Thief XVI

tease

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↳ Summary: You came with the intentions of your best friend landing a job as a stripper. You never meant to catch the eyes of the king stripper of the establishment- Jeon Jungkook, yourself. With what was supposed to be a harmless way of paying off college debt faster you find yourself falling into a very odd and passionate relationship with your new mentor. Between infidelity, passion and jealousy there’s never a dull moment at Cherry Bomb.

↳ Pairing: Stripper!Jungkook/Reader

↳ Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, drama, slice of life, relationship problems without the relationship, reader is such a shy baby protect her, MUTUAL pining, so much sexual frustration,  

Word count: 10k

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Tags: Partial nudity, that’s it!

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Warning: This story touches on both sexual harassment and abuse, please read with caution if any of these things are triggers to you. Additional warnings will be given when a chapter present them.

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“God how did she ever get this job when she’s flat as a board and stiff as one too.”

Your grip on your water bottle tightened as you forcefully swallowed both it’s contents and the bubble in the back of your throat threatening to escape. This wasn’t the first snide comment you had heard all morning, in fact, you had lost count at how much brutality you had been put under by all of the girls.

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LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

chapter warnings: explicit smut, threesome, oral (m->f), unprotected sex, sub!reader, rindou a lil rough, neither of them can shut their mouths, dumbification

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER ⅩⅣ. MY ATLANTIS

EIGHT YEARS EARLIER. 

They weren’t supposed to be here. You specifically had not told them when your flight was to avoid this confrontation, you had successfully evaded them for the past two days--since you had told them what you were planning to do--you had thought you had done it, that you had managed to escape Tokyo without having to face them. No matter how much you would have regretted it later, it wasn’t worth risking them convincing you to stay.

And you knew they would be able to if given the chance.

“Hey! We said ‘hold on,’” Ran’s voice was loud, sharp and even though you knew you should keep moving forward, away from them, your body refused to cooperate. You stopped still midstep in the large entrance of the airport, your chest felt heavy and your breath was slow. Everything around you started tunneling. 

You could hear them approaching you from behind, everything except their footsteps and the muttered curses sounded dull and muted. Run, you told yourself, your body was tense, all fight or flight were activated as they drew closer. Run, they won't be able to chase you through security. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Your feet were glued to the ground and by the time you thought you would be able to bring yourself to move, a hand was already wrapped tight around your wrist, tugging you around. You turned your gaze to the ground, staring at two familiar pairs of shoes in front of you. 

“Well I don’t blame you for not being able to look at us,” Ran said spitefully, his voice somehow both soothing and grating to your ears at the same time, “but I think we deserve to be fully acknowledged, don’t you?”

You tore your gaze up from the floor, reluctantly looking up at them. Your eyes met Ran’s first, catching sight of the livid look in his eyes and the way his jaw was clenched tight. Your gaze darted away, but looking at Rindou was no better--instead of anger, you were faced with a sort of hurt expression that you weren’t quite sure you had ever seen on his face before. 

Guilt weighed heavy on your chest, you felt as if the weight of the sky had been thrown onto your shoulders. Your lips parted to speak but you weren’t even sure what you wanted to say, so you ended up letting out a soft sigh and pressing your lips together again. Ran scoffed, as if he had been expecting you to do that.

“What the fuck, y/n?” Rindou spoke quieter, not as angry as Ran was. You could hear the way it cracked and you could hear the way he strained to get his words out.

“I don’t know what the big deal is,” you finally said, ignoring the fury that washed across Ran’s face at your words. “I told you I’d keep in touch.”

“You don’t know what the big deal is?” Ran hissed as he took another step toward you and your feet wouldn’t cooperate to move away from him, only able to tilt your face up to look up at him. “You only told us what was happening two fucking days ago, and then you avoided us every time we tried to talk to you. You weren’t even going to let us say goodbye.”

You swore the words hit you like knives to the chest. It’s for the best, you tried to convince yourself even though you knew damn well deep down that you were wrong. 

They would have convinced you to stay, the stubborn part of you screamed at the part that wavered under Ran’s words. You know that. Your family. Izana. Mucho. Mister Botan. Nearly Terano. 

Who would be next?

You couldn’t risk it. You couldn’t risk it. 

It was only a matter of time before someone else died, and you wouldn’t let it be them. You had to leave--your uncle had given you two options, attend university to jumpstart the process of your own company or wait to inherit Izanagi. You had to start standing on your own two feet. You had to. Until you were confident that you’d be able to protect them without your uncle’s help, it wasn’t safe for you to be around.

Because even if the curse wasn’t real, you were still a real danger to them. Your uncle was neck deep in Tokyo’s underworld, he made tons of enemies abroad with his aggressive expansionist strategy for Izanagi--you had been targeted just a few months ago as a means to get to him and you couldn’t let Rindou and Ran get caught in the crossfire of that. 

And they wouldn’t understand. You knew they wouldn’t understand. They’d never understand because they didn’t care about their own safety when it came to yours, they’d throw themselves on the blade for you at any given second if it meant you would be safe and you couldn’t let them do that.

They’d tell you to stay, they’d tell you that inheriting Izanagi from your uncle was the best move if it meant that the three of you got to stick together. They’d tell you ‘fuck the danger, we can take anything together’ but you knew you couldn’t. They didn’t even know half of the danger that came along with you and your uncle, and they didn’t understand that just being big delinquents on the streets of Roppongi was not the same as dealing with the ruthless business tycoons and oligarchs that could order their deaths with a wave of their hand and pocket change. 

You didn’t even fully understand it yet, your uncle never was honest when you questioned him about it, he gave you non-answers or diversions, telling you to focus on building a foundation for your company before anything else. 

You couldn’t risk it. You were doing what was right.

“You guys would have tried to convince me to stay,” you finally said, and you hated how your voice cracked, and how you still couldn’t meet either of their eyes. You hated even more how Ran noticed and how his hand shot out to curl around your jaw, tilting your face up to force you to look him in the eye.

“Of course, we would have,” Ran snapped, “We don’t want you to fucking leave-”

“I can’t let you guys hold me back,” your voice was loud as you interrupted him. Ran drew back as if he had been slapped, his hand dropping from your face. Rindou’s lips parted. Your heart sank from your chest to your feet, the air around you felt suffocating. You could feel the eyes of strangers on the three of you, judging. You wanted to swallow your own tongue, you wanted the ground to eat you whole.

“I didn’t mean that,” you said, voice little over a breath as you shook your head, “I didn’t mean that.”

Ran let out a shaky breath, nodding as he took a step away from you, “Yeah,” he agreed, “I bet you didn’t.”

Ran was now the one that couldn’t meet your eyes and your gaze swiveled to Rindou desperately, “Rin,” you tried but Rindou refused to look at you, staring down at the ground in front of him.

“Flight 404 to Munich will begin boarding in thirty minutes,” a woman said over the speakers, the words making your ears ring.

“You should go,” Rindou finally said, “That’s your flight, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Ran spoke as if he was trying to be snide and snappy, but you could tell it was only to try to cover the way your words had struck deep. You could see the hurt swimming in his eyes, the way he swallowed thickly. You could hear the underlying pain in his voice. “Wouldn’t want us to hold you back.”

You shook your head, you could feel tears pooling in your eyes and you tried to force them away because you knew you had no right to cry, “I didn’t mean it like that,” you said again, “I-I have to do this. You don’t understand-”

“Of course, we don’t understand,” Rindou’s voice was sharper than it had ever been with you, your throat squeezed, “We don’t understand because you don’t fuckin’ tell us anything anymore. Help us understand, we want to understand.”

Rindou stared at you, waiting for you to say something but when you stayed silent, he only scoffed. But what the fuck were you supposed to say to them? How could you make them understand that you were doing this for them? For Izana? For the rest of your friends? They would never be able to come to terms with you doing this on your own but you knew them being with you and trying to help would only make things harder on you. 

If you did this alone, you would get it done faster--you’d be able to be with them, and be happy again, sooner. There would be fewer risks to consider, less things for people to try to use against you. 

You would get back to them faster. You were doing the right thing.

“Yeah,” Rindou said when you didn’t speak, sharing a look with Ran that only the two of them could decipher. “That’s what I thought.”

“I-I’m going to school,” you said, and you knew you had to leave. You couldn’t miss your flight, but you didn’t want to leave them--not like this. Why the fuck did they come? “I’m going to school, and when I’m at school, I’m going to be setting up my company. Once everything is settled, I’ll come back--or I’ll even bring you there with me, show you everything. I promise.”

“Why can’t you do that here?” Rindou demanded, taking a step closer to you, “Why the fuck do you have to go across the world to do that?”

“That-” That wasn’t your choice, that was your uncle’s, he was adamant about you going to a foreign university, and he was refusing to help you if you didn’t. And you had a feeling that he wanted you to go across the world to do it because he knew damn well that Rindou and Ran would be distractions. “My uncle-”

“Of course,” Rindou shook his head, there was a smile on his lips that didn’t meet his eyes, “Of fucking course.”

“Stop it,” you said, voice cracking, “I didn’t want this to happen-”

“This was your choice,” Rindou hissed, leaning in so close that it had you dizzy, “Your fucking choice, don’t talk about how you didn’t want this to happen. You chose this.”

“I don’t want to fight,” you said loudly, “I don’t want to fight, why can’t you just believe me when I say I’m doing what’s best? When have I ever-”

“Lied to us? A lot,” Rindou said dryly, and you flinched back.

“When have I ever let you guys down?” you finished quietly and the anger on Rindou’s face faded as he looked back at Ran again, “Please just trust me.”

Neither of them spoke, and you let out another shaky breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment to try to push away the tears. Did they not trust you anymore?

Could you blame them?

But then Rindou’s shoulders dropped, he looked away, and you knew he had given in and this time you couldn’t blink back the tears. You let your bag drop to the floor as you moved toward the two of them, burying your face in Rindou’s chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. Neither of them reacted for a moment until you felt Rindou’s hand come up to hold the back of your head, cradling it to his chest, and you bit back a sob as your arms tightened around his waist, trying to bask in his warmth for as long as you could. 

“You promise?” Ran’s voice was hoarse as he finally spoke. You nodded against Rindou but Ran only spoke up again, “Say it.”

“I promise,” you agreed, “I promise, I promise as soon as I can I’ll bring you there with me, I promise.”

Ran inhaled deeply through his nose before tugging you toward him and your arms dropped from Rindou as you flung yourself at Ran, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He pressed his face into your neck and you tried to ignore how his lashes were wet against your skin. 

“I’m going to miss you guys so much,” you took in a wet breath, body trembling, “So much, so much.”

You could stay there forever wrapped up in their arms--you didn’t care that people were around watching, you didn’t care that this would get back to your uncle and he would be irritated at your little display of emotion, all you cared about was them, and being with them, staying with them. 

You didn’t want to leave. 

“Flight 404 to Munich will begin boarding in twenty minutes.”

The words felt like knives scraping down your bones, dragging you right back to reality. Ran’s arms dropped from around your waist and your feet touched the ground again, standing in front of them. You wiped away the tears as best as you could.

“You’ll call?” Rindou asked quietly, and you dragged your gaze up to meet his, catching the reluctance and the longing thinly veiled beneath his eyes.

“Every day,” you promised, nodding frantically, “Every day.”

“... and you won’t forget about us?” there was something vulnerable in Ran’s voice that you had never quite heard before from him, even with all the years you spent with them. You looked up at him, violet eyes meeting yours, and you shook your head.

“Never,” you said, “Never in a million years. I could never forget about you guys.”

He let out a breath that you didn’t even notice he was holding, nodding his head toward security. “You better go,” he said quietly, “Still gotta get through security.”

And you knew you had to, but you couldn’t get your feet to cooperate, they felt glued to the ground in front of them. “I-I’ll call you while we’re boarding. And when I land. And when I get to campus. And-”

“We get it,” Ran’s lips pulled up into a small smile for the first time in days, weeks maybe. “Go.”

Your fingers trembled at your side, you wrapped your arms around your torso, “I love you guys,” you said, “It’s gonna suck without you.”

Ran glanced back down at the ground.

“We love you too,” Rindou murmured, a strange tone to his voice, “you’ve gotta go. You’re going to miss your flight.”

You nodded, you knew he was right, and it took all your will power to turn around and pick up the bag you dropped. You stood there for a moment, facing the short line to security. And you debated turning back around, taking one last look.

You won’t leave. You knew if you turned around you’d see them standing there, and you knew it was only a matter of time before that strong facade the two of them put up would crumble, and you knew if you saw you wouldn’t be going anywhere, you’d run right back into their arms. 

You shut your eyes briefly before walking toward security, trying your best to take even breaths in and out, trying your best to keep your shoulders from shaking. 

One foot in front of the other, you got this, you thought to yourself as you placed your bag on top of the baggage scanner. You stood there for a moment, lost in your own thoughts until the airport security called out to you sharply, waving you over to the metal detector. 

One foot in front of the other. 

You were doing what was best. 

This was only temporary.

But you couldn’t stop the dark, heavy feeling from settling over you with each step you took away from them. A sort of foreboding feeling that made you think that things would not be as simple as you wanted them to be.

---

PRESENT.  

Relentless. They were absolutely relentless and you could not keep up. Even having expected this from them, it still didn’t prepare you for actually trying to deal with them. They barely even gave you time to speak--one of them would lean in close and ask a question, and the other would hop on top of it to badger you with even more.

“Aw, that’s so adorable, you’ve liked us for that long?”

“Who did you like first? I bet it was me.”

“It was Rindou, wasn’t it? I caught you drooling over him once.”  

“No shit, did you really?”

“He did not-”

“I did, do you remember that night we dragged her to Maharaja?”

“Ran-”

“Really? That night?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you ever had dreamt about us?”

You shot Ran a weird look, "Of course I've dreamt about you guys," you said, not entirely sure of what he was getting out, "Don't be stupid."

"No, no," Rindou snorted behind you as Ran spoke. "That's not what I meant."

You stared ahead blankly for a moment, trying to figure out what the question hidden behind his words was, and as soon as it hit you, you swore you wanted to sink into the bed and disappear--the two of them laughing once they realized you had put it together.

