coworkers think of me.” He tilts his head, drawing himself ever closer to you. “I know you’re smart enough to see my intentions.”

“Toji, I-I can’t…” You move to cover your face with your hands, but Toji stops you, holding them above your head. He raises one leg up onto the bed, effectively caging you under him.

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?” The towel conveniently slips off, pooling on the floor. “’Cause there’s a big difference there, sweetheart.”

Fuck, fuck, this is too much!

“I-I just ─ I can’t, this is wrong!”

His eyes swirl with a dangerous mix of mischief and desire, and Aphrodite help you if it doesn’t turn you on more. “If you really want me to stop then I will, no questions asked; but I don’t need to be a shrink to read what your body is telling me.”

The moment you feel his breath fanning your lips, that very something you were worried about snapping, snaps. Your lips part way like a glimmer of green for Toji and he’s on them in a second, kissing and suckling on the plush tissue like he’ll never have another chance.

His tongue swipes your bottom lip, as if he’s asking for an invitation inside. You oblige, greeting him at the entry with your own and soon finding the taste to be just as intoxicating as the rest of him.

The hand bounding your wrist releases and you’re quick to find purchase around the back of head. His hair even while wet is just as soft as you imagined it would be. Soon, you feel the tip of the Hydra’s head rub against the fabric of your pants, begging for some form of relief to come.

Toji pulls away with a clear string of dew still connecting you two as one, observing you through half-lidded bedroom eyes and a wolfish grin. This must’ve been how Psyche felt when she first laid eyes on Eros, completely enamored by his beauty.

His thick fingers come down, doing away with the buttons of your shirt to reveal the golden fleece lace of your bra hidden inside. You turn away, cheeks turning a delicate shade of flustered. “Aht aht, eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Begrudgingly, you face him once more eliciting a “Good girl” from the man, sending straight pulses down to your pussy. His voice is laced with sin and if getting off to it makes you a sinner, then you’ll gladly become one.

Toji can’t help the groan that escapes his throat once your bra and free and off to the side. With your chest in full view he purrs, “So pretty.” before the padding of his thumb circles in on one of the buds.

“Toji~” you mewl, trying to tilt your hips over his knee to relieve the pressure building between your thighs, growing ever more desperate for his touch.

“Shh, I’m getting there.” He licks a stripe up your earlobe, nibbling on the soft flesh. “Don’t be impatient or I’ll stop right here,” he warns, but it’s a false threat. If you brain wasn’t so foggy you could see that, but unless you actively tell him no, he isn’t stopping for anything now.

His lips find their way across your jawline, moving down your throat and leaving behind blooming red roses in his wake. You throw your head back deeper into the satin sheets once your whole tit is encased in his mouth. Toji lips work wonders on the soft flesh, biting and suckling in ways you never thought you’d gain pleasure from. Sure, you play with your own chest while masturbating, but never has it pushed you to the brim of an orgasm quite like this.

Again you find that Toji never fails to overlook the minor details, even when it comes to your own pleasure so unfamiliar to him, the squirming and the mewls coming out of you are all he needs to see and hear before he’s pulling away and you’re left whining.

“Fuck, Toojjii,” you drawl out with frustration, trying to use his hair as leverage to pull him back. He grabs your wrist, keeping it still in his grip as he brings his mouth up and over your fingers.

Fuck, you could cum just from this sight too. A beauty like Toji and that knowing look he gives while your dainty little fingers swirl around his tongue. His other hand is just rubbing up and down your thigh with feather-light touches. Every time he gets close to your heat, he reverses direction, but every return brings him closer and closer.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear every pretty noise that mouth of yours can make,” he tells you in the most saccharine tone you’ve ever heard. Truth be told, from the way you sound and call out his name with such neediness, he would’ve busted right then and there had he not relieved himself in the cold shower earlier.

Toji’s fingers loop around the hem of your pants, removing the fabric from your body to join the rest on the floor. He sits himself up, admiring your choice of matching panties that highlight the beautiful curves of your body. With one precise movement, his thumb lands perfectly overtop your pearl.

“What was that you said earlier?” he teases, rubbing patterns into the bundle of nerves and forcing such pretty moans from you. “Tell me, did I find your clit alright? How am I making her feel?” he chuckles deeply and you’re at a loss for words.

God, when you said this man always had a point to prove, this isn’t exactly what you had in mind.

Just when you find yourself on the white cliffs of ecstasy once more, he removes his hand, flashing you a sinister smirk that infuriates you beyond belief. Before you’re able to protest, his fingers hook around the sides of your panties, slowing prying them away from your dripping folds with a look of sheer cockiness all over that stupidly sweet face.

“Look at this pretty cunt drooling for me.” He uses two digits to spread your lower lips, eyes lost on your perfect little hole clenching around nothing. The sight of it makes his own cock twitch with anticipation. “How long have you been walking around all wet like this, hm?”

All day. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Since you started touching me.” Is what you muster up.

“That so?”

No. “Y-yeah.”

He shrugs with disbelief. “Whatever you say.” And you should know better than to take him for a fool.

He gathers some slick over his middle finger, resting the tip perfectly over your virgin hole doing all it can to suck him inside. He exhales deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. “Relax, sweetheart. Let me take good care of ya now, okay?”

You nod your head in a frenzy, biting your bottom lip as pushes up into your gummy walls. A couple of your fingers is nothing compared to one of Toji’s size, and you haven’t even gotten to elephant in the room swaying against your leg. With depravity as the pit and his cock as the pendulum, there’s only one way this is going to go.

“So tight for me, I hope I don’t break you.” The sudden pressure that follows his words tells him all he needs to know about how much you enjoy this. He knew you’d be good for him. A challenge at first, but he lives for those. If earning your heart and getting to split you open with his mighty broadsword meant he had to undergo the twelve labors, then so be it. He’ll finish those in record time unseen since 1300 BCE.

With a curl of his finger, he undoubtably finds your g-spot judging by the saccharine gasp that leaves your mouth. Your back arches in a way that puts the golden ratio to shame, for you are the true measure of beauty.

You on the other hand are hit with a wave of embarrassment. Who knew you could make such pornographic sounds? Not you, and it’s such a shock that you feel the need to shield your face with the use of your arm.

Big mistake.

“What’d I tell you before?” he growls, ceasing any and all movement.

“Sorry,” you murmur, uncovering your face. His finger goes back to your sex, circling the entrance methodically.

“Don’t you dare hide away from me. I want to hear you scream for me tonight.”

Who knew being threatened by an assassin in bed could be so damn hot? And here you thought you could deny what your pussy already knew.

You could say he’s punishing you by pumping in an extra finger this time around, but in his experienced mind, it’s high time the prep work really begins with some scissoring action. The added stretch stings like a bitch, contorting your face. Surviving the main event is going to take a miracle from above.

Sensing your slight displeasure, Toji slots his head down between your legs and while maintaining the steady rhythm of his fingers, his lips envelop your clit perfectly, better than any rose toy ever could hope to achieve.

“Toji,” you breathe and to the sailor kissing you up, it’s like the voice of a siren invading his ears. If that’s the case, then he’s more than happy to let you sink those harpy talons into him and take him for everything he’s worth.

For the third time of the evening, the knot in your stomach threatens to burst. Every pump of his fingers is akin to the hammer of a blacksmith working over the searing forge that is your pent-up body. History has it all wrong for Hephaestus is a green-eyed mass of all that is good and far from ugly.

He gambles whether or not to edge you for a third time, but the taste in his mouth is pure ambrosia, and who is he to deny the heavenly gift? In order to not waste a single drop, he removes his finger, fitting his entire face in between your folds. His nose batters against your clit, inhaling the divine smell that sends his eyes rushing to the back of his head with a lengthy groan to follow.

The humming is what sets you off, finally bursting the dam and letting white wash over you like a tidal wave of arousal. He swears he could cum from your face, taste, and screams alone ─ and god does he try so hard to resist flooding your legs and painting the sheets instead of your insides.

You finally come to when a sharp bang clashes against the wall.

“What was that?”

“It’s a love hotel, probably someone who likes it rough.”

He’s completely uncaring, and for all the right reasons. Toji finally has you right where he wants you and he’s going to enjoy every second of it. His tongue is working wonders to clean up all the clear liquid runoff, leaving your pearl with the pop of his mouth.

“Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart,” he tells you with such a lewd expression.

You can tell he isn’t lying about that either given your degree of experience. If Toji ever went to college, you’re sure he walked out with a PhD in sex. Hell, at this point it wouldn’t surprise you if he has a Nobel Prize in cunnilingus.

He sees that fucked out face of yours staring up at him with stars in your eyes and little do you realize what you’re doing to him. Every cell in his body is crying out to claim you all for himself, pleading to what little control he has left that without you, there is nothing left for him.

That’s all he needed to hear before the next thing you know, both of your legs are lifted up and over his ridiculously muscled thighs and the 13th wonder of the world falls onto your stomach with a thump.

Shit, how is that behemoth going to fit inside you?

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit all nice and snug.”

Great, is he telepathic now?

“T-toji I don’t thi-“

“Shh, sweetheart, please,” he pleas and it’s as much of a shock to you as it is to him to have heard it escape unchecked from his mouth. He really does mean it though ─ and if he has to beg for it, he sure as fuck will. “Just relax for me baby, okay?”

You wearingly nod your head and watch as he pulls back, grazing all the delectable inches over your clit. There’s a trail of white beading left behind that he takes into his fingers, smearing it around the angry crown of the hydra’s head.

And like some crazy sex sonar, it falls perfectly against the entrance to the gates of pussy heaven. Fuck, if this doesn’t prove you two were meant to be together, he doesn’t know what will.

His expression darkness into what could be best described as cunthirsty in nature. “I’m going to ruin you now for anyone else, and you know why?” Your eyes screw shut as his cock bullies its way past the pearly gates. “You’re all mine, sweetheart.”

“Hahh─ fuck!”

“There, there,” he releases the filthiest guttural groan you’ve heard from it yet tonight. “Relax~”

He’s really trying if you can believe it or not. It’s taking everything in his power to rein himself from crashing his hip against your ass in one fell swoop. The sight of his cock splitting the pink seas to disappear inside outshines the beauty of any marble statue or painting.

The stretch is unbelievably insane and has you crying out in your thoughts to the 12 Olympians for mercy.

“Shit, sweetheart, there are no gods here. Only you and me.”

“Nghh, Toji please.”

His thumb comes down over your clit, smoothing you out as he plunges the rest of the way and bottoms out.

“That’s it,” he drawls. “Just like that baby. You’re doing so well taking me all in one go.”

You don’t realize how hard you’ve been gripping the fabric of the sheets until Toji’s hand works its way between. Taking it into his own, he presses your palm down around your belly button and adds some pressure that results in some blissful whimpers from you.

“You feel that?” You nod in response. “Words, sweetheart. I haven’t fucked those out of you just yet.”

“Yes! Fuck, please please.”

“So needy,” he snickers. You thankfully don’t have to say anything more before he’s reading your thoughts again and starts moving his hips back and forth.

Maybe the real challenge of this all is trying not to cum early, your grip is otherworldly. He spots a few tears dotting your cheeks and swipes them away. In the thrill of the moment, he decides to taste those and surprise, they’re just as sweet as the rest of you.

Not even King Arthur himself would be able to pull him out of you now. There’s no going back and all that’s left to truly claim you is to mark you in every way he knows how.

He’s the best kind of weighted blanket the way he hangs on you. One that comes with the added bonus of the plethora of new roses adorning your neck and collar.

“Such a good pussy for me ─ fuck this was worth everything.”

“Mmpfm?” you muffle out incoherently, unable to form a cohesive word when every piston movement has you seeing stars.

“I knew you were gonna be special the moment I saw that ad online,” he groans between thrusts and disheveled breaths, speeding up with every passing moment. “Pretty girl like you throwing herself to the wolves. I f-fucking knew your work before accepting that hit.”

He knew all along!?

This new information hits you like the freight train you were afraid of at the start. He never once became rusty, no ─ he went full dormant like a supervolcano.

“You wanna know why I did that?” His mouth meets yours in a messy kiss, clashing teeth and all before planting his forehead against yours. Those green eyes have long since been swallowed up with black hearts.

“I-hhahd to see what you were like in person. I needed to see just who are for myself.” God, if his moans weren’t some of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard. “You’re crazy, you know? Hell, if I ain’t crazy as all fuck for you now.”

“Fuck, fuck, Toji!” you scream as he bites down on your jugular, the moment you’ve been waiting for since the beginning. The maw of the wolf meeting the throat of the perverse bunny loving every minute of this.

“You wanna cum, sweetheart? You gonna let me cum in you? Let me show you who you belong to now?”

There isn’t hardly a second to think as he ruts his hips mercilessly into your core. His once domineering side morphing under the full moon into a pure animalistic nature with all intentions of fucking and claiming you as his. Dark romance novels wish they could achieve what Toji already accomplishes.

“Y-yes, yes─ please Toji, make me yours, please!”

“Good fucking girl.” Is all he manages to exhale before carnal desire takes over and he sinks his teeth back into your neck with a bruising grip.

The groans and warmth that follow in your cunt shoot through you and straight to the heart like it’s your Achilles heel.

You sigh and scream his name a thousand times in a siren song melody that does exactly what he knew you could do for him. Your body shakes and convulses, draining his balls dry and maybe even his soul after when that was all that remained.

For what feels like an eternity after, you’re untethered from the Earth, drifting in a realm of white where the only noise you hear is the synced rhythm of your hearts beating as one.

When you come to following the magnitude 10 orgasm, Toji’s full weight is on top of you his cock buried deeply. You pat his scratched up back (courtesy of you) a few times, but to no avail.

“Toooji~ you’re heavy,” you voice, wincing at the hoarseness of your own throat. Guess he was right about the whole screaming thing.

He groans with disapproval, eventually succumbing when you start pinching the raised crop circles you created. Not wishing to pull out, he simply rolls onto his back, trading places. The next few minutes are spent in silence, still catching each other’s breaths as he rubs his coarse hand up and down your back soothingly.

Post-nut clarity has never him as hard as it has until now.

“Letting myself get arrested by you has to be one the dumbest things I’ve ever done for pussy.”

Is that all he thinks of this as?

You swallow the bitter lump in your throat. “…do you regret it?”

“Not for a second,” his hand finds its way under the chin you’re so desperately trying to hide between the cascading mountains of his chest. “Look at what you’ve done to me, sweetheart.”

There on his face, you find that his eyes are slowly returning to the beautiful green you that so captivated you about him. Beyond that luscious forest of color lies his deeper emotions: adoration, lust, affection, longing, love.

Love.

It really makes people do such stupid things.

A smarter man would’ve avoided getting arrested and instead just asked you nicely to treat you for dinner. Toji’s without a doubt a smart, tactful man. But he exhibits such raw energy to a fault that leads him to believe the thrill of the hunt would be more worth if it means he gets the golden horned hind at the end as opposed to any other frolicking red deer.

It worked out though, for now he’s staked his claim and made his caveman ancestors proud.

“Fushiguro was my wife’s last name,” he tells you, and you can hear the subtle grief in his tone.

“I figured it had to be someone, but you were married? We never saw that in our background check on you.”

“That’s because I’m good at my job,” he huffs. “I kept my wife separate from it all, including any official documents so she could never be traced to me.”

His left hand raises as he takes a moment to observe the empty spot on his ring finger. There’s a faint discoloration around the skin proving the passage of time under the sun. Proving that time with her really did exist.

“If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to continue.” You bring your hand up just next to his scar, gliding your thumb over the rough edges.

“My wife, she… passed away during childbirth.” He doesn’t break eye contact now with you, and while the muscles on his face don’t show how he feels, you can see it swirling all around the depths of his eyes. “All I have left of her is my son, Megumi. Our little blessing.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Toji. Not anymore.” He takes his hand and ruffles your hair, knowing what you’re getting at like always with him.

“Truthfully, I think it’s a downright terrible you opted to return to murder to pay the bills, but I’d say Megumi is lucky to have a father that’d go that far for their child’s future.”

It is a cruel thought, but Toji isn’t and probably never has been a normal person. If killing is all you’ve ever known, you understand how hard it can be to find some other purpose in life.

“You know, I almost wasn’t sure I’d even get this far with you, but I’m glad.” He smiles, and it’s one of the most genuine faces you’ve seen him make to date. Toji’s not some psychopathic killer ─ no, he’s someone dealt a shit hand in life doing whatever they can to get through each day like anyone else.

An unstable mind, sure, but also someone with the capability to love another with his whole being and change for the better. Had he not lost his wife, you most likely would never have seen another victim end up as paperwork on your desk.

“What would you have done if it hadn’t work out?” you ask, almost curious if that next victim would’ve been you if your team wasn’t ready to apprehend him, but you already know the answer to that, don’t you?

“If you think any prison could hold me, then you have a lot to learn,” he laughs, lifting you off his cock and resting you at his side. You whine at the empty feeling, making him grit his teeth to not get hard and ruin the moment. “I would be gone that very night and then you’d never see or hear from me again.”

The door knocks a few times, and you panic a bit wondering who it could even be. Reality crawls back from the recesses of your mind reminding you that you’re a government agent, currently fucked to high heaven with a criminal in a love hotel.

Toji hops off the bed, throwing a towel around his waist and he approaches the door without any fear.

“Toji─ wait!”

It’s too late, and he opens the door.

You clutch the sheets over your naked form, looking straight out of the Birth of Venus, holding your breath for whatever comes next.

“You ordered pizza?”

Oh.

You exhale with relief, “Yeah, we really haven’t eaten all day.”

“Really, after all the cream I filled you with?” he teases with the return of that beautifully salacious smile that you find to no longer be as infuriating as before. “I guess I could eat, but I might need you to quench my thirst again.”

You really do hate this man, but god if you didn’t fall pussy first into the depths of Hades and come out unscathed and madly in love.

Love works in mysterious ways.

“Shit, they make these things in heart shapes now?”

You chuckle and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard from you, maybe even more than your voice moaning his name.

“Let’s eat and take a bath together, alright? I’m only just getting started with you.”

The morning after comes all too soon, no thanks to your unsilenced phone screaming into the void. Toji has you pinned in a borderline suffocating bear hug that you struggle to move yourself from to reach your phone.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? I’VE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU FOR AN HOUR!?”

More like 15 minutes given the timestamps of the voicemails.

“Sorry, I just woke up. What’s going on?” Toji rumbles from behind you and you pray your boss didn’t hear. Granted, you are responsible for him so you should have him close. Love making closeness, however? Yeah, let’s not try and explain that to your boss.

“What’s going on is that we’ve got another victim. Get over to the Rose Garden Park. Now.”

“Shit!” You toss your phone to the side, slapping Toji’s unnecessarily large forearm. “Come on, wake up pillow princess.”

“Five more minutes.”

“No can do or I’ll get fired, let’s get moving.”

Toji releases you, but not without serenading you with his morning huskiness paired with a deep heavy groan. The sound of it sends goosebumps shooting down your spine at lightning speed.

Standing proved to be a challenge on par with Toji himself. It’s nearly impossible to flex any singular muscle without some sort of pain from the ten-inch semi that ran you over again, and again, and a third time for good measure the night before.

If you thought his morning groans were hot, the dark laugh he lets out as he watches you struggle makes you consider up and quitting from the FBI right then and there. Sadly, you don’t, because you do love your job. Well, that and the student loans knocking for their reimbursement and an extra dozen zeros of interest. Gotta love college.

“Come on, Toji.” You throw his clothes onto the morning wood tent pitching the sheets. “Get up already.”

“What, no breakfast in bed? Here I was hoping to wake up to some cake on my face,” he teases with the most shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen on someone.

“You can have that later during a conjugal visit if you’re a good boy, I can’t lose my job right now.”

“I’ll keep you to that then.” He winks, you roll your eyes.

While you’re still finishing up, Toji’s out of bed, cleaned, dressed, and ready to go. It’s not fair women are the ones left needing a cane after sex.

Out in the lobby, you end up passing by a familiar sight from the bar, aka the chestnut-haired woman that approached Toji following your earth-shattering kiss.

You can only assume that since she’s here that she must’ve gotten lucky with some other guy instead of yours truly. Why would anyone go to a love hotel of all places alone, after all?

This time around, Toji’s certain you’ll let him drive, but to his disappointment, that answer’s still no. It doesn’t matter how much of a limp he gave you; he can drive his own car if he ever gets the chance to again.

FBI and CSU are already covering the scene as you pull in, including some familiar faces that make the job worth every minute.

“Y/N!” one of the men shouts, rushing to give you a hug like an LDR’s first meetup. You’re quick to block his attempt, given the mess of dirt and evidence on his jumper.

“Uhh, ew Satoru. Did you forget where you are?”

“’Course not, but I haven’t seen you in like forever.” He rolls his eyes, playing dramatic as always, but you love him either way.

Satoru reminds you a lot of Jack Hodgins, even going so far as to perform the same career roles in analyzing evidence ─ crazy experiments and all. He and Suguru go way back and are set to be married soon.

“We literally just saw each other yesterday.” You shake your head, but with a playful smile tugging at your lips. The man behind you clears his throat, diverting your attention back to the case at hand. “So what do we got?”

“Victim’s a young male, likely early twenties.” Your other coworker, Shoko, chimes in. She’s the head of the forensics division for the bureau and one of your closest friends and “sister from another mister”.

“They’ve been dead for roughly 72 hours already, same MO as the rest. No doubt the Cupid Killer’s work.”

Toji brushes past you, crouching near the woman and the body. Your other coworker and intern to Shoko, Utahime, gives him a questionable look before backing away to make room.

“What do you think?” he asks, no doubt intending for you to answer. He doesn’t even look your way but if there’s one thing you’ve learned from throughout this whole ordeal, is that he’s only interested in you and no one else.

He really is all yours. Even his criminal nature is being locked behind rose-tinted glass after a day with the man named Toji instead of the assassin codenamed Invisible Man.

Shit, has it really been only one day and you’re now complete and utterly head over heels for the guy?

Better believe it, sweetheart.

Just what is this deviant god of pleasure and what has he done to you? It wouldn’t surprise you if he came out and said his mother is Aphrodite herself.

All those marks you’re so desperately trying to hide under the collar of your jacket from the FBI weren’t for nothing. Not to mention how Toji’s back looks like a grizzly bear used him instead of a tree to mark their territory. That, and the plethora of roses you nipped and sucked to life across the expanse of his chest and abs he so wishes he could show off to the world.

“You’re all mine…”

Just remembering those words sends heat right to your kitty who’s actively purring and meowing this very moment.

Toji clears his throat, pulling you from your thoughts and reminding you that now is not the time to get all hot and bothered again. Least you’re not denying it anymore, that’s a step up from yesterday.

The crime scene for today is a public park with the victim placed upright on one of many benches with a view of a lake. His clothes are disheveled giving way to an empty chest cavity. There’s also the unnatural placement of genitals as with all the rest. At his side are a bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath ─ a classic romantic gesture ─ placed neatly in the crook of his elbow.

“I have to say, it looks a lot like they’re waiting for a date to arrive, but given the time of death, this one is staged as always.” You move closer to Toji’s side, using his shoulder as leverage while simultaneously ignoring Satoru’s questionable eyebrow at your obvious limp. “It’s a message of some sorts, like with all the rest of the victims.”

“What else do you see?”

“What else?” you say, confused.

You’re not missing anything are you? What could you possibly be missing. Toji sighs, but for once he won’t give you the cold shoulder over it. He points his finger out first at the chest, and then to empty groan.

What’s there to see that no one else would have? Unless it doesn’t quite pertain to physical evidence but something more psychological─

Oh.

“Fuck, how did I not see this before?” Toji stands up, looking at you expectantly. “The Cupid Killer isn’t one person. There has to be two.”

“Two? What makes you say that?” Satoru questions.

“Look at his thighs!” You snap on a pair of gloves, prodding your fingers along the flesh. “There’s knicks all along the skin; they weren’t careful ─ no, it’s completely rushed. They were angry when they did this but then look here!”

All eyes follow your hand up to the opening of the chest cavity. “It’s too clean, too careful. If all the killer wanted to do was exact revenge, why take such precautions to not damage the heart? If you even had the means to cleanly cut a heart out, why destroy the penis and everything around it in the process?”

“So why does that mean two killers then? I thought we established the hearts were trophies, so wouldn’t they need to be careful for that?”

“She’s right, it does makes sense,” Shoko interrupts. “The technique is different. The heart was cleanly removed with all the proper saws and cutters, but the rest is an amalgamation of whatever they had on hand, even with the previous victims.”

“The Ferris wheel too, that’s why you got all upset, Toji!” You paused, starting to pace back and forth as the thoughts kept coming. “One person would’ve struggled carrying a body, but two? That’s why the evidence is so minimal and without any scuffs on that body to get them up the stairs.”

“Good girl,” Toji praises, ruffling the crown of your head. “Now you’re seeing it like I knew you could.”

“Shit, so there’s two of these psychos running around?” Satoru hugs his own arms with a grimaced face.

“We still don’t know what the relationship of the two killers are just yet, but we should assume they’re all in on this.”

“Y/N! Toji!” Your boss bellows as he marches over, stomping along the way. “I hope you’re doing something instead of fucking around, why haven’t we caught the bastard yet?”

Fucking around? That’s exactly what we did last night.

It’s more fucked up that your boss expected a killer in handcuffs placed in front of his desk at the end of the day though.

“Sir, we’ve just made a breakthrough in the case,” you tell him excitingly.

“I don’t need breakthroughs, I need suspects! I need arrests! Something already to calm the public!” he shouts, uncaring to the commotion he’s causing.

“Sir-“

“No, I need to see some results, and fast. You too, Toji. I’m not letting you run around for fun. I’ll put those cuffs back on you myself if this keeps up.”

“Your agent’s got everything under control, so why don’t you go back to your cozy air-conditioned office and wait for good news.” He glares, ready to wage a war if need be for your sake, Ares help him.

“Don’t you talk back to me, I couldn’t care less about you rotting away in some cell,” he bites back, and you know Toji won’t take that lightly.