You felt like you were on fire as you turned your head to the side to look at Ran, not sure you had heard him correctly, which was evidently a mistake considering how close he was leaning to you. Your breath caught as you tried to lean back away from him but his eyes were alight with a sort of mischief that you hadn’t seen in years as he followed you, unperturbed, only leaning in closer.

His lips were barely a hair’s width from yours and you couldn’t breathe, and you couldn’t move any further back because you had scrambled right back into Rindou, who wrapped an arm loosely around your waist to hold you still. Your eyes flickered down to Ran’s lips, watching as they slowly curled up into a smile that had your blood running hot.

“We’re just curious,” Rindou murmured, and a shiver shot down your spine when his lips brushed your ear, “C’mon, the least you can do is entertain us, yeah?”

And you really stuck between a rock and a hard place because of course you had, you couldn’t control what you dreamt of at night and you had been attracted to them--if you lied, they would know anyway because you knew damn well they’d be able to read right through you. And that would only make it worse on you for trying to hide it from them.

Why were they like this? You wanted to grab them both by the shoulders and shake them, rattle their tiny brains inside their head until they see sense. Now was not the time to be fucking around, now was not the time to be trying to get you flustered and unfooted but you knew from the way they kept sharing looks with each other that they wouldn’t listen. 

“Should we take the silence as a yes, Rindou?” Ran almost giggled as he tilted his head to the side, letting his lips graze your jaw.

“If she’s not gonna admit it, I say we just leave her like this.” Your head snapped to the side at Rindou’s words, eyes meeting his. He raised his eyebrows mockingly, “What? You don’t want that?”

Ran snickered and your breath caught as his lips finally pressed firmly against the underside of your jaw, lips dragging down your neck--slow, wet, heavy--it felt like he was leaving a trail of burns in his wake with each kiss and you just couldn’t think straight. They should not have this much of an effect over you, it was just Rindou and Ran but as you tried to shake your head and tell them just how ridiculous they were being, Rindou’s hands slid down your body, the pads of his fingers pressing against your inner thigh, nudging your thighs apart. 

“Rindou-” you gasped, looking back at him again but you faltered when you noticed the grin on his lips and the way his eyes were lit up. “We shouldn’t, not now-”

You felt Ran’s hand come up to your face as he pulled away from your neck, cupping your cheek softly and forcing you to look at him. His face was more serious than it was previously, and you couldn’t help but hesitate. 

“Relax,” he murmured. “You’re right, and we know we’re not safe yet, but we are right now, even if not for long. This might be our only chance.”

You swallowed thickly, “Don’t say that,” you said quietly, “There’ll be plenty-”

“You know as well as we do that there are no assurances in our line of work, especially in situations like this. For all we know tomorrow we’ll be back on the run,” and your throat felt dry because you knew Ran was right. “We’ve gotta take advantage of moments like this.”

Rindou and Ran shared a look over your shoulder, and you shut your eyes, trying to figure out what to do. You wanted them you’ve always fucking wanted them, but you were scared. And you weren’t even sure why you were scared. They wanted you, you wanted them, it’s something that all of you had wanted for so fucking long and Ran was right, your futures were still uncertain--tonight you were safe, tomorrow might not bring the same assurances. 

With that thought in mind and shaky fingers, you leaned in to press your lips against Ran’s again. Ran let out a surprised hum against yours as if he hadn’t been expecting you to give in that easy, hand sliding down to cup your neck, fingers intertwined with your hair. You brought your own hand down to where Rindou’s was resting on your thigh, moving it back to where it had been on your inner thigh.

Your hands slid up to rest on Ran’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he pressed closer to you, tongue darting out to swipe against your bottom lip. Your lips parted on instinct for him, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, pressing down on yours.

You let out a soft moan into his mouth as Rindou’s fingers slipped down even further, pressing against your clothed cunt before you felt him grab your hips, smiling against your neck. 

“Ran,” he said, and Ran pulled back and you tried to follow him but you faltered, yelping as Rindou lifted your hips off the bed, giving Ran the room to slide your pants off your body before placing you back down on the bed between his legs. You tried to snap your thighs together but Rindou’s hands were back on your thighs in an instant, keeping them spread open. 

“Rin,” you said sharply, eyes wide.

“Relax,” Rindou echoed Ran’s words, and your breath caught as Ran dipped down lower between your legs, soft strands of hair brushing your inner thighs. “Hurry up or we’re switching places.”

“Shut up,” Ran murmured, “wanna take my time with her.”

You swore your heart was in your throat as you watched him, nose grazing the thin cloth of your panties as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, Rindou’s fingers digging into your skin to keep you in place. 

“Yeah, well, I want a taste too,” Rindou’s voice was irritated, muffled against your skin.

Ran rolled his eyes, “You’ll get your taste, stop bitchin’.”

They spoke to each other as if you weren’t there and it was pissing you off but every time you tried to move, or say something, Rindou’s grip would just tighten and they would speak over you. 

“Stop fucking around,” you snapped, getting fed up. 

Ran and Rindou both went quiet, Ran looked up at you through his lashes, violet eyes dark and lidded, “You’re so impatient,” he chided. “... Have half a mind not to give you what you want.”

Your scowl deepened, “Then don’t,” you challenged, staring down at Ran, who met your gaze, eyes just as heated as yours were. 

After a moment, he scoffed, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek before he shook his head, letting out a huff of laughter. “You’re a piece of work,” he muttered before his jaw clenched tight as he all but ripped your panties down off your legs.

Your eyes shot open in surprise, instinctively trying to shut your legs again but Rindou was once again prying them open and his grip was too strong for you to try to fight against it. Your face was hot in embarrassment as Ran eyed your now bare cunt intently, as if trying to figure out what exactly he wanted to do.

“Ran,” your voice was weaker now, it edged on pleading. You hated it. “Stop lookin’ at me like that.”

“I’ll look at you however I want to, thought you wanted me to stop fucking around,” Ran responded immediately, not drawing his eyes up in the slightest. “You’ve got the prettiest pussy, I knew you would. Imagined it all the time.”

Rindou rested his chin on your shoulder, looking down to watch as Ran’s fingers brushed your cunt, gathering some slick before rubbing a feather-light circle over your clit. Your body shuddered in response to the touch, hips trying to jerk up against his hand.

Rindou hummed softly at the way your body reacted before one of his hands slid to your chin, turning your face to his to press his lips to yours. His hand shifted to your neck, holding it firmly as he deepened the kiss, teeth nearly clashing against yours. 

His kiss was different from Ran’s--a bit rougher but just as intense, one of your hands came up to grasp the wrist of the hand wrapped around your neck. His grip tightened as you tried to pull back to breathe, keeping you in place. You felt dizzy, and you weren’t sure if it was because you weren’t getting any air to your lungs or if it were just because of the situation. 

Maybe both, you realized, inhaling sharply as Ran finally ducked his head down between your legs. You tensed, whimpering against Rindou’s lips as Ran licked a long stripe between your folds, the tip of his tongue swirling around your clit before he pulled back again.

“Taste as good as I imagined too,” you could practically hear the wolfish grin on his face as he spoke before he dove right back between your legs, large hands curling around your thighs to keep your legs spread as Rindou let go of your other leg, letting his hand slide up your body beneath your shirt, palming one of your breasts in his hand as his lips left yours to start trailing down your neck.

Your jaw went half-slack as Ran buried his face in your cunt, nose nudging your clit as he dragged his tongue along your slit. Your free hand flew to your mouth, trying to hold back the cry that almost escaped your lips but Ran let go of one of your thighs to grab your wrist, pinning it down to the bed next to you.

Your hips instinctively tried to grind up against his face, thighs squeezing his head, but Ran brought his forearm down on your lower stomach in response, pinning your hips from moving.

“Don’t hide from us,” Rindou murmured against your skin, and your eyes fluttered shut as his teeth grazed your skin before he bit down, pulling a moan from your throat. “Gonna make you feel good.”

A broken gasp escaped your lips as Ran let out a low groan against your cunt, your eyes shot open as you tried to calm your erratic breathing. Ran was undeterred even as you tried to squirm away again, the pleasure hitting you too hard and too fast for you to control--he pressed his face deeper into your cunt, tongue tracing circles between your folds, flicking over your clit, fucking in and out of you. Through a hazy gaze, you could see the way he was trying to grind his hips against the mattress, desperate for any sort of friction. Rindou’s fingers were pinching gently at your nipples, teeth carelessly biting down against your skin but you could only focus on the rising heat pooling in your lower stomach.

“Ran,” you sobbed--you felt overwhelmed already, you wondered if this was how people felt when they teamed up on their enemies together. They were moving too fast for you to keep up, their hands were everywhere, playing with your body like it was some sort of instrument that only they knew how to play. Your head felt fuzzy and your body was shaking, “Ran, I-”

Rindou bit down again. Hard this time. Your eyes knocked back white for a second, a sharp cry escaping your lips. 

“Pay attention to me,” Rindou said so coldly that it had you reeling, but you couldn’t concentrate with the feeling of Ran between your thighs, playing with your clit with his tongue, the wet, sloppy sounds of him tongue fucking your cunt was all that was running through your head. Rindou’s words went in one ear, out the other and it only made him even more angry. “I said-”

Ran’s teeth grazed your clit as Rindou spoke, and you were sure that he did it on purpose if the huff of laughter he let out was anything to say about it as another loud, high-pitch moan of his name resounded through the room. You reached down with one hand to tug at the short, purple strands of hair--you weren’t sure if you were trying to pull him off or press him closer. 

Everything felt hazy and foggy, you couldn’t tell whose hands were whose, you couldn’t tell what Rindou was saying but you knew he was getting more and more annoyed with each passing second, your vision was blurred with tears and your head felt hot. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and you knew you should be embarrassed by how your moans were becoming increasingly loud, by how your body strained against Ran’s arm, grinding up against his face as you pushed him down even more with your hand, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Ran’s tongue worked like magic, quick and efficient movements that had you getting pushed to the brink too, too fast. Heat shot through your abdomen, your thighs tensed around his head. You could get addicted, you were sure of it, eyes rolling back as he sucked your clit into his mouth. 

“I’m ‘nna cum,” you cried, “Ran, Ran-“

Rindou’s grip on your waist was borderline painful as your back arched against his chest, body spasming as one last swirl of his tongue around your clit had you spiraling right over the edge. Your thighs tightened around Ran’s head, letting out a loud, shaky cry of his name as you came all over his tongue, body trembling in Rindou’s arms.

You gasped for breath, head spinning as you tried to recover but Rindou did not give you the chance. He hauled you up, forcing you to your hands and knees. Your arms were too shaky to hold yourself up, chest falling flat against the mattress. You turned your head to the side as best as you could, trying to look back at Rindou but he fisted your hair hard, pressing your face back down into the mattress.

“Don’t be so rough with her. It’s not her fault that she couldn’t focus on you. Maybe you should’ve done more,” Ran chided, though he sounded amused as slapped Rindou’s hand off of your head. You felt his hands cup your chin, lifting your face up far more gently than Rindou’s grip had been. His fingers stroked your cheekbone for a moment, and you couldn’t help the way you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. “You pissed him off,” he murmured, “You know how he gets when he doesn’t get attention--he’s always been sensitive about it.”

“Fuck you, Ran.”

“Huh?” was all you could say as you forced your eyes back open to look at him, brows furrowed as you tried to process what he said but you still felt half-out of it. “R-”

Your voice faltered when you felt the tip of Rindou’s cock nudge against your entrance, a whimper muffled at your lips as he slowly began to push in, your head fell limp again, face resting in Ran’s lap. 

“Oh god,” you gasped. Rindou was big, bigger than anyone else you’d ever slept with, you could feel every inch of him molding your walls. He stretched you out in a way that you’d never been before, your walls burned with each inch he pushed inside you, and you couldn’t tell if it was a sort of burn that hurt or if it was a pleasant one. Your body trembled violently as you tried to adjust to his size. “Oh god, Rin, gimme a sec, gim-”

Rindou did not, in fact, give you a second, and you were sure he did it just to be spiteful, hips snapping against your ass to bury his cock as deep inside you as possible. Your lips parted in a silent cry, face pressed against Ran’s sweats as he stroked your hair gently, as if trying to soothe you. 

You took in a ragged breath, body tense, fingers curling around the sheets as you tried to adjust to his size but Rindou once again did not give you the chance, already drawing his hips back to drive his cock into you. The moan that left your lips was absolutely obscene, nails ripping through the thin sheets, sobbing against Ran. 

He fucked you at a pace that shouldn’t have been possible. Your fingers shook around the sheets, chest heaving but every heavy thrust stole all of the breath from your lungs, each in-and-out of his cock had you reeling, barely able to think straight. Rindou’s fingers dug into your hips, dragging you back to meet every thrust as he fucked you onto him, hitting inside you so deep that you swore it had your vision spotty. You think you’ve cum already, but you aren’t even sure--it certainly felt like you did, your body was shaking in the aftershocks of what seemed to have been an orgasm but you didn’t even remember the build up to it, you didn’t even remember finishing again. 

You tried to look up at Ran, eyes teary, but his gaze were dark and lidded as he watched you, an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite decipher before Rindou was shifting positions.

His hand moved up from your waist to your hair, pulling you up hard and you winced, dizzy, mind numb. His hand dropped from your hair to curl around your neck to hold you up, back pressed against his chest. He didn’t falter in his pace once, hips snapping against yours, the lewd sound of skin slapping on skin, the sloppy sound of his cock bullying deep in your cunt ringing in your ears. Filthy, it was all filthy, you should be embarrassed by the noises escaping your lips, by the way your body was reacting to Rindou, by the way you kept begging for more when he was already giving you all he had. 

He turned your head to the side and pressed his lips against yours, tongues sliding against each others’, teeth clashing. His other hand slid down your body, rubbing circles on your clit, and the moans you were letting out into his mouth were becoming louder, needier, your blood was running hot and your head felt light.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, god, love you s’much,” Rindou groaned against your lips, “C’mon, wanna feel you cum on my cock again.”

And those words were all you needed to send you spiraling again, crying out loud against his lips, body thrashing against his as he held you in place, continued playing with your clit, fucking you through your high. You felt him pull away, leaning his head back to let out a low moan when your walls squeezed and fluttered around him. 

You could feel his hips stutter against yours as your body went limp in his hold, slumping forward, only held up by the hand wrapped around your neck and the other went still rubbing slow circles over your clit. Ran was saying something to Rindou as he spilled his cum deep inside you, filling you up so full that his cum was leaking out of your cunt even with his cock plugging you up. 

You fell unmoving against the bed when Rindou groaned and pulled out of you. Your body shuddered, thighs shaking and cum pooling beneath you as it spilled out of you, making a mess on the bed beneath you. You tried to steady your breath, gather the strength to push up from the puddle of cum to retain some sort of control but you couldn’t find the strength in your limbs to do it. Your arms and legs felt like noodles, your mind wasn’t even fully there. 

“C’mon now,” you heard Ran murmur distantly. “Don’t tap out on us yet.”

You felt an arm wrap around your bicep and in one swift motion, you were pulled on top of Ran. You were unsteady and weak, barely able to hold yourself up but you didn’t need to--instead, two strong hands grabbed you by the waist, holding you up right.

Your vision was dizzy as you looked down at him, his lips crawled up into a slow smirk as he looked up at you through his lashes. You let out a whimper when you felt his cock slide between your folds, slipping against the mess Rindou made of your pussy, lips parting as his tip caught your clit, pressing softly against it.

“Want you to ride me,” Ran said quietly. “Can you do that for me, pretty?”

You felt hot at the pet name and you tried to focus on what he was asking you. Want you to ride me, he had said and you took in a shaky breath, hesitant because you weren’t sure if you could handle another orgasm. Your head and body felt fuzzy, as if you were on the verge of passing out, pins and needles pricking your limbs, breath heavy and slow. They had made you cum too many times, too quick and Ran wanted more. 

“I-I dunn-” you began but, much like his brother, Ran didn’t give you the chance to answer his question, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance.

“She can take it,” Rindou said, and your eyes were wide as you looked back at him, lips parted to try to snap something at him but whatever words were on your lips died as Ran bucked his hips up, pushing his cock inside of you.

You tried to do as he asked--thighs tense and trembling as you attempted to rock your hips against his, fuck yourself on his cock, but you were slow. It was too slow for you and evidently too slow for Ran if the sharp click of his tongue had anything to say about it. 

His hands came to your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as he took over, too impatient to let you take your pace.

You couldn’t do anything but let Ran do what he wanted, limp and unable to fight back even if you wanted to--almost like a doll for him to use for whatever he wants. Your moans cut off as he bounced you easily on his cock, biceps flexing with each movement--he was longer than Rindou, hitting impossibly deeper, but not as thick. And you knew in the back of your head that you shouldn’t be doing this with him, you could see all the bruises marring his chest and abdomen and you opened your mouth to tell him that but the only thing that escaped your lips was another set of slurred moans.

Your vision was rather blurred and spotty--a part of you wondered again if you were on the verge of passing out because it was really starting to feel like it. Ran didn’t seem to be in pain, head tossed back, lips parted, violet eyes rolled back as he fucked you hard, hips snapping up to meet you with every bounce. Grip tight, borderline painful but the pain didn’t even register, too lost in the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, still reeling from the three? four? orgasms that you’d already had, the ones that the two of them didn’t even give you a chance to recover from before they were pushing you toward your next.

Your hands were curled weakly around Ran’s forearms, nails scratching at his skin. You were going to cum again, you could feel this one coming fast and strong, you could feel the way your body felt like it was on fire, you could feel the way your body was shaking, the way your vision was going in and out, you could feel the tears spilling down your cheeks, the breathy, gasps of his name--little more than slurred babbles that only spurred him on even more, fucking you harder, faster, moaning your name louder.

You tried to warn him but the high came faster than you expected, mind going blank, vision going white and then dark. You weren’t sure how long you were out of it, everything felt dull and muted except for the feeling of Ran’s cock pistoning in and out of you as he used your body to chase his own release, head lolled to the side, eyes rolled back, jaw slack and you could feel the drool pooling at the corner of your lips as he just kept going, ignoring how you were barely even conscious in his hold to get himself off.

It could have been two minutes, it could have been twenty before you were being laid back on the bed, both Rindou and Ran’s cum leaking out of you profusely, body uncooperative as you tried to move and get yourself comfortable. You weren’t sure how many more times you had cum--too many considering you couldn’t even respond to the soft words they were telling you, your tongue too heavy in your mouth to even think of it.

You barely understood half of what they were saying and if it had been anybody else you were with, you knew you would have been anxious, scared. You hated being put in vulnerable positions--you always had, and that only amplified once you had gotten involved with the shadier side of the world.

You could feel Rindou curled at your side, lips pressed to your temple, while Ran wrapped his arm around your waist. “I love you,” he murmured, and you tried to say it back but the only thing you could let out was an unintelligible babble that had Ran snorting in amusement. You felt a distinct urge to slap him but couldn't raise your hand up from your side. “Go to sleep.”

Your eyes drooped shut at his words, body and mind exhausted and content, happy, in a way that you hadn't been in a long time... in a way that you weren't sure you had ever been, if you were being honest.

You had never had them as wholly and completely as you did in that moment, and it was something you never wanted to end. But as you drifted off to sleep in their arms, you couldn't help the dreadful feeling that began to stir in your stomach as you thought of what the next few days might bring.

----

You woke up tangled up in the sheets with Ran, the blinds had been pulled open--surely by Rindou, who didn’t want to wait hours for the two of you to finally wake up. You scowled as you tried to disentangle yourself from Ran without waking him up, knowing that he needed the rest. 

Your body felt sore and your face felt hot as you recalled what you had done last night with them but you forced yourself to shake your head, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead before stealing his shirt and slipping it on, making your way out of the room toward the kitchen.

You could smell something cooking in there--eggs, you realized and you smiled lightly to yourself when you caught sight of Rindou at the stove, phone pressed to his ear as he spoke to someone on the phone. You leaned against the wall, watching him absently flip the egg, gaze trailing down his chest, following his tattoos until they disappeared beneath his sweats.

“... are you sure? Keep checking in at some of the other safehouses before talking to anyone else, especially-” Rindou cut himself off, finally noticing you. He gave you a small smile before speaking again, “Never mind, I’ll talk to you later.”

Rindou hung up the phone and placed it down on the counter, you made your way over to him, “What was that all about?” you asked quietly, arms slipping around his waist, chin propped up on his chest to look up at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responded, ducking his head down to press his lips against yours briefly, “Ran’s still sleeping?” 

“What do you think?” you asked dryly, wondering if you should push or not--but you knew Rindou never liked it and you weren’t sure you wanted to deal with an argument. 

Rindou rolled his eyes, “Of course he is,” he muttered as he plated one of the eggs and passed it over to you before grabbing one for himself. The two of you walked over to the counter, sitting on one of the stools. His gaze drifted over you, watching as you ate a forkful of the eggs. You looked at him suspiciously.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said quietly, “If you had told me a few weeks ago we’d be here…” he trailed off, shaking his head, and guilt pooled in your stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him, gaze dropping down to the ground. 

“I know,” he responded and you let out a breath, your chest tight. You knew you didn’t deserve it, but you hoped one day they would forgive you.

The two of you ate in silence for a few moments after that until Rindou finally spoke up again, “How did you even get Ran out of there?” 

“Hanma Shuji,” you said, mind drifting back to the gold-eyed man, wondering what exactly he was up to right now. “His men were supposed to be watching him, he called them off and gave me the time I needed to get Ran out of there.”

Rindou looked surprised, “Hanma?” his brows were furrowed deep in suspicion, “Why? Ran and Hanma hated each other in Tenjiku. Or, Ran hated Hanma at least, and didn’t try to hide it.”

“Really?” you asked curiously, “Why?” You thought about what he said a little more. “Hanma was in Tenjiku with you guys?”

Rindou made a quiet noise of agreement as he took another bite of his eggs. “Yeah, never saw him again after that fight though,” he said, “and I’m not sure. Ran never really got into it, he just said that he had weird vibes and it made him uncomfortable. Ran’s always been pretty good at reading people, so I just went along with it.” 

You frowned, “Weird, I never got off vibes from him. He’s helped me a lot. Saved my life at the auction, he shielded me from the explosion.”

Rindou grinned and nudged you, “You also suck at reading people,” he teased.

You gaped, “I totally do not,” you said, offended, “I-”

You faltered when you remembered what happened after the Munich Incident, with your bodyguard--a phantom pain itched at your back, you slumped, eyeing Rindou, incredibly annoyed. 

“He helped me a lot, when he didn’t have to,” you told him, “I’d trust him if it came down to it.”

Rindou eyed you for a second before nodding, “Okay,” he said, “I trust you.”

Your breath caught at his words--the truth behind them, the way he said it so firmly. You pressed your lips together tight, trying to hide the tremble as you reached down and grabbed his free hand, squeezing it gently. He noticed how much the three words affected you if the soft look on his face had anything to say about it, and he only let out a breath before leaning in and pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“It’ll probably be a week or two before things calm down enough for us all to get out of here,” Rindou said. “We should keep low. Ran and I’ll avoid going to any meetings if Mikey calls them, but I don’t know how long we’ll be able to do that. I checked around the safehouse, this place is stocked to last a while so we won’t need to go out and get anything.”

You let out a sigh, “I hate being cooped up,” you murmured, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

You could practically hear the leer in his voice as he spoke, “Mmm, I dunno, I think I’ll enjoy it, gonna get to make good use of that pretty pussy after you deprived us of it for so long.”

You gasped, jabbing his abdomen with your fingers but he didn’t even flinch, snickering to himself as he rose to his feet, picking up both of your plates to bring them over to the sink. You rested your chin on your hand, elbow propped up on the table as you watched him clean the dishes.

“Why didn’t you guys say anything back then?” you asked quietly, watching as Rindou looked back at you over his shoulder. You tried to ignore the way the muscles on his back flexed at the motion. Tried.

“Why didn’t you?” Rindou countered.

Your eyes drew away from him toward a window, a heavy feeling settling over you as you remembered what exactly your mental state was like before you left for Munich. 

“You know why,” you said quietly, avoiding his gaze. 

Rindou let out a breath, shutting off the water and placing the dishes on the drying rack. He stepped around the kitchen to stand in front of you again. He cradled your head to his chest, your eyes fluttered shut as he scratched the back of your head gently, lulling your eyes shut. 

“Ran wanted me to say something,” Rindou said after a moment, and you lifted your head from his chest to look up at him questioningly. Why didn’t you? was on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t need to voice it, “I knew Ran loved you. I couldn’t.”

“Oh,” you said softly, wondering just how oblivious you had been to both of their feelings. You swallowed thickly, looking away, trying to change the subject, “Um, what do you wanna do? We can-”

“I can think of a few things,” Rindou winked at you, and you rolled your eyes, pushing him back to rise to your feet.

“You’re unbearable,” you muttered.

“You love it,” he shot right back.

“Don’t remind me.”

A smile spread across his lips at your words, nudging you gently with his shoulder, “Movie?” he asked quietly. “Before Ran wakes up and starts whining about food?”

“Sure,” you said after a moment, “What movie?”

You waited for him to offer a movie, but he didn’t. The two of you stood there in silence for a few seconds. Just as he opened his mouth to suggest a movie, you did too.

“The Conjuring?”

“Star Wars?”

Both of you went silent again, expressions going flat as you stared at each other.

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“No way in hell.”

Rindou’s brows furrowed, “It’s my turn to pick,” he snapped, “You made us watch the fucking Exorcist the last time we watched a movie together. I had nightmares for two weeks straight.”

“I don’t give a shit if it’s your turn,” you snapped right back, as relentless as ever, “I’m not watching the Empire Strikes Back for the fiftieth fucking time, Rindou.”

“It’s a good fucking movie,” Rindou responded heatedly, “You don’t even pay attention!” 

“Because I don’t like it! Maybe if you weren’t such a fuckin’ piss baby, you’d enjoy horror movies.”

“Hey! What the fuck did you just call me?” 

“What’re you? Deaf? I know you heard me."

“I’m putting on Star Wars.”

“No, you are not! Get back here, Rindou!” 

"Will you shut up? You're going to wake Ran up."

"Says you!"

—

wordcount: 6.7k

REBLOGS N FEEDBACK HIGHLY APPRECIATED

— pls do not nitpick tiny mistakes or whatever, i’d like feedback on plot/character development. this was the hardest chapter for me to write so far :')

filth teaches filth

warnings/tags: minors DNI, f. reader, DUB-CON, age gap (10 years), underage (for a time), unreliable narrator, depressed!reader but we never address it, oblivious!reader, naive!reader, icky!Gojo, freak!Megumi, Royal!AU, ward!reader, adoptive father!Suguru, pseudo-incestuous vibes, obsessive!Gojo, obsessive!Megumi, sexual deviancy, hinted somnophilia, isolation, murder, forced intimacy, these tags are not exhaustive. word count: tba summary: In the ten years you've been married to Gojo Satoru, you can count on one hand how many times you've seen him. With the end of the war, your dear husband has made his way back to your side, intent on winning your affections. Well, winning them is a formality. You're his wife. There's not much you can do to escape your fate.

if all goes well, the chapters should be relatively short (~500 - 2.5k words) and not necessarily in chronological order (this is subject to change bc...I am not a good planner lmfao). it's an AU that has been heavy on my mind <3

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divider by @/saradika

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

---

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

03 — MY COMPASS, MY TRANSPORT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It’s a truth. A deep, earnest one – and it’s the only option you have.

Without Graves, without your Shadows, you have nothing. No income, no family, no support. You're left with the clothes on your body and the shoes in which you stand, with no hope of finding your footing.

In the darkness, the only light shines from the headlights of the truck, and the red of the radio. It’s silenced, of course, but it serves as a beacon of something between you all.