Before something irreversible happens, you take his wrist as tight as you can, dragging him back to your car. You plop down into the driver’s side with a thump, slamming the door in the process.

“Fuck!” you snap, hitting the steering wheel.

Toji on the other hand settles in without a hint of that earlier anger. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I will be if I don’t get fired,” you sigh. “I can’t mess this up, Toji. I’m finally out in the field doing something interesting. If I mess this up I’ll be stuck in interrogation rooms until retirement.”

Toji’s hand settles on your shoulder and gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Just keep using that head of yours, the answers are already there, I promise you.”

How would you even know that?

You both go silent, staring forward while you think and tap the wheel a thousand times over with your index. Eventually, a lightbulb blinks above your head like a divine prophecy.

“If our killer has medical experience, then…” You dial a number on your phone, turning it to speaker. “Kento! Can you run a search for any former doctors or nurses in the area that could have any reason to resort to violence? Firings, complaints, accidents, anything.”

“Sure thing, give me just a moment… Alright, I’m sending you over some photos.”

“There!” You point one out to Toji. “Dr. Mafune, I only saw a glimpse, but I’m sure; he was at the bar yesterday when we were in the closet!”

Kento clears his throat, “Dr. Mafune was a surgeon at a small local hospital, but after an unrelated accident, the hospital was sued and shut down afterwards.”

“That’s as good a motive as any, and perfect experience for knowing how to remove hearts.”

“This is where it gets interesting. His daughter, Katsura, is the widow of the first victim we found. She worked in the building with her father while training to become a scrub nurse.”

It’s her! The chestnut-haired woman!

“Send me the address of the hospital, we’re going to go check it out. Thanks, Kento.” You throw your phone down, wasting no time in kicking the car alive and pulling out.

“Sweetheart, I’m all for indulging you, but are you sure about this?”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now?” You spare him a glance, flipping the emergency lights on. “I have to get them before they kill another. Katsura was at the bar and the love hotel, I know you saw both. She probably has another victim ─ and that hospital is bound to be their workshop if it’s abandoned!”

“You’re ballsy, I’ll give you that,” he chuckles, lowering his hand to grip your thigh. It’s possessive but fuck if you weren’t on the job, you’d have pulled the car over for a quickie.

“You should know that already from the first time you met me. Think mine are bigger than yours, tough guy?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t push it.” He rolls his eyes playful, squeezing your thigh tighter. “We both know the answer to that after I let you play with them.”

It’s a careless decision going in without backup and you know it. A part of you continuously is screaming “don’t do it!” but you’re too deep now.

Balls deep, you might say.

Ha.

Here at your side is the Invisible Man. The man who conquered the underworld, one perfect crime after another. How on Earth could anything possibly go wrong?

The parking lot to the building is empty, save for some scrapped vehicles polluting the area, but you know better than any that that doesn’t mean the killers aren’t just parked somewhere else. Even if they are, this must be the hideout. You’re positive.

You jump out the car, pulling out a bulletproof vest from the trunk and throwing it on. There is a spare that Suguru would use, but in no way would it fit Toji’s physique. Hopefully his muscles actually are bulletproof like the nemean lion.

“Slow down, sweetheart.” Toji grabs you and twirls you back to his chest. “Don’t go rushing in when you don’t know what’s inside.”

You pout, but he’s right. Running in now would be a dumb decision like no other that could result in your own untimely demise. Better to let the professional head inside first.

He gives you the signal, wordlessly calling you forward. It doesn’t look like much at first, just a regular old, abandoned hospital. Things are tossed around, broken with graffiti on the walls, but so far, it’s quiet. But is that really a good thing when there could be a life at stake?

The two of wander down a hallway together, and there you come across the operating rooms. The doors are busted down, but the inside is exactly what you were hoping to find.

The killers’ workstation.

No signs of life as far as you can tell, but the tools are all there and the walls stained with dried blood.

“Holy shit,” you murmur. “We found it, Toji! The Cupid Killers were here–“

POP. POP.

Toji’s body encases you in a heartbeat, shielding you from the gunfire. You hardly register what’s happening before Toji snags one of your guns straight out of your holster, aiming it at the woman in the doorway.

“I knew you’d come find me. You just couldn’t stay away ─ huh, big guy?” The woman’s sultry voice hits you like cheap perfume sprayed over rotting food.

Toji’s unresponsive, staring down Katsura through the iron sight of the gun. Another voice chimes in from behind her, and you recognize it straight away from the closet, “Katsura, don’t waste this moment.”

“Why are you doing all of this?” you ask from behind Toji. He has his free arm stretched out to keep you where you are, blocking you from the Cupid Killers.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m getting my revenge.” Her lips stretch into a sadistic smile. “My husband thought he could get away with it ─ keeping secrets for so long from me and all. When I was laid off, I came home from work early to find him in our bed with another woman. Can you believe it!”

“I had to do what any reasonable woman would.” She waves the gun around playfully, laughing maniacally. “I killed him, stuffed his dick down his throat where it belongs, and had daddy here steal his heart for me. It’s only fair since mine was stolen and then crushed.”

“Why the others then?” you hiss. “What did they do?”

“They’re all cheaters, every one of them. It’s insane how many men are so willing to throw away their relationships for a night with me. I had to punish them.”

Your plan at the bar worked perfectly then. Toji was geared up to be his next victim thinking you were a happy couple. Would he have fallen for her thirst trap? Or did he figure out she was the killer from that interactive alone? Probably the latter if you had the guess. That asshole (affectionate) reads people better than you ever hope to.

“I knew muscle man over here had to be special, I even tried to convince my dad to let you in on the fun too after you ran away from his love to cower in the bathroom.” At this point her cackles closely resemble that of a hyena, and they only laugh like that before they attack.

“You don’t know how excited I got hearing you two through the walls at the hotel after. I can’t wait to join your hearts together after I kill you both.”

“Katsura, we really should–“

“Why stage all the bodies? What part of your revenge did that serve?”

“Those locations all meant something to me once upon a time. The Ferris wheel we shared our first kiss, the park where he proposed to me, the home we shared. Every memory is being painted in blood to start the canvas anew!”

Toji looks over his shoulder at you, twirling his finger around his head as a not-so-subtle drag at her pure insanity.

“The only one dying here today are you both.”

“Catch me if you can then, honey!” She bolts right as Toji fires a round. Never knew Toji could miss a shot.

“Stay here for me, sweetheart,” he tells you, but before he can leave you grab him with everything you’ve got.

“Toji! Your arm!”

His white sleeve is stained in red, trickles of blood following his thick veins down his arms. The fabric is torn in the areas, no doubt from when he meat shielded you from harm.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just a scratch.” His smile reassures you but doesn’t fill the pit that’s formed from the haunting sight.

He got shot. For you. Like literally, jumped in front of you, and took not one, but two bullets for you.

All because you got cocky and carried away being side by side with the self-approved strongest man on the planet instead of calling for backup.

Toji plants a kiss on your forehead and in the sudden shock of it all, you let go, and he runs out the room.

Get it together! a voice shouts from within you. You’re the FBI agent here! This is your job!

“Fuck,” you mumble, shooting a backup request to Kento and charging out after Toji.

There’s no sign of him or the killers anywhere as you aimlessly go through the halls, peeking into every room along the way. You pass by a directory board along the way which you stop to scan.

Room 214: Dr. Mafune – Cardiology

“Bingo.”

Unaware to you, Toji had caught up to Katsura in another part of the hospital. Both stand opposite of each other on a bridge overlooking the lower floors of the building.

“You can always dump her for me, you know? I’ll treat you real good.”

“I already told you once.” He stalks closer to the girl with a growl. “You’re not my type.”

“That’s too bad, we would’ve made a good couple.”

She raises her gun, ready to claim her next victim but her speed is nothing compared to Toji. In one lightning-fast motion, her arm is snapped and the gun disarmed. Before she can even react to the pain, he’s coiled around her neck in a chokehold.

Toji brings her to her knees, taking the gun in his free hand and pressing the muzzle into her temple. “Don’t think we’ll be having any second dates after today; I’m already spoken for.”

POP.

You hesitate just outside the male cupid’s office upon hearing the gunfire, praying to everything you believe in that Toji’s okay. Inside the room, it’s empty of any people, but behind the desk are shelves containing 12 hearts floating in jars all their own.

“Holy shit.”

You lower your weapon, stepping past the threshold and into the room to get a closer look.

“Don’t move,” a voice hits you from behind.

Turning your head slowly, you see Dr. Mafune standing a few feet behind with a gun pointed at your head.

“What, no bow and arrow for the Cupid Killers?” you tease. “Put your weapon down and hands behind your head.”

“You’re not the one calling the shots here.” You’re locked in a staring contest with the man, breaking the standstill as you draw your weapon. There’s a loud pop of fire followed by the telltale metallic smell coating the air.

The killer turns to run and you start after him only to be stopped by a blistering pain resonating from your shoulder.

“Shit, I’m hit.” Your jaw clenches as you fight through to pain to give chase. You’re so close, fight it!

Dr. Mafune doesn’t get far before you catch up. “Freeze! I will shoot you!”

He stops, slowly turning to face you.

“My wife left me with my dear Katsura for another man. When my baby came to me after killing her husband in a blind rage, I helped her like any father would.” He looks down the line of the barrel into your eyes, behind his clear-coated eyes, you find a whole lot of pain and zero regret. “I made it look like it was an accident, but then she wanted to go further, make others pay for their crimes. Of course I had to help. I love Katsura with all my heart.”

“Why tell me all this now?” Your breathing is turning erratic with every passing second. There’s a feeling of coldness spreading outwards from your shoulder that’s becoming harder to ignore as well.

“You won’t be making it out of here alive.”

It was then that time felt like it slowed down, almost to a complete stop. You could see Dr. Mafune raising his gun, but the trigger of your gun weighed more than the world on Atlas’ shoulder.

This is it. This is the boundary where you decide if you’re capable of ending another’s life. The only sound you hear is that of your heart beating a mile a minute. All until the crashing wave that is Toji slams into your body as a copper bullet comes flying at you.

Time resumes in an instant, and all the noise in the room returns.

“You trying to get yourself killed, sweetheart? Never hesitate or you will lose.”

Toji rushes the doctor, shooting out one of his kneecaps to stop any means of easy escape. One large fist comes down the force of titans, shattering bones in the killer’s skull. Blood spatters across Toji’s face all while he grins like the madman that he is, enjoying every second.

Using his foot, he crushes the hand carrying the gun, listening to the agonizing groan like it’s music to his ears. The glasses he had on were long since shattered, slipping off onto the pool of blood on the ground.  Toji’s fingers coil around the hairs of the doctor, dragging his body through the puddle until he’s placed right in front of you.

“Time to lose your other v-card, sweetheart.” His face lights up with amusement ─ funny given the situation at hand.

“I…” you shudder, looking between the bloodthirsty assassin and the serial killer. You can barely feel the tips of your fingers as you raise the gun, feeling it tremble in your weak hands. The gun unceremoniously falls into your lap. “I can’t.”

“That’s too bad,” Toji sighs, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. “Guess the fun’s all mine then.”

It was then that you spot a reflective glint from the sleeve of the doctor ─ a glass syringe. It drops into the killer’s good hand and turns to aim right at Toji. Every ounce of muscle in your body screams as you raise your gun back up, finger on the trigger.

You decide then and there that Toji is someone worth saving. If it means being responsible for taking the life of another, then so be it. You can’t let Toji die. The weight of the world is gone and the trigger’s weight turned light as a feather.

POP. POP. POP.

Toji’s eyes widen at the scene, releasing his grasp on his man and watching the staggering amount of blood pool around his feet. The broken syringe is all he needed to see for it to click.

“Nice shot,” he whistles. “I should kiss you for that…sweetheart?”

You can’t bring yourself to speak and your vision is tunneling to black. Toji’s kneeling in front of you shouting, but you can’t hear a single word. It took him all too long to notice the blood coming from your shoulder and he curses himself for letting the bloodlust distract him from your pain.

Your body is pulled flush against his chest, one hand tucked around your back and the other applying pressure to the wound.

He’s so warm.

Shit… is this what dying feels like?

This sucks, but hey ─ I lived pretty a good life, I guess.

Even got the chance to fall in love…

. . .

I wish I could still see him; I’m gonna miss that sweet face.

I’ll miss you, Toji…

Thanks for showing me true love.

. . .

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Shh, she’s waking up!”

“Satoru, give her some room to breathe!”

“Both of you need to give her some space.”

Light starts to peek in through your eyelids as the world returns to you. Suguru and Satoru are right there in front of you, Shoko prying the latter back a few steps from you. Kento’s there too, standing by the door with a calm but underlying concerned expression.

“…Guys?”

“How are you feeling?” Shoko asks, looking over your body in full doctor mode.

“Like I was hit by a freight train,” you laugh, recoiling from the pain. “What happened?”

Kento speaks up first, “You were shot, as I’m sure you knew. Thankfully it missed anything vital, but you passed out from the blood loss.”

“Toji?” You shoot up all too fast, but Shoko pushes you (gently) back down. “Where is he? Is he okay!?”

“See for yourself, sweetheart.” The familiar voice fills the room and you swear the heartrate monitor skips a dozen few beats.

“We’ll leave you two to chat.”

“Aww come on, Shoko! I want to stay here!”

“Satoru~ let them have their moment.” Suguru grabs his arm, dragging him out practically kicking and screaming while the other two calmly trail behind.

Toji comes to your side, sitting at the edge of the bed, taking your hand in his. Maybe it’s the morphine high, but he feels even warmer than before.

“You did good out there, sweetheart. Scared the shit out of me though, almost thought you’d die on me.”

“I told you not to underestimate me,” you rasp, flashing him a gentle smile. He brushes his thumb back and forth lovingly, and all the pain you felt disappears. “…Hey, Toji?”

“What’s up?”

“If you’re okay with it, then I’d like to take care of Megumi.” You briefly pause, observing the curious glance he gives you. “He’s going to need someone there while you’re in prison after all; I’d like to be there for him and make sure he lives a good life.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Y/N.” He snorts out of amusement but quickly follows up with a grin that sends warmth straight through your body better than any IV medicine could.

The road to recovery hasn’t been easy, but you’re happy the case of the Cupid Killers is finally put to rest. Your boss is equally happy, despite your headstrong attitude that resulted in you getting shot. That’s an issue for another day.

You haven’t heard much in regards to Toji’s case moving forward, but you’ve gotten to meet Megumi and see how lovely of a boy he is. A sweet young two-year-old with the temperament of an angel. The spitting image of his dad, minus the spiky head of hair.

Today’s your first day back at work, and you couldn’t be more excited despite the tinge of fear from already getting called into your boss’ office. You cautiously enter, sitting down in front of his desk.

“Suguru’s officially going into retirement soon ─ I think he’s jumping the gun ─ but he insists he wants to be there 24/7 for his newly adopted twins to settle in.” He leans forward and presses a call button on his phone, “My office, now.”

“Sir?”

“You’re going to need a new partner from now on. I expect you two to get along and help clear up the backlog of cases we’ve got.”

The door clicks open and you spin in your seat. Whiplash hitting in the form of déjà vu as Toji Fushiguro himself walks in, devoid of any handcuffs or guards. He wolfishly grins at the sight of your bewildered state, taking a seat neat to you exactly how he did the last time you both were in this room together.

“Higher ups made yet another deal. Toji will be working with us now as your very own partner.” Your boss slides a gun and badge across the table which Toji happily accepts. “He’s not out of the clear, so think of this like a special parole. I expect good things from you both.”

“Yes, Sir,” you both respond, this time without any sarcasm or mock salutes. Toji follows you closely back to your new desk of operations, sitting himself down over the oak wood top.

“So, partner,” He lowers his head and at the same, cups your chin turning you upwards to meet his lips with a sliver of space between. “Still wanna raise my kid with me? Let’s make it official, sweetheart.”

☆ Notes: did i go a bit overboard with the greek mythology references? maybe, but in my defense they were all last minute additions for some extra details which btw, jesus christ i went fucking ham for this. the word count baffles even me.

took so fucking long to get this out though. you ever find a fanfic that is so goddamn good and beautifully written that it makes you want to delete everything you've ever done because you feel like you'll never compare? yeah well i found that while writing this. that and i've had migraines every day for like a solid week now, i hate it here.

ANYWAYS, this was a prompt inspired by tojisfanatic based on this artwork

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼: 𝓐𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓾𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷

Stepdad!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Your mother forces you to tag along on Javi’s trip to New York. She says you need to learn to get along. And get along you do. Aka horny, drunk, high, debauched sex with stepdad Javi. Part 2 of ‘Teasing like you do’.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Mentions of DEA, stepdad trope and all that comes with, dubious morals and relationship, age gap [reader is 18/19 Javi is in his mid 40s], reader wears a dress, petnames [ Bunny], mommy & daddy issues ™ , deceased parent, angst, DUBCON, alcohol consumption, drug use, cigarette smoking, inebriated sex, brat tamer!softdom!Javi, subby! brat!reader, f masturbation, rough sex, major size kink [Javi is bigger than reader, can rough house with her], degradation, dumbification, praise kink, daddy kink and dd/lg vibes, dirty talk, finger sucking, c*meating?, choking, spanking [with hands] , hair pulling [no hair type specified], dry humping, somno, messy sex, fingering, unprotected P in V [be better!!], multiple orgasms and creamp*es. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶

Word count: 9k

A/N: This Javi is honestly my fav that I’ve written. This is part 2/3, and it’s double the fun from last time. Javi is just so soft (and crazy) and there’s so much smut and some angst for you nasties. Combined the top two highest votes answers from this poll! Thanks to all who voted!! Hope you enjoy! Mwah!

🌼 Part I 🌼 Masterlist

Once I had a love and it was a gas

Soon turned out had a heart of glass

Seemed like the real thing, only to find

Mucho mistrust, love's gone behind

“New York?” You raise your brow and watch your mother fold the kitchen towels and toss them onto the counter one by one. “Yes. You can’t avoid him forever. He’s here to stay, and you’re going to like it, and him. That’s final.” Oh, you do like him—her husband, that is. In fact, you arguably get on a bit too well. You bite your lip to keep from commenting on her sour tone. She doesn’t need to know you and Javier had become quite well acquainted over the weekend—if him taking your virginity was any indication.

Even though her tone sets your teeth on edge, you spare yourself the crisis of revealing you are sleeping with her husband and instead decide to take up the opportunity she offers you on a silver platter with a curt nod and some feigned annoyance.

Your mum brings it up to her husband at dinner. He's eating and he looks up at her for a moment before shrugging and agreeing it would be a good chance to bond. Javier is even better at feigning his own indifference to the suggestion, so much so, in fact you’re afraid fooling around with you is not in fact part of his plans in New York. Its been two days since he’s fucked you and you’re always on edge. He hasn’t been around the house much because he's dealing with the fallout of the raid and it's driving you wild. 

You’ve spent the nights desperately grinding against your plush pillows but it seems like he's the only person that can actually get you off. Ever since you actually felt what it was like to cum you can't get enough and you’re resenting him for every moment he’s not between your legs. 

Safe to say you’re desperately counting on this not being a one time thing. 

After dinner you busy yourself with the clearing up, and your mother leaves to answer the phone just as Javi brings the last pot from the table to the kitchen counter. It's the first time you’re alone with him since the weekend and as he leaves he comes up behind you to lean beside your ear. He snaps the strap of your bra and kisses your shoulder. “Gonna let me fill this tight little pussy up again?” 

He shifts his hands to your waist. It's the second time he's touched you this way, and this time you can feel the cool metal of his wedding band graze your warm skin. You swallow, then look towards the livingroom to see the shadow of your mum walking around with the landline in her hand, chatting away to a neighbour. You nod your head, and after lowly chuckling Javi reaches a hand down to grab a handful of your ass. When he squeezes you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning. 

“Good, bunny.” He slaps your ass for good measure and you hear his footsteps get distant as he leaves the kitchen and walks up the stairs. 

At night you try to sleep but you’re too horny and wet. The feeling of his hands on your body drive you crazy and nothing can distract from it. The room is quiet and it's so hot you’ve got every window open. The cool breeze from outside grazes your skin and you flinch. You're too sensitive. 

You toss and turn for a while but you can’t help yourself, you groan and your hand drifts under the waistband of your panties. Your fingers slip between your folds and you’re dripping. A quiet breathy sigh escapes your lips as you spread your wetness and rub your cunt. 

Your other hand squeezes at your breast under your sleep shirt and you moan, you’re so on edge you think you might just make yourself cum. You rub yourself a little while longer, teetering on the edge but somehow unable to tip over it. Your hand is drenched and you feel your slick smear against your inner thighs. Even still you can’t seem to get there. You dip a finger into your weeping entrance and shiver. You wonder if you felt the same to Javi, your fingers surely didn’t feel like his. 

You sink back against your pillows. 

You're staring at the ceiling a good twenty minutes when you hear the front door shutting from outside. Bounding to the window you lean over its edge to see Javier getting into his car, one hand shoving his gun into his holster. He's a little shadow, a little splodge of navy blue against a background of swishing greens, and blacks and little orange lights. 

A pit in your stomach grows when the car pulls out of the driveway and into the street. It makes you sick to admit but you worry when he runs out like that in the middle of the night. You wonder where he's off too, you have always wished he was safe. Even when he wasn’t fucking you, he might have been the best thing to happen to your family in a while. 

Hell, even when you thought you hated his guts, you knew he was the only good thing to happen to your family in a while. And you weren’t an idiot. Sure, to say you and your mother got along would be gracious, but she too lost a husband when you lost a father. She spent her days alone in a home she built from the ground up with the love of her life. 

At some level, you forgave her, you loved her. When you first slept with him, you felt guilty, you felt like you were robbing her of the one good thing she had. But part of you wanted to avenge that little girl who got packed away, who had nowhere safe to go, who had no one. Javier could be your someone, at least intermittently, and while you didn’t blame her for what she did, no amount of intellectualising your suffering could make it better. 

She knew she couldn’t raise you alone so she decided not to raise you at all, and it was perhaps that that disheartened you the most. 

You notice the lights go out in the neighbours living room, you see shadows climb up the stairs. There's not much you can do besides return to bed and try to get some rest. 

— 

The trip comes around quicker than you expect. Before you know it your bags are packed and you’re boarding a plane with Javi. He is preoccupied with whatever it is he’s in New York for, so you’re spared the presumably awkward travel conversation. He lets you doze against his shoulder, and when you land he’s slinging your luggage over that same shoulder. It's a small bag but it isn’t weightless. You like how he makes it seem like it is. If only he knew about the skimpy lingerie he was lugging around. New York delights you with the warm, sunny weather. 

Once you’re actually at the hotel, you're barely there for ten minutes. “Twin beds?” the lady at the reception asks your stepfather, already expecting a yes. You can tell with the look on her face. You feel a little embarrassed that she’s even asking, but that embarrassment deepens tenfold when Javier stops her. “A double is fine” She quickly nods her head, looking nothing short of uncomfortable. Perhaps the only person more shocked is you. Your face burns and you look away. She doesn’t know you, doesn’t know what you are to each other, but just seeing you two together would even have you embarrassed. 

Either way it's enough time to get rid of your luggage before Javi insists you get some food in you. He’s so preoccupied with whatever’s going on with his job you decide not to give him too much of a hard time. You’ll save that for later. 

He’s on the phone so much. He looks upset and stressed– as much as he lets himself look, that is. Even then he takes your hand in his when you cross the street, pulls you to his side when you’re in a crowd. He leads you into a coffee shop and finally gets off his mobile phone. 

By the time you’re sitting down with your coffee– well his coffee and your ice tea, you’re dying for him to pay attention to you. You twirl the straw between your lips and look up at him. He’s preoccupied, you can tell. 

When he's done restlessly tapping his fingers against the table he opens up the file he’s been lugging around all day, and a pen from his pocket. You think you spend ten whole minutes in silence, watching him annotate the swarm of papers inside. 

New york is as “hustle bustle” as you remember, the glass facade buildings are bouncing rays of sunshine off one another, the sky is that perfect shade of powder blue. There are so many people bumbling outside, all like little insects fleeting about. You observe them from the window, they don't pay attention to you, or anyone for that matter– they’re looking ahead. 

The last time you had been here was with your father– you can see the hotel you stayed at from where you’re sitting. You have to crane your neck a bit though– Javier is disrupting the view. 

He doesn't notice when you get up from your seat and saunter towards the cafe counter. He didn’t notice you eyeing the red lollipops from your table the entire afternoon so you’re not surprised. But when you sit back down, lollipop in hand, and drag your foot up his calf under the table? Now that catches his attention. 

He watches you wrap your lips around it, watches you pucker them up and lick the underside of the sweet treat. Your lips part and you take it in your mouth, rolling the stick between your fingers with a knowing smile plastered across your face. It shines all glossy when you release it with a pop, and you run it along your bottom lip as Javi takes a strained sip from his cup of coffee. 

He tries to feign annoyance but a smile breaks through and he scoffs lightheartedly at your antics. The whole atmosphere is quite lighthearted. You felt warm and happy on the inside. You're glad you came. 

The rest of lunch passes in relative silence, and a comfortable silence. You finish your meal, and actually don’t mind the quiet time with Javi as he works on preparing for his meeting later in the evening. He lets you play footsie with him under the table, lets you play with his fingers as they rest idly against the tablecloth. 

On the way out he gets you another lollipop on request, and watches keenly as you unwrap it and pop it between your lips. The pink colouring stains your tongue when you release it and his eyes bloom with lust as he notices. They linger on your lips as they shine in the sun and the two of you step out of the cafe. 

He reaches forward, swipes his thumb on the corner of your mouth and pulls you against him. His eyes are glossy when he strokes your head gently. When he leans down his lips brush your forehead and his voice is lower than usual. 

“Messy little girl.” 