“I don’t – I have no other choice,” you say, voice trembling. You would not break in front of them, but you could feel yourself cracking; porcelain underneath a harsh grip. Turning yourself so you’re completely facing the two, your expression turns desperate. “I want to help you both, and I want to save Phi– Graves.”

You correct yourself at the final moment, wary of your slip up.

“Save ‘im? From what? Feckin’ charges for war crimes? Getting his ass handed to ‘im?” Soap chokes out, incredulous, eyes wide where they meet yours. He winces when he moves forward too quick, straining his arm.

“He’s…” You look down at your hands, merely watching for a moment as they close into a fist and open again. Blood crusts underneath your fingernails. “He’s all I have. I’m sure he just needs a wake up call, someone to snap him out of it.”

“He tried to kill us,” Ghost speaks up, matter-of-fact, but quiet. As if at any moment, his words will wake up the entire city. If there were any civilians left in it, you supposed. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“...And I had to kill some of my men.”

It’s a confession of sin. Like poison on your tongue, yet at the same time, an anecdote to an evil in your veins. You’d killed your men. You’d… done that.

You still haven’t quite allowed yourself to realise it, not yet.

But if it’s enough to keep you alive right now, so be it. You hadn’t gotten this far just to give up over something as inconsequential as pride.

“Ye will tell us everything you know about ‘im. And’ll help us until we figure out what to do. We’re our own bosses now, Sweetheart,” Soap commands, that fucking nickname of his seeming to stick. You don’t dispute it – not right now, not when this is quite literally life or death.

“I promise,” you say, resolute and stern. There was no time for self-pity or wallowing, only time for action and conviction – something you had in spades. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

You hadn’t known how true those words would be – not then, and not for a good while. But they were a prophecy, if such a thing could at all be possible for a woman like you.

Soap and Ghost share a look; a brief, yet important one, before Ghost gives the Scot a short nod. Soap turns once more to you, his face betraying the answer of their silent agreement.

“...So?” You suggest, impatient considering the consequences of the next few moments. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke at his stubbled chin, Soap makes an act of pretending to ponder – and it succeeds in stoking the flames at your core, fury burning through you like a liquor-soaked rope.

“I dunno, lass,” he says on a sigh, his ocean eyes betraying a mischief in their depths. “Yer kinda mean to me.”

You might choke him.

Actually, check that, you will choke him. He’s impossible – an arsehole to the nth degree – somehow worse than Ghost in his… foolishness? Was that the right word? Or just straight frustrating-ness?

Seeming to sense your thinning patience, Soap’s hand falls from his jaw with a mirthful smirk, proud of himself. 

“If ye say pretty please, ye can join our lil’ duo.” He finishes the statement off with a wink, and you don’t realise that your hands have curled into fists until the sharp pain of nails digging into your palms force you to resort back to your senses.

You let out a slow, loud breath. 

Neither of them move a muscle, except for the twitch of Soap’s dimple. You hate that you recognise such a small movement, but you easily blame it on the fact that it’s a drilled-in mentality.

“...Please,” you acquiesce, however quiet. 

Ghost’s eyebrow raises. How you’re aware of that, considering his mask, is a props to him. 

“That’s not what he asked for.” His voice is a low, husky thing, and the title of guard dog suddenly doesn’t sound so incorrect.

With your teeth gritted and cheeks straining, you mutter out, “Pretty please.”

Soap’s responding smile is nothing short of beaming, and you almost immediately wish that you could take those words back. Was death really so bad? Would it even be a mercy, compared to deciding to share a threadbare camaraderie with these weirdos?

Too bad time control isn’t exactly a well-researched military weapon.

“Let’s go then,” Ghost slaps his gloved hand against the steering wheel, before looking one last time towards you with purpose, “Sweetheart.”

Soap laughs.

You get out and slam the door in his face.

“Och! You feckin’ bastard, lass,” you hear him screech, before the door opens once more and Soap hops out, fuming.

Turning away, you fall behind Ghost, and quickly take a look around at the vast, empty area that is barren suburbia. Not before responding, however.

“Next time you get shot, I’m not taking care of your ass,” you threaten. “And I’m giving the rest of my sweets to Mr. Melodramatic.”

Soap’s returning mock gasp is, in all fairness, pretty comedic. “You have more sweets? Gimme those and ye lovely bedside manners ‘nd I’ll get a cavity!”

Your returning glare could cut steel. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with bigger issues than a cavity.”

“I think ye are already the bigger issue,” Soap snaps back, but it’s not inherently malicious. It’s… borderline playful, and that sudden thought has you internally slapping yourself.

“Both of ya – quiet,” Ghost warns.

You both shut up immediately.

With wary steps, the three of you go to step up towards the front door, when Ghost swings out a hand, stopping the lot of you in your tracks. The night doesn’t allow for any of you to see well, but he must’ve picked up something that you hadn’t.

The thought is an immediately terrifying one.

“Pressure plates,” Soap murmurs under his breath, eyeing the square linoleum tile. “Nice catch, Lt.”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead motioning for you to follow him towards a glassless window. Gravel crunches underneath your light footfalls, easily heard in the deathly quiet, as you move to swing your leg over the access point and drop to the floor inside.

Landing with a soft thud, you go to unfurl from your crouching position, before a loud warning shout from Ghost has you freezing.

Flinching where you stand, your eyes dart to where Ghost has flung one of his daggers, the sharp metal splintering a wooden beam further into the dark room. Realising that Soap sits at your flank, you shift your gaze to spot a red light focused in on his forehead – between his eyes.

“¿Quien esta ahi?” An unfamiliar, accented voice calls out from behind the beam. You could slap yourself for being so careless, in not realising that someone else was in here before Ghost had saved your arses. 

“Rodolfo!” Soap calls out, relief flooding his tone as he rights his position, shoulders back.

A man peeks out from behind the wood, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before they soften at the sight of the two men behind you. “Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

Stepping out from around the beam, he reaches for Ghost’s dagger, pulling it away from where it had dug into the oak with undeniable ease. His appearance is striking, with a set jaw and gentle features – he’s quite pretty, but not at all in a way that you find yourself attracted to the man.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, accepting the knife back when the man – Rodolfo – hands it to him hilt-first.

“Good to see you, amigos,” Rodolfo smiles, before his appraisal sets on you, confusion sparking in his deep brown eyes. He looks to the two men at your side for an explanation, hesitant in the way he does so.

“This is…” Soap trails off, before coming to a realisation. “Feckin’ hell. I never even asked for yer name, Sweetheart.”

Rodolfo blinks. Once, twice, before his eyebrows furrow and his mouth settles into an uncomfortable grimace.

You shoot a glare Soap’s way, before gifting Rodolfo a polite, yet stilted, smile. Extending your hand, you give him your name, and then your official title.

“Colonel? Graves’ colonel?” Rodolfo repeats back, utterly taken aback by such an introduction. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, quickly hissing to Soap in unamused Spanish, “¿Has perdido la cabeza?”

“I saved his life,” you interrupt, before any verbal sparring begins. “And I’m on your team. I don’t agree with what Graves is doing – and I’m sorry for what he’s already done. But I want to help you. I swear.”

Rodolfo regards you for a moment, his internal walls still heavily locked in place. But he seems… softer, now, in a way. More understanding, maybe, less hesitant as he slowly appraises you, inspecting you under his critical analysis.

The silence stretches, before the soldier raises his hands placatingly, the left side of his mouth twitching into a smooth smirk. “No accusations from me, Corazón,” he reassures, the pet name sliding from his full lips like butter over warm toast.

“Aye, none of tha’,” Soap warns, and Rodolfo’s amusement deepens. Whatever the Scot is about to say next is abruptly stopped by Ghost’s booming demand from behind you both.

“Anyone outside of these walls is now considered a hostile – we’re a team now. This happened under my watch, and I’d bloody well do good to fix it.” His posture is stiff, hand unconsciously flexing around the blade strapped to his belt as he delivers the order. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one shot.

You figure he’s stopped speaking, when suddenly his heavy gaze is on you, any ounce of solidarity snuffed out like a match’s flame. “You fuck up once, Sweetheart, and I won’t hesitate when I shoot ya dead.”

It’s as good of a compromise as you’re going to get from the hulking Lieutenant, but you weren’t made Colonel for your talents in stepping down.

“You forget that I outrank you,” you challenge, chin raised and eyes flinty. “And that I saved your mutt.”

“We don’t have a feckin’ dog,” Soap starts, but when he sees the way Ghost side eyes him, and how you give him an unimpressed look, his jaw drops. “Ye bastard! Shoulda killed ya –”

Rodolfo’s hand wraps around Soap’s forearm, the grumbling man twisting in his hold, but not putting up anything close to a fight. “She’s just stirring you up, hermano,” Rodolfo placates, his large eyes meeting yours with a hint of respect in them. It has you straightening your spine, and your resolve.

“We sort this out as equals,” you state, folding your arms over your chest and bucking your hip. Ghost doesn’t, for a single second, shift your mutual eye contact. “And you will all tell me what the fuck’s going on – and what we’re doing.”

“Alejandro,” Ghost quips, sharp and to the point. Finally, you think, his near-black eyes drift to Rodolfo. “We need him back.”

“He’s the only other lad we can trust out there,” Soap adds, his pout easing slightly. Rodolfo finally drops his hand, clapping it hard against the petulant man’s shoulder with a firm nod.

“Already got a head start, hermanos,” he gestures for the three of you to follow him further into the room, before his calculating eyes glance back at you, “y hermana.”

It’s an unknown, entirely different feeling that erupts inside of your chest at the inclusion. Rodolfo was clearly the most soft spoken man of the three, but he had an intelligence to him that you couldn’t wait to unpack. And he trusted you. Or so you had gathered, anyway.

However.

First things first.

“...Where’s Alejandro? I thought he was Mexican Special Forces?” It was, admittedly, a unique kind of embarrassing – how out of the loop you felt, considering you were a colonel under Graves’ command. You’d heard the man’s name before, but it was usually just paired with barracks gossip and warnings to steer clear. Some joke about how the only one who could kill Alejandro, was the soldier himself.

Moving along with Rodolfo, you’re surprised when it’s Soap who supplies you the answer.

“Your fuckwit of a Commander’s got ‘im,” he curses, the words grating and harsh. Deserved, of course it was deserved, yet it was still odd hearing such disrespect for the man of whom you’d idolised for so long.

Of whom you’d given everything.

Switching a light on, Rodolfo stops in front of a large table, a map laid out across the top of it. Your eyes go wide at the intricacies – focusing as the man leans over and presses a finger towards a highlighted spot, watching the three of you where you stand on the other side. Dust floats near the source of the lamp, and the scent of grime hits you a moment later, a familiar thing.

“Graves is holding him here,” Rodolfo explains, his previously mischievous expression settling into a firm, military-grade frown.

“His own personal black site prison,” Soap scoffs, subconsciously flexing his fingers around the straps of his vest. His focus is utterly devoted to the map in front of him, but his anxiety shows itself through the tiniest of movements.

Rubbing his spare hand down his face, Rodolfo lets out a long, strewn-out sigh. “My men are locked in there, too.”

“Then let’s get them back,” you supply with a small shrug when all eyes shoot your direction.

“That’s obvious, lass,” Soap says, lacking any hint of his previous vitriol when he looks around the room. “How we get ‘em back is the question.”

“By breaking in,” Ghost answers, the retort as simple as breathing.

If you weren’t so receptive to body movements, to the smallest of expressions, you’d’ve missed it. Even then, you doubted that anyone could miss how Soap’s eyes soften when he looks to his Lieutenant, how his breath softly hitches in his throat.

You want to claw out your eyes with a rusty spoon.

By the look on Rodolfo’s face, he feels much the same – until he catches you staring, and then his face twists into something much more cryptic. Like a man trying to solve a puzzle without all of the pieces, being forced to jam spares into spots that just won’t fit.

“We need weapons,” you startle out, the words surprising even yourself. You don’t go back on them, don’t even think to. “If we want to stand a fighting chance – we need firepower.”

“Who said you’re with us?” Ghost questions snarkily, but when you go to reply, you find that Rodolfo’s moved to the corner of the room, switching on even more lights, displaying a wrought iron door.

Sliding it open, you feel like a kid on Christmas morning as you take note of the supplies within.

Rodolfo shrugs, but the small, smug grin on his face doesn’t dispel. “It’s well-stocked. This is Ale we’re talking about.”

The affectionate nickname is something you store away for later. ‘Well-stocked’ is certainly an understatement – guns of all types line the walls within the room, all types of bombs and grenades along with it.

“Alright,” Ghost huffs out, the closest to appreciative that a man like him can get.

Soap is much more upfront about his joy. “My man!” He laughs, his dimples etched into his features like the light spattering of freckles over his upper cheeks and nose bridge. “We’re gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armoured.”

Digging into his pocket, Rodolfo pulls out a set of keys, tossing them over to Ghost with relaxed shoulders. Turning, shock must be evident on all of you, because Rodolfo lets out a low chuckle. “Your wish is my command, hermanos y hermana.”

To the far end of the room, within the adjoined stables, is a fully-armoured forward drive of some sort – sleek and black and fucking perfect.

“Alejandro thought of everything,” Ghost admires, and when you look to him, you swear that you can see a hint of hope shining in his darkened eyes. Your heart skips a beat on its own accord, and you’re absorbed by the all-consuming want to pull it out of your chest with your bare hands, just so it never does such a thing again.

“Yeah, he did,” Soap whistles, before turning back around to face your small band of misfits. With a determined grin, he says as if it’s an afterthought, “Let’s go get ‘im.”

With a stern resolve and an even sterner disposition, you walk alongside your newfound teammates, and get ready for the most difficult mission of your military career.

*

When you’d, stupidly, recklessly, decided to play good guy and helps out the 141 and Los Vaqueros, you hadn’t taken into account how you’d be at the bottom of the totem pole.

While the three men you were working alongside were all considerably close, you were an outsider. At that, an outsider who had, only a few hours ago, decided to swap sides from enemy to ally.

Being paired with Ghost is, arguably, the most gut-wrenching job in your life. By the time that Rodolfo finds Alejandro through the CCTV system, you’re nearly entirely covered in dried blood, and your head thumps with a headache.

Not a headache from war – a headache from the fucking twat with a shitty DIY job for a military get-up.

“You’re seriously the worst,” you grit out, wiping off a bit of Shadow blood that’s been sprayed on your cheek. “I seriously can’t fucking believe that any one of your mates can tolerate you.”

“Who needs ‘mates’ when I have my boys?” Ghost quips back, wiping off his bloody dagger onto his vest, before slotting it back into its rightful position on his belt. His ability to blend into the night, even with the prison lights on, is uncanny – the only tell the white of his stitched-in skull.

You mock a disgusted sound, sticking out your tongue. “You sound like a fuckboy.”

“A what?” And, although it sounds nothing like a choke, you’re sure that it’s an instinctual question.

The sound of a helicopter up ahead has the two of you pausing in your tracks, feud coming to a quick halt. Looking up, you struggle to see the vehicle in the black of night, but you manage to spot the slowly circling heli above the prison.

“Ghost, Sweetheart, what’s yer status?” Soap’s voice trickles in through your comms. Ghost glances at you, before he answers on your behalf, ever the control-freak.

“Comin’ your way.”

Falling into step side-by-side, you focus on the wet gravel underneath your feet, avoiding making any communication with the man to your right.

“Copy. We’re on the move,” Soap replies, before Rodolfo cuts in.

“Heads up on the helo,” he warns. You find that you much prefer him over the other two – in fact, under any other circumstance, you could see the two of you becoming good friends. Maybe, if everything goes well, that could be a possibility – a positive in your world of negatives.

“Don’t think we’re in his line of sight,” you respond, double-checking your route and the helicopter's position in the sky. Rodolfo had warned you all, debriefing in the drive here, that helicopters would likely show up at some point.

Minutes pass, with small comms between the lot of you, when you finally spot the familiar figures belonging to the other half of your precarious team. 

Soap and Rodolfo stand at the entrance, before the two turn at the sound of your and Ghost’s footsteps. They both seem to visibly loosen their stiff shoulders, seeing you both uninjured – and if you do the same, you pray that no one notices.

“The door’s locked,” Soap informs you all, gesturing to the steel entrance5.

With a small hum, Rodolfo reaches for the pack on his vest. “We’ll need to breach it,” he explains, but before he can grab a charger, Ghost raises a hand to stop him.

“No, Rudy –” And that is a nickname that you’ll be using later, “Knock.”

Rodolfo seems apprehensive, but he agrees anyway, giving all three of you separate glances. “On me…”

All of you getting into readying positions, Rodolfo knocks on the door, the sound echoing loud enough to have your blood pounding in your ears.

A moment later, a Shadow – one you don’t recall having met – pushes open the door and moves to step outside. However, Rodolfo and Ghost are quick to neutralise him, softly dropping his body to the floor.

Pushing through the entrance, everyone except for you shoot a Shadow dead – clearing the room in less than twenty seconds. It’s impressive, how smoothly run the operation is, considering the lack of proper authority or guidance.

You’re the first to spot some more Shadows moving your way, down the stairs – calling it out. “More Shadows from the second floor – watch out!”

This time, you find yourself the cause of two men falling to the ground, blood pooling underneath their lifeless bodies. Your team doesn't give you time to second guess, to mourn, before they’re encouraging you to follow them up the stairs.

“Ale’s up here, let’s go!” Rodolfo urges, his voice bordering on a kind of desperation reminiscent of a boy enlisting for the first time.

Like expected, Alejandro’s cell is down the hall, sat to the far right. Two Shadows guard the steel door, but Soap and Rodolfo are quick to light them up, successfully clearing the entire two floors. You’re ashamed of how relieved you feel, being gifted the small mercies of not having to kill your previous subordinates, unless necessary.

You feel, more than see, Ghost’s heavy gaze on you. When you look back up from the gun in your hands, however, he’s turned completely away – and if you were a less accurate person, you’d have thought you were imagining things.

“There’s Alejandro’s cell.” Stopping at the steel door, Rodolfo adjusts his grip on the gun, before giving you an encouraging jerk of his head. “Open it up, me and Soap will cover you.”

Another small mercy, you think, as Ghost reaches into his backpack and pulls out a set of bolt cutters, regarding you stiffly. “When I pop this lock, you push in,” he directs you curtly, and you bite back a retort. You knew the process like the back of your hand – you had no need for an explanation.

The ‘especially from him’ goes unsaid.

With precise, practised movements, Ghost positions the bolt cutters, and pushes open the door.

As soon as you take one step into the cell, a large hand wraps around the back of your neck, slamming your face into the concrete wall, a blinding pain shooting through your retinas. Letting out a small yelp, your chest rattles as your hands wildly raise in an imitation of surrender.

“Alejandro! Let go of ‘er! It’s us!” Soap calls out, and you swallow unhealthy amounts of air. That hit had taken more out of you than you’d expected – and your harsh breaths were making that incredibly apparent.

The grip on the scruff of your neck slackens when Rodolfo shoots off in quickfire Spanish, “Coronel, relájate, cabron, somos nosotros.”

Your cheek aches and your head pounds as the hand removes itself entirely, allowing for you to take in lungfuls of oxygen.

“Soap, Ghost!” Alejandro bursts out, and as you rise to your feet unsteadily, you watch as he thumps both of them on the back of their shoulders, before turning to Rodolfo with an expression that could only be described as longing. “...Rudy.”

“Didn’t think we’d leave ya, did ye?” Soap chuckles, oblivious to the thread of tension between the two men. 

Whatever silent conversation had occured between the two enforcers is quickly cut as Alejandro accepts the shake of Soap’s hand, a feral grin wide on his features. “What took you so long, pendejos?”

“A traitor with an attitude is what,” Ghost inputs, and really, how much self control can a Lieutenant lack? Wiping at your cheek, you let your hand fall once more to your side as you meet Alejandro’s inquisitive gaze head-on.

“I’m Graves’ previous colonel,” you extend your hand, “And I’m your best bet at getting your base back.”

You expect suspicion, uproar, maybe – or at least questioning, similar to that of Rodolfo’s.

Instead, all you’re met with is Alejandro’s manic smile sharpening, and a slap on the back of your own. Ruffling your hair, he uses his free hand to accept the gun Rodolfo’s extending towards him, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Sounds good, hermana. Welcome to how real men fight.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re

Wow this was so so amazing 😫😫😫😫 i loved the parallel (?) of tae loving and wanting his cat and kook feeling that same exact way towards yn !!

Blessings

Ship: Yandere! Single Father! Jungkook x Reader

TW: obsessive behaviour, jk manipulates his son into believing reader is his mother :(, yandere behaviour, obsession, manipulative behaviour, manipulation, crying tae, extremely unhealthy relationships, terrible parenting, guilt tripping.

Based off this request: May I ask a Y!JK x reader where they are Cheetah hybrids and he’s a CEO but also a single father that is obsessed with reader but she always ignore him but then he kidnap her and makes his son believes that she’s his mother so she can’t leaves them cause she would feel guilty to break the child’s happiness? / from anon

A/N: hello everyone!! first thing, thank you so so much for all your support on the teaser? i can only hope this lives up to your excitement :) this isn’t a hybrid au, although the request asked for it. and also, happy holidays!! please remember to stay safe, stay hydrated, eat well, rest well, and remember that you are always loved <3

Word Count: 6.646k words :p

Taglist: @ephemerealkalon @kirbykook​ @snowyydayys​ @lovelyseomin​ @gucieguciekook​​ @kpopgirlbtssvt​​ @neoyugy​​ @opaljm​​ @saxpam24​ @born-slayer @anjcrbnll​ @infirebaby  @starscloser​ @ungodlyjoon​

ask y! single dad! jk or kid! tae anything! 

ask my other characters anything! 

| you’re the perfect person to complete their family |

“Daddy,”  a soft little voice floats from below, “look at my painting?”

Keep reading

kerosene

ghost x f!reader. 17k words. cw: noncon. kidnapping. gun violence. free use. smut. mentions of involuntary groinal responses lol. simon is a smug asshole and reader is into it you get robbed at gun point while working the lone register at a nowhere petrol station. the money in the till is not the only thing he takes with him. or [read on ao3]

Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, so they say. 

The devil should have been busy with you, then. Malignant boredom had taken root in you, rankled in every crevice and swell, metastasized like knobbly tumours that parasitised on your will to live until only the gritty alluvium was left. 

You began your shift behind the till at the Gulf station in the late afternoon, shy of four p.m., as you had done yesterday and as you would tomorrow. You took over from Mitchell, who worked the morning shift, the old man with a wiry grey beard and eyebrow hairs like corkscrews sticking haywire out of his forehead. You’d work until midnight, when you would be replaced by Charlie, a pinguid twenty-something with legs like beanpoles and eyes so sunken they were hollow as caves in his skull. 

They had been your co-workers for the better part of three years, yet they might as well have been strangers to you. The scant exchanges you would share with them were a few words at shift change, if that. Mitch would prattle on about some rude geezer and tell the same story about his ex-wife that he had every other week. Charlie, bedecked in his cheap headphones and carrying an egg sandwich cling-wrapped by his grandmother, would only give you a nod and ask been busy? with little attention paid to your answer. 

You had been offered the morning shift when you first started. 

The owner of the franchise station, Dave, was uneasy about the prospect of a ripe (his word) young woman working alone behind the register after dark, at a nowhere white-pole station in the sticks, where the only customers were long-haulers and on-the-way-home farmers. A just concern, you supposed, and a part of you had considered taking him up on his offer. 

You refused, in the end. 

Told him that someone like Mitch (frail, near-blind, on the cusp of Alzheimer’s) would far more likely be victimised by the ilk of patrons that trudged through the station. In your experience, anyway, most of the late-night customers that came through the push-door understood the implication of a burly old man being served by a young woman on her own. They’d tread more carefully, offer you kind smiles, sometimes mention their wives to make sure you understood they were not a threat to you. 

There was always the odd lecher, though. Goes without saying. 

The kinds of yellow-toothed men that would lean too far over the counter, talk to you like they knew you, overly familiar. The type to ask you to smile for them, or for a discount, or for your number. Ones that would joke about coming back, just to visit you. That would say you’re too pretty to be working in a dump like this, you should be in a bar instead. Maybe on a pole. Maybe in the passenger seat of their truck, to keep them company. 

It never frightened you, really, because nothing ever happened. You stuck with the late shift because it offered the fanciful possibility that something interesting might come to pass. Maybe, if you were lucky, there would be a car wreck outside the station, or a patron threatening enough to justify hitting the panic button, or a fire set off by the fuel pump and you’d finally be able to put the ten-year-old extinguisher to use. 

But you were confident that every shift would be the same, as always. 

Nothing would happen, you would drive home to your shoddy seventies cottage in the pit-stop hamlet of Dunhill, eat a frozen pastry, sleep alone, and do it all over again. Days came and went like empty boxes on a trundling conveyor belt, your life a deserted factory, only still whirring because the last attendant forgot to switch off the machinery when they left. 

Today was no different. 

You perused the grocery shelves with cheap earbuds stuffed in your ears, the kind with squishy mushroom plugs that made it sound like you were underwater. Shuffling through the same playlist you had been slowly adding to over the last year — you liked the songs you already knew every word to, creature of habit that you were. Busied yourself by twisting the canned foods so that their labels all faced outwards, then backwards, just for a laugh. 

It got to half-nine, the sun had long since set, and you had served one customer since your shift started. A middle-aged man with a muddy van, who bought three RedBulls and a pack of Chesterfields, and half a tank of diesel. He scarcely acknowledged you, a hi when he walked in and a cheers when he left. 

Your meal for the evening was a pack of Walkers salt and vinegar crisps and a bottle of chocolate milk, plucked from the shelves and not logged. Leaned back in the plastic chair behind the till with your Chucks propped up on the counter, some Sally Rooney book with its spine broken folded in half in your hand. 

You had milk in your mouth when you heard the characteristic thud of a closing car door, a harsher slam than you were used to. Attuned to the noise even while your ears were plugged. You swallowed it hard when you heard the chime of the bell, the swing of the door, the thuds of boots. New customer. 

Sat upright, you peered over the register to see who had entered the station, and you were flummoxed when there was nobody there. 

You grabbed your earbuds by the flimsy cord and tugged them from your ears with a pop — there were footsteps, someone was there, you weren’t crazy. You could hear the sound of provisions being swept from shelves and shoved into a bag, the bonking of cans and the crinkling of plastic. 

Only once you stood did you see the head above the shelves. 

Black hood up, you only saw the side of him as he wandered down the aisle, towering beast shuffling along and torpidly picking things up just to put them down again. A foot taller than the racks he meandered between. Wore a black leather bomber over his hooded sweater, well-worn hide, turned tawny brown in the creases and at the edges. All bulky, padded up. His shoulders swayed with the bravado of a gladiator who spent his life unchallenged.

Had you any remaining hospitality in your system you’d have greeted him, but you circumspectly held your tongue. 

There was something in his presence that did not augur well. Something crooked, something bent. Turned the tired air inside the station dyspneic, too dense and thick to comfortably breathe. 

Call it a woman’s intuition, if you believed in such a thing. 

Simon hadn’t accounted for a bird at the till. 

He’d have expected some ruddy-cheeked man with buck teeth and brown-bordered sweat stains on his shirt. The typical clerk at a shithole backroads petrol station, in his experience. They’d shoot him a grimy look, eye him up-and-down with a curl in their lip, all ruffian until he brandished the Sig Sauer he had tucked in the waistband of his jeans. 

That was what he had prepared for. He came to stick the gunmetal barrel in the face of the old bloke behind the register, demand every stack of cash from the till drawer and anything valuable he had on his person, maybe fire at the ceiling if he moved too slowly. Piece of cake. In and out. 

Instead, it was you. 

Sneakers propped up by the register, sucking the crisp dust off your fingers with pink lips. Reading a book as disinterestedly as you might watching paint dry. 

Unlucky for you, it didn’t make a difference that you had a pair of tits. He wanted that money. 