You skip ahead of him and into the street, then wait a few seconds for him to catch up. He’s already on the phone again and he's arguing with someone, he tosses you a few coins and gestures to the little shop beside you. Somehow you think you know what he's asking, so you hop in and snag him a pack of cigs. When you run back out he's still arguing, but he watches you run towards him and he smiles rather proudly as he takes the pack from your hands and lights one up. 

You feel a little giddy and you cover it up with a smirk, but he pulls you into his side and pats your head affectionately and you can't help the heat that creeps onto your cheeks. 

— 

“Don't wait up for me.” 

He’d said as he left the hotel room. And how exactly was he planning to make good on his promise of fucking you dumb with that instruction? True, you were beyond tired from the long travel day, but even at thirty past midnight you were more than determined to stay up to welcome Javier after his important work meeting. 

“What the hell is taking him so long, anyway?” you wonder out loud, hanging upside down off the plush couch set beside the windows in your hotel room. With an outstretched hand you grope for the pills you’d set on the coffee table, and pop another in your mouth. 

You know it's not a good idea, he’ll be upset, and angry, and he’ll give you such a hard time for it. You giggle, remembering the “hard time” he gave you last time he found out you were up to no good. 

“Bunny?” His voice is slurred just a little, thick and hoarse. You jump upright on the sofa and watch with dizzy eyes as he clicks the hotel room door shut and chucks the keycard onto the counter beside it. He’s craning his neck a little to catch sight of you but from where you're seated you can barely see each other. 

The sound of his leather boots clacking against the marble prompts you to slip out of your trance and toss the bottle of pills you’d had on the coffee table haphazardly under it and on the floor. Retrospectively, what you aimed to achieve doing that is unclear, but it was an effort nonetheless. The lit joint stays between your fingers, however, and before you can even divert your attention to it and decide what you’re going to do with it, Javi is leaning in the entryway and raising his brows at you.

You watch him rest his shoulder in the archway for a moment and kick off his boots. “Told ya to get to sleep..” he looks tired, and a little bit irritated, though there's nothing unusual about that. “I thought you wanted to fuck me?” you kick your legs up on the couch and he turns his head in your direction. The look he shoots you makes you feel just a little guilty for bothering him. Your own tone and cheeky remarks surprise you. “What did you say? You were gonna “fill this tight little pussy up again?””

What you say seems to catch his attention. So does the lit joint you’re holding up. 

“Have you been drinking?” he stalks towards you and picks up the pills you assumed you'd stealthily chucked under the table. His shoulders drop and he puts a hand on his hip. “No.” you sound a lot more guilty than you’d like.  

“What the fuck is this?” he's struggling to remain composed as he gestures to the mess you made– between the sofa and the coffee table. His jaw ticks and he reaches for the joint and yanks it from your grip. He's been drinking, you can smell the whiskey off his leather jacket, it’s strong enough for you to know the meeting likely ended several hours prior.  “I told ya last time-”

He turns to put away the bottle and you attempt to stand up and follow him. His hand on your chest stops you however, and pushes you back onto the sofa till your ass is landing on it with a thud. God, he's such a hypocrite. “You're the one walking in drunk” 

You watch him shove the pill bottle in his duffle bag, then turn back toward you and take a drag from your joint. “Don't give me that attitude, little girl.” His actions only piss you off further. And here you thought this would be a fun little trip. 

“Or what? Looks like you aren’t gonna fuck me anyway.” he shrugs of his jacket with the joint placed deftly between his lips. He’s so hot it’s difficult to maintain your annoyance– especially considering he can tell you're far from sober– with your slurred speech, too loud voice and whining. “Had a few drinks and now you're playing good cop?” 

He probably also knows you're trying to get on his nerves. Which is why he ignores your incessant cribbing and plops some paperwork on the coffee table, taking a seat beside you on the couch and grabbing your face between his fingers. The cool metal of the wedding band presses gently against your skin, a constant reminder of its presence. You can smell the whiskey and cigarettes off his skin. “High off your fuckin ass.” 

He takes another drag and runs a hand over his face, his own back hitting the couch as he slumps against it. You reach for the joint but he smacks your hand away. “No bunny, I think that’s enough.” 

Your groaning makes him roll his eyes and you begin to get increasingly frustrated. “I don’t understand what your deal is. Are you always on the clock or something?” you grab his wrist and haul yourself onto his lap. Now straddling him you feel a jolt of arousal soar across your spine. 

“Cant keep doin this shit” he tries to wrangle the joint out of your grip with a hand on your wrist, and after struggling with you for a second he frustratedly grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer till your forehead is pressed against his. He sounds tired of reprimanding you.  “Let go.” 

You know you sound pathetic but you whine and let go. You feel his hard length swell against your now damp panties. Javi takes the joint back and takes a drag, he shifts under you and you bounce on his lap. The feel of his denim against your clit has you biting your lip in an attempt to retain your composure.

“That desperate are you?” Javier laughs and toys with the straps on your dress. “Just fuck me.. Please.” you do sound desperate. Javi rolls his eyes, and his lack of attention directed towards you irks you to no end. 

“Shut that whore mouth and maybe I'll think about it.” he smacks your ass and kisses your cheek to make up for it. “be good.” a beat of silence passes, and you fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, watch him smoke the joint till his eyes are cloudy and fluttering shut. You think you’re a bit more high than before thanks to the second hand smoke. 

You want to kiss him, want to call him that name that's been bubbling in your throat since that night in the woods. You watch Javi take another drag, a final drag, and put out the joint in the ashtray. 

You can't help yourself, you close your eyes and lean in, pressing your lips to his in a chaste kiss and melting into his arms. You think it might do you some good to get back on his good side. “Hi, daddy.” If you were sober you’d be horrified, but you have more than enough liquid courage in you to test the waters. There’s a short but pregnant pause, and Javier's surprised expression makes your heart quicken. 

“Hi, bunny.” Javi raises his brows, laughs and cups your cheek. The tensions long left his shoulders. Handsome, he’s so handsome. He’s always been. His eyes are droopier than they usually are. “Daddy, need you..” It comes out as a whisper, a whine and a plea all at the same time. “Need you to fuck me.” 

“Jesus christ, bunny. Tryna kill me?” His hand smooths up and down your thigh, his other drawing patterns on your waist and caging you against him. He kisses you lightly, and you giggle against his lips, he does it again, and again, and again, then tilts your jaw up to put his mouth on your neck. You gasp, your hands reach to tangle in his soft, wavy hair, and you pull him impossibly closer. Your tugging makes him groan, and his hand slips under your top to undo the clasp of your bra. 

You call out his name as he discards your lingerie, dizzy and dripping for him, unable to get enough of his lips on your skin. Slinging your other leg over his waist you lay yourself sideways in his lap. The heat that radiates off his skin prompts you to curl up even closer to him, and you try your best to undo the top buttons of his shirt. 

You get distracted when his hand disappears between your thighs and under your dress. He rubs your wet pussy through the fabric of your panties and you moan into his mouth. You’re getting more impatient by the second, and he's being far too slow and gentle for your liking. 

Your hand finds his wrist under your skirt and you reluctantly pry his hand away. Before he can look up you’re climbing onto his lap and grinding your clothed cunt against him in a swift, slow roll of your hips. Surprised, his hands grab your waist and he leans back on the chair. Javier tries to flip you onto your back again but you slot your fingers against his and roll your hips. He lifts his own to meet your core and you shiver.“Impatient little thing. Just wanna take what you want, don’t you?” 

“Ohh daddy…’s too hot.” Javi’s voice strains as he curses under his breath and slides your dress off your upper body till the fabric is pooling at your waist. As you rock against him he tugs and bunches it up, controlling your moments. “Soakin my fuckin’ jeans, Bun..” He lifts the fabric up to watch you grind on his bulge.  

His words make you groan, and you feel the desire pool even deeper in your belly. With his hands managing your movements you let your own grab onto his shoulders– stabilising yourself. “Goddamn, pretty as a picture.” Thank god you thought to maintain your balance, because you might have just fallen off Javier’s lap when his mouth found your chest, sucking your nipple into his mouth and prompting a loud but lazy moan to slip past your lips. 

He nips at your skin, kissing his way back up your neck and grinding into your clothed crotch. “Like using daddy like you use your pillows, baby?” The coil in your belly only tightens and your words slur. “‘S better….” You’re drunk and dizzy, your ears burn but you can't stop. It feels so good. 

“Mhm, bet it is, baby bunny, them pillows don’t make you cum, do they?” you shake your head “no”, and Javi responds with a chuckle. He pulls you closer and you drop your head against his shoulder. “That’s right, just daddy, ain’t it?”.  His lips find your neck again and he mumbles hushed praises against your skin. His voice is soft but strained, and you feel him throb against you. 

You move faster against him, chasing that release that's so close, your thighs parting even more across him. You’re practically bouncing in his lap, the rub of his jeans against your clit sending you into a frenzy. Javi’s hands palm your breasts and it feels like your whole body is on fire. “That's it, good girl.” 

Your hips stutter and with a final rise of Javier’s hips. You don't even register it happening, something inside you just snaps. He holds you against him, watches the way your eyes roll right to the back of your head as you reach your high. You can hear him groan but your ears are mostly ringing, pussy fluttering around nothing. You’re sure your panties are soaked at this point. The moan that erupts from your throat is nothing short of pornographic. 

You feel the heat seep onto his jeans, and you twitch a final few times from the aftershocks as you move yourself against him, now slightly slower. He twists your nipple between his fingers, then slaps your ass so hard you go reeling forward into his chest. Surely, when your hips lift off his, a dark, wet spot has formed on his grey denim. The both of you look down at his lap, at the lewd string of slick that connects your panty covered core to his jeans. 

“Already, bunny?!” He’s half surprised, half proud. A sort of excited smirk tugs at his lips and snaps the band of your panties against your ass. In reaction you bury your face further in his neck, leaving desperate, sloppy, open mouth kisses there. “Still all achy, aren’t ya?” 

Javier groans and slides his fingers between your thighs, his other hand keeping a vice grip on your hip. “So fuckin wet, got these panties all messy huh?” You're already throbbing again, and your nipples pebble impossibly harder thanks to his touch. It doesn't help that you feel all conscious and small– your bare chest pressing against Javi’s still clothed body. 

You mewl and tug at his shirt and he chuckles, a smug smile plastered on his face. “Behave..” you pout and groan impatiently. “Silly thing.” He grabs your hands and plants them on his chest, his own moving to slide your dress over your head and discard it on the ground beside you. 

You toy with the buttons on his shirt yet again and he gives you a warning look in response, ending your misery and undoing them himself. You can’t help but continue to grind against him with little rolls of your hips, your soaked panties sticking to your cunt and making the friction even more pleasing. Javi smacks your ass in warning. “Patience, little slut.” 

You can't even register what's happening, he's throwing you onto the bed and yanking your panties down your legs. You push yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at Javi climbing on top of you. 

Your little show doesn’t last long, because in a second he's flipping you onto your stomach and smacking your ass till you're whimpering for him. Prompting you on all fours he grabs your hips in his massive hands, getting behind you on his knees. 

His thumb swipes the cut of your pussy, and he groans as he feels and spreads your wetness along your cunt. “Always so fuckin wet, dumb little thing.” his index and middle dip into your warm, waiting hole, and the stretch of his thick fingers have your knees giving out under you. 

Javier laughs, but snakes a hand around your middle to hold you up for him. You feel his cock press up against your ass– hot and needy. You wiggle your hips and push back against him, but that only earns you a spank and a mumbled “brat”. 

Agonisingly slow for your liking he runs his cock up the length of your pussy, smearing the precum at the head and further spreading your wetness. “Please…” he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in in a single, deep thrust. 

You pity the people in the neighbouring rooms upon hearing the downright pornographic moan that leaves your mouth. The feeling of his thick cock stretching you open brings that heaviness to your hips, a buzzing that spreads all across your body and stings you where Javi’s got his hands. 

Those hands smooth along your back travel up to your head to catch a hold on your hair. A strong sense of dizziness overcomes you thanks to his fingertips grazing your scalp, and that feeling only intensifies tenfold when he tugs at your hair and forces your gaze directly ahead of you. He can tell you’ve already lost yourself, can sense the way you've gone dumb with the simple gesture, how you like being used like a little doll. 

“Look at that, gone dumb already?” each thrust of his hits deeper thanks to the way he's tugging you towards him. His words make you shiver and gush around his cock. “Gonna fuck this tight little pussy like ya need.” 

His hand that's resting on your hip lands a spank to your ass and you yelp.  “Fuck bunny, bet it feels nice to have somthing filling this pretty little snatch again huh?” you nod, then mewl at the drag of his cock against your wet walls. 

“This pussy’s fuckin made for me.” he groans as he thrusts inside you–voice strained and hoarse. “Gonna mould ya into my perfect little cockslut.Teach ya how to really take it.” you nod your head, relishing in the pull and tug on your scalp thanks to his relentless grip on your hair. “Gonna fill you up till you're dripping with my cum.” 

He chuckles at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, you want that?” you feel him lean down and kiss along your spine. When he speaks you feel his lips murmur against your skin. “Want daddy to teach ya how to be his perfect little sex bunny?” 

“That's right, bet ya do– insatiable little thing, aren't ya?” he lets go of your hair and his hand drifts to your neck. Your skin is on fire. 

“Daddy” 

“I know baby Bun.”  He guides you up with a hand around your neck, your face turning to bury in the crook of his neck. Your eyes barely open to watch his face contort in pleasure. The expanse of his chest welcomes you, and you rest your head back against his shoulder, your nose brushing the nape of his neck. His thrusts don't cease and the new angle has you groaning into his skin. 

He notices your incessant lip biting, the way you reach to slot your lips against his. He obliges, sliding his tongue into your mouth, your own lips being forced to part from his when he thrusts deep inside you and you gasp. 

“Need something to keep that mouth busy, dontcha’ lil darlin’?” His index and middle finger swipe against your bottom lip. Pushing his digits past your lips he watches as you gently suck, groaning when you run your tongue against them. “That’s it. Let daddy take control.” 

Your own arms reach behind you to wind around his neck, back arching thanks to the pleasure. You moan around his digits, jaw going slack when you feel his fingers on your clit. Your pussy bares down on his cock as he rubs you in soft circles. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and angles your face to watch his other hand move between your thighs. 

The sight is so erotic you think it might just make you cum. “Yeah.. like that don’t you? Dirty girl.” His breath is warm against your skin. All his words are muffled against your hairline. “Like seeing what daddy does to you?” 

He kisses your cheek and his other hand shifts a pillow below your hips to push you back onto. He chuckles when you flop onto the bed with a yelp. When you land back on the bed and he thrusts inside you the new angle makes you squirm, you don’t think you could even describe the feeling of being so full. He pushes you down with both hands on your hips and fucks you into the matress. 

You try to lift your head to look behind you but his hands travel to grab a hold of your hair. “Gonna let me use ya?” an incoherent ‘yes’ leaves your mouth in the form of a scream. “Hmm baby Bun?” you reply yet again, but your capacity to respond is greatly diminished as his cock brushes that sweet spot inside you. 

Over and over, you feel your pussy flutter around him and you can’t help it when your mouth hangs open. “Who's daddy's little sex doll?” frantically nodding, you refuse to rely on your ability to reply coherently with words. Daddy doesn’t seem to mind, he doesn’t need you to respond. “You are, aren't you? my little sex bunny.” 

His palm comes down on your ass and you reel forward, only for him to tug you back with his hold on your hair. “Such a pretty little doll for daddy.” He tugs you into him with every thrust and you whimper, hands gripping the sheets and legs giving out till you're only held up by the pillow. “My girl.” 

He's so deep inside you you’re not even sure you can understand the new sensations. It's like he can read your mind. “Feel daddy, baby bunny?” he tugs on your hair once again, his other hand reaching down to plant firmly on your lower belly. “Yeah? Feel daddy in here?” 

He doesn't wait for you to nod, just uses his grip on your hair to do it for you. It's not like you could really think straight before, but now that Javi was tossing you around like an inanimate object, moulding you for himself, using you how he wanted, moving for you. 

His hand drops from your tummy to brace itself beside your head. In a second, he's lowering himself completely onto you, your entire body pressed against the pillows and fluffy duvet, and his entire front pressed to your back. With every thrust inside you you feel every single detail of his body as it rests against yours. 

The way he's resting on his forearms has him caging you against the bed, in a cocoon of your own. Your body is confined between his arms, your own forearms holding you up under him. You feel so small under him, his movements hitting you with extreme intensity. You fist the sheets in your fingers and groan. 

“Who makes this tight, slutty little pussy cum?” his lips brush against your cheek with every word that escapes them. Everything feels so warm, and vulnerable. You’re just a doll for his pleasure. You can barely recognise your own voice anymore– so whiny and desperate.

“You do.” 

“And who am I?” he squishes your face between his fingers. “Daddy!” you surge forward a little with the force of his thrust. You attempt to press your forehead against his but he’s determined on having a full view of your face as you slowly come apart on his cock. “Who makes you feel so goddamn good you can’t even think straight?” 

Javier takes delight in your incoherent, trembling answers. “Daddy does”. He eggs you on, seemingly unable to get enough of the way you scramble to respond to him while being unable to control your sounds of pleasure. “Whose cock got ya going all dumb?” 

“Daddy’s” he coos and laughs against your skin, his death grip on your cheeks not ceasing. “That’s fuckin right, aint it.” He takes your chin in his hand and turns your face away from his, then buries his face in your neck and sucks at your skin. Your arms give out under you and you’re now fully pressed against the bed. You hear it creak indecently with every one of your movements. 

“Such a good bunny.” Javier’s cheek is flush with yours, and you’re sure he can feel just how hot they are against his cool skin. A swarm of butterflies flutters in your tummy and you whine, so incredibly close to the release you’ve been desperate for all evening. 

“Need daddy to make you cum?” both of his arms wind around your body, wedging themselves between yourself and the mattress. “Yes please, please daddy, really wanna.” you press your forehead against the pillow but he tilts it up. 

“Oh baby bunny..” you feel him throb inside you and his thrusts become sloppier. You can tell he’s nearing his end. “Good fucking girl..” the heat radiating off his body has sweat dripping down your back. You’re so close to cumming you push your hips back against him– whatever little you can, still mostly smothered by his towering frame. “Sound so sweet askin daddy like that. Usin’ your manners.” 

“Please daddy, make me cum..” with a sharp, deep thrust his cock nudges that spot inside you just right. The coil in your belly snaps and your whole body goes limp. “Wanna see that pretty little face.” Javi keeps your face tilted towards his so he can capture your lips in a messy kiss as you come undone around his cock– unable to reciprocate with your eyes rolling back into your head and your mouth parting in a strained, languid moan. “That's it, look at daddy’s good girl.” 

Seeing your face seems to set his own release off, and you feel Javi rut into your fluttering, wet heat in a few final, deep thrusts before his cock is pulsing against your walls and painting them in hot ropes of his spend. You vaguely hear him groan, and he nips your bottom lip. 

Javier takes a moment to catch his breath, slumping on top of you briefly before rolling onto his side. His touch, and his weight over your body is already something you miss, and you reach for him– arm reaching out and hand groping for purchase on his skin. He indulges you and pulls you on top of him, lets you catch your own breath with your chest pressed against his. You feel his spend mess your inner thighs. You murmur the word “pillow” and hope he gets the message to shift it before getting it dirty. Thankfully he does. 

By the time he’s pulling said pillow from under your hips and rolling you onto your side you’re half asleep. He collapses beside you and pulls you into his chest. You wrap your arms around his torso and rest your head against him. He's like a wall between you and the rest of the room. 

With your eyes closed and mind stuck between sleep and wakefulness you snuggle into him, giving yourself to dreamland. You hear him whisper before you lose all consciousness 

“Good night, baby bunny.” 

— 

You don't know how long it's been since you fell asleep. Javier’s arms, that have been caging you against him, move delicately to loosen around your frame. With fluttering eyelids you gain an ounce of consciousness to register the movement of your leg over Javi’s waist. 

It's all warm and fuzzy, and you murmur his name as a question before nuzzling into his neck. You can't tell what's happening, just hear him hush your whines when you feel his cock slide against your dripping seam. You wiggle your hips, already desperate for him. His tip bumps your clit and you shiver. 

You’re tired, you’re sleepy, hell you’re barely conscious. You drift between sleep and wakefulness, your skin setting ablaze as he lines himself up with your warm centre and slowly buries himself to the hilt. 

His lips slot against yours and his tongue slips into your mouth. You struggled to kiss him back as his cock slides in and out of your aching pussy. He squeezes your breast in his palm and you moan into his mouth. “S’okay, just keep makin’ them pretty sounds for me..” You can't help but sleepily moan and mewl. “all those pretty sounds for daddy? Aren't they?”

The both of you know he’s right. Javier’s lips come back to meet yours and he swallows your whimpers, you feel yourself getting closer and your pussy clenches down on his cock. His body's heat isn’t helping. The sheets get too warm and you feebly try and kick them off. 

Javi pulls them off you and the cool air from the AC hits your bar upper body. Sighing, you return your arms around his neck and push your hips towards his. “I know, baby Bun..” he holds you against him. “I know..” Your body hasn’t cooled down and you feel your chest burn with the heat. Your nipples pebble under the cool air and you bring his hand to your chest to ease the tension. The sensations make you impossibly more desperate and you search for his lips once again. 

He obliges and brings his face down to yours, his thrusts slow but deep and firm. Your breath becomes quicker and you feel the tension about to snap. Your lips go slack against his and he licks into your mouth as you moan softly and your walls pulse around his cock. You can barely hear him groan and you’re halfway back asleep already.

He thrusts inside your hot, throbbing heat a few more times before stilling inside you and filling you up. The feeling of his cock pulsing against your walls makes you shiver. He pulls out and you vaguely gauge the mess between your legs– far worse than before.  You swing your leg higher over his waist and he pulls you closer, you’re almost immediately back asleep. He tucks your head into the crook of his neck and dozes off. 

— 

The sun doesn't stand a chance disturbing you and peeking through the thick, blackout curtains– you’re awoken by the comforting sound of the kettle boiling over in its stead. Wakefulness evades you, but your eyes flutter open to catch Javier’s silhouette standing at the counter beside the tv, taking the kettle off its stand and making himself some tea. A soft rustling fills the room as you turn in the fluffy, plush sheets, only now realising you’re clothed in a fresh pair of panties and Javier’s old Lakers’ shirt– the one he wears around the house. 

You feel fresh, and you smell great– like the somebody bobbing his teabag in his cup had taken the opportunity to give you a nice sponge bath while you were still sleeping. You call that someone’s name– voice still thick with sleep. When you actually try to sit up you’re suddenly aware of how sore the previous night's escapades have actually left you. 

Javi turns in your direction, and his bedhead and overall morning grogginess doesn't go over your head. You envy your mother– she wakes up to this every single morning and still manages to be a bitch. What you wouldn’t give… 

“Got a few more hours till we leave.” He sits down in the armchair next to the windows and places his cup on the table. You’re surprised by how nonchalant he always seems to be about this whole situation. His wedding band catches the light of the sun and twinkles. You feel a pit in your stomach. 

He doesn’t pay you any mind as you roll out of bed, busy with his files from his meeting from the previous day. It takes you a minute to get to him, and you push his thighs apart and sit on the ground between his legs. You’re not exactly sure what you’re doing there, but you assume it’ll help you wake up. You want to be next to him, that's all you know. 

You rest your cheek on his thigh as he reads, and you can't help that your mind wanders to the events of the previous night. A tingle runs down your spine, and your eyes fall to his lap. You’ve never given anyone head before, and suddenly the thought of Javier grabbing your face and fucking into your mouth with his thick cock seems more appealing than ever. 

You shift on the ground beneath him, and nuzzle his thigh. His hand comes down to stroke your head and your eyes flutter shut. He’s still reading when you begin to trace patterns on his thigh with your fingertips. 

“Want something, bunny?” Peering over the files he glances down at you, still stroking your head gently. You don’t reply, not even sure what or how you can ask for what you want him to teach you. Instead you shift on your knees and bend down to kiss along his stomach. 

“Asked ya something, baby..” he doesn’t stop you so you continue, toying with the waistband of his shorts between your fingers. “Gonna speak up before we gotta go home?” The mention of ‘home’ makes you cringe. Seemingly realising what exactly you’re asking for as you trail kisses along his inner thighs, Javi grabs a hold of your face and pulls you up till your resting your chin back against his stomach. “C’mon now, get up. Gotta save that energy– your momma’s got that barbeque tonight we gotta go to. Barely slept five hours.” You plant your face in his stomach and groan. You’re not exactly elated to go back home, and you know he knows that. 

“Thanks for reminding me.” 

Way to kill the mood. 

“It ain’t that bad, ya know.” he sighs quite heavily, and you hear him flip another page in the document he's holding. “I know you wanna go make a life far away, and your mother, she’s not the nicest to ya..” He puts down the papers as he speaks, and his hand twists around your neck. You know what he’s getting at– what he was trying to get at last night. 

The comment irks you, and you raise your head from his stomach and sit higher on your knees. “I am not having this conversation with you.” The hand that’s around your neck pulls you up till you're on your knees completely, and you place both hands on his thighs to keep your balance. “Can’t keep runnin’ away from every problem you have.” He tilts your head up as he speaks with a hold on your hair. 

“For the record you don't know anything about me or my mother.” You shake off his hold and catch his wrist in your grasp, firmly planted on his thigh. “I know you think you’ve got us all pinned down, but lest you need reminding– you’ve been in our lives all of what? Twelve months?” He doesn’t try to remove his hand from your grip, and you feel a little bad about how you’re lashing out at him. 

“Bun..” Especially when he talks to you this way, all patient and sweet. “Can’t keep doin’ this..” his other hand reaches for your face but you grab it too. “Not now at least.” you know what’s coming next. “And ya can’t keep gettin so close to trouble. Can't keep runnin that mouth on everyone. Actin’ out.” 

The comment makes you roll your eyes, makes them burn unpleasantly. It doesn’t register whether he's right or not, you don't care. You're not interested. “I get it–  you’re a big hot shot detective and all, and you really like all this perfect picket fence family stuff. But I don’t need you to like be my dad or whatever it is you were hoping to be.” You pause and look between the both of you. “If that wasn’t abundantly clear already…” 

Even you flinch at the comment, but Javier doesn’t budge. His jaw ticks and your heart aches in regret. “That's not what I meant, Bun.” His voice is calm, and gentle, and it makes your eyes sting even more. He takes your silence as an opportunity to continue. “And it’s gonna come all crashin down and then what? Bein so reckless?” 

“You're not fixing anything, okay?” Your grip on his wrists tightens a little, and you harshly let go. “Will you just stop? Just lay off. I know what I'm doing.” You cringe at the sound of your own voice, at how juvenile and childish you’re being despite his kindness. You don't want to deal with whatever he’s trying to bring up. “Just stay out of it.” 

“I know ya are..” you get off your knees, hands still planted on your thighs in an attempt to hoist yourself up to your feet. You try to stand but he pulls you into his lap and you fall forward into his chest with a yelp. His arms tighten around you and you rest your head on his shoulder with your face turned away from him. He rubs your back gently and seems to decide to put a pin in the conversation.  “Bunny baby.” He can probably feel your heart thud against him. 

One of his hands sneaks up your, or rather his, shirt, and he squeezes the flesh of your thigh. “Done gettin all upset with me?” turning his head he places a few kisses against your neck– feather light, and chuckles when you whine and turn your own head to catch his lips with yours. “This what you wanted?” 

“Stubborn brat.” with both hands on your waist he pulls you down against him, your panty clad core meeting his hardness and sending a shiver down your spine. His words make you shiver and you grind down against him. His hand sneaks up and his fingers wrap around your throat– forcing your watery eyes to his. “Was gonna teach ya how to suck some cock, but you’re too much of a brat huh?” 

As he speaks, he reaches between the two of you, freeing his throbbing cock from his shorts and teasing your slit with his tip. Your hips rise and squirm and the grip he has on your throat makes you dizzy. “Need to get fucked silly again? Need me to shut ya up?” 

You can’t respond, just continue to mewl and chase the pleasure of his cock rubbing up against your dripping folds. He teases your tight hole– his head just barely pushing in only to retreat to your clit and leave you clenching around nothing. “Don't worry bunny, gonna teach ya how to shut that mouth right up.”

Your mouth waters at the thought. You bite your lip. You find a steady and sturdy grip on his shoulders and whisper a plea for him to “please daddy– let me” he cuts you off with a spank and sinks the head of his cock in your warm, wet, cunt. “Not today, not when ya givin’ me that attitude”  

“Please daddy-” he cuts you off with another spank, gripping your hips and letting you sink fully onto his cock. “Not another word from that mouth.” his fingers squish your face and he brings you to meet his eyes. “Gonna take what I give ya.” 

He thrusts up into your waiting cunt, holds you in place on his lap and uses you like a doll. “Lucky to be gettin’ my cock after bein’ such a fuckin’ brat” you mewl at the harshness of his words but its all to difficult to concentrate on when you can feel the delicious stretch of his thick cock splitting you open. No time to adjust before his hips are meeting yours with impressive speed. 

The obscene squelching of your wetness and the sound of slapping skin fills the room and sends your eyes rolling back into your head. “Never fuckin listen, do ya?”You call out his name and he grunts, his hand releasing its grip on your face to palm your tit through your t-shirt. His thumb brushes your hard nipple and you can’t help but moan. “Think ya got everything figured out.” 

“Like being a bad girl?” You hate how close you already are, the drag of his cock against your quivering walls has you out of breath despite the fact that you’re not doing any of the work here. “Can feel how bad you wanna cum.” Javi feels you tighten around him and he groans, squeezing the flesh of your thighs and bringing your face down to his for a kiss. 

He lets you lick into his mouth in a silent apology for your tone earlier, doesn’t make you chase his lips and offers them to you with grace. His steady thrusting makes it difficult for you to keep your lips on his but he doesn’t tease you– just continues to fuck into your wet heat till you breath hitches and your reeling forward onto his chest. 

Your hips stutter and your pussy flutters around his cock. Javi groans a string of low curses at the feeling of your cunt milking him. You go dumb and dizzy for a few seconds, your whole body on fire as you ride out your high– prolonged by the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you. A ragged moan escapes your lips as you feel him paint your insides with his hot spend, the aftershocks seizing your body as the two of you simultaneously come down from your high. 

Your chests rise and fall against one another, and Javi moves your legs across his lap so your thighs can catch some respite from the strain of bouncing on his cock. You can’t help but wince when you feel his spend drip onto your thighs. He reaches between your legs and swipes the cut of your pussy, then brings his fingers to your lips and you open them– sucking on his digits gently. Your eyes flutter closed and he pulls his digits from your mouth. He places a kiss on the tip of your nose and you rest your head back against his shoulder. 

There's a few more beats of silence. There's a tension, but not enough for you to peel yourself away from his hold. In fact he's the one to shift under you, you take his place on the armchair and watch as he makes his way towards the bathroom. You glance towards the coffee table and spot the contents of the file. The title reads “Employment Contract: Attache for The United States Federal Drug Enforcement Agency in Colombia.” 

Javier stops in front of the door, he peels his shirt off, and doesn’t turn your way as he speaks. 

“Never mean ya’ any harm, baby Bun.. Just lookin’ out for ya’.” 

— 

Lost inside

Adorable illusion and I cannot hide

I'm the one you're using, please don't push me aside

We coulda made it cruising, yeah

La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

La, da, da, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

Yeah, riding high on love's true bluish light

Thank you so much for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed!! Remember, again very morally dubious and borderline unhealthy relationship here. We are dealing with it in the realm of fiction! Thank you to everyone who comments and engages with my work you keep me writing!! Please let me know what you think!! 💗

[dxxdhood]

wait for me

pairing: waiter!dick grayson x gn!reader

summary: after getting stood up on a date, you notice the waiter who's been patiently watching you all evening.

tags: smut (18+), sub!dick grayson, dom!reader, teasing, dirty talk, humiliation, name-calling, slapping, handjob

wc: 1.9k

a/n: hey, hope you guys like this one! if anyone has any requests/thoughts, please send them in. i want to write more, but i really struggle with ideas haha

It’s not that bad, all things considered. You must have the intuition of a god for choosing a restaurant that allows free refills, because if you’ve had to pay for drinks this whole night, you’d have gone completely broke. Still, you can’t help feeling pretty shitty. There’s no way your date is running two hours late.

The place is a casual diner, serving a host of soups, sandwiches, and pastries that had you salivating earlier on in the night, but right now, you’re not exactly in the mood to browse the menu again. The diner doesn’t close until twelve, but it’s been almost deserted for the past hour, probably because it’s a weeknight and the average person has plenty better to do than wait on a person who’s made it obvious they’re not coming

Just as you’re about to get up and leave – for real this time – the waiter comes around to refill your drink. It’s a quarter till twelve, and at this point you know he probably wants to start cleaning up, but still he tops up your drink without saying anything. It’s a kindness, but a part of you just wishes he would kick you out already.

He’s been the only waiter on staff since you got here – even the manager knew this place would be empty – and you’re so glad he was, because if you ever want to show your face here again, all you have to do is avoid one person. It’s a shame that you feel too embarrassed to interact with him, though. He’s been nothing but polite, only asking if you were ready to order at the very beginning before quickly picking up on the fact that you were waiting on your date– the one that wasn’t coming.

You take a sip from your full drink, but you can’t stomach any more. Standing up, you try to avoid eye contact with the waiter, who’s relaxing behind the counter, as you step towards the exit. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of your head, like you’ve skipped a step or forgotten an important task. It dawns on you as you’re facing the exit: you forgot to tip him!

Well, you didn’t order a meal and you paid for your drink up front, so you’re not exactly sure if you were meant to tip him. Hell, you didn’t know if this restaurant accepted tips at all. But this waiter just watched you sit through quiet torture and the second-hand embarrassment was probably like stepping on glass.

“Hey,” you turn around. “Do I… Should I tip you?”

“Yeah, I was wondering that, too,” he says lightly. He purses his lips and stares to the side, “I’ve turned it over a few times in my head, and decided that nope! You don’t need to tip me. You have no lawful or moral obligation, I resolve you.”

You feel your eyes getting watery, so you focus on the dust in the crease between the wall and the floor. Him saying that only makes you feel worse, but it’d be too awkward to hand him the money now. It feels like there should be something you could do, some way you could thank him for keeping you company.

“How many people are staffed right now?” you ask.

He looks caught off guard, like he expected the interaction to end there. “Oh, just me and one other guy in the kitchen.”

“Let me help you close.”

His eyes widen, and you try to meet his gaze. He’s puzzled, probably trying to figure out what you get out of helping him. Eventually, he shrugs his shoulders and gets up from behind the counter.

“Yeah, why not,” he says with a fond smirk, gesturing to you to follow him. 

He leads you to the supply closet, where the two of you grab cleaning spray, rags, and a broom. While you work on wiping down the tables and chairs, he counts the cash in the register.

“So, you always offer to clean up after yourself?” he starts, too focused on tallying up the earnings to notice you staring at him. The waiter, “Dick” according to his name tag, is very cute. You were trying to ignore him the best you could for the sake of your would-be date, but honestly, fuck that guy. Your waiter with the dashing smile and ruffled hair blows him out of the water, anyway.

“Just feeling extra polite tonight. You always accept help from customers?”

“You won’t believe this, but nobody’s offered,” he says with a snort. “Still, probably not the smartest idea on my part.”

You think about his words for a second as you wipe down a particularly stubborn stain. “I wouldn’t be able to rob you if I wanted to.”

It’s true, he looked well-muscled, even if on the leaner side. His eyes are playful as he narrows them at you. “Careful, they take security footage of this place, don't confess to any thoughts you may or may not have.”

You laugh, going back to cleaning before you start again. “Can’t believe you put off closing the diner just so you could watch me get stood up for an extra however many minutes.”

“Counterpoint: Can’t believe you let yourself get stood up for so long.” Dick finishes up at the register and grabs the broom. “You’re worth more than that.”

“Oh? And how do you know what I’m worth?” you say instinctively. 

You watch his eyes widen from your peripheral vision, like he didn’t mean to say his last comment out loud. “I wasn’t trying to overstep, but, like, obviously you’re attractive. You could get anyone you wanted and–”

“You’ve been watching me all night, haven't you?” Filled with newfound confidence, you leave your rag and spray bottle and walk over to where Dick is sweeping the entrance. 

Despite how friendly he’s been tonight, he deliberately avoids eye contact as he works. “Well, yeah, I needed to make sure you got your order once – if – you placed one–”

“No, no. I mean you were watching me,” you place a hand on his shoulder. “What, you wish you were the one I was going on a date with?”

And though you know you’re jumping to conclusions, he stiffens at your words and it’s clear you’ve caught him.

“I… I didn’t want to bother–” Dick starts, dropping the broom. You use the opening to push him against the wall, hearing the scratches of the brick against his button up shirt.

“That’s alright,” you whisper. “I don’t mind being bothered.”

You can feel his chest rise and fall as you press yourself closer to him. His eyes follow your every move, and you bring your face closer until it's only inches away from his. 

You can feel the puffs of his inhales and exhales on your skin, and you’re about to completely close the gap between you two, but Dick beats you to it. He kisses you, and you pull back for a moment in surprise before sinking into the kiss.

His lips are so warm, and as he brings up a hand to pull you closer by the jaw, you notice how surprisingly soft his hands are. You try to deepen the kiss, nipping his lip in the process, and he lets out a gasp. Biting at his lip a little more, he giggles as he realizes you’re playing with him.

“You’re starting to bother me,” he quips, trying to keep his composure as you nip at the underside of his jaw. Just when he starts getting comfortable and relaxing into your kisses, you switch to biting at him, and he jolts.

“Maybe you deserve it. You need to learn better manners, sitting there, watching me all night. Bet you wish I would’ve shoved you against this wall a whole lot sooner, huh?” you whisper into his ear before going back to kissing down his neck. He moans at your words, but tries to muffle himself by pushing his face into his shoulder. You bring a hand up to his hair and tug to get him to pay attention to you.

“Right in front of everyone, too,” you continue, sliding a hand down his stomach to work on his jeans. “Just mark you, make you moan like a bitch while everyone else is watching.”

Biting his lip, Dick tries to ignore the effect your words have on him, but he’s still rutting against your hand as you’re unzipping him. He gives a small thrust against the air, whimpering as you wrap your hand around his cock.

“Shit, this all for me?” you breathe. You swear Dick can hear you smirk, even as he pinches his eyes shut.

“Don’t– Ah!” he gets cut off as you start stroking him slowly. “Don’t let– let it go to your head.”

“No, I think I’ll be just fine,” you quicken your pace, not giving him a second to get ready. “If I remember right, some slut thinks he’s hot enough to get me to fuck him just by, what, batting his eyes at me? From all the way across the diner?”

“Well–” He groans, arching his back against the wall. The sweat shines against his cheeks, you feel so lucky to be the cause of it. “Well I was right, wasn’t I?”

You chuckle, caught off guard. “Guess you are.”

You briefly remove your hand, and Dick grunts, irritated, before you spit in it and go back to forcefully jerking him off. His moans grow louder, and you can see him start to get lost, eyes growing distant while chasing his orgasm.

“Are you going to come already?” you say, slowing your pace to be more deliberate, but still keeping the pressure the same. After a moment of silence, you slap his balls and he lets out a yelp that melts into a groan. 

“Answer me!” you shout, bringing your hand back up to pull at his hair.

“Ah– Yeah, y-yes!” he gasps. “You’re going to make me cum!”

“Good,” you say before you bite at his neck again, sucking a spot right under his jugular. The skin starts to deepen and you lick, tending to it before you nip at it again, just biting hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood. 

Dick screams as he cums, thrusting into your fist at an uncontrolled pace. You work him through it, matching his speed until he falls back against the wall, spent. As he slides down the wall until he sits on the ground, you walk back to one of the chairs.

“Damn, not ready for round two?” you say, propping up your head on the top rail. He huffs through his nose, looking at you for a moment like he’s checking to see if you’re real. He seems to find what he’s looking for, giggling and resting his head on his knees. 

“Oh my god, Dick, stop it. We need to go!” A tall, built man walks out of the kitchen, “Jason” according to his name tag. Looking sheepish, Dick is ready to defend himself, but Jason walks towards him, ignoring every word coming out of Dick’s mouth. 

Dick hands you a napkin, gesturing a phone and mouthing the words “call me” as he’s dragged out of the building by Jason. In shock, you open up the napkin to find his name and his number hastily scribbled in ballpoint pen. Smirking to yourself, you only wish you knew how early on in the night Dick prepared this napkin for you. You could’ve saved the both of you two hours of waiting.

[potatomountain]

For The Wolves

♦️pairing: Hongjoong x afab reader x yeosang

♦️wc: 4.1k

♦️au: rebel!teez, world Z

♦️genre: dystopian, pwp

♦️Summary: weeks without seeing the two rebels had you second guessing everything and a visit from the android guardians had you ready to flee anywhere else. But the two rebels who have your heart are determined to remind you that you're theirs

♦️warnings: mxm, bondage, a few whips, soft dom/switch Yeosang, hard dom Hongjoong, sub reader, dacryphilia (if you squint), some anxiety, dvp, oral (male receiving, male giving), threeway kiss, spanks, one slap to Yeosang, degradation, marking, praise, multiple orgasms (fem), penetration without a barrier. no pull out.

♦️AN: originally wasn't going to continue this, but it was one of my favorite works and @bunnliix wanted it for her birthday so happy birthday Lixie <3

♦️nets: @pirateeznet @mirohs-aurora-society

♦️Banner made by me | dividers made by @cafekitsune

♦️Part 1: To The Wolves | For other works: Masterlist

Just like that, you weren’t so willing to be with them any more. Yet you also couldn’t do anything about it. Weeks went by, your anger over the situation growing but also the pain, until you finally decided that maybe it was time to move shop.

The idea of packing up your clinic and going into hiding was strong after that night as if your senses had returned to you. How could you just let them ruin you like that? How could you enjoy it so much?

Your moral compass felt like it was spinning with no real direction and you lost yourself. The fact they left you before you had even fallen asleep, still covered in their cum, had cut deep.

They certainly ruined you, and you no longer liked the idea. You felt like a fool, one they used. Before you had given them an answer Hongjoong had gotten a call and then they were just gone. 

Especially since the government had tightened their hold on your district. It was harder to help others, less and less finding your clinic safe as android guardians patrolled the area often.

Then it happened. The guardians came into your clinic, and messed with your things. They trashed the place, turning it upside down while you protested. Never before did you have a direct problem with them, having always gone through the legal channels for your supplies, registering your patients during working hours, and paying your bills and taxes on time.

Whatever they were looking for, they didn’t find, leaving you with a trashed place and saying it was your problem to replace what was broken

Spending the better part of the day and well into the night cleaning it up, you were frustrated enough tears kept pricking your eyes, making it hard to clean up the last room- your bedroom. You gave up on trying to hang up the clothes, kicking them in frustration into the closet and letting out a sob.

Just to have something pulled over your head. You cried out, immediately thrashing out to whoever put a hand over your mouth to muffle your loud curses. Your foot connected with something, a deep groan falling from the person’s lips and you thought you recognized it.

It felt like all you had worked for was destroyed just like your clinic and home. All the good you did was for naught. Was it not enough? Was it all their fault? If you had just kept your head down, would the guardians have just left you alone?

“If I ever see them again I’ll strangle them with my own two hands.” You hissed out, with one final kick getting the pile of clothes behind the door. “Stupid Hongjoong. Yeosang. Bet they’re the reason those fuckers were here. Don’t see them for weeks and yet I get the backlash??” Slamming the door shut, your limbs were shaking with growing rage. 

“Easy Doll, don’t hurt Sangie too much.” Hongjoong whispered against your ear, holding the cloth bag over your head with a grip at the back of your neck as he tugged you back. You stumbled back against him, pissed that now was when they showed up.

So you kicked harder, swung your elbows back and connected with Hongjoong’s ribs multiple times. They scrambled back, throwing you on the bed as you curse at them specifically.

“What? Not happy to see us after the fun time we had the last time?”

“Fuck you.” You spat at Hongjoong once the bag was off, his hands now holding your wrists above your head while his knee held your legs still. Both of them looked quite different, their hair chained and something off about their aura. Or was this how they always were under the facade they had given you?

Surrounded on both sides though, held down by your wrists, and thighs, there was little you could do and truthfully, screaming would get you nowhere. People tended to mind their business this late thanks to all those raids that had happened.

Another thing to blame these two for.

Glaring at them both, and still squirming, Hongjoong looked you over with amusement while Yeosang slid onto the bed and took over his hold on you. “We heard the guardians were here.”

Your body tensed up at the reminder, turning your glare onto Yeosang. “So they were looking for you two?! Don’t see why when you haven’t been here for weeks! Bastards.” You hissed out, turning your glare to Hongjoong as he adjusted his black jacket.

“We’ve been here just… didn’t let you see us.” Yeosang spoke again, Hongjoong seemingly in his own world as he started humming, looking around at your trashed bedroom.

You scoffed, staring up at Yeosang trying to get a read on his expression. His jaw was tense, brows slightly knitted together, but there was some concern in his eyes. You pushed it aside. “I would’ve been fine without you! No reason to watch if you weren’t going to-” You cut the thought off, biting on your lip and turning your head away. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction  of knowing you were waiting for them.

And the idea of them ruining you again was still far too tempting.

Hongjoong’s smirk showed he knew it though. Turning back to you, he held up some rope and a few items that sent a shiver down your body. You should be scared, but your body remembered clearly the last time they had free control over your body. His smirk turned into a wide grin as if he knew. “We’re here now Doll, and I’m well aware you wanted to leave us.”

Yeosang’s hands tightened on you at his words, gaze intense and demanding you look at him but you wouldn’t. “Didn’t you like last time?” He pleaded a bit softly, which just had you swallowing the growing lump of anxiety in your throat.

“You left me… and got the stupid guardians involved with this area so no one comes to see me anymore. Like everyone knew what you did to me.” You whined out, defeated. What could you do though? They were rebels, they fought for a living, you healed people, and took care of others.

Hongjoong approached the bed again, on knee on the edge as he leaned over you. “It’s not that they’re scared of your clinic Doll, just this area. We wanted to offer you to come with us, have a clinic at our base- but you were going to run away from us?”

“N-no.” You immediately protested, staring him down in hopes he wouldn’t question it. Instead he slapped down the cord onto your thigh, the sting surging up through your body, as the sound rang through the room almost as loud as your sudden cry.

How wet it left you should be concerning, especially since it prompted the idea of testing Hongjoong to see how many times you can get him to bring the cord down on your backside. Yeosang’s soft hand rubbing the stinging flesh through your jeans just added to that desire. 

Not wanting to give in just yet, you cried out again as Hongjoong brought the cord down on your other thigh, back arching as pleasure mixed with the pain. Pupils blown out, you stared up at him, panting, his brow raised questioningly.

“Don’t lie to us Baby.” Yeosang wasn’t really on your side for this, of course he wasn’t; but the contrast of hard dom and soft dom, pulling you every which way was exhilarating. Fuck they really had ruined you last time hadn’t they?

The smirks on their features told you they were well aware of their affect over you.

“I thought you didn’t care any more… after you used me.” You reluctantly admitted, shutting your eyes to hold back the tears that now threatened to fall. “Hated being here and thinking of you and the worst.”

You gave them no trouble at all as Yeosang stripped you of all your clothing, but took his time with your underwear while Hongjoong was now using padded cuffs to hold your wrists together. It was Yeosang’s deep hum as his fingers ran over the wet spot in your underwear that had you opening your eyes and looking down at him. He was staring intently as he pressed your panties between your wet folds, rubbing with two fingers to gather even more slick and rub your clit.

“Poor doll, we neglected you didn’t we?” Hongjoong’s voice lacked the condescension his words implied. “We’ll have to fix that. Sangie, undress her.”

At his leader’s command, your pants were pulled off as Hongjoong’s hand now held your wrist down. You were pliant under their touch, still heavily dejected and eager for them to hopefully wash it away. They would, right? Ease your worries?

Waiting with bated breath as he leaned in as if to taste, it was denied by Yeosang’s head getting pulled back by Hongjoong’s hand in his hair. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Wanna taste her. Didn’t get to last time.” He groaned out, still staring at your soaked panties.

“And I didn’t get to fuck her cunt last time either. I had been generous, even let you fill her up Sangie. Are you already dumbed out just from the thought of fucking her? Really are just a pretty face and a hot body aren’t you? No brain up there?” Hongjoong scolded before pushing his head away just to grab at his throat instead. “Be good and maybe you can fuck her with me.”

You could only watch the way Yeosang whined, staring up at Hongjoong and being pliant in his grip. Heat scorched between the two, making you squirm with a newfound need between them and attempting to lift your bound wrists for a touch but they were tied to the bed with the cord from earlier.

Hongjoong reached down and gripped your thigh to still you, tugging Yeosang closer to his face and smirking as Yeosang parted his lips for him. “If you want to taste something, you can fixate on my cock. Get it nice and wet for our pretty doll.”

Yeosang’s nod had you whining at the idea, aware you wanted it a little too much.

What the hell did they do to you? The question rang in your head as you could only watch Yeosang scramble to get Hongjoong’s pants open, hand still in his hair. Whether he was that eager to fuck you, or suck on him, it didn’t even matter: his eagerness was contagious.

“You’re not fixing it Joongie-” You whined out, eyes trained on the way Yeosang’s hand stroked Hongjoong’s now freed member, his mouth getting closer. “Feels like you’re just rubbing it in my face more.”

He smirked down at you, a hint of softness in the corner of his lips. “You’re right, doll, I shouldn’t neglect you. You’ve shown you stray if you don’t get attention.” He stopped Yeosang just to pull his pants down and off. Both of you watched as he positioned himself between your legs, pushing both up by the calves just to flip you onto your stomach. “But you’re not getting rewarded so easily either.”

With a few more harsh movements you were on your knees, arms pulled as tight as they could from the rope and bondage, the bag now back over your head but leaving your mouth uncovered. Not that it would make a difference, at this angle you could barely lift your head from the sheets beneath you; a disappointment since you couldn’t watch Yeosang suck off Hongjoong.

“Fuck, at least you know how to use your mouth.” He hissed, the sounds of slurping going right to your core and making you leak with how turned on you were. With a whine you shook your ass, begging to be touched, just to feel his hand slap your bare skin and send pain and pleasure up your spine. “Patient Doll.”

So you remained as still as you could, listening so intently to the sounds of Yeosang’s mouth on Hongjoong’s cock, trying to picture his lips on your cunt instead. The thought was dashed as you felt two fingers run over your folds, gathering up your slick and then roughly pushing in. With a cry you jolted forward a bit, just for another smack to your other cheek.

“So fucking needy. You’re just sucking in my fingers.” Hongjoong rasped out, thrusting the two fingers into you roughly but you didn’t mind the harshness. As long as he was touching you. “B-both of you are so needy and pathetic.”

You let out a whine in protest. “D-Don’t be so mean.”

“Oh?” Another harsh slap. “This is being nice, Doll. I told you last time, I liked how scared you were. Fuck the thought of you running from me, crying, just to pin you down and fuck you like a toy? Fuck it got me off so much. Had to use others, but no one else had that same fear.”

You couldn’t say anything about that, fear spiking your heartbeat but also adrenaline; excitement. If it was Hongjoong, you were sure you would let him and like it.

Yeosang pulled off Hongjoong’s cock with a pop, letting out a deep groan of protest. “We’re trying to convince her to come with us, not scare her off Captain.”

A slap rang through the air, your pussy clenching around his features at the sound, but it wasn’t you who took the impact. “Oh God.” You mumbled, desire fogging your brain. Did he slap his mouth? His ass? Was it Yeosang that slapped Hongjoong? Every single image had you clenching down.