Your chary little head poked up from behind the counter once he was done collecting his supplies. A few cans of Baked Beans, couple bags of crisps, some vacuum-sealed biersticks. A roll of gauze and a bottle of Dettol for the flesh wound in his thigh. Pack of tissues. Bic lighter. KitKat for a treat. All shoved in the duffle bag he held in his fist, heavy with the wads of cash he had already collected from the last pit-stop on his trip north — an offy in a piss-stained back alley in Cheltenham. Grabbed a few pilsners for the road from there, too. 

He forsook his urgency as he approached the register, measured pace, duffle in hand. Eyeing you up with each step as if you were a candybar on a display rack. 

Pretty wee thing. 

He hadn’t even shown you his gun yet, and your eyes were already peeled wide, glistening in the bright fluorescent lights hanging overhead. 

None of the goods he intended to pay for. He didn’t need to make that any clearer to you, the assumption was already plastered on your face as he loomed towards you. Had his mask on, after all; thick black ski mask pulled over his head, jagged holes cut out for his eyes. No doubt that made quite plain his intentions. 

You stood pin straight, curling the purple cord of your earbuds between your fingers as if some attempt to ground yourself. Not a drop of makeup on, he could see the satin sheen of sweat on your forehead, the plum rings unconcealed under your eyes. Nobody to impress out here. Still pretty. 

“Um, which pump?” You asked flatly, tone meek, in denial of the obvious. 

Your stupefied stare followed his hand as it ventured to the base of his sweatshirt, a frown fluttering in your brows as you all but tilted your head in anxious confusion. He reeled up the heavy fleece, white t-shirt underneath — but that wasn’t what your eyes clung to. 

His hand curled around the grip of his handgun, plucking it out from the waistband and holding it insouciantly at his side. No need to point it at you, not yet. 

Your skin turned cadaver grey as your blood flooded to your feet, eyes bulging with the instantaneous panic that wracked you as though you had been smacked in the face with it. 

“Oh my god — ohm — oh my god,” you squeaked, tongue knotting in your mouth, tears quick to fill your kittenish eyes. “Oh my god — y-you—”

It was this, the histrionics, that he hoped to avoid. The tears, Christ, the fucking tears. There wasn’t anything to cry about, not yet, but your eyes glowed sanguine, and the tears that oozed from them were clear and glittery. Rolled dramatically from their wells and dripped from your chin, seeped into the corners of your trembling mouth. All flushed and glossy and he hadn’t even spoken yet. 

There was no blood-curdling outburst, though. You didn’t scream, didn’t wail, didn't scurry around hysterically like a decollated hen. You were stiff as a board, arms pinned flat to your sides. Merely whispered the Lord’s name in vain over and over as if he might answer your call. 

“Please — ohmygod — please don’t hurt me,” you cried, lungs seizing with every word, hiccuping and spluttering like you had just been pulled ashore. “What do you want, you can — you can take anything. P-please—”

“Shut up,” he barked, and you flinched at his aggression. “Just open the fuckin’ till.”

You nodded so vehemently he thought your head might roll off your shoulders, and your pallid hands began raking over your body in desperate search of the pocket you kept your keys in. His glare followed keenly as they ran over your hips, waist, unabashedly caressing your arse in the search. After finding them in a back pocket you tried to orient the keys in your grip, but your fingers trembled so vigorously that you immediately dropped them to the linoleum floor. 

“Fuck — I’m sorry,” you bleated as you bent down to pick them up, eyes still riveted to him, “I’m sorry, let me just — please, I’m sorry—”

He let out a grunt of exasperation as he marched around to the other side of the counter, your feet remained planted still as though you were bolted to the floor, leery eyes following him while your head kept rigid. 

A deer in headlights. Fawn, more like. Small and doe-eyed and too stupid to get out of his way. 

You only whimpered when he jostled you away from the till, physically driving you to the wall with his hands under your arms, clearing his path. He took your shaky little hand in a fist and peeled it open, plucking the keys from your sweaty palm. 

The register was old, something from the nineties, yellow-faded plastic with cube-clacky buttons. He shoved the tiny key into its slot on the drawer, gave it a good shimmy to loosen it up, and it popped open with a ding. 

Pretty much empty. 

“The fuck is this?” He growled, fingering through the notes in the drawer — all twenty-two of them. “There’s fuckin’ nothing in ‘ere!” 

Your face screwed up like a wrung cloth when his glare shot to you. Great gulping sobs, your eyes squeezed into fleshy little crescents and spewed tears from either corner, terror rilling from your nose and making your lips all wet. 

“I’m sorry — it’s not my — I think Mitch m-must have done the cash drop this morning,” you wailed, “Please — it’s not my f-f-fault!” 

“Shut up,” he snapped, jutting the mouth of his Sig Sauer at you, callously reminding you of the fate he held in his grip. 

He snarled to himself as he plucked out all of the notes, flipped through them to count it up. Nine fivers, six tenners, five twenties, two fifties. A few quid worth of coins floating around unorganised between the compartments. A prodigious spoil of three-hundred-and-five pounds. 

Fucking joke. 

He rancorously shoved all the paper in the bag — left the coins, ego too tall to fish out the petty change. 

“Piss take,” he grumbled as he slammed shut the till drawer. “What else y’got.” 

You blinked up at him timorously as he tucked his gun into his jeans and marched towards you, almost buckling over as though you could curl up into a shell to protect yourself from him. 

Only cried as he spread your arms, shamelessly smearing his hands over your body to feel for something in a pocket. Down your waist, stomach, hips; all pillowy under the pressure of his hands, soft even through your t-shirt. Prodded the undersides of your breasts with shameless fingers, checking for anything tucked in your bra, and your lips curled in disgust as you looked away from him. 

He almost cracked a smile at your diffidence. Maybe another time, pretty thing. 

He flipped you around, manhandling you until your nose pressed into the wall. Hands smoothed down your back, before finding something rectangular tucked into the tight pocket of your skinny jeans. You squeaked in dispute as he stuck his fingers in the pocket, flush with your arse, but he had no time to enjoy it. 

Little red wallet. 

He flicked through it — a visa debit card, expired Primark gift card, two quid in the zipped pocket and a tenner note folded in a card sleeve. Eyed your license for longer than necessary — cute little photo of you, a tiny smirk in your lips as you gazed at the camera. 

“Pretty name,” he said wryly, and you only huffed with your forehead pressed against the wall. 

He didn’t bother taking any of the change. Looked like you needed it as much as he did. You winced when he pushed a finger in your back pocket, tugging it open so he could shove your wallet back in. 

He instead returned his attention to the checkout, scouring the counters for anything else that could be deemed at all valuable. Nothing, obviously. Merely cardboard display racks of chewing gum and cheap candies. There was a cigarette cabinet behind the till, at least — after some fiddling he found the key on the chain that fit the lock, broke open the steel door, and swept an entire rack of cartons into the duffle bag. 

As a last resort, he dropped the bag and crouched down, wiped underneath the countertops with gloved hands, hoping for a vault, a hidden compartment, or—

His fingers brushed plastic, creasing and soft; something wrapped in film, taped to the underside of the counter. He tore it off with a zip, held it in a tight hand; a stack of notes, more than a centimetre thick, wrapped with a hair tie and shoved in a zip-seal sandwich bag. 

You let out a remorseful sob as you sunk to the floor with your back against the wall; thighs tucked to your chest, head dropped to your knees. 

A grin peeled his lips from his teeth as the realisation settled. “This yours?” 

“No,” you chirped, a pitiful attempt at a lie — he was unsure why you wouldn’t admit to it, it wasn’t as though he’d have informed your boss. 

“Skimming, eh?” He snorted, peeling open the yellow seam of the plastic pouch and fishing out the stack. Flipped through them — mostly tens and twenties — easily a couple grand, at the very least. 

“I just—” you sobbed, shoulders hunched, “I was just saving up. It doesn’t matter. Just t-take it.” 

“Saving?” He asked incredulously, voice thick with amused derision. “Little thief. No better than me, are ya?” 

“Whatever,” you bellyached, arms wrapped around your knees, snivelling on the floor. 

He sucked his teeth as he dumped the stack in his bag. Too bad. His now. 

As he went to stand, though, he went dead still — eyes hooked on a flashing blue light under the counter. Squinting, he leaned closer, to substantiate his hunch—

A fucking panic button. 

His rage burst like a purulent blister, apoplectic with it, he ripped his handgun from his jeans and steamed towards you. 

“You fuckin’ hit the alarm?” He roared, and you shrieked in terror as he took the collar of your t-shirt in a fist and heaved you up from the ground. 

“I — I’m — I didn’t—”

Your spluttering only enkindled his fury. You cried out in despairing dread when he shoved the mouth of his pistol into the soft flesh under your chin, and he held his teeth to your cheek. 

“Why the fuck would you go and do that, eh?” He growled, inexplicably disappointed. Thought you were smarter than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you bawled, shaking your head, wet eyes bolted to the ceiling. “I didn’t know what to do, I just — I thought I was s’posed to, I’m s-sorry. Please — god, please, don’t kill me.”

He huffed, jaw rigid. 

He wouldn’t put a bullet in you, pretty thing. Too lovely to mire with lead, that butter-soft skin. 

It was a shame you were such a thorn in his side, fractious girl, because otherwise he would have just left you be. Would have taken his cash and been done with it, left you in your piss-wet jeans to cry to your boss about the ordeal and rightfully request some weeks off to escape to somewhere more therapeutic for the soul than fucking Dunhill. 

“Would be a damn waste,” he grunted, finally pulling his gun from under your chin, sticking the barrel into his jeans. A moan of relief leaked from your throat once the instrument of your imminent death was no longer kissing your jaw. 

Premature relief, love. He grappled you away from the wall, and with a shove, had you in front of him. You yelped when he collared you with a tight hand around the back of your neck, stumbled over your feet as he began driving you forward.

“What are you—”

“Use those legs, girl,” he barked, as he reached to hoist up his duffle bag from where he left it on the floor. 

You blubbered like a toddler, sobbing and sobbing and sobbing, as if your tears might engender pity from him. “Are you t-taking me?” 

“Not gonna leave you to blab to the cops, am I?” 

Another sob. “No — I wouldn’t — I won’t say anything, I don’t even know what you look like. Please—”

“Christ, you’re a whinger, aren’t you?” He rumbled, barrelling through the swinging door and hauling you across the asphalt of the forecourt.

The air was thick with the greasy smell of petrol seeping from lousy fuel pumps, amalgamated with the distant fumes of factory farms and cow manure that hung in a blanketing smog from there to Birmingham. Only the corrugated metal infrastructure of beef and dairy industries for miles in any direction out there. 

He couldn’t fathom what a bird like you was doing with her feet in the mud, stagnating in such a miserable shithole. Maybe he was doing you a favour. 

He tore open the passenger door of his twenty-year-old Mitsubishi L200 — a rusty black pickup he bought with cash from a shrivelled old man on Gumtree, with hopefully just enough life in it to last the drive north. 

You stuck your hand out and planted it on the edge of the door as he pushed you towards it, vigorously shaking your head. “No, n-no — I’m not going with you, I’m not—”

He snorted, and when you didn’t capitulate with a shove, he swept an arm under your knees and hoisted you upward before dumping you into the passenger seat whether you liked it or not. You landed with a squeak, and before you could spew out any more vacant refusals he slammed shut the door. 

He stormed around to the drivers side and hopped in beside you, tossing his duffle bag back between the seats, hastily igniting the engine as he shut his own door. Hit the central lock button and the entire truck locked shut with a clunk — you whimpered when you heard it, and turned your knees away from him.

“Where are you taking me?” You cried, as he revved the truck and rapidly accelerated, tearing out of the forecourt and over the curb, landing on the road with a sharp bounce and a tire screech. 

He paid little attention to your whimpering as he sped off down the dilapidated country road, eyes flicking to the rearview every odd second to make sure he saw no flashing lights in pursuit. The vehicle dipped and recoiled over every pothole on the crumbling old road — motorway would be preferable, but he decided heading in the opposite direction to loop back around would be the safest bet. 

You only sobbed quietly to yourself in his silence, no doubt his lack of response was a threat in itself. 

He had no issue frightening you. Served you right. 

Took some morbid glee in considering what you imagined he planned on doing with you. Whether you considered weighing up your chances. Might you survive if you were to attack him? Would he go easy on you? Might he enjoy the struggle? 

Perhaps you were girding yourself for what he might do next. 

Truth was, he hadn’t decided yet. 

His decision to take you was as impulsive as it was inexorable. 

You weeped until your tear troughs were droughted and nothing more could bleed from their ducts. Cheeks had gone sticky with it, salt dried gritty on your flushed skin, lips shrivelled and thirsty. 

Transient thoughts of rebellion had been ignited and snuffed out in the ten minutes since he had abducted you from the station — you could have reached over and pulled the gun from his waistband, could have tried to kick through the passenger window, could have thrown a nuclear tantrum and bucked and screamed until he was forced to pull over. 

All would have been futile. You weren’t stupid. 

He had that gun in his immediate reach; in fact he kept a heavy hand resting high up on his thigh, prepared to yank it out of its nest above his crotch at any given opportunity. He had made abundantly clear the shortness of his fuse, and that his reflexive reaction to annoyance was to threaten your life. 

Best you settle down, you thought — wait until his guard was down, until he pulled over somewhere, then consider something more drastic. While you were trapped in a car with him such an opportunity was unlikely to present itself. 

There were no streetlights out this way; your abductor had bypassed Dunhill entirely, sticking to unmaintained back roads that had you bouncing up and down in your seat. Not the motion alone that made you queasy, but the fact he was driving even deeper into nowhere, where the only sources of light were the headlights of his truck, illuminating the dark road ahead like something out of a found-footage horror film. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” you croaked, voice abraded to the point of gurgling stones. 

You felt his head turn to look at you, but you kept your stare pointed out your window. Knees turned so far away from him that they burrowed into the door. 

“Eh?” He huffed dryly. 

Sipped a cautious breath before repeating yourself. “Where are you taking me?” 

“I’m ‘eaded north,” he said, no elaboration. 

“Where north,” you asked more firmly, warily frustrated. 