“She’s not scared at all Sangie. I think she wants me to hit you again based on how much she’s trying not to fuck herself on my fingers.” A third was pushed in, a low moan escaping your lips and you instantly tensed, expecting the slap.

Instead he just smoothed over your ass before giving a light squeeze. “Get your clothes off, I want you under her when I make her cum. Want you to see who makes our Doll feel good. Not your pathetic self.”

The sound of Yeosang hurriedly slipping off the bed and pulling his clothes off was proof he enjoyed the way Hongjoong talked to him. You also liked how Hongjoong talked to him, as much as you liked Hongjoong talking down to you.

Well, mostly. You still had your reservations, your worries, that you weren’t much more than a toy. And while it definitely had you turned on and dripping around Hongjoong’s fingers, your heart felt heavy.

Only Yeosang’s words from a moment ago gave it any hope, enough that you pushed for more. “J-Joongie?” There was a desperation in your tone that left you feeling vulnerable, even as his fingers curled to rub your sweet spot, heat pooling in your lower belly and building towards a climax.

He must have known, his tone a bit softer as he asked “What is it Doll?”

“A-am I just a toy?”

He kissed your shoulder blade, tip of his cock rubbing against your folds and asking for entrance. “You belong with us. You’re made for us. Part of our pack- that’s where you belong.” He whispered against your shoulder, slowly pushing in.

His fingers came to a halt at your whimper, then were pulled out. “No, you aren’t. Maybe I have been too mean to you.” He rushed out, voice drifting away which just made your anxiety spike.

You were being lifted and moved before you could voice your concerns again, Yeosang’s familiar hands on your waist, his cheek pressed against yours as you were now laying on his chest. “You mean so much to us baby, I promise.”

“But-” You protest was cut off by lips on yours, hands running over your sides and knees parting yours more. You melted in Yeosang beneath you, relaxing even further as you felt Hongjoong’s hands on the curve of your ass and up your back.

Your moan was swallowed up hungrily by Yeosang’s lips, perfectly sandwiched between them as Hongjoong pushed his full length into you.

He let out a shaky breath against the back of your neck, reaching around to cup one of your breasts, fingers rolling your nipple between them. He tugged roughly just as he started a brutal pace with his cock, causing you to cry out against Yeosang’s lips.

The man beneath you moved his hands to your ass, spreading your cheeks and holding them still as Hongjoong’s pelvis slammed into yours over and over. Unable to keep kissing him, your head lulled to the side, drool and spit coming with you and now leaking onto Yeosang’s shoulder.  “Taking him so well Baby, really just made for us.”

“J-Joongie~” The impending climax that had been building from his fingers was now back in reach.

“Gonna cream on my cock Doll? You’re clenching so hard- fuck so tight. You’re going to have to relax if you wanna take us both in this sweet pussy of yours though-” He laughed suddenly, a bit breathless, “-oh you like that idea?”

Yeosang groaned under you, lips now marring up your neck with little bites and hickies. He pulled back as Hongjoong grabbed you by the back of the head, a fist full of the bag and your hair, pulling so that you couldn’t hide your sounds against the man beneath you.

“Show Yeosang how good I fuck you Doll. How much you love my cock inside you.” Hongjoong practically growled the words out, demanding you cum for him.

It snapped that coil and you were cumming just as he said, jaw going slack and drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth as you cried out loudly for him. He fucked you through it, pulling you harshly back on his cock that just overstimulated you even further. Your arms thrashed, looking for something to grab onto and potentially pull away once Yeosang grabbed your hips and used his own strength to slam you back even harder on Hongjoong’s cock.

Tears were running down your cheeks, wetting the bag and having it stick to your skin as you cried for them. “T-too much! Too much!”

“Take it baby. Soak us. You can do it. I know you can.” Yeosang’s soft pleading beneath you was a stark contrast to Hongjoong’s degrading words behind you.

“Give me another Doll. Be a good fucking toy. Show me how pathetic you are for cock. For my cock.” With Yeosang holding your hips, Hongjoong’s free hand grabbed your throat, muffling your protests as the pain was becoming too much but also so pleasurable.

You came again, hard enough you pushed Hongjoong out of you and soaked them just as Yeosang asked. Sobbing as your body shook in their arms, you would have collapsed if not for their hold on you.

Seconds felt like minutes, small sobs still wrecking your body moments later as the sensations began to die down. Hongjoong removed his hands to rub your ass, running his nails over the reddened flesh and digging in on occasion. Yeosang however was showering you with soft kisses where he could reach, praising you under his breath for doing such a good job for them.

Only when the trembling of your muscles stopped did you feel Hongjoong’s cock press back against your sobbing hole. “You can fuck her now, but stretch her out for me.” He thrust in once, just to pull completely out with a happy sigh. “Want to mark her up so prettily.”

Yeosang didn’t hesitate to push his cock up into you, burying himself deep. “Oh fuck- baby.”

You whined, still a little too fucked out to form a coherent response. That climax had you seeing stars and you hadn’t fully crashed back to earth. It most definitely wasn’t happening with how good he felt inside you.

When he pushed a finger in, making your cunt even tighter around his cock, you let out another incoherent babble of a whine. He chuckled in your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple as he moved slowly. Long, deep, languid thrusts as he slowly stretched you out.

Soft moans and whimpers fell from your lips, regaining some energy and control from the harsh fucking you had just taken and simply enjoying the way he was moving. Though Hongjoong’s nails on your back, the trail of love bites, and his occasional slaps to your ass worked you up just as well.

Yeosang adding in a second finger had you drooling and feeling so full, but the third had you crying out a bit. “It’s okay baby, almost there. Don’t you want to take both of us?”

“Be a good hole to use?” Hongjoong nipped at the back of your neck roughly, tingles running down your spine.

“Y-yes please.” You whined out, pliant between them as you struggled to keep your breathing even.

Hongjoong laughed in your ear, Yeosang’s fingers out of your hole to be replaced by Hongjoong’s and he demanded a faster pace.

It was hard to focus as Yeosang matched Hongjoong’s pace, his own breathing picking up and little moans falling deliciously from his lips right against the bag around your head. You moaned out for him, turning your head to plead for a kiss. As his lips clashed with yours, Hongjoong’s fingers were gone and you were getting very full very fast.

He bottomed out, the three of you trembling and pausing your actions to adjust as your walls fluttered around them. Their gravelly groans, their tight grip on your body, Yeosang’s chest heaving beneath you, and their cocks pulsating inside- all of it felt more intense since you could only feel and hear.

“All ours Doll.”

“All ours.” Yeosang murmured against your lips, savoring your taste, just to have the bag ripped off your head and your throat grabbed. Your eyes locked onto Yeosang’s, stomach flipping at the pure fucked out expression he had, mouth covered in spit from your messy kisses and pupils blown wide.

Hongjoong’s visage was in your sight the next second, hard eyes boring into yours as he heavy breath fanned against your lips. “Say it.”

“A-all yours.” The words tumbled from your lips effortlessly, then again and again as Hongjoong’s soft lips were moving against yours. He didn’t pull away as he began to move, swallowing up your moans and breathing his own against yours.

Yeosang’s whines were louder, his hips bucking up to offset Hongjoong’s thrusts but match his pace. Muscles taunt against your breasts, held in place by them both as their pace picked up.

You felt so full, already ready to cum again but you were eager for their permission. You wanted their praise, their approval. Their love. Or as close to it as you could get at this moment.

“We’re yours too, you know.” Hongjoong mumbled softly against your lips as he pulled away, leaning back to fuck you even harder. “You belong to us-”

“And w-we belong to you.” Yeosang moaned out beneath you, stealing a sloppy kiss as you collapsed against him. Both of their hands were on your hips, Hongjoong’s resting over Yeosang’s possessively.

In the back of your mind, this whole scenario felt so filthy to you. But you couldn’t really care. You belonged to them and they belonged to you.

Whatever they had going on just fuzzled your brain even more, head lulling to the side to cry out freely for them when you could catch your breath enough to do so.

Orgasm hitting hard, your eyes flew open before rolling back, tongue slipping out as it felt like you had no control over your body, it was just pure electrifying ecstasy. Once the peak passed, you had enough sense to see that Hongjoong was now muffling Yeosang’s cries with his own mouth, their cum filling you up.

With every ounce of strength you had you pressed closer, the three of you clashing lips and spit and teeth as their hips were stuttering to a stop, so much cum filling you even further and pushing out of you with a need to go somewhere.

Vaguely you felt Hongjoong pull away as you were nothing more than a limp noodle, shaking from the remaining shocks of pleasure that was dimming your mind more and more by the second. Vaguely you could hear Yeosang asking him to clean you two up, his hands running over your marked up back and ass.

The only coherent thing you did process was his deep voice in your ear. “Sleep baby, we’ll take you home when you wake up.”

Taglist (Form): @candypop1611 | @vannabanana1995  | @piratequeen-queenofgames | @starstruckforyou

| @minheeskitten | @sousydive | @alextheweeb7 | @thesafecafe | @euphoricem

| @meepsters-world | @mysticfire0435 | @yejisuu | @apriecotte | @amphiroxx 

| @cloudysannie | @sugarnspice630 | @isiloiale | @plutoneu | @venn-ie

| @therealcuppicake | @lavishloving | @pearltinyy | @vampiregirl215

| @heihaneul | @gugggu6gvai | @oddinaryxfever | @smally97 | @pandagirl-016

| @hecateslittlewitchling | @arinyyy | @lovelgirl22 | @stayatinykatsy | @noone356097 |

| @misskarynie | @cookiesandcreammy | @atinycravings | @klllerwaifu | @joongscheese |

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| @intowxnderland | @lover-ofallthingspretty | @fanficsruinedmylife | @mooniicore | @shadow-assassin-blix |

[vhstown]

ain't no love; epilogue

— miles g morales x gn!reader series

SERIES SUMMARY: Miles G Morales is just a kid without a father; the Prowler is just a "rotten" vigilante. Both of them start coming into your life one in the middle of the semester, the other by total accident.

SERIES MASTERLIST 📼 ← PART 5 / EPILOGUE

chapter summary: You and Miles share a few months of normalcy. And maybe something new, too.

content/warnings: depictions of miles (whipped) morales

word count: 1.5k

a/n: wahoo we did it guys thank u to @/qiuweyballs forever for proofreading LETS FREAKING GO MAN

"You sure it's five dollars?"

"Four dollars, ninety-nine," the man behind the counter replied, grinning until his eyes were barely visible behind his tinted glasses. "Completely positive, young man."

"Aight, sure. Here."

While Miles was sure the man had definitely stuck another price on top of the original one, he didn't really want to stay in this rickety old comic book store any longer. Miles' hand had gotten kind of sweaty from holding yours by now — not that he minded. It was totally fine that he was also sweaty everywhere else he had skin. When had he gotten this sweaty? He was done with puberty. He was a man. He was your… Uh…

"Are we going?"

Your voice broke his trail of thoughts as his eyes jump from the counter to you. Right. You'd agreed to go out with him. And at the end of this, if he would just stop sweating, maybe you'd go out with him again. And it wouldn't be to Marge's like the first thing he suggested when he was totally out of it before realising that probably wasn't the best place for a date.

"Miles?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. My bad."

He snatched up the comic book, the man's squinted eyes never leaving him. That head of silvery hair had once been closer to brown, maybe when comic books didn't go for five whole dollars. "NO REFUNDS. EVER." passed him by as he left the store, his hand still in yours, trying so hard to not move but also to get into a less sweaty position. This was the last comic book he'd ever buy, damn it.

It was coming to the start of spring, and that meant the day was a little more ideal for a date. Visions did like to run things a lot more intensely, but you'd finally managed to make it to your next break. The two of you had more time to spend together now that most exams were over, and you'd spent the whole of today going to places that Miles had wanted to show you for a while.

In-between that, there had been a lot of explaining too — to both you and Uncle Aaron. He'd told you everything from the start, even if piece by piece on lunch breaks, or texts, or late night phone calls that you somehow managed to pick up regardless of the time. He told you how he'd gotten into Visions, why he was "so good at math" it annoyed you. He told you what happened to his dad, who his uncle was, what his Prowler gig was. He told you about college, and about his mom. Thank God you and his mom got along. It had been pretty tense when she'd found out he'd tried to quit school.

Being back in Visions, Miles had also told you all about his new roommate, Ganke. Devising ways to get out of school was particularly annoying, with Ganke staying up all night to work on some thesis. Ultra-smart. Way too good at video games. Maybe a little better at physics than him. What type of high-schooler has a thesis to work on anyway? He didn't mind the guy, though. It was nice to kick back and play games with someone again.

The most recent thing he'd told you, however, had been rather short. One word and one action he'd decided on in a split second while you were working on math homework together. He'd taken some… advice. Usually his uncle's advice would be good and thoughtful, but this little incident had been chipping away at his mind all week.

"Hey." That god-damned shoulder touch.

"…Hey yourself?"

The silence. It was the loudest thing he'd ever heard.

"You gonna… ask me out now?"

"What?" His voice had shot up about nineteen octaves. The highest thing he'd ever heard.

"I mean, what is this?"

"I didn't say… Wait—"

"What?"

"Wait, wait, no— Yes—"

"Miles?"

"Can I take you out? Please?"

You laughed, and his face had gotten stuck. It was one of your cute laughs. No, every one of your laughs was cute. No, wait, yes—

"Hey, look, it's the superhero you like."

MIles turned to see what you're looking at, and nearly spins himself around 360 degrees in the process. Totally on purpose, because he was cool. Not because he was still sweating.

"Oh, yeah," he commented, squinting at the cosplayer. "Huh."

"There's tons of people dressed up…"

"Probably Comic-Con, or something."

You just nodded thoughtfully, looking around at all the cosplayers passing by. Maybe the Prowler thing would pay eventually, or he could get an actual part-time job. He could take you both.

Miles let out a sigh, before feeling your hand squeeze his.

"We've been out for a while." There you were again, the bustle of the city muffling behind the sound of your voice. There was a little smile on your face, and he found the corners of his mouth were trying to lift up without his knowledge. "You wanna go back to yours?"

And so he was back in his room. That walk had been way too short to think of ways to be cool. You'd been in here a few times by now, studying, playing video games, peeking at the figurines he'd put away to potentially sell. Reading the comics he liked, even if their price was starting to make him wince a little. You seemed to like it, though, even if his room was starting to become barren of things he might as well have grown out of by now.

"The food was good," you started, as the two of you settled down in his room.

"Hope that place stays open," he muttered, trying to reel in the sense of weariness in his voice.

"Why wouldn't they? It looks like they're doing well."

"Exactly. They get bought out as soon as they do."

"Oh."

Way to sour the mood, Morales. How is that even relevant?

"You're right, though," you contemplated, frowning a little. "It feels like everything's getting bought up recently. Even Vision's cafeteria changed companies."

"Eugh, don't remind me," he replied, rolling his shoulders to make a show. "That food is lethal."

"You'd think Visions of all places would have decent lunch."

"Exactly. At least they've still got vending machines." He couldn't believe he didn't know you could cheat them until you showed him. This vending machine business was lucrative.

"True."

Miles tried looking at you, but only got to looking at your knee. His heart stops when he feels your arm around him, and he finally meets your expression. That little gleam in your eye doesn't go unnoticed.

"Thanks for the date," you start.

"Anyti—" Your lips pressed against his cheek before he could finish.

Miles fought valiantly, but the grin that formed on his face fought harder.

"Did you uh… did you miss?" he muttered, without thinking. Did you miss…? Did I miss all fifteen years my mom raised me?!

"No…?" you replied, laughing awkwardly. God, he totally just bombed it. "Do you… want to?"

Okay, he didn't just totally bomb it. He had a chance. Did he even really wanna kiss you yet? No, yeah, he really did. Why can't I move?!

"I don't know how to… how to… you know."

He had only planned so far ahead. Miles had no idea how to kiss someone.

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Just do it."

He closed his eyes, feeling your hand give his a little squeeze, before he felt the faint brush of breath against his lips. And then he felt warmth. The taste of lip balm he'd let you borrow. He was kissing you.

Miles kept his eyes closed, but his hand had found the small of your back anyway, pulling you closer. The kiss had only lasted for a few moments, but when he finally opened his eyes, the world was a lot brighter than he remembered. Your smile was a lot brighter than he remembered. His face was a lot hotter than he remembered.

"The next one's on you," you murmured, simply. He could feel the words against his skin, tickling his face. You were insanely good-looking this close.

"Cool." His voice came out in a slightly breathless mumble.

His lips found yours again, and his eyes fell shut. He felt his shoulders relax. His heart had finally started to slow from its pounding. He wasn't sweating anymore.

And he was kissing you. You were his. He sure as hell was yours.

"Stay," he murmured against your mouth, his eyes on yours.

"How long?"

"Forever."

"Forever?" The two of your quiet laughs are muffled with another kiss.

"Yeah," Miles replied, as his hand went up to cup your cheek. "I got so much more to tell you."

my lovely jubly taglist: @noetophat @sakura-onesan @bakugouswaif @phoenixinthefiles @daydreaming-en-pointe @sp1derw1re @kvvrc @spookyscaryskeletrans @kirishimasproteinpowder  @spam-1 @playboifenty @hobiebrownismygod @kissingkzuha @nyumeii @uwukiity @itzmeme @shittingonyourgrave @theyluvbix @kezibear @theseustimes

thank you so much for reading aint no love! could not appreciate all of the love (haha) on this series 💗💗💗 this was so crazy but so fun i never thought id be able to complete a longer thing of writing like this but here we are!

a big thank you to my friend chewy too who had to listen to me rant about this series at pretty unethical times of the day and also read through all my not so lovely drafts 🫡🫡🫡

if you have any questions about this universe or series or anything in general my inbox is open!

reblogs and replies are much appreciated as always, and you can find my atsv masterlist here!

[zuko-always-lies]

Azula is the family member Zuko cares the least about, by far [and no, it's not because she's mean to him and no, this is not a post about Zuko's morality or anything like that]

So the entire premise of Zuko's arc is he spends years and years trying to regain his father's love and appreciation, that he spent three years trying to capture the Avatar so that his father would like him again. We even see in a flashback that exiled Zuko misses his father badly.

And when Zuko decides to completely break off his relationship with his father, he decides that this merits a dramatic confrontation, since his relationship with Ozai is so important to him. Even after that, the second to last scene of the series is Zuko visiting Ozai.

Zuko often takes Iroh and his support for granted, but even in Books 1 and 2 there are plenty of moments which act to reaffirm how much Zuko values and appreciates his uncle. He goes out of his way to protect his uncle on a couple occasions. And in Book 3, after Zuko has screwed up his relationship with Iroh, one of Zuko's core motivations becomes fixing his relationship with his uncle and regaining Iroh's love, trust, and appreciation.

Ursa is someone who Zuko talks about far less, yet the series makes it very clear how much Zuko misses her, with "Zuko Alone" and "The Earth King" and "The Day of Black Sun: The Eclipse." And the second to last scene in the series is Zuko trying to find her.

That leaves Azula. Zuko never seems to miss Azula the least, even though he hasn't seen her for years when the series begins. In fact, when she unexpectedly shows up and greets him, instead of being happy to see her, he's angry and suspicious (to be fair to Zuko, she did turn out to have ulterior motives due to Ozai's orders, but if he really deeply missed her, he'd probably be at least a little happy to see her regardless. Mai and Ty Lee reacted with joy the first time they saw Azula again). And in Books 2 and 3, there is essentially nothing to suggest that Zuko misses the better relationship he had with Azula when they were younger.

For instance, in "The Beach," Zuko angsts over an old photograph of his family.

His eyes focus on Ozai

and he remembers a happy memory associated with Ozai:

and then Zuko's eyes focus on Ursa

and he remembers a happy memory associated with her

Yet Zuko never looks at younger Azula in that picture, nor does he think of her at all. The "Happy Family" that Zuko misses includes Ozai, Ursa, and even Iroh and Lu Ten (shown in a separate memory sequence at little earlier), but not little Azula.

Ultimately, what we see in the first half of Book 3 is that Zuko is willing to take advantage of Azula's kindness, when she shows it to him, but he never acknowledges it, thanks her for it, or reciprocates in the slightest.

In the end, in the DoBS Zuko leaves Azula behind without a regret or even a thought. Ozai gets a big confrontation; Azula gets nothing. And after that, we see that Zuko misses Mai, and still feels complex feelings for Ozai ("Fatherlord," anyone?), but there's nothing to suggest he misses Azula at all or feels a deep attachment to her. The penultimate scene of the show even features Zuko visiting Ozai, not Azula.

Some people might point out that Azula is a bad sister to Zuko. That's definitely true. She says and does plenty of awful things to him over the series.

Yet that doesn't explain things. Ozai is far, far worse to Zuko than Azula ever is, yet Zuko cares deeply about Ozai to the degree that Zuko's entire arc is about it. Merely talking about "look how mean Azula is" explains almost nothing. Is possible to explain why

This does bring me to my main point. The ATLA fandom tends to believe that Zuko cares about Azula a lot and that he places a lot of value in having a good relationship with her, tends to believe that Zuko is obsessed with Azula.

However, the reality is that Zuko by far cares about Azula the least of any member of his family and that he places almost no value on having a good relationship with her. She is never a priority for him and is at most only an obstacle. All of Zuko's other family members loam far higher in Zuko's priorities and headspace than Azula. And if he is obsessed with her, it's not in a loving way. Maybe "Azula the enemy" and "Azula my advisor and emotional caretaker" are significant to him, but "Azula my sister" never seems to be.

Again, this isn't a moral judgement, merely a fact.

[heiayen]

a hug for your worries!🌻 gn!reader x suna rintarou summary🌻your grumbling stomach and toasts you were preparing have to all wait, because you boyfriend came back home in a terrible, sour and horrible mood. but it appears there is a way to fix it... tags🌻prompt used "give me a hug" /drabble. fluff, established relationship, silly banter between reader and suna <3 petnames (reader to suna), also my very first time writing for hq and suna in general so forgive any ooc!! notes 🌻 wow. haikyuu debut. unexpected! also take this as my official writing comeback because i have a few fics more planned! this is technically first part of a short multifandom fluff prompts series! was supposed to be flufftober but i got too impatient and decided to just post fics as i write them! so. expect more. if you're my mutual (it's directed) you are morally obligated to look away 🫵 because i am embarrassed. everyone else enjoy <3

Suna Rintarou had a bad day, and you knew that from the very moment he came back home. 

It was in the way he closed the doors, nearly slamming them which was instantly followed by mumbled cursing (because he really didn't mean to, he was tired and his hand slipped!). In the way you could barely hear his grumbled 'I'm home', or in the way he took off his shoes, put them away, and sighed loudly.

During his little drama show, you just raised your eyebrows in amusement, continuing to prepare food. You figured Rintarou would also want to eat, especially when in such a mood, so you grabbed another piece of bread for an extra toast. Good thing you shared the same taste for what to eat your toasts with...

And soon, you heard footsteps behind. 

"Hi, Rin– ugh, get off of me!" you huffed, barely able to finish the sentence, before you felt his arms wrap around your middle, his chin resting on your shoulder. In no way you could continue making food with this guy all over you. 

"No."

"Yes!" You slapped his hand with the back of the butter knife handle, but to no avail, for he only dug his chin harder into your shoulder. 

(Which earned him another slap and an annoyed groan from you when it still didn't work.)

"Is this how you treat your boyfriend?" You could hear the pout in his voice, despite not seeing his face. You rolled your eyes.

"Drama queen," you mumbled, pressing a kiss into his hair. "Hi, love. Hard day?"

He hummed in agreement, and you only hummed back, continuing with the food.

"Did someone piss you off during practice?" you asked softly, and Rin shook his head.

"Don' wanna talk about it."

And then, there was a moment of silence and you almost missed his next words, mumbled into your neck.

"...give me a hug?"

You almost rolled your eyes at him (again), ready to remark how you're not only busy, but he's already hugging you, but instead, you turned around in his embrace and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, returning the hug, and you felt him relax.

You were curious as to what was the cause of his sour mood, because it was somewhat of a rare view of Rintarou, but you didn't push. If he wanted to, he would talk to you, and you would gladly listen to him.

Some seconds more passed before you remembered the poor, abandoned toasts. 

"...how about you go change? And let me finish making food?" you asked, patting him on the shoulder.

"Are you kicking me out," he deadpanned, and you had to fight the urge to laugh at him. How horrible of a person you were for even asking him to leave the kitchen.

"Well, yes." You shrugged, but made no move to actually push him away. "Food won't make itself and I bet you're hungry, so get out." 

"No."

But maybe you should've pushed him, you started to think. It surely wouldn't hurt, pun not intended. 

"Yes, Rin, yes. Out of the kitchen."

"You're horrible," Rintarou sighed heavily, and you groaned, already seeing the direction this conversation was starting to go in. "I'm a suffering man and this is how you act?"

"You're repeating yourself, you asshole." This time you gave into the urge and hit him on his shoulder, earning a very fake sounding 'ouch' from him. "And if you can act all smart with me, then you're fine. Get out!"

That made him huff out a laugh which you took as a good sign, one of Rintarou getting back in a good mood, so you smiled yourself. He moved away from you, just enough to look at you, still keeping his arms wrapped around you, but not for much longer.

Rintarou cupped your cheeks and leaned closer to your face, your foreheads almost touching.

"Absolutely horrible, y'know?" he snickered (the humor in his voice obvious) and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. 

"You looove me anyway,"  you sing-sang, smiling widely. Something appeared in his fox-like eyes after your words, soft and warm, but very quickly, the charm broke.

"Yeah, I do," he said after a moment, quieter. And then added, because it wouldn't be him if he didn't—

"Unfortunately."

You gasped at his words in mock offense, much to his amusement, and pushed at his chest. "You're not getting even a burned toast, Rintarou."

That seemed to work, as he finally moved away from you, frowning at your poor excuse of a threat. He left the kitchen with a few more complaints about you, to which you only waved him a goodbye, have a nice shower, don't slip.

...oh, well, you really should go back to those toasts. 

[mrsstruggle]

The Beast of War - Chapter 2 // Teen Wolf x Marvel AU

This is the second part of the Shadow Wolf Series. Read The Lost Child First if you haven't!

Series Summary: In the aftermath of discovering her true identity and reuniting with her long-lost family, Y/N Stilinski finds herself adjusting to a new chapter of her life in Beacon Hills. With her brother and his friends in their senior year at High School, the town faces a fresh new threat. Y/N must navigate the complexities of her new life while confronting the looming threat that threatens to hurt her and the people she loves.

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death/Injury/Grief/Torture, Possible Grammar Mistakes (please let me know if there is anything else)

Series Pairings: Derek Hale x Reader, Stiles Stilinski x Malia Tate (for now), Steve Rodgers x Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff, Vision x Wanda Maximoff

Words: 4.9k

Note: This is not my best work, but here it is! Also, looking for penpals if anyone would like to be penpals with me!

Additional Note: While this is a Teen Wolf x Marvel AU, not everything is true to the shows/movies/comics. I had to change things for the story.

One Last Note: Y/N was adopted by Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I did this so more people can see themselves in this story.

***I do not own Teen Wolf or Marvel or any related characters. This is a work of fanfiction and is meant for entertainment purposes only.***

Masterlist

The Beast of War Masterlist

The Lost Child Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

---

Slowly opening her eyes, Y/N notices that Derek isn’t in bed next to her. Rolling over, she sees that Stiles isn’t in bed either. She rolls back over to look at the clock on Derek’s bedside table—it reads 10:28 AM. Sighing, she debates whether to get out of bed or stay there a bit longer.

She grabs her phone from her bedside table and scrolls through it aimlessly. She starts to type a text to send to her dad when the bedroom door opens. Y/N looks up from her phone as Derek walks in. His plaid pajama pants hang low on his hips while his chest is free of clothing.

“I see you’re finally awake,” Derek teases, lying down next to her. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m surprised I slept this late. With all my morning shifts, I’m used to getting up way earlier than this.” Y/N replies, cuddling into Derek’s embrace. “When did Stiles leave?”

“He left earlier to get to school. He was running behind, so I told him that we’d put the mattress back so he didn’t have to do it.”

“You are a big softy.” Y/N teases.

Derek rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”

“When do you go in to work today?”

“I took the day off today. Peter and Isaac should be fine on their own today, and Cora will keep them in line anyway.” A month after the fight with Kate, Isaac moved back to Beacon Hills. He says it’s because he got bored of France, but Y/N knows it’s because he missed his friends and pack. Not long after he moved back, Cora did the same. After seeing her brother and his girlfriend plastered all over the internet, she decided to move back for moral support and to protect her brother—not that he needs it.

Isaac and Cora now both work at the Hale Garage. Isaac mostly does smaller things, such as oil changes or dent removals, but Derek has been teaching him other things to help his skills grow. Cora mostly likes to sit up front and work at the front desk. Other than the occasional phone call, appointment setting, or dealing with people who go in, she doesn’t have to do much. She likes that there is not a lot of work that she must do, and Derek likes getting to work with his sister—and he needed someone to take over Lydia’s job with school starting back.

“What about you?” Derek asks.

“I should probably get up and get ready,” Y/N groans. “I’m supposed to meet Steve and Bucky at noon, remember?”

“What are you helping them do again?” Derek asks, watching Y/N roll out of bed and walk to their bathroom.

“I’m supposed to help them move into their new place. I don’t even think they really need my help. I think they are using this as an excuse to hang out with me.” Y/N replies with her toothbrush in her mouth. “It’s also why we got them that stuff yesterday.”

“Do we need a code for if it gets too much for you?”

Y/N laughs, spitting out the toothpaste in her mouth and wiping her face clean, “I think I’ll be okay. Did you want me to speak to Bucky about the open position at the garage?” She wasn’t going to say anything about it, but she does know that Bucky needs a job.

Derek watches as Y/N walks out of their bathroom with clothes in her hands, “What do you think about it?” After Tony and Peter left last night, they didn’t speak about Tony suggesting Bucky for the open position. Derek hasn’t thought about it much either. He’s aware of Bucky’s dislike of him, so he assumes he won’t apply.

“I think,” Y/N says, stripping off her pajamas, “that he needs a job, and Tony thinks he would know what to do. Plus, I know you and Stiles are still a little wary about any of them, so this would give you an opportunity to get to know him a bit.”

“And you’re not?” Derek questions, leaning back against the headboard and watching Y/N as she slowly and teasingly puts on her clothes.

“I am, but this is a way for someone who isn’t me to check one of them out. Since my judgment is clouded, I’m scared I’m going to miss major signs I should be seeing.” It’s not that she thinks they are this group of evil people who are out to get her, but it’s hard for her to trust new people. She has her memories back, and she knows that they love her, but fifteen years is a long time—people change.

She’s changed. She’s not the toddler they knew her as. She’s an adult now with a life that, up until recently, didn't include them. That’s what scares her. It took her three weeks after the war against Kate to cave and look up everything she could about the Avengers. While she knows the media can’t be trusted or believed, she still saw a lot of concerning things.

They are public figures, and how they handled the grief of losing her is plastered all over the internet. From articles to YouTube think-pieces, people never gave them a moment of peace. There are even true-crime podcasts and YouTube channels where people do their makeup with smiles on their faces and talk about the mysterious disappearance of 3-year-old Y/N Stark. She can’t imagine how much pain they were in—and still in.

Y/N is scared that one day, they will pack up her things and take her back to the now-old compound. She sees the pained look in their eyes when she tells stories about herself growing up or when she calls Noah, Dad. What if one day they decide they want to go back to the way it was before Pepper gave her to Hydra and no longer accept her new life?

This isn’t something she thinks of often, and she knows, realistically, that they aren’t going to do anything that she doesn’t want, but the little voice in the back of her mind likes to worry. She hasn’t voiced her concerns to Derek, but he knows how she feels because he feels the same way.

“You think my judgment isn’t clouded?” Derek questions.

“I think that they are putting in an effort right now, so we need to do the same,” Y/N says, crawling into the bed and Derek’s lap to straddle him. “I can just tell him about the position. It doesn’t mean he will apply. And if he does apply, you don’t have to give him the job if he won’t fit. I want us to put in an effort, but not if it’s going to hurt your business.”

Derek stares into Y/N’s eyes before sighing, “Fine, you can tell him about it, but I can’t promise anything.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Y/N smiles, pressing a kiss onto his lips.

Derek smiles at the happiness radiating off her. She hasn’t said anything to him, but he knows her thoughts around her ‘new family’ are complicated. He knows that he should be putting in more of an effort to get to know them, but it’s hard when some of them don’t seem to like him—some of them being Bucky and Steve.

Steve is, at the least, friendly with him when they come over from time to time. He puts in a little effort for Y/N’s sake, but Derek can tell that Steve isn’t his biggest fan. Bucky, on the other hand, hates him. The few times that Y/N has invited them over for dinner, Bucky puts in the effort to ignore him or glares at him when he speaks. Y/N tries to ease the tension between them, but nothing works. Derek thinks it’s because they are both so protective of Y/N.

Y/N thinks it’s something deeper. Bucky is the only member of the Avengers who hasn’t tried to get to know anyone but Y/N. She doesn’t think it’s because he resents the life that she has outside of them, she thinks he’s scared about what the others think about him and what he’s done. She thinks he’s scared that the others won’t want him around her if they truly know about him.

She knows that dealing with Hydra and knowing about what Hydra has done to her has triggered old, hidden memories and insecurities that he had long buried in his mind. Even though they haven’t spoken about their experiences, she can see the way it’s brought up some old thoughts.

She sees the way he flinches when Stiles refers to him as ‘Winter Soldier.’ She sees the way he withdraws within himself when Scott talks about how he believes he can save everyone and goes on his moral high ground I’m better than everyone spiels. She sees the way he flinches when people touch his metal arm—even Steve.

Y/N wishes that Bucky would give the others a chance and get to know them or even spend some one-on-one time with her without Steve or someone else so she can tell him about them. If he did, he would realize that he has a lot more in common with them than he thinks, and they don’t judge him for his past.

If he spoke to Stiles, he would realize that he understands what it’s like to hurt and be responsible for people’s deaths while not in control of your mind and body. If he spoke to Liam, he would realize that Liam understands what it’s like to fear losing control. If he spoke to Lydia, he would realize that she understands what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind. She’s sure if he spoke to them and got to know them, he’d find even more in common.

“You owe me for this,” Derek says, his hands settling on her hips.

“What do you have in mind?” Y/N smirks, running her hands up and down his abs.

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

“I’m sure you can.” She leans in to kiss when his phone goes off on his side table.

“What now?” Derek groans as Y/N reaches over to grab his phone. He takes the phone from her hands to see a message from Peter. “I guess I will be going in to work today.”

“What happened?”

“Someone just dropped their car off, and it needs its brakes replaced.” He says while he types back a response to whoever texted him.

“Doesn’t Peter know how to do that?”

“They apparently requested me specifically.”

“I don’t blame them.” Y/N teases, her fingers running along the waistband of his underwear. “I’d specially request you too.”

Derek sets his phone down next to him and grabs Y/N’s hands to stop her from teasing him more, “If you keep teasing me, we both won’t be leaving this bed today.”

“That’s not much of a threat.” Y/N rolls her before sliding off him and fake sighing in disappointment, “But if you insist on going to work…”

“Well, it is what’s paying for the remodel of the house.”

“I assumed your large inheritance and the money made from the people living in this building was going toward the remodel.”

“No, most of my inheritance is still safely tucked away while the money made from this building has gone toward my new Camaro and making sure you and the pack are taken care of,” Derek presses a quick kiss to her forehead before getting out of bed.

“If Peter has $117 million in inheritance money, how much do you have?” Y/N asks, watching Derek walk over to the dresser.

“Let’s just say if we wanted to, we would never have to work a day in our lives, and neither would the people around us.”

“You have that much money, and you still make me go to work?”

“Is this you trying to tell me that you’re only with me for my money?” Derek teases, walking into the open bathroom to finish getting ready.

“No, this is me wondering why you force your hot girlfriend to work if you have enough money to have her naked on a beach somewhere with nothing but time to do other things.” She can hear Derek’s laugh echo throughout their bathroom. “If I knew that I could possibly marry into old money, I wouldn’t be trying so hard for my bachelor’s, and I would’ve dropped out of school a while ago.”

“Possibly marry, huh? Who said I want to marry you?” Derek questions teasingly.

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh, so you don’t want to marry me? I guess I better start packing my things then…”

Derek laughs as he walks out of the bathroom, fully dressed, toward Y/N, “I think we both know that one day you will be Mrs. Y/N Hale.”

“Who said I’ll take your last name?”

“You don’t have to take my name if you don’t want to.”

Y/N thinks for a moment, “Actually, I think we should get married as soon as possible so then I don’t have to have the awkward conversation with anyone about whether I’m going to stay a Stilinski or become a Stilinski-Stark. If I’m a Hale, then there will be no room to argue.”

“Save something for the vows.” Derek jokes before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’ve got to go. Hopefully, I won’t be gone too long. What time will you be back?”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be at Steve and Bucky’s, but tonight I’m going to the station to help my dad get ready for his date tonight.”

“I can join tonight if you want me to.” Derek knows that Y/N is happy that her dad has finally decided to get out there and go on a date after years of throwing himself into his work and struggling with the death of his wife, but he wants to be there for her in case seeing her dad with a different woman brings up some old feelings.

“Sure. I’ll come back here before the station if you’re done with work by then.”

“Okay.” Derek grabs his phone and presses one last kiss to Y/N’s lips. “Love you. I’ll text you when I get off.”

“Okay. Love you more.” Y/N smiles widely at him, watching him leave as he rolls his eyes at her childishness.

After he walks out the door, she grabs her phone to check and see if she has any notifications. Turning her phone on, she notices that Steve has texted her saying the moving truck arrived a little early if she wants to go over now. She quickly replies to him before grabbing her stuff to head over to his new place.

---

Y/N steps out of her car in front of Steve and Bucky’s new rental house. The four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath home is smaller than what Steve and Bucky are used to but considered average-sized in Beacon Hills. It’s also only two blocks away from the Stilinski house. Even though Y/N doesn’t live there anymore, she still considers it her home and is there quite frequently. She knows that is part of why they chose to rent it.

Walking up to the open storage container sitting in the driveway, she sees Steve and Bucky removing boxes from it and carrying them into the house, “Hey!”

“Hey! Thanks for coming.” Steve says, setting the box down in the garage so he can hug her. “We’ve moved all the big items into the house already. The only thing left are the boxes.”

She looks into the open storage container to see a few left, “How is there only three boxes left? Didn’t this just get here?”

“We don’t have that much stuff.”

“How?”

“We lived at headquarters. Most of the stuff there was Tony’s.” Bucky replies, walking into the garage with a rare smile on his face. He pulls Y/N into a tight hug in greeting.

“Did you never think about getting your own place?”

“We did, but a certain incident put that thought to a halt.” Steve answers. From the sad he’s looking at her, Y/N can assume he’s talking about her disappearance. She wants to ask more questions, but she’s not sure that she wants to know the answers. Most of what she knows about how they, and the other Avengers, took her disappearance is from Stiles and the extensive research she did on them.

“Well, then, I guess we need to do a bit of shopping,” Y/N says, moving to grab a box from the storage container. She sets her phone and keys on top of a box before picking it up. “You also need to show me where to put this.”

Steve picks up the box he previously set down and motions for Y/N to follow him into the house. She follows him through the laundry room and into the open kitchen and living room area. Y/N sets the box in her hands down on the other boxes that are piled up against the far living room wall and grabs her phone and keys from the top of it.

“Do you have any furniture, or is it just boxes of stuff?” Y/N asks, noticing that she doesn’t see anything other than boxes.

“Our couch and bedframe should be here tomorrow,” Steve replies.

“Is that it?”

“We thought that maybe we could go shopping together one day when you aren’t busy,” Bucky says, walking in with the last two boxes. “If you’re interested?”

“Sure. I’ll have to check my schedule and see when I’m available.” Between work, rebuilding the Hale house, and splitting her time between her two different families, she feels like she’s always doing something or having to meet with someone. She knows she needs to start saying no when people ask her to do stuff, but she has a hard time doing that. She sets her purse and phone on the kitchen counter but keeps her keys in her hand as she turns back to them, “Where’s your cleaning supplies?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we should probably scrub the place down before we start unpacking, so what box is your cleaning stuff in?”

“We don’t have any cleaning stuff,” Steve says, double-checking the labels on the boxes even though he knows they don’t have any.

“Then how did you clean at the compound?”

“Tony had people that did that,” Bucky replies.

“Even your room?” Y/N doesn’t understand how they don’t have any cleaning stuff. Even if they didn’t clean at the compound, they should have bought stuff for their new place.

“Yes.” Steve and Bucky look a little embarrassed that they are unprepared.

“Did you plan on hiring someone to clean this place too?”

“Um,” Steve doesn’t know how to answer that. He and Bucky hadn’t discussed much about their moving situation. They just wanted a break from the Avengers and wanted to be closer to Y/N.

Y/N smiles teasingly at the scared and embarrassed look on their faces, “So you have no furniture, nothing to clean with, and judging by the labels on these boxes, nothing to eat with either. Did you own anything at the compound, or did Tony own everything?”

Steve and Bucky glance at each other with wide eyes. They should’ve done some shopping before moving in. Since she said it out loud, they realize they don’t have anything to cook or eat with. Steve is also realizing that they don’t have any toilet paper, laundry detergent, or other things they will need. Anything they needed at the compound was always there. They never needed to buy anything. They also never needed to restock because people would restock things for them.

Y/N laughs a little at them, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of assumed this would happen. Follow me.” She turns and walks to the front door as the trail silently behind her. Unlocking and opening the door, she walks over to her parked car, unlocks it, and opens her trunk. “I stopped and got a few things for you yesterday.”

Stepping back from her car, Steve and Bucky can see that it’s full of things they need. With her back seats down, she was able to get them more than she planned to. She bought them a nice vacuum, a broom and dustpan set, a Swiffer mop, rags, dusters, and various cleaning sprays and scrubs. She even bought them toilet paper, laundry detergent, dryer balls, dish soap, towels, and other various necessities.

Closer to her front seats, there are boxes of pots and pans, plates, silverware, cups, and a few other kitchen items. In her passenger seat, there is a stack of organizers and containers. She even got them a few games and puzzles for fun.

“Thank you, but there’s no way we need all of this,” Steve says in shock, giving Y/N a little side hug to show his appreciation.

“Do you want your place to be semi-clean or clean-clean? Also, not everything is for cleaning. From the way you and the others talk about the compound, I assumed you would need a few things.”

“This is still a lot of stuff. You didn’t need to do this,” Bucky says, pulling her into a hug too, “but thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but I’m not the only one you need to thank. I might have been the one who picked everything out, but Derek was the one who paid for it.” Y/N says, pulling away from Bucky. She can see the smiles on their face falter at her Derek paid for it.

“We will make sure to thank him the next time we see him,” Steve says, his smile a little more forced than before, “right, Buck?”

Bucky hums in fake agreement. It’s not that he’s less grateful now that he knows Derek paid for it, he just doesn’t like Derek. He swears he’s just protective of Y/N, and he doesn’t trust Derek, but Nat thinks he’s jealous. She also thinks he’s bitter that Y/N has this whole life that, up until recently, doesn’t include them.

“Well, let’s get all this stuff inside and start scrubbing everything down,” Y/N says.

---

They spent two hours scrubbing and wiping everything down before taking a break for lunch. Steve ordered two pizzas and a few drinks for them. Now, they are standing around the kitchen island as they quietly eat their lunch.

They haven’t spoken much since they started cleaning. Y/N put on some music, and she showed them what to do, but they didn’t say much after that. Part of it was due to them concentrating on their tasks; the other part was due to them not knowing what to say.

“How has work been?” Steve asks Y/N.

“It’s been good,” Y/N replies, “With no current threats in town, we haven’t been as busy as we sometimes are.”

“Tony said another journalist visited you at work recently.”

Y/N rolls her eyes a little at his protective tone, “They were just some college kid that had a few questions. They were mostly just asking about my thoughts and feelings on everything.”

“What did you tell him?” Buck asks curiously.

“Nothing that he couldn’t have guessed himself. How’s your job search been?”

Bucky huffs in frustration at that question, “I had a Zoom interview two days ago, but they only asked me questions about Steve the whole time. From the Captain American photo I could see in the corner of the room, I’m guessing she was a fan.”

“Well, I know of a job opportunity if you’re interested.” She knows he’s not going to like her suggestion, but she told Derek she would tell Bucky about it.

“It’s not at the hospital, is it? I’m looking for something less stressful, not more stressful. I also don’t think I’m qualified.”

“No, it’s at the auto shop. Derek is looking for someone to help out, and Tony said you would know what to do.”

Bucky almost declined immediately, but a sharp look from Steve stopped him, “I don’t know…”

“You can always just apply and think on it. His interview process is pretty simple. He’ll ask you some questions, and then he tests you out for about an hour to see if you’re a good fit. There’s no guarantee that you’ll get the job, and if you do, you can decide whether to accept or not.” Y/N shrugs her shoulders as she wipes the pizza grease off her hands.

Bucky thinks for a moment. On one hand, he wants a new job, and this one would allow him to learn more about Derek. On the other hand, Derek would be his boss, and he would have to spend time and speak to him too. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” From the smile on Y/N’s face, Bucky could tell that was the right answer.

They finish eating their lunch before unpacking the boxes. After they unpacked the last box, they said their goodbyes, and Y/N left to go home to pick up Derek.

---

“Maybe I should’ve gotten a haircut.” The sheriff mumbles, looking at himself in a handheld mirror.

“I think you should be lucky that you still have hair to cut,” Stiles says.

“I think you look great,” Scott counters.

“Thank you, son I should’ve had.” The sheriff smirks at Scott.

“Don’t listen to Stiles, Dad. I think you look handsome.” Y/N says, fixing his hair a little with her hand.

“God, what am I doing?” The sheriff struggles with his tie before Y/N stops him.

“What you’re doing is taking a night off and going to enjoy a lovely dinner with your date,” Y/N replies, fixing his tie.

“And who are you having dinner with?” Stiles asks.

“None of your business,” Noah answers.

“Why does Y/N get to know and not me?”

“I didn’t tell her who it was. Derek was the one who figured it out.”

“Derek knows too?!”

Derek just smirks and sits back against the sheriff’s desk. He likes that he knows something that Stiles doesn’t.

“Stilinski!” Someone yells somewhere in the sheriff’s station.

They follow the sheriff out of his office to see the boy who yelled for him. His lawyer is standing in front of him as Parrish and another officer stand next to him.

“I’m going to kill you,” he says, staring at Noah.

“Donovan, if you think that shocks me, remember it is well-documented in your Anger Expression Inventory. Officers, take him out of here.” Noah says, nodding his head at the officers.

“When I say I’m going to kill you, I mean I’m going to get a knife, and I’m going to stab you until your heart stops beating.”

The station is silent for a moment before Stiles breaks it, “Wow, that was awesome. Really, that was great. Do it again, but as Christopher Walkin.”

“Maybe shed a tear this time. I want to see the anger issues overwhelm you as you think about the little cell you're about to live in.” Y/N adds.

Donovan nods his head, stepping back before lunging forward toward them. Scott jumps in front of Stiles as Derek jumps in front of Y/N. Donovan continues to yell as the officers pull him out of the station and toward the transportation van.

“Well, he’s got some issues,” Y/N mumbles, slipping her hand into Derek’s to reassure him that she’s okay. “We should get out here so you can get to your date.”

“Us too,” Stiles says after he finishes his quiet conversation with Scott.

“You have to promise to call me afterward and tell me how it went. If I don’t hear from you, I will call you myself.” Y/N says, fixing her dad’s tie one last time.

“I will text you afterward,” The sheriff compromises.

“Thank you.” She hugs him goodbye, and Derek whispers a little dating advice to him before they leave. Stiles and Scott trail behind them before breaking off toward Stiles’ jeep.

“Do we want to pick something up or make something at home?” Derek asks as they sit in his Camaro.

“I want you to make that dish of yours I really like. I think we have the stuff for it.” Y/N replies, trying to give Derek her sweetest look so he won’t turn her down.

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes as he turns the car on, “The things I do for you.”

“Do you think I should be worried about what that guy said to my dad?” Y/N asks quietly. She made fun of him in the moment, and she likes to think that nothing will ever happen to her dad with her and everyone else around to protect him, but they do live in Beacon Hills, where anything is possible.

“With the things he has to deal with, I think some angry human boy is the least of his worries. He’s probably more worried about his date than him.”

“That’s true. It’s just that everything has been calm here recently. I can’t help but worry that something is coming. Stiles seems to be worried about something, so I’m worried too. Maybe it’s nothing, but there’s this feeling in my gut that something’s not right.”

---

@xxemmarldxx @esposadomd @ladyjenjay @ts1mp0ne @misshale21

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @xoxoloverb @hizzielover @remuslittlesister @oscarissac2099

[bamgyuuuri]

꒰💌꒱ WRAPPED in the light of the stars awakening , baby i kiss you in the middle , crazy . look what you did , look what you did to me . ʚ 🍓 ɞ

choi soobin .ᐟ — let me (wc. 3.5k) … in which your husband, soobin, lovingly and happily takes charge while you're feeling under the weather, tending to you and the chores with unwavering determination that just makes you adore him even more. — sweater weather (wc. 1.0k) ... you loved soobin's sweaters so damn much. — please? (wc. 5.7k) ... absorbed in your studies, you could barely even spare soobin an ounce of your time, leaving him fighting and desperate for your attention. but when an idea strikes, perhaps the two of you can find a way to make it work after all. choi yeonjun .ᐟ — perfectly strange (wc. 1.1k) … your boyfriend, yeonjun, was weird—not in a joking way, no, the man was genuinely strange. even so, you wouldn’t want him any other way. — second nature (wc. 2.1k) … a little mistake turns into something big, once the self-proclaimed golden boy of the campus, choi yeonjun, has chosen you to be his favorite target. tired of his antics, you decided to confront him once and for all. — flamingo pink, sunrise boulevard (10.5k) ... in a world of boys, he's a gentleman. choi beomgyu .ᐟ — call it what you want (wc. 2.4k) … ah, choi beomgyu, your best friend. he's always had a habit of keeping you on your toes, but lately, his actions had you second-guessing everything. why does he treat you differently? the more you think about it, the harder it is to ignore—there’s something more behind his sweetness, and you're determined to find out what. — this side of paradise (wc. 10.6k) … choi beomgyu had every quality you hated—loud, obnoxious, and endlessly infuriating. this school trip was supposed to be your chance to escape him, but your hopes were crushed when you found out you’d be sharing a room. however, the more you spent time with him alone, the more you began to see a side of him you never expected—one that made you question everything you thought you knew about him. — fight or flight (wc. 16.9k) … in which beomgyu gives you the silent treatment. — delicate (wc. 1.1k) … an internal war between morals and values… which side will win? — let me hear you! (wc. 3.5k) … beomgyu was growing rather peeved towards a certain someone eyeing up his girlfriend as if she wasn’t already taken. so, he took matters into his own hands. literally. — she plays bass (wc. 4.3k) ... beomgyu came to support kai, but ended up leaving with a life-altering crush. kang taehyun .ᐟ — love. (wc. 6.9k) … taehyun was perfect. he was attentive, caring, kind... who were you kidding—he was everything you wanted and more. but when a fight seems to have shattered whatever it was between you, it felt like all that warmth vanished. even after everything, can love survive when it feels like it’s already been lost? — blue hydrangeas (coming soon!) hueningkai .ᐟ — hold me, console me (wc. 3.8k) … after watching a particularly terrifying horror movie, you found yourself unable to keep still, your mind still plagued with images and scenes you saw from the film. as your eyes wandered around the room frantically, they soon fell on your roommate’s door. ot5 .ᐟ — washing machine heart (wc. 0.9k) … the boys when they like another member’s girlfriend.