He let out a breathy chortle, as though surprised you’d interrogate him. “Scotland.” 

You cocked your head back in bewilderment and turned to glower at him. “Scotland?” 

“S’what I said.” 

“I don’t want to go to Scotland,” you whined, realising quickly the length of the drive — easily six hours to Glasgow if he stuck to the motorways, but you got the sense he was avoiding them. 

“That’s a shame,” he said. 

“I don’t understand,” you pleaded, terror thick in your throat. “What do you — what do you want from me?”

You regretted the question as soon as you uttered it, because there was some comfort to be found in uncertainty — that is, the possibility that he wasn’t going to throw you into the bed of his truck and rape you in the pitch dark of the backcountry night. 

He looked at you again, eyes tar-black in the shadows of his balaclava, and you held shut your thighs on instinct. 

“Dunno yet,” he said. 

You might have cried if you had any tears left to give. Instead you blinked at him uneasily, petrified into a surreal state of milky numbness — maybe you were in shock, you had heard of that before. 

“So you — you just took me because you felt like it?” 

He shrugged with a single shoulder. “‘Spose so.” 

A minute of stodgy silence settled in the cab as you stared blankly ahead down the spotlighted country road. You weren’t sure what you should do with yourself, and it made you itch all over. From the pits of you echoed screams to put up a fucking fight, to do something — instead you sat quietly, vacantly, erosively indecisive. Waiting for something to happen. For the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you going to shoot me?” You timidly asked, words eking out like dripping water from a tight faucet. 

“Hopefully not.” 

“Then — then why did you take me?”

His head rocked back and bounced off the headrest as he let out an exasperated puff of air. “Y’make a lot o’ noise, don’t you?” 

“Well there would be no noise if you hadn’t.” 

He laughed at that, you could see the fine lines creasing in the corner of his puckering eyes through his mask. “Got me there.” 

“So then why don’t you just let me out?” You pestered, only emboldened by his droning indifference. Apathy exuded from him like serum from an open wound, oily yet salutary, and you found it grotesquely reassuring. 

“Don’t want to,” he bluntly replied. 

“Why not?” 

He was twitchy. On a razor edge. He lasered a glare at you and it stung, and you shrunk into yourself under the heat of it. 

“Because I don’t want to.” He repeated, jaw tight. 

You should have heeded the venom in his throat as a warning to shut up, but despite effort to wire your jaw shut, your compulsion to fill the silence was pathological. 

“Are you — are you going to—” Couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. The tail of it sat heavy and sour on your tongue. 

“Goin’ to what.” 

A quivering breath leaked through your teeth. “Rape me.” 

He sighed heavily, languidly rocking his head to the side, and you felt his hard eyes on you. Excoriating you from legs to lips. 

“Thought about it,” he said. 

Ribs closed like dog jaws around your lungs. 

Said with such torpor that it didn’t cut you like a threat. Instead it made your heart tight and hot, shuddering rather than beating, pumping out needly adrenaline that made your hairs spike up and your stomach drop heavy. 

“And?” You creaked, voice scratching in your trachea. 

“Wouldn’t mind a fuck,” he grunted indifferently. “But I don’t like crying.” 

A mortifying heat feathered over your cheeks. Something pre-programmed, an evolutionary reaction to the suggestion of sex at all, consensual or otherwise — that’s what you told yourself, when you felt a reflexive shiver between your legs, and your ears turned hot. 

“So that’s why you took me,” you mumbled anxiously. 

“To fuck?”

You shot him a pointed lour in place of a response. 

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

Fucking weird girl. 

Your curiosity was potently unsettling, riveting in the same breath. Didn’t make sense to him, that you’d ask him so unabashedly whether or not he intended on defiling you. What answer were you hoping for? Did you simply want to make sure he said no? 

You blinked at him vacantly after his candid response. No use in lying to you. 

It wasn’t his style to brutalise himself into a bird, to bulldoze through wails and shrieks of refusal, physical capability to do so notwithstanding. He simply didn’t like tears. Felt beneath him, really, the impotent sadism needed to enjoy milking them. The only wetness he liked in a girl was a wet mouth and a wet cunt. 

He was partial to a hisser, though. Liked his spitters and scratchers. The kinds of girls that would gripe and grouse about his brutishness but turned treacly sweet when he inevitably overpowered them. 

Perhaps you’d be a hisser. 

He would have liked to find out. What noises you might have made. What the skin of your thighs might have felt like when free of their denim sheaths. How your nipples might spike up in the invasive cool of the September evening, or under the unwelcome brush of his fingers. 

There was a glimmer in the pools of your eyes, fretful yet inquisitive. He was probably only seeing what he wanted to see. 

You went quiet after that, at least. For the best. Kept your little knees nailed together as you glowered out your passenger window, pleasantly pacified for the time being. Sulking like a fucking child, but he supposed he couldn’t blame you. 

He wasn’t stupid enough to expect that you’d be cheerful after he kidnapped you. And he wasn’t in denial, either — he did kidnap you. There was no dancing around it. He threatened to kill you and then he abducted you, because he felt like it. Because he liked the look of you. 

Not remorseful, though. It would be a cold day in hell before he ever felt sorry for anything. His brain just didn’t function that way. If he wanted something, it was his. No use wasting time feeling guilt over something not even he could prevent. 

He spent his time in your silence considering how to make it worth his while. Whether he would, in fact, drag you all the way to Scotland with him. Whether he’d have you aid and abet his next robbery to make up for the piss-poor spoils he purloined from your petrol station. Whether he would find a way to fuck you on the way, or perhaps once he got to his destination. 

Maybe he’d let you keep some of your savings if you showed him your pussy. He looked at you briefly as he thought about it. Wondered how badly you needed the money. 

“What were you savin’ for, eh?” He asked suddenly, and you flinched at the sound of his voice. 

Soft little girl. He’d need to harden you up. 

“What do you mean,” you murmured, hardly a croak. 

“Don’t play dumb,” he gritted.

You sighed warily, eyeing him before you answered. “Doesn’t even matter,” you grumbled. “You took it, so now I haven’t saved anything.” 

He glowered at you, and something in his dissatisfied stare must have compelled you to elaborate. He had that effect on people. Birds, especially. Intimidation coursed through his blood and emanated out of his skin, it didn’t take much effort. 

“I wanted to leave Dunhill, obviously,” you groaned, reluctant to spill every word. 

“Yeah?” He asked, “where were y’off to?”

“Fucked if I know,” you muttered. “Literally anywhere else.” 

He snorted at that. “Couldn’t do that without skimming, eh?” 

“What, do you disapprove?” You hissed, scowling at him. “At least I don’t kidnap people when I need money.” 

“I’m not judging, sweetheart,” he crooned through a grin. “M’only impressed.” 

“Whatever,” you groused, crossing your arms and glaring out the window. “I only took it because I owe a bunch of money.” 

He quirked a brow at that. “To who?” 

“Why do you care.” 

He shrugged. “Boring drive.”

You let out a petulant huff before you inevitably decided to answer him. 

“I’m behind on rent,” you said, through gritted teeth. “Like, four months behind. And I’m still paying off my car, which I just needed to get repaired, so now I also owe money to the mechanic who did me the favour. Fucking owe money to the government, too, because they found out I was on the dole while I was working at the station.” 

A curl tugged in his lips, brows raised in intrigue. No surprise you had managed to find yourself burdened by so many favours — landlord giving you grace, mechanics fixing your cars without payment upfront. Pretty thing like you, though, he’d expect you’d get everything for free. Couldn’t imagine what kind of penny-pinching wankers would still demand money from you when you looked like that. 

Shame you didn’t cross his path sooner, he’d have fixed your car for you. No charge. Might have even let you squat at his place rent-free, assuming you made it worth his while. 

Started to imagine it, despite himself. Pictured having a pretty thing like you to come home to. Standing in the kitchen in his t-shirt, nothing under it. He’d bend you over the counter and fuck you right there while you stirred your tea. Wouldn’t have taken much to get your cunt nice and wet, he thought. You seemed like you’d be easy to please, bored little thing, hopelessly awaiting a man like him to show you what’s worth living for. 

Maybe he would take you all the way to Scotland, after all.  

“What about you,” you asked dully, snapping him from his reverie. “Why do you need the money.” 

He glanced at you, you picked your fingernails and glared at his hands on the wheel. 

“Must need it pretty bad,” you muttered, scorn bubbling in your throat. 

He tapped the steering wheel. “Long story.” 

“What, are you a fugitive, or something?” You asked, contemptuous eyes raking over him. 

“Is it that obvious?” He asked, through a chortle. 

You gulped, almost cartoonishly. So scared of him. He was sure the mask didn’t help, but he didn’t feel like taking it off yet. 

“What’d you do?” You questioned, that pang of anxiousness never quite leaving your voice, despite your attempts at feigning bravery. “Kill someone?” 

“Worse than that,” he said frankly. 

Your brows knitted together worriedly, fingers knotting. Nervous fidgeting. “Some kind of rapist, then?” 

“Not quite,” he replied facetiously, certain you must have found his amusement at the prospect ill-placed. 

“Then what?” 

“Got in trouble with people you shouldn’t get in trouble with,” he explained, purposefully vague. He enjoyed your inquisitiveness. 

“A gang?” 

“Could call it that,” he jeered. “Special air service.” 

Probably shouldn’t have told you that. Couldn’t help himself. 

“Special — wait, you’re in the army?” 

“Not anymore,” he said. 

You frowned uneasily. “What happened?” 

“That’s a tale for another day,” he grunted, and you turned to glare out the window again, spiteful now that he left your curiosity unsated. Little brat. 

Twenty uneventful minutes passed uninterrupted, then, and Simon focused on the route he had set out to follow. Had successfully avoided main roads for the better part of an hour, now electing it safe enough to return to the highway. Took a few dark turn offs, and every time the truck slowed, you visibly tensed up; so terrified that he’d pull over for a rest stop and drag you into the grass on the side of the road.

He didn’t like the streetlights. They were confrontational, accusatory, as though their beams of light were enough to alert every cop in the vicinity to his presence underneath them. 

The highway was largely empty, at least. Only one car passed in the opposite direction as he cruised along the smooth asphalt, decidedly more comfortable to drive on than the tattered backroads. Meant he could drive a lot faster, too. Might have been able to cut his trip by an hour, if he stuck to eighty-five miles an hour for the stretch between there and Birmingham. 

Your girlish little hands clutched the armrest of the door as he accelerated, the speed of the vehicle pushing you against the window as he followed a curve in the wide road. 

“You’re driving too fast,” you said quietly. 

He cracked a grin. How endearing that you thought to warn him. You were lucky he was trying to keep a low profile, in any other circumstance he’d be brushing a hundred. Then he’d really scare you, wouldn’t he? You could do with some toughening up, he thought. 

“Now you’re worried about the law, eh?” He sneered. 

“I just don’t want to die in a car wreck,” you bit. 

Seemed his docility was emboldening you. Perhaps you were a hisser, after all. Wondered if he needed to correct your behaviour. Maybe you’d spit on him if he reached over the centre console and fixed his hand to your thigh. 

“You’ll be fine,” he said. 

He avoided the arterial motorway that cut through Birmingham, choosing instead to stick to the A roads that bounced between exits and junctions in a zigzag. Hardly efficient, such a route would tack on an extra three hours of travel between there and Manchester, but at least far less monitored than the M5. 

He got cocky, he supposed. 

Saw the flashing red-and-blue lights before the sirens started blaring, and you jumped like a bunny — your head wracked around with a speed that made your neck crick, glaring at the cop car through the back windscreen. 

“Fuck,” he barked, through a clenched jaw, eyes jumping between the cruiser in his rearview and the highway ahead of him. 

He could have shoved his foot down, pressed the accelerator flat to the floor and fled the likely jaded cop patrolling the country highway at eleven p.m. on a Tuesday. There was a chance the fat old bastard wouldn’t give chase, but that chance was slim. Simon didn’t need the attention. 

He sunk his foot into the brake and slowed to sixty, veering into the shoulder. “Fuckin’ tosser.” 

And didn’t you perk up? Itching all over to bounce out of your seat, head swinging back to look at the police car twice a second. All twitchy and riled up. He could see what you were thinking, it was printed in your cheeks, bright in your eyes; now’s your chance. 

He hoped you weren’t that stupid. 

“You gonna be a good girl?” He asked rigidly. 

“What do you mean,” you squeaked, panicked, eyes peeled wide and skin glossy with sweat. 

“Means keep your fuckin’ mouth shut,” he snapped, lifting up his jersey, and you gawped at the gun against his stomach. “You make a scene, I’ll have to shoot him. And then I’ll have to shoot you. Y’understand?”

You nodded tightly, wiping under your eyes with your palms, some paltry attempt to collect yourself. He sincerely hoped you’d behave. He didn’t want to kill you. Would be a waste of a pretty bird. Not to mention a fucking pain in the arse to hide not one, but two bodies. 

“Good,” he muttered, as he tore off his mask and tossed it on the ground between his feet, slowing the car to a stop on the side of the highway. Rubbed his hand over his buzzed head on instinct, cropped hair velveteen under his palm. Hopeful the knit didn’t leave suspicious imprints in his skin. 

Your lips went a little slack when you looked up to see him unmasked, and a grin creased in his cheeks. Saw plain as day that glimmer in your little eyes, as they scoured over his face as if reading the pages of a book. 

Didn’t think he’d be pretty, did you? He was not ignorant of his looks, and wasn’t humble about them either. So blatant in your flustered expression that you liked what you saw, only too virtuous to admit it to yourself. 

He wound down his window before the policeman approached. He was adept at pretending to be a good boy. Spent decades licking boots in the military, and cops were even easier to please. 

The officer was middle-aged and saggy-eyed, just as jaded as Simon had predicted. The truck was taller than him, so his hatted head peered through the center of the open window, assessing the cab with his lips in a line. 

“Evenin’,” Simon said simply. 

“Heading home, are we?” The officer asked, eyeing up the bird next to the driver, lathering you in more attention than necessary. 