[cina-full-moon-xanadium]

With the franchise continuing to grow in popularity, I thought I'd give a rundown for new fans of the earliest fist-fighting, bike-riding lone hero Kamen Riders that they might not be too familiar with compared to the modern shows.

Kamen Rider #1

Made with specific intentions in mind about the nature of violence in humanity, the first Kamen Rider often struggled with a distancing of sorts from his humanity that his superpowers gave him; focusing most frequently on the terrible harm he was now able to visit upon his opponents. Conceptualized as the lone hero with these powers, the bug-themed #1 didn't have a 'secondary rider' of sorts to help him out; instead being assisted most frequently by a professional officer who also acted as his liaison with the police. Another well-liked supporting cast member was an older 'uncle' figure who let the main hero stay at his shop. At the conclusion of the series, Rider 1 decided to leave Japan to journey abroad. Kamen Rider #1's show was very popular with children to the degree that, while not intended, it naturally spawned an indirect sequel series and eventually a whole slew of shows that continues to this day.

Kamen Rider #2

While Kamen Rider #1 was not conceived as having any successors, events behind the scenes incited the production of a replacement hero in Kamen Rider #2 who would take over from #1 over the next year. Very similar in design and origins to his predecessor with the same bug design basis and often mixed up with him, this new Kamen Rider was a quirky jokester type of character compared to the typical 'hero' type kids could look up to that #1 was; and often confounded his supporting cast with all the strange things he'd say and do. Rather than dwell on his personal tragedy of what he'd lost, #2 as a character preferred to focus on his own personal hobbies and interests; only going out to battle the enemies when called. #2 notably marked the introduction of a teamup of multiple Kamen Riders at once, though he fought with derivations of #1's suit rather than the original. While not as well remembered as the original Kamen Rider, #2 still laid the groundwork for many elements that the franchise stays true to today.

Kamen Rider V3

As the first departure from #1 and #2's basic setting and storytelling with a very different design, Kamen Rider V3 obviously had some big shoes to fill -- but almost instantly he was a hit, easily becoming one of the most popular Kamen Rider series of his era. While previously glimpsed with #2's occasional scuffles, V3 notably was the first Kamen Rider series to have fellow Kamen Riders fighting with each other; not out of misunderstanding, but out of genuine moral conflict. While some of this would be resolved, multiple Kamen Riders end up dying in this season, and arguably this rivalry is what most influences the typical Main Rider/Secondary Rider relationships to this day.

Riderman

While many Riders feature their transformation belt magically appear out of nowhere, the fourth Kamen Rider notably had a more 'realistic' transformation that required the hero to physically put on his gear. Arguably weaker than many other Kamen Riders due to having a limited powerset derived from now-outdated science, Riderman in his series was characterized largely by a distrust of everyone around him due to his coloured past; naturally leading to many of the show's most memorable character conflicts and fights. This Kamen Rider has an interesting relationship with death, with the ending of the show and post-series media seemingly unable to decide if he's alive or not.

Kamen Rider X

Plagued by rewrites and completely different directions in the first and second half of the show, the first Kamen Rider to constantly carry his weapon with him has nonetheless remained quite popular with fans of the era; in no small part due to the tantalizing relationship he has with a black and red rival he makes early on. While the show would eventually move on from this element, X as a character is informed by the tragedy of losing his father and the hero complex this event forced upon him.

Kamen Rider Amazon

A very sharp change in direction from the more technological Riders that came before him, Amazon in many respects does not feel like part of the Kamen Rider series as much as it does an original series very much doing its own thing -- and one that has garnered its own small fanbase. Amazon featured multiple forested fights and pit the main hero against animalistic beasts rather than what you might expect from a usual Tokusatsu monster. Amazon is frequently followed around by a young boy fascinated by the new world of possibilities the hero has introduced him to, and the relationship between Amazon and this boy is one of the highlights of the series.

Kamen Rider Stronger

This red rhinoceros beetle Rider is a cult favourite among fans for its infectiously confident main hero who makes speeches about the heavens as he charms his way out of just about any situation. This series brought the classic theming back in a big way, with all the main heroes being based on a different type of bug. This series may surprise modern Kamen Rider fans for Stronger only having a single upgrade form, not even having a single other one between his base form and final. Unfortunately, this series failed to be the jab-in-the-arm of popularity the producers wanted it to be; with the Super Sentai series that same year arguably overshadowing it.

(inspired by this twitter thread)

[taevbears]

To Be Loved - 02

I want adventure in the great, wide somewhere. I want it more than I can tell.

⤑ pairing: namjoon x reader (a bit of reader x jungkook) ⤑ genre: hybrid au, romance, hurt/comfort ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.4k ⤑ warnings: discussions about physical/domestic abuse, descriptions of reader in a toxic relationship, hybrids are seen as sub-human, kangdae is still an asshole, please be mindful of the warnings!!⤑ note: wow, i'm truly overwhelmed by all the notes and comments from the 1st chapter! it's always so nerve-wrecking for me to post new projects, and i can't thank you guys enough for sending me feedback. so i've decided to post this chapter a little earlier than i had planned lol. it's heavily about reader and the bunny hybrid rn, but namjoon definitely will have his chance to shine ;)

Chapters 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 (End)

“Where are we going?”

That’s a good question. The obvious answer is out of this small, provincial town. Away from Kangdae and his owner. To the countryside, in a bustling city, or a summer cabin in the woods. Anywhere, really.

“I don’t know yet.”

Your hands tighten around the steering wheel as you keep your gaze on the road. The hybrid is sitting next to you on the passenger seat, wearing some of Kangdae’s clothes, including a black bucket-hat to cover his long ears.

Hours have passed since you and the bunny hybrid left your home and hit the road. 

You’ve wrestled with the idea of packing your bags and leaving everything behind before. It’s something you thought about more than you’d like to admit. After violent arguments between you and Kangdae, where you’ve had enough and where he’d leave you to “cool off” and come back whenever he pleases, you’d throw your things in a duffel bag: clothes, toiletries, a hidden wad of cash, food, the first-aid kit, whatever you could get your hands on.

But every time before, you weren’t able to cross that threshold out the door. You weren’t able to do this alone.

Fear has a tight grip on you. Insecurity as well. Kangdae is well off and financially stable. He could get any girl he wants and make her feel special, just as he’s done with you and all the other women he’s cheated on you with. He has nothing to lose if you leave, but you’ll lose everything: your job, your reputation, your family, your dignity.

Kangdae’s family has control of every business in town. It’s hard to find a job that isn’t directly influenced by them. Your reputation would be tarnished as well. You’ll be the girl who ran away from the most sought-after bachelor in town, and people would think you’re insane. Your family would be disappointed, and you know that running to them would mean they’d just try to make you change your mind and go back to Kangdae before you make things worse. And if you’re not able to make it on your own, what then? Could you even come back to this town once you leave?

The hybrid follows you from room to room, nervous as he helps you carry your things into the car. There were several times when you had a moment of reconsideration, second-guessing yourself that maybe you can’t do this after all and that this whole thing is stupid and reckless.

But the moment you catch a glimpse of his hopeful, doe-shaped eyes, your morale returns. You weren’t able to cross the threshold on your own, but this time, with another person depending on you, you did. With the engagement ring and your cell phone left behind, you don’t look back.

Soon, you find yourself here. In a car with a hybrid, and no real direction on where to go yet. Your options are limited, and the hybrid’s even more so.

You’ve stopped at your bank and withdrew as much cash as you’re able to before closing the account. You’ve stopped at a car mechanic to check your tires and do a quick maintenance, as you’re expecting to be on the road for quite some time. You’ve stopped at a 24-hour pharmacy to purchase more bandages and antibacterial sprays and ointments before re-cleaning the hybrid’s wounds in a parking lot. You’ve stopped at a library to do some research on inexpensive hotels and lodges that allow hybrids, and click away from any shelters and advertised sanctuaries that the hybrid doesn’t look comfortable staying in.

It’s been nonstop since you finally walked out the door, trying to drown away your fears and doubts by keeping busy. By mustering your courage and being prepared.

But now, things have quieted down. There aren’t many cars at this time of night. Many people are in bed or are out spending the rest of their evening with friends and their significant other. Streetlights illuminate the dark roads ahead, but your mind wanders as the music quietly plays from the radio.

It feels crazy. You feel insane doing this.

What if Kangdae comes home? How soon would it be until he finds you? How long would it take until your parents notice? Or your neighbors? Or anyone else? Wouldn’t the hybrid’s abusive owner be looking for him too? Wouldn’t this be considered kidnapping? Rescuing? Are you going to be arrested if you’re caught?

Yet, as you glance at the hybrid next to you, you know you can’t let Kangdae or the owner continue to hurt him. You have to take him somewhere safe at least, and then you’ll deal with the consequences later.

“Do you have a family? Friends? A place to go?”

“No…” the hybrid answers, shaking his head. He doesn’t have any of those. Your heart sinks at the realization.

So, you ask him something that he can answer. “Are you hungry?”

The diner is relatively empty when you and the hybrid are seated. There are a couple truck drivers that are grabbing a quick meal and a cup of coffee before they continue on with their deliveries. A man in a janitorial uniform seems to have just gotten off his late shift and is tiredly eating a sandwich. And a small group of teenagers are enjoying a very late dinner together after a concert or party before they head home.

The hybrid makes sure that his ears are covered with the hat, tugging on the rim to keep it down as he glances at the warning sign on the window that disallows hybrids from entering the establishment. Though, the night staff seems too tired to really care or notice anyway.

“Go ahead and order whatever you want, okay?” you assure him, noting how he seems fixed on the page that lists their salads.

A waitress comes to take your orders and brings you hot coffee and the hybrid a glass of milk. While the two of you wait for your food, you’re so lost in thought, you haven’t noticed the hybrid eyeing you until he finally speaks up. “You’re so nice.”

“I’m just trying to do the right thing,” you reply with a tiny shrug, grabbing the little cups of coffee creamer and packets of sugar.

“Not a lot of humans would do what you’re doing for me,” he says quietly.

Again, you feel your heart sink a little.

Hybrids have been around for thousands of years, yet they’ve always been treated as sub-human. For centuries, humans would overtake their natural habitats, hunt and capture them for sport or to make money, separate them from their packs, enslave them or force them into violence and entertainment. Co-existing with them is still a fairly new and controversial concept as the politics dictating hybrid rights and laws are a heated topic every year.

How much humanity or animal instincts hybrids have or not never really mattered to you. They’re still intelligent, some even more so than humans are. They look human other than some distinct animal features they can’t hide. Yet, they’re treated like vicious monsters, even if humans are the worst.

“More people should,” you simply say as you mix your coffee with cream and sugar.

Soon enough, the waitress sets a big bowl of salad in front of the hybrid and a plate of pancakes and strawberries for you. Just like before, the hybrid scarfs down his food quickly, barely letting himself savor the taste. As if he’s worried that someone would snatch the bowl away from him if he doesn’t eat it fast enough.

“Hey, slow down a little,” you warn him, and he immediately puts down the salad bowl. His eyes flash with guilt and fear, afraid that he made you upset. You offer him a small, friendly smile. “I just don’t want you to choke. Here, I’ll give you some of mine too. This diner claims to be famous for their hot cakes.”

The hybrid watches as you cut up a generous portion and place it on his plate. He still seems a bit confused and hesitant with your actions, but nibbles on the red fruit first.

“You’re nice,” he repeats, more as a reminder to himself than anything.

“Thank you.”

“Why are you with that mean human?”

Your smile fades a little. “You mean Kangdae?”

He nods his head, chewing on his bottom lip, as if he’s still a little nervous about making you angry.

You sigh. “That’s another good question.”

To be honest, it’s something you wonder about all the time. Other than your beauty, you don’t know what else he sees in you. Neither of you really have anything in common. His lifestyle indulges in women, parties, and whatever puts him in the spotlight. Yours is quieter, calmer, and ideally, surrounded by arts and books.

There have been times when it was actually nice to be with him. Days where he’s in a good mood and makes you feel like you’re the one. When his flattery actually charms you and he remembers things like your birthday or an anniversary. Dating him has also opened doors that you wouldn’t have been able to walk through on your own: your job under his parent’s company, a nice apartment in town, trips to resorts and beautiful places, financial stability among other things.

A lot of people say you’re lucky to have him. And at some point, you started to believe that Kangdae is it. That you can’t do any better than him.

Kangdae loved you, and you thought, maybe, you could love him in return.

Even if it isn’t what you envisioned love to be at all.

Things started to become worse after you two moved in together. His gigs as a rapper, an influencer, or a vlogger, weren’t making much income, and he refused to work under his parents, so he never contributed to the bills. He argued with you all the time: about money, about bills, about some random guy being too friendly with you when he’s taking your coffee order, about you spending too much time away from home when your company throws a mandatory get-together, about you not getting dinner hot and ready for him the second he comes home, about you always being too tired or not in the mood for sex. The list goes on.

Yet, somehow, he convinced you to stay.

Out of convenience. Out of the inevitable threat of financial instability. Out of knowing you’d be disappointing everyone who ever told you you’re lucky to be with him. Out of insecurity that you’d honestly not find anyone else who’d love you.

But the hybrid before you is your last straw.

He’s chewing on the lettuce. The motion of his mouth reminds you very much of actual bunnies as he continues to stare at you with big, round eyes, waiting for you to continue.

“It doesn’t matter why I was with him,” you decide, stabbing your fork into your pancake. “What matters is that I’m never going back to him again.”

“Did you love him?”

You frown at your plate. Other than what you gave to the hybrid, you haven’t taken a bite. “I thought I did. But now, I’m not sure. Love always seems so different in books and movies. It looks nicer. Warmer. Sweeter than anything.”

“I think love can be like that in real life too,” the hybrid tells you, seeming a bit shy. “But you won’t find it with that guy. You’re too nice to be with someone like him.”

You smile a little at that. Perhaps it’s because he’s part bunny, but you feel incredibly endeared by him. “You know, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“I’m good with any name,” he replies with a tiny shrug. “That guy… the owner… he didn’t give me a name.”

“Is there anything you want me to call you?”

The hybrid rolls his eyes to the ceiling and scratches his cheek in thought. “Jungkook. That’s what I used to be called.”

“Jungkook?”

He nods his head. A small smile forms on his lips. “It’s nice when you say it.”

You laugh a little. “Thank you.”

“No, no. I should be thanking you,” he insists, looking at you quite seriously. “I’ll figure out a way to repay you. I promise.”

“You already did.”

He blinks. “I did? When?”

“Earlier, when you asked me to help you,” you tell him with a wry smile. “I couldn’t save myself, but I had to save you. From your owner, from Kangdae, from all the other mean people. So, thank you for giving me the courage to get us both out of that situation.”

For the next couple of days, you and Jungkook drive as far as you can without much of a destination in mind. 

At first, the two of you stopped at different shelters and adoption centers, but there was always some excuse that made you pull out of the parking lot before you could even make it to the building. The place looked too shabby with faded paint and deteriorating plaster, or the place looked too sterile and heartless to be called a home. Jungkook didn’t trust that they’d actually take care of him, or you’re afraid his owner would find him too easily at that location. 

Eventually, you stopped bothering and skipped potential centers altogether. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind, though. He seems to rather be with you than to be dropped off at a mysterious and scary place, and part of you doesn’t even mind.

He’s good company and an easy person to talk to during the long hours on the road. Even when the radio is off, he’d sing to you or talk for hours straight.

Sometimes, he talks to you about what it’s like to be a hybrid.

“So, you can actually turn into an animal?” you exclaim, shocked by the news. You assume that hybrids stay stuck as a mix between human and animal forever. When Jungkook doesn’t answer you, you glance over at the passenger seat and see a black bunny with the same, doe-shaped eyes staring up at you. “Oh my god, you can!”

He transforms back in a blink of an eye, grabbing the steering wheel when you begin to swerve off the road as he shouts, “Be careful!”

Sometimes, you talk about what it’s like to be human.

“You’re actually a little weak, aren’t you?” Jungkook teases, helping you carry a pack of water bottles among other snacks and road trip essentials to the trunk. “Are all humans like this, or is it just you?”

“I can return the ice cream you picked out, you know,” you threaten as he loads up the trunk. “And the banana milk.”

“No, no, don’t do that,” he says with a chuckle and a shake of his head. It’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh.

Every now and then, you’d stop by at gas stations, rest stops, convenience stores, motels, and fast-food joints. It’s tolling on your body to drive for hours at a time, but the hybrid tries to keep you entertained. And you’re thankful for his company.

“I didn’t think you’d be into this type of music,” Jungkook admits as he fiddles around with the radio. The passenger side where he’s at is wide open as you hand him a drink from the vending machine.

“Why? You don’t like hip hop?” you ask, opening a bottle of water and glugging it down. The two of you are parked at a rest stop so you could stretch your legs and use the public restroom. 

“I like all kinds of music,” he tells you, his thin lips stretching to a shy smile that exposes his bunny teeth. He uncaps his own bottle and asks, “Who’s your favorite artist?”

You almost choke at the question. Honestly, you haven’t really thought about it much, but there is one person that comes to mind. “I don’t think you’d hear him on the radio.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

“Rap Monster.”

While traveling on the road is daring, fun, full of deep talks, laughter, and singing, it’s also a little scary. In the back of your mind, there’s always that fear that you’ll get caught. That the police would take you back to Kangdae, or that Jungkook’s owner would find you and force him back into more brutal fights and beatings. That someone suspicious would approach you when you’re filling up for gas in the middle of the night, or that you’d end up in an unsafe area.

“Don’t be scared,” Jungkook whispers to you, placing a hand on the small of your back. He eyes the group of men loitering in front of the motel wearily. “If they try to mess with you, I’ll protect you. I’m strong.”

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you murmur back, feeling a bit safer. Taking a deep breath, you briskly walk across the parking lot with the hybrid right behind you. Your gaze is kept firmly on the building, even as the sleazy men in front of it try to whistle and call for your attention. You hear them laughing at how scared you must look.

Had it been Kangdae instead of Jungkook, he’d either start a fight with those men and put the blame on you – claiming that you wanted it, that the way you’re dressed was asking for unwanted attention, that you’re trying to make him jealous by making eye contact with them. If he really felt like being an asshole, he’d shove you toward them until you’re crying and clinging onto him, and Kangdae would laugh and simply say you should feel flattered by the attention.

By the time you check in, Jungkook is already taking all your belongings from the car into the room so you don’t have to go back out there. He doesn’t question you when he finds you sitting on the bed and crying. And you don’t ask him about the redness on his knuckles when you check on his wounds later that night.

At the motel, Jungkook lets you take the bed as he plops down on the couch. It can’t be that comfortable, but he always insists on sleeping there, claiming it’s better than the cage he usually sleeps in. Your heart drops every time he mentions it.

Without a phone, it’s hard to keep researching hybrid centers, checking on the reviews, and looking up their locations. But there are pamphlets of maps, restaurant menus, and local business fliers on the nightstand.

“This place claims to be a humane shelter for hybrids,” you read out loud, looking at the picturesque photos of a variety of hybrids with humans: dog-hybrids of mixed breeds, domestic cat-hybrids with pointy ears and fluffy tails, birds with talons on their feet, and bunnies like Jungkook with long ears and a cute tail. “No kill, free-range, very thorough adoption process to ensure your hybrid finds a new forever home.”

“They’re lies,” Jungkook bitterly states without even looking at it. “All of them are.”

You toss the flier in the nearby wastebasket and sigh. “We need to at least look at some of these places. We can’t keep driving around like this forever.”

Jungkook peeks over at you. Then, in a quieter voice, he asks, “Why not?”

“I want to find you a proper home. With a home gym where you can workout anytime you want. And a nice kitchen with a full fridge where you can eat actual meals instead of living off ramen packets and potato chips. And maybe even a karaoke machine with colorful mood lights so you can sing your heart out,” you explain, imagining he’d have so much fun and be well-taken care of. “I want you to feel comfortable and happy instead of being stuck in my car all the time, and just wandering around aimlessly until our money runs out.”

You see the pout jutting out of his lip. “What if I just want to stay with you?”

“I’m not exactly living in the lap of luxury right now,” you tell him with a sad smile. It’ll be hard to let him go, but you know it’s for the best. Even if he doesn’t agree.

“Then what about you?”

“I’m… still figuring it out,” you reply, sighing again. Finding a home for Jungkook is a priority, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t been thinking about your next step. “I have a sister who might be able to take us in for now. I haven’t talked to her for years. She might not even remember me or want to help. But I can’t think of anyone else. She still lives far from here, but if we cut through the forest instead of taking the main roads, we’ll get to her much sooner.”

His silence makes you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing: this is a bad idea.

“It’s going to rain,” he reminds you with a frown. You don’t need animal instincts to know that. The looming, grey clouds in the sky tells you that a storm is near.

Still, you turn on the TV to look at the weather forecast. “I’ll drive slow.”

“It’ll still be dangerous.”

Breaking news. Missing person report. If you have seen this woman, please contact your local authorities immediately. Last seen wearing—

You stare at a photo of yourself on the television. Your heart picks up as Jungkook’s eyes widen. If you thought the cops were after you before, they surely are now.

They’ll find you if you take the main road to your sister’s place.

“We don’t have much of a choice.”

A thick tension hangs in the air between you and Jungkook. It’s something that you haven’t felt since the night the two of you spontaneously decided to run away from your abusers. Every passing car has you on edge, making you wonder how long the two of you can pull this off. If you could even make it to your sister’s place.

Would someone recognize your license plate? Are the cops already on your trail? Would Kangdae and Jungkook’s owner be out there looking for the two of you? What if they catch you? What would you do then?

The windshield wipers swipe back and forth against the heavy rain, but it doesn’t do much good. It’s still so hard to see as your car pulls up to the road leading into the dense forest.

“Just drive slow,” Jungkook reminds you, his voice gentle.

You nod your head. Then, carefully, you step on the gas.

Tall trees cover both sides of the narrow road. Under much nicer weather and better circumstances, perhaps it would be a relaxing, scenic drive to go through. But as it is, it’s terrifying. And dark. You can barely see past what your headlights illuminate.

But at least no one is following you two. For now, anyway.

After a while, everything starts to look the same. It makes you wonder if you’re just driving around in circles. In the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook yawning and trying hard to stay awake with you. But the constant rainfall and the occasional rumbles of thunder seems to lull him to sleep.

“If you’re tired, you could take a nap,” you tell him. It’ll still be a little while until you get to your sister’s place anyway.

“No, no, I should stay up with you,” he mumbles, though his eyes are already closed. His head starts to droop as he nods off, but then, Jungkook suddenly snaps awake. His whole body stiffens as his hand shoots up to grab you.

“Ow! Jungkook, what–?”

Then, you hear it.

A deep, animalistic roar.

Your heart hammers in your chest as your car halts to a stop. It sounds so close.

“Don’t stop. Keep driving,” Jungkook urges.

“Right,” you mutter, stepping on the gas again. You’re not even sure what kind of animal it is, but you can’t see anything but shrouds of darkness among the trees. Whatever it is, though, has Jungkook spooked.

“Faster,” he insists. His hand around your arm tightens a little. You push the gas pedal a little more. “Faster!”

Somehow, the roar sounds closer.

The two of you are speeding through the dirt path as safely as you can. Rain continues to fall without letting up. The heavy patter of raindrops hits hard against the rapid swipes of your windshield wipers. You can’t even see what’s even chasing you, but it has Jungkook terrified.

“What do you think it is?” you try to ask him, eyes flickering toward him worriedly.

“I don’t know, but— WATCH OUT!”

A deer is in the middle of the dirt road. Caught in the headlights, it stands frozen.

It feels like everything happens in slow motion.

You and Jungkook are screaming as your hands turn the wheel, swerving out of the way before you hit the poor animal.

Your foot is on the brakes, but the roads are slippery. You’re not able to stop.

Your car slams against a tree. Jungkook’s arm protectively shields you as the airbags trigger upon impact.

Everything feels slowed down, but it happens in an instant.

“Don’t hurt her.”

You’re not sure when, but you must have passed out.

With effort, you try to open your eyes. Your vision is blurry, but you can see that you’ve been pulled out of your car. The front is completely wrecked. Your car door is open and the airbags on both sides are deflated.

It’s still raining. You can feel yourself getting soaked, but you’re pressed against something solid and warm. How did you get here? Is that deer okay?

Where’s Jungkook?

“You don’t need her. You don’t need any of them.”

You don’t recognize that voice. It’s deep and has a bit of a drawl. But you can practically feel the hatred in their voice as you start to drift back into unconsciousness.

“No, she’s different. Please. Please don’t hurt her,” you hear Jungkook begging. His voice wavers as he holds you tighter. “She’s my human.”

“Guys, that’s enough.” A different voice cuts in. This one, somehow, sounds familiar. Deeper than the previous speaker, but warm and smooth. Whoever this voice belongs to seems to recognize one of you too. “Is that— Who are you?”

When you wake up again, you can still hear the rain. It’s soothing this time. The heavy pellets hit the large window, obscuring the view with a watery, grey blur. Your eyes are drawn to the curtains, velvet in color and tied with a knotted rope. There’s a bench in front of the window, stacked with cushions, that looks cozy. You could easily imagine yourself curled up with a book, a blanket, and a bunch of pillows in that spot.

You don’t remember seeing a little nook like that at the motel before.

Actually, you don’t remember any of the motels having one at all.

Where are you?

Panic starts to seep in when you don’t recognize the room you’re in. It looks old. Stuck in a forgotten time with antique furniture and outdated flooring and wallpaper. As you move beneath the duvet, you realize that your clothes have been removed and you’re now wearing one of Kangdae’s shirts that you let Jungkook borrow.

Did he do this? Where is Jungkook anyway?

It looks like you’re alone in this room. But beyond the bedroom door, you’re not sure what’s waiting for you out there.

Across the room, you’re surprised to see your belongings on a chair. Whoever Jungkook was talking to, they must have brought you and your stuff here. You waste no time to get out of Kangdae’s clothes and dress into your own, your feet creaking loudly against the floorboards as you make your way to your duffel bag.

Other than your hybrid friend, nothing else seems to be missing. Everything you packed, including what money you have left, is still there.

You glance over at the door again. One thing is for sure. Jungkook is on the other side somewhere. You can’t just wait around here forever.

The floorboards continue to creak beneath your feet as you make your way to the door. Once you pull it open, the hinges squealing as you do, you nearly scream.

A tall man with dark, wavy hair and small, round ears is just at the other side. His face is strikingly handsome, and his gaze is penetrating as he rests his arm against the doorway and leans so close to you, you can see the tiny beauty marks beneath his eye, on the tip of his nose, his cheek, and his bottom lip.

“Little human. Aren’t you being too noisy?”

“I’m sorry!” you quickly reply, thoroughly mortified. It must have been the floorboards, or maybe even when you were rummaging through your duffel bag for clothes. You didn’t think you were being too loud, but…

“Taehyung, don’t scare our guest away,” another voice says from the hallway.

When you look at the newcomer’s voice, your eyes widen in shock. For a moment, you think you’re looking at an angel. His face looks soft and kind, with full lips and a defined jaw. Some of his dark bangs cover his sharp eyes. But where one of his arms is human, lean and toned with muscle, his other arm is a long, feathered black wing that makes him somehow look more ethereal.

“I’m not scaring her, Jimin,” the one named Taehyung whines, straightening up. It’s when he’s at his full length when you realize just how tall this man is. And how sharp his claws are. He peers down at you and confirms, “Right, little human?”

“Um. Yes?”

The one named Jimin moves so gracefully as he approaches you two. There’s a friendly smile on his angelic face. “Don’t mind him. He usually hibernates around this time, so he’s a little cranky. Bear hybrids tend to sleep more than the rest of us.”

Taehyung snorts and scratches his belly. Even if he doesn’t admit it, Jimin must be right. There’s a hint of tiredness in his stoic face.

“It’s all right,” Taehyung mumbles, now scratching his head.

“You must be hungry,” Jimin guesses, and at the very mention of food, your stomach growls in agreement. Heat colors your cheeks, but Jimin continues to smile and merely nods to where he came from. “Follow me, then. I’ll tell Seokjin and Yoongi to make something for you.”

Again, it looks like he’s floating with every step he takes. It’s obvious that he’s a bird hybrid, but his graceful movements remind you of a swan. A black swan.

Behind you, much to your surprise, Taehyung follows. Earlier, he seemed so adamant about going back to sleep. There’s still a grumpy, tired look on his face – brown eyes glazed over with drowsiness and his lips pouting slightly – yet, he still trails behind both you and Jimin.

The swan hybrid notices and smirks a little. “He’s curious about you.”

You can’t really imagine why. Or if that’s even a good thing.

Jimin leads you both to a foyer. There are more hybrids sitting around the fireplace. It’s warm, orange glow casts lights upon each of their animalistic features.

From the lounge chair is a man with pale skin and leopard-printed ears and a long tail. Along one side of his neck, shoulder, and arm are spots that look like tattoos. His gaze feels intimidating the moment he locks eyes with you, and his long tail swishes back and forth slowly.

On the other chair, another man turns to look at you as well. Like Taehyung, his face is strikingly handsome. Pointed ears and a long tail indicate that he’s a wolf, but bigger. You’re not sure if it’s the reflection of the fire, but his sharp eyes look golden and are practically glowing.

The last one, sitting comfortably with the predator hybrids, is an elaphocentuar – half-human, half-deer. The upper-part of his body is of a human man with strong antlers on his head, but the bottom-half is of a spotted deer. The reddish-brown of his fur matches the hair on his head.

A few days ago, you’ve rarely seen a hybrid in person. Now, you’re in a room full of them.

“You’re awake!” a familiar voice exclaims before a solid mass just pulls you into a tight hug. Relief washes over you when you recognize who it is.

“Jungkook! Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” you immediately ask, your voice a little muffled from his hold. You pull away enough to get a good look at him. There are some fresh bruises from the accident, but no broken bones or concerning wounds from what you can tell.

“I’m fine. I was more worried about you,” he admits as he begins to ramble. “I was a little disoriented, but I managed to get out of the car. I pulled you out of the driver’s seat too. The car is completely wrecked! I don’t know if you’ll be able to drive it anymore. But that deer we almost hit was a hybrid!”

You glance over at the deer hybrid. He moves a little closer to the leopard-hybrid, body entirely stiff since you stepped into the room, and staring at you like he’s still caught in the headlights. You feel awful and you don’t blame him at all for being scared of you.

“I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

The deer-hybrid merely blinks, as if he isn’t sure you’re talking to him. Then, meekly, he replies, “I’m not hurt.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re not,” you tell him sincerely.

“Me too,” Jungkook agrees, offering a small smile at the deer-hybrid as well. “They found us right after the accident. You were so cold and wet, I was worried you wouldn’t wake up. They said I had to get you out of your wet clothes or you’d get sick, but I promise I didn’t do anything weird! And then, I just waited for you to wake up on your own. You’ve been asleep for a while, and I’m glad you’re okay.”

“We recognized Jungkook as one of us, so we had to check on him,” the leopard-hybrid explains, his gaze not once leaving you. You vaguely recognize his voice as the one Jungkook was arguing with. “He insisted that we had to help you too.”

“She’s different from the other humans!” Jungkook defends. His arms are still around you rather protectively. “She’s so nice. She’s been helping me and taking care of me. I couldn’t just leave her behind.”

“We don’t normally allow humans anywhere near this place,” the handsome wolf adds on. It’s obvious why. Not only are they hybrids, but they’re exotic. Black swan, clouded leopard, dire wolf. Even the bear and deer hybrids are uncommon compared to the rabbits, dogs, cats, rodents, and bird hybrids. “But the young master of this manor made an exception for you.”

“The master?”

“That would be me.”

The final resident of this house of hybrids steps in. He’s tall and muscular with perfect body proportions. He has short, brown hair and tanned skin. But the fullness of his lips, the deep dimples in his cheeks, and the dark sunglasses over his eyes are things you instantly recognize.

You haven't seen him since that night all those years ago.

“Rap Monster?”

His lips stretch into a smile. “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”

Jungkook looks between you and the master of the house, eyes wide with awe and surprise. “That’s Rap Monster? Your favorite artist?”

Rap Monster arches an eyebrow. “Favorite artist?”

You feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Yeah, you, uh. You rap good.”

The leopard snorts, and you feel the curious gazes of the hybrids around you. You’re ready to crawl back into the room you woke up in and hide forever until you hear Rap Monster’s laughter.

Unlike the other hybrids, Rap Monster doesn’t have any animal parts to his body. No round ears or fluffy tails, no antlers or hooves, no feathered wings or webbed feet.

He looks completely human.

Except for one thing.

“I’ve gotten a lot better at rapping over the years. I’ll have to show you sometime,” he says, taking off his sunglasses. The move is unexpected to the hybrids living with him as he reveals to you his serpent eyes. The irises are a beautiful blend of indigo, deeper and more purple on the outer edges and bluer and lighter in the inner parts – unlike anything humans could naturally have. Warm brown is around the dark pupils that are vertically slitted, and they’re even more beautiful than you remember.

You could never forget eyes like his. They’re mesmerizing.

“That would be really nice,” you tell him, forcing yourself to look away from them. “But I don’t want to be a bother. I really appreciate the help and I can’t thank you enough for bringing us in, but I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

He arches an eyebrow at you again. It makes your stomach flip a little, and not in an entirely bad way. “How? The storm is still going and your car is damaged.”

Your heart sinks a little. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

Truth be told, you have no idea what to do now. Your car was your only means of transportation, and it’s undrivable. It’s too dangerous for you to travel around in the forest by foot, especially if you don’t know how far you are from the main roads. And even then, you’re reported as a missing person. Kangdae and the others are trying to find you.

“Don’t be silly. Just stay with us,” Rap Monster kindly offers. “I wouldn’t have allowed you in if I thought you’d be a danger to my pack.”

You glance at the other hybrids in the room. They’re looking at you with uncertainty, and perhaps, a bit of annoyance. They’ve told you themselves that they’re weary of humans, and given the history between your species and theirs, you can’t exactly blame them for that. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You won’t,” he assures you gently. In those two words alone, the doubt and hesitation start to leave your mind. “Stay as long as you like.”

It feels crazy and stupid, but at this point, trying to leave this shelter in the middle of a storm feels crazier and stupider.

“Okay,” you decide, peering up at his beautiful eyes again. “Until the storm passes.”

“Until the storm passes,” he agrees, as the clash of thunder and lightning seem even louder than before.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[crusty-chronicles]

Airheaded S/O Headcannons #9: Hiei (Yu Yu Hakusho)

He wants you dead at first

But that's just because he's a bit standoffish

You'd waltzed in right as he had Yusuke suspended in his clutches at a warehouse.

"Yusuke, you left your calc homework on your desk, you ditz!"

And then you looked up and saw the three eyed demon and your friend.

And he was a little shocked that a human had found his hideout, even with his manipulated spirit energy.

"Kinda in the middle of something here," the greasy haired boy responded.

"Well cut that out for a second. I've got places to be."

Like you weren't just witnessing him about to be killed

It was so baffling how you just completely dismissed the situation, that Hiei's powers actually faltered and let the detective get away.

What the actual hell????

"Get out of here, now!" Yusuke warned.

And you'd just frowned

"Dude, it's not that deep. Why are you even here?"

Now was Hiei's chance to attack

But when he disappeared and quickly reappeared behind with his sword raised, you just caught the blade and glared at him

"Can you back off, I'm trying to talk to my friend."

You shooed him away like a pest.

And that was the moment he decided he wanted you dead.

A strong believer in survival of the fittest

And what the hell, because you had not a single working brain cell but were somehow stronger than him????

Kuwabara is your best friend and the two of you combined are stupid²

And it's horrible because there's only so much stupidity Hiei can take.

During the time he's still conforming after being caught, he spends most of it in the human world scouting you out for any weaknesses.

He still holds a grudge from the first time you met

But he's so damn surprised to find out that you're a walking hazard

How does one leave the stove, microwave, and oven on?

How does one forget that they're all on at the same time????

It would be so easy to let your own recklessness kill you

But his damn pride won't let that happen because he wants to be the one that defeats you

So, you wake up from your nap to see all your appliances turned off

Which is surprising because you vaguely remember cooking something before you feel asleep.

You do earn his respect eventually

It's when Yusuke is tasked with defeating the Saint Beasts

All of you were struggling to keep the roof up from collapsing

Yusuke had suggested Hiei be the one to pull the lever because he was the fastest.

And you'd said something then. Something that made him not want to kill you anymore.

"I might be able to hold the whole thing by myself. You all have to be really fast though."

"Are you crazy?!? There's no way we're gonna leave you behind. We're in this together or not at all," the oaf had protested.

You gave a dopey smile and released all your spirit energy at once, lifting the ceiling with all your might and alleviating the pressure from all the others.

"You scared, Kuwabara? People die everyday. What's one more?"

Hiei had never moved as fast as he did when he pulled that lever down.

You were a fool for risking your life over the others.

A fool for wasting your power on the weak.

But you weren't scared of death, of dying for your morals

And that had his respect.

Hiei does not baby you and finds great amusement in your failures

After all, you're not his responsibility

You accidentally got captured by a demon?

Good luck to whatever idiot thought they'd last more than a minute in the same room as you

You swallowed a poisonous plant Kurama was growing because you were hungry?

That's what you get for giving into your human whims

You threw a punch at an enemy that missed and hit Yusuke instead?

You should've hit him harder

Uses your naivety to his advantage

The tape with Yukina?

You'd told him without much thought about the situation

Only for Hiei to drag you towards where she was being held captive.

"Ooh, where are we going?"

"Just quiet down and follow me, human."

It's because you can sense spirit energy a little better than he can.

That and if he's spotted, he can just pass it off as you dragging him along to see Kuwabara.

Surprisingly, you're quiet and don't make a sound that gets the two of you caught.

And maybe he's a little grateful you don't question him about it.

You don't question why he wants to save this girl you've never heard of up until a few days ago.

You just go along with it because 'We're friends.'

You're so stupid for trusting him that easily when he wanted so badly to kill you not long ago

So unbelievably stupid for following around a demon just cuz

You had a fool's heart, that was for sure.

You were a trustworthy ally during the Dark Tournament, a strong warrior during the battle with Sensui, and a true fighter during the demon tournament.

It's the last event that he realizes he values you a little more than he should.

He had just barely beaten Mukuro and was set to fight you next.

The thing was, Hiei could barley stand with his injuries, while you hadn't broken a sweat.

This was the one fight he looked forward to the most, besides the one he wanted with the spirit detective.

But there was this look on your face

An uncomfortable yet sorrowful look.

Why weren't you as excited as he was?

He shrugged the feeling off as the announcer told them to begin.

His sword was long destroyed, so he resorted to basic combat skills instead.

He lunged, fist clenched to hit, but you just dodged with that same look

He tried again and the result was the same

You didn't even try to block his attacks, just moved out of the way.

Like he was beneath you to even try.

He recognized the look now

It was pity

And that infuriated him.

"Why won't you fight back!" A kick aimed for your side.

"You think you're so-called friendship matters here? Your emotions mean nothing. Not in here. So quit acting like a fool and fight!" A punch aimed at your throat.

You stopped it this time, but didn't attack him back.

You were making a fool out of him.

And before he could berate you again, you spoke.

"I don't care if we're friends or not. Either way, the fight still isn't fair."

And that had temporarily halted his anger.

"What do I gain from beating someone so injured, they can't stand up? What do you gain from fighting when you have no power? Think about it."

You didn't want to fight because you wouldn't enjoy it?

It wouldn't be a win for you

"It's not fair to either of us if we fight like this. We'd never get to find out who's really stronger."

Hiei was the fool.

He'd lashed out at Mukuro for letting her feelings get in the way and here he was, doing the same.

Letting his pride get in the way of rational thought

He'd been the one to get upset that you weren't fighting him as an equal, when the condition he was in clearly said otherwise.

"I know you don't want to lose the tournament, so I quit. But I want you to heal up and get stronger. Don't die because next time I see you, I'll kick your ass the way you want. Got it?"

Don't die

You and that oaf shared the same moral code.

But something about it being you made him tolerate it.

"...I surrender. I'm in no shape to continue. Y/n, you better not hold back next time."

Much to the dismay of the audience, the two of you walked back together. The outcome of the match: no winner.

There was something for him to look forward to now. A new goal.

He'd surpass you and then Yusuke.

Following the events of the demon tournament, he's a little softer towards you.

You and that stupid human heart of yours had him observing you from the trees.

He was unused to the heaviness he felt seeing you visit Yukina and making her laugh.

He couldn't understand the warmth consuming his face when you would fight a stray demon and win.

He didn't know why he used his Jagan to see you while he was in demon world.

But he did know he didn't like seeing you and the idiot duo hanging off of each other, cackling at something one of them said.

Don't count on him acting on his feelings.

He would never tell you.

But his actions towards you are more than enough to let the others know you're his.

He calls you fool(derogatory) and if he's feeling sweet, just by your name.

Jealousy is a big one.

Hiei's never had something special he's been allowed to keep.

So if you're spending a little too much time with Kuwabara, don't be surprised to see him at your window the next day.

He'll deny to his dying breath that he came all the way from demon world just to see you.

He'll also deny leaving some of his own clothing or even his sword at your house just so it smells more like him than it does your (just as stupid) best friend.

Hiei leaves for months at a time and without fail, will always come back the day after you went crying to Kurama that you think he's died.

(Thanks to his Jagan that is. There isn't a day he doesn't check up on you so he's bound to know when you miss him.)

Kurama is his best friend, but that doesn't stop Hiei from getting upset when he comes to get you and sees you sound asleep on the fox's bed.

You just smell so much like the other demon now, it pisses him off.

"Keep your scent off my human."

And Kurama finds immense joy in his childish anger.

"Maybe if you would physically see them more, they wouldn't come by so often."

And Hiei's grumbling as he picks you up, still dead asleep, to bring you back to the home that would restore his own scent back on you.

The time spent when you wake up is for sparring.

He can't find it in him anymore to fight you for real

But that doesn't mean he won't enjoy the false matches you have with each other.

He refuses to take you with him to demon world.

You have a life here

And though it's tempting to take you where you wouldn't be very far away from him, he knows you wouldn't be happy away from everyone else.

So, the one and only thing he does that hints at his feelings for you is give you the makeshift necklace made from hiruiseki stone. His to be exact.

"Take it."

"Why?" Your small little brain was struggling to figure out why he would want you to have it.

"It represents a promise. A promise that I'll be back for you no matter what. So take care of it for me, human."

NEXT UP: Kurapika Kurta

MASTERLIST

An: Yall sorry it took so long, i deadass got sick last week.

[lifeiskentastic]

Ken plays Cowboy, and gn!Reader helps him with it

Gif by @makoto-shinkai

A/N: This is probably the silliest thing I've ever written.

Summary: Ken, deeply immersed in the cowboy theme, decides to drag gn!Reader into his silly game. Well, it's not like Reader too much in the way…

Word count: 807 words;

Incpired: This Gorgeous Fanart by @thapunqueen;

Song I recommend: Of course, it's Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy) by Big & Rich;

Hope this makes you smile!

Almost immediately after the patriarchal period, Ken moved on to another. To the cowboy one. It seems that, having realised that he had nothing to catch on the beach (literally and figuratively), he decided to find himself in a radically different profession. So, from now on, this Ken is a cowboy! Which means walking around Barbieland in a cowboy carnival costume, swinging a Sporty Ken's rope lasso and at any moment (usually the most inappropriate) shouting random exclamations that only Ken considered cowboyish.

However, everyone just turned a blind eye to the ridiculousness of the situation, because Ken was happy. He had never smiled so happily as when he learnt to spin the Sporty Ken's rope lasso.

The problems only started when Ken got too much into the role. If at first he was just whining to every passerby that he wanted a gun, now he was shouting to every passerby that he wanted a gun. Everything seemed to work out when he got his wooden gun, but that was just the start of a crazy race called "Calm the Mad Ken Cowboy".

You've often wondered how things would have turned out if one day Ken hadn't just burst into your home with the words:

“You've been abducted! Piff-puff!!”

You were having a peaceful breakfast in your home in Barbieland, well, before you were abducted, of course.

“Why would you want to abduct me?”

Surely you would have been scared to be kidnap. And you probably would have been if Ken hadn't been your kidnapper.

“Because that's what real cowboys do!”

You didn't know much about cowboys, but something told you that they didn't kidnap random people (or dolls) in the middle of their breakfast.

Ken was smiling excitedly, looking back at the door and licking his lips as if he was expecting to see the sheriffs of the wild west on the porch. You really haven't seen him so excited about something in a long time... Maybe you should play along a little bit? What could happen but that you would only make your friend laugh more? Isn't that a good thing?

You take a deep breath before you start the most ridiculous game of your life.

"Uh-oh!" You put your hands up as if a real gun was pointed at you (although hardly anyone says 'uh-oh' when a deadly weapon is glowing in front of them). "I think I've really been kidnapped!"

Ken's eyes lit up with childlike joy as he looked at you with gratitude. You could barely keep your expression in character, hiding a playful smile. Apparently, you were infected with someone else's carefree spirit.

“When will the noble sheriffs come to rescue me?”

But suddenly Ken's face changed dramatically. He stared at at you in confusion, as if he had just realised that he had kidnapped someone (albeit in jest).

“Why can't I rescue you?”

“You abducted me.”

It seems that the word "noble" has put Ken in front of a difficult moral choice: either to be a kidnapping cowboy or to be a rescuing cowboy, but a noble one. After all, how could anyone but him be noble?

“Uh, wait here a minute.”

Ken ran out of the house, leaving you with your hands up in the middle of the kidnapping scene. And you could have sworn you heard a mysterious whispering coming from behind your door.

Later, you were uninvited to your home. For the second time in one day.

“You are saved!”

You exhaled and gave up. Well, it was definitely an unexpected turn of events, but not the worst. You'd managed to make Ken happy, so you could cross one thing off your to-do list! Oh, you were so naive...

“Now I have to kiss you!”

“What?”

Ken was radiating joyful levity even as he declared that it was his duty as a sheriff to kiss the rescued.

“That's what they do in the films.”

When you decided to have fun with Ken, you didn't mean it! You'd be lying if you said you were totally against it, but it did seem a little wrong to kiss in the circumstances. The problem was also that you were intimately familiar with Ken's stubbornness, and especially with the stubbornness of Ken the Cowboy Sheriff. And you had to do something about it immediately...

You hesitantly walked closer to him, quickly, until the cowboy took control of the situation. You reached for his face and lightly touched his soft cheek with your lips.

When you pulled away, you were greeted by a confused Ken, with his hand firmly pressed to his kissed cheek, his cowboy hat tilted back, his eyes shocked and a deep blush all over his face. You could hardly imagine his reaction if you had dared to kis- Thank you for saving me, officer! Ken could only nod

[mrs-snape5984]

“Help me out of this hell! Your love lifts me up like helium. Your love lifts me up when I'm down down down…”

“When I've hit the ground, you’re all I need.” (“Helium” by Sia)

This post will be a bit more personal than usual, but I think, I need to pour my heart out over this mesmerising artwork, which my friend @madfantasy made for me. There are things happening in my life, which are frightening me, even though I’m the one, who initiated them.

I’m going through a divorce (yep…the second one. I should get bonus cards for being such an idiot even twice…). This marriage has been broken for so long and I lived in my own room for years, already. I wanted us to be friends…housemates…partners for the sake of our children. I wanted to deal with the situation as mature as possible…and failed miserably. My boundaries were ignored and violently overstepped countless times…always leaving me shattered and panting…struggling to breathe, whenever I found myself in another panic attack.

It’s enough. I can’t do this anymore. I really don’t know, how I will be able to go through the whole process of moving out in my current state of this goddamn disease…and how I could offer my kids the life, they deserve to live. I want to have them with me…and yet I’m getting threatened to lose them. My standards of moral concepts and values never matched with his…and now, he’s the one with the bigger guns (financially and considering the health situation). This is a dangerous situation for me…and I’m scared to death, even though I’m trying to find responsible solutions to make sure, that our children won’t suffer. They’re the most important part of my life…and I’m deeply ashamed of myself for being such a selfish human being, who isn’t capable of enduring this way of life with their father any longer - particularly in the context of my disability and disease.

Over the past few years, especially since I’m suffering from ME/CFS, the feeling of losing myself grew stronger with every passing day. I fell silent…the lights within myself were extinguished and I became an actress in this movie, which I called my life. I played the role of the hardworking woman, who can balance her responsibilities in every aspect of her existence with ease and grace. Family, friends, workplace, household, extra duties in school and kindergarten…everything was “perfectly” balanced on my shoulders, even though I had to deal with some severe diseases, already (and this was even before ME/CFS fucked me hard). These were my days for so many years…and at nights, I couldn’t breathe anymore. Panic attacks, insomnia and OCD had me in their strong grip…choking me whilst I was wandering through the quiet house, checking on my children. This side of myself was my best kept “dirty” secret. Failure was no option for me, so I hid behind my mask at days and suffered through the nights on my own.

Two years ago, ME/CFS put a stopper into my life. I’m not functioning anymore. I lost my value here. The hardworking, overly caring, active woman, I’ve been before, is dead. Killed by pain, overstimulation, disorientation, fatigue, darkness and solitude.

About one year ago, I decided to speak up my mind by showing my longtime love for Severus Snape online for the very first time in my life. I found tumblr and started writing about my deepest feelings, fears and my devotion to this fictional character, which lasts for 21 years, already. Out of the sudden, there were people, who listened to me. People, who talked to me as if I’m still a “normal” human being. People, who became friends with me, even though we’re living thousands of kilometres apart. People, whom I never want to miss again in my life, like my beloved @vulnus-sanare. She showed me, that I’m still alive…that I’m worthy of love. And with this realisation, I found myself again…and this woman is quite okay, despite her sufferings. Magda, my heart, I couldn’t be more grateful that you’ve chosen me to be your friend…the one, you’re sharing your last braincell with. You know, what I’m feeling for you and I can’t wait to see you in person in a few weeks. Thank you for enlightening a spark in my soul, of which I thought, it was gone forever.

Something else happened to me over the past few months. This newfound light in myself seemed to be bright enough to shine across the ocean to New Jersey. I fought hard against these feelings…throwing all my ugly sides at this person in order to scare them away. I’m not loveable and I’m not able to understand this weird concept, called romantic love…at least, that’s what I always thought of myself. In my eyes, “love” has solely been an excuse for hormonal chemistry between people in order to fulfil some kind of biological goal of humanity. For many years, people shook their heads at me for this pragmatic approach to the concept of “love”. I built a cocoon around myself, determined to keep everyone else outside. And now…well, let’s just say, that I’m not convinced by my own sober, level-headed beliefs anymore. My cocoon showed a crack. I lost my heart. Undeniably. Unconditionally.

Who knows, if this love will ever have a future. Only time will tell, but for the moment, I feel home in another person’s heart and this new experience gives me hope and strength to master the upcoming journey of my existence. I’m more than my disability…I’m more than my diseases…I’m more than the actress, I forced myself to be…I’m more than this weak and exhausted mess, I’ve become. I am worthy to be seen and loved…and I’m able to reciprocate this love without hesitation. I feel blessed. Thank you, R. 🖤

Last but not least, I want to thank Mani for this breathtaking piece of art. When I described my idea for this project to you, I was excited to see, what you would do with it. Whenever I try to express something extremely personal with the help of Severus and my OC Jules (okay, I admit, that she’s actually me 😅), I know that you’re the one, who can realise it perfectly. I’m beyond grateful for your kindness and your talent and I’m proud to be seen as your friend, my dear. Feel hugged, Mani! Fly fly! 🫂🫂

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