Could’ve clubbed him in the nose for so shamelessly drooling over you — as far as the cop was likely concerned, you were his bird, not some slapper along for the ride. He had king-hit men for less. 

“You bet,” was all he said. 

“Must be in a hurry,” the cop said derisively, glare finally returning to the driver. “Any clue how fast you were going, mate?” 

Mate made Simon twitch. Swallowed back the urge to spit not your fucking mate, instead offering a placating grin and a pat of the steering wheel. 

“We are in a bit of a hurry.” 

“Yeah? Enough of a hurry to be going twenty over the limit?” 

“Bird tells me to hurry home, I hurry home,” Simon jeered. “Y’know what I mean.” 

The officer almost tutted, until your voice cut across from the passenger seat, and Simon’s knuckles turned white on the wheel. 

“Don’t blame me,” you snapped. “It’s not my fault you can’t control yourself.” 

To Simon’s surprise, the cop chuckled at that. 

“Need to rein your fella in, love.” 

“I tried,” you lamented. “I told him he was going too fast and he was going to get pulled over. I told him so. Bastard doesn’t listen to me.”

Simon blinked in your direction, to see you sitting upright with your arms spitefully crossed over your chest, cheeks red-hot with panic and knee bouncing in frustration. If he didn’t know the root of your unease was the fact he had abducted you, he’d have believed you were a contemptuous bird itching to castigate her reckless partner for getting in trouble. 

Seemed the cop believed that, too. “Bird’s smarter than you, eh?” 

Simon snorted, deciding to play along. “That she is.” 

“Looks like you’re in plenty of trouble, then,” he taunted.

Simon looked at you, again, to see you scowling at him before you glowered out the windshield. “Mh. Think so.”  

“You’re lucky I’m not in the mood to do the paperwork,” the policeman said sternly. “I’ve got your plate, though, so slow down, yeah? Way down. No excuse for eighty-five in a sixty.” 

“Understood.” 

“Don’t let me catch you again, eh?” 

Simon smiled politely, concealing the chortle that curdled in his throat. Cop wouldn’t be seeing him again at all, ever, because he was fucking off to a different country and intended to stay there for as long as he remained under the radar. 

He’d have to dump the car, though. With the plate on the record it was fated for the scrapyard. 

“Appreciate it,” Simon said through an artificial grin. “Have a good one.” 

The cop only nodded, patted the car door with a flat hand, before waddling back to his cruiser without another word. 

Simon was humiliated to admit the relief that doused him was sobering, letting out a ragged sigh as he rolled up the window and twisted the keys in the ignition. He was certain that the encounter would have been far uglier — felt his hand twitching towards the gun on his stomach more than once, imagined how quickly it could have been over if he simply tore it out and pointed it at the wanker’s forehead. 

You, strange girl, saved his arse. Whether or not you had intended to help him, you did. His eyes fixed to you as he pulled back onto the motorway, speedometer creeping back up to sixty and staying there, while the police car was still in sight. 

“‘Bastard doesn’t listen to me’?” He quoted with a brow raised, incredulous amusement rich in his tone.  

“What,” you muttered derisively, staring rigidly out of the passenger window, arms tightly interlocked. 

“Think of that on the spot, did ya?” 

Seemed you were avoiding eye contact with him now, glare fastened out into the moonlit countryside and head bolted still. Ashamed, perhaps, that you had thwarted your only real opportunity to escape him. Or, worried that if you looked at him for too long, your fear of him might have mutated into something far more difficult to justify. He smirked at the thought. 

“You should be grateful,” you grumbled. 

“Should I?” 

“You didn’t get arrested because of me.” 

He chortled at that. Maybe your tactic to ingratiate yourself was to help him, but he got the sense that wasn’t your intention.

“In that case, ‘course I’m grateful.”

“Then say thank you,” you spat, finally swivelling your head on your neck to pin your grouchy little lour to him. 

“Thank you,” he crooned, grin sharp. 

“Whatever,” you griped, slumping back into your seat with a huff. 

He wasn’t sure if he preferred you whining and crying to pouting like a teenager, either option tested his patience. He at least found the latter vaguely amusing, only slightly more endearing than a whimpering abductee in his passenger seat. 

“Thanks not good enough for you?” He asked mordantly, and you scoffed. “What, do I have to lick your cunt to prove it?” 

Your stare cut to him out of the corner of your eyes, head impudently bowed to avoid facing him head-on. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you murmured uneasily, eyes glittering under the streetlight that passed by.

“Like what?” He sneered, “don’t want me to talk about licking your cunt?” 

“Shut up,” you chirped, stiff-lipped, tipping your knees away from him and once again scowling out of your window. 

He snickered at you, couldn’t help it, watching you get all tight and restless when he said it again. Certain you were involuntarily picturing his head between your legs, whether you liked it or not. 

“Don’t like the word cunt?” He teased, winding you up for his own enjoyment. “Or don’t like thinking of me licking it?” 

“Stop it,” you whined, shrivelling up like a raisin. 

He grinned. “I can call it your pussy instead.”

“You’re disgusting.” 

“Uh-huh,” he laughed. 

You turned to tug at the door handle, yanking at it unrelentingly, and it only thumped as you failed to break through the lock. “Let me out.” 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” 

“Open the fucking door,” you spat, spite simmering in the back of your throat. “Let me out.” 

He liked this better. Hissing derision, contemptuous attempts to escape, to demand your freedom. Much more enjoyable than your earlier weeping, all snotty and puffy-eyed. 

“Not gonna happen,” he said.

“You’re a pervert,” you growled.  

“So?” 

“Let me go,” you repeated, glaring daggers at him. 

“You’re not goin’ anywhere,” he said candidly, tone as rigid as he intended it to be. He meant it. 

Again stymied, you slouched over and turned away from him, and went petulantly silent. Simon drove ahead unruffled, took another exit off the motorway — once again trundling over a poorly kept rural road, heading in the direction of the next highway junction half an hour north. 

It was evident being off the beaten track put you on edge, pellucid in the way you tightened your arms around yourself once the streetlights became fewer and further between. He couldn’t blame you, it was certainly slasher-esque to cart you around backroads, where the only buildings were abandoned barns and grain silos. Lucky for you, he wasn’t a murderer. Not anymore. Besides, all of his past killing was government sanctioned. Most of it, anyway. 

You kept your mouth shut for the next long while, huffing and puffing every now and again, making sure not to let him forget how unhappy you were with your circumstances. Strangely enough, he found it endearing.

“I need to pee,” you said suddenly, a squeak, shy to say so. 

He snorted. “Think I’m thick?” 

“I — I’m being serious,” you stammered. Unconvincing. 

“Hold it,” he said unsympathetically, turning a left corner, the momentum making you tip into the centre console, your shoulder nudging against his before you spitefully tugged yourself away.

“I can’t,” you grouched. 

“Piss yourself then,” he sneered. “I’m not keepin’ this car.” 

Your brows scrunched up in disappointment. “I don’t want to — to pee on myself. That’s just gross.” 

He smiled. Something cute about you. 

“You can piss when we stop for the night,” he said. “How’s that?” 

“We’re stopping?” You asked quietly, blinking at him charily, as if he’d change his mind if you spoke too loud.  

“Been a long fuckin’ day,” he grumbled. “I’m not driving for nine hours straight.” 

“Nine hours?” You pestered, “I thought we were going to Scotland?” 

He couldn’t help but grin at that. Perhaps it was a Freudian slip — we. Maybe you had come to terms with it already, the ineludible fact that you were stuck with him for however long he wanted to keep you. So far, that looked like a good while. 

“Taking the long way,” he answered. 

“What the hell, how many people are looking for you?” You asked, pouting in worry. 

He sucked his teeth. “Not enough to find me.” 

You didn’t need to pee at all. 

In fact, your nerves had sucked up every drop of water that remained in your body after your deluge of tears. They were glutted with it. All swollen and pinging with panic every odd moment, when you remembered you were supposed to be in fight-or-flight. 

You were seething, though, that you had failed to convince him. 

The plan was poorly conceived, in fairness — you only imagined getting as far as an unlocked door, girding your legs to bolt off into the endless fields on the side of the road in whichever direction they took you. Didn’t spend a moment considering whether you could outrun the goliath, or how rough he’d be when he predictably tackled you. Maybe he’d simply have shot you as you ran away, turned it into a game of target practice for his own amusement. 

There was shame brewing within you, now. 

Sweltering, emetic, frothy as it crawled up your throat — you were disgusted with yourself, at how pathetic you were being, at how little you had done in the interest of your own escape. How you had let all of it happen. 

You always imagined yourself a fighter, it was easy to imagine such a thing. In hypotheticals you would kick and scream, could easily overpower your assailants by sheer will, your resolve to survive so strong that capitulation was inconceivable. 

Reality stung. 

You weren’t a kicker or a screamer. You were a sit-and-waiter, and that realisation was sobering as it was disappointing. 

Humiliated that you had forsaken a real opportunity at rescue for no discernable reason. No reason you could truly justify. Perhaps you had done it to save the police officer; if you hadn’t intervened, your deranged captor would have shot the innocent man for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, and it would have been your fault for making a fuss. 

Terror was the next excuse, but that didn’t quite justify it either. If you were so terrified that the man would shoot you, you would not have uttered a word. No, you would have been quiet, a good girl, just as he ordered you to be. 

It assuaged your fear, you thought, to see his face. 

You were surprised to see a face at all beneath the mask, forgetting he was a man and not some caricature of chaos and violence. He looked like a soldier, too. All scarred and cynical, disillusionment was inlaid in his features despite how caustically he grinned at you. 

His hair was freshly buzzed, sandy blond velvet coating his head, long pink cicatrices carved lines into his scalp as if someone had attempted to cut through it and peel it from his skull. He was tattooed, you could tell, by the teal-black engravings that crept up the side of his neck, the rest concealed by the thick hood of his sweatshirt. Nose a little swollen at the bridge, fractured once and poorly healed. 

The shame was even more potent when you caught yourself eyeing him for too long, flicking over to him every now and again just to get a glance, the shortest possible eye contact to ensure he didn’t catch you staring. 

Fucking mortifying that he was good-looking. 

That your mind even allowed you to think so, that your eolithic subconscious had considered your abductor’s appearance at all. The way he had rakishly smirked at you was arrogance manifest, you could see in his russet-brown eyes a patent awareness of your attraction. As if he could smell it on you, goading you to admit it, ego stroked every time you caught his eye. 

So you didn’t. 

You kept your body tilted away from him, gaze locked out of your passenger window, sweaty hands clamped together. Every now and then you felt his glare on the back of your neck, heard him breathing in your direction — it felt as though you were counting down the minutes until he felt compelled to reach over the console and touch you. 

It was only a matter of time, undoubtedly. That’s what he took you for, you were certain, despite his supposed ambivalence. The thought made your heart sit fat in your throat. Stopping for the night was a deadline.

“Where are we stopping?” You asked weakly, voice aimed at the passenger door. 

He let out an exasperated breath. “Not sure yet.”

“Are you going to sleep in the car?” 

He seemed to find that amusing. “I might not look it, love, but I’m a creature of comfort,” he said. “I’ll get us a bed.” 

Us. You shivered when he said it. 

A scornful refusal knocked at the back of your teeth, but you knew how he’d twist it, would mock your aversion. He’d make another foul little quip about your pussy, you thought. 

You didn’t want to give him the chance to say the word again. Not simply because it was revolting to listen to the degenerate joke about eating you out — licking your cunt, it echoed in the sauna of your skull — but because the mere mention of it turned your cheeks claret-red and the back of your neck all clammy. 

What was worse, is that you knew he could see it on you. Plainly emboldened by how much it ruffled you. Could decipher your unease as an effort to conceal some biomechanical reaction, one provoked by the mere suggestion of it, by the vibrations of his voice as he said it. 

“Do me a favour,” He suddenly demanded.

You refused to turn and look at him. “What.” 

“Grab me a fag, will ya?” 

Animosity congealed in your mouth. The fucking gall to request favours of you. “From where?” 

“Bag in the back there,” he said simply, “light’s in there too.” 

“Fine.” 

You peered behind the headrest, his unzipped duffle bag was dumped on the back seat; just out of reach if you were to extend an arm between the gap. Instead you had to twist your entire body and contort yourself through the middle, waist between the front seats as you climbed over the console.

You resented being in such a position, arse jutting out towards the windshield, unable to see the driver that sat so close to you — so you were quick about it, burrowing through the sack, stuffed to the brim with junk, and myriad different brands of cigarette cartons. 

“Which ones do you want,” you asked impatiently.

He huffed as he thought about it. “What’ve we got?” 

“Um,” you murmured, digging through the cardboard cartons. “Mayfairs, Richmonds… uh. Embassies, Davidoffs—”

“Mh. Gi’s a davidoff,” he interrupted. 

You followed his instruction and plucked out the trim red box, and an orange Bic lighter once you found it at the bottom of the bag, wedged between wads of cash. You peeled away the thin plastic covering and flipped open the card lid as you reeled your body back between the seats — immediately you caught him lavishing your rear in attention. He sniffed casually when he caught your eye, utterly shameless. 

Heart shuddered in your ears as you sat back down in your seat, gooseflesh prickling up in your skin as you held the carton out for him to pluck out a roll. 

He pinched the end of one and stuck it between lips curled over his teeth, before gesturing wordlessly for you to give him the lighter. 

“You’re a doll,” he said, muffled by the filter in his lips. Jaw jutted out to angle up the cigarette, he flicked the lighter in his fist with his thumb, little orange flame hovering under the end of the roll as he sucked it. 

“Whatever,” you grumbled, swiftly turning away from him to return your attention to the road out the window. 

Seemed he was approaching some area of population, little brick houses began popping up on the side of the street, lampposts peppering the road ahead. A surge of adrenaline made your hackles spike up — bystanders, you thought, people who might have heard you if you screamed loud enough. 

“Want a puff?” He asked indifferently. 

“I don’t smoke,” you snarked, distracted. 

He snorted. “Goodie girl, are ya?” 

“No,” you said curtly. 

“Mh, that’s right — you’re a little thief,” he taunted. “Not a good girl at all.” 

There was no response that would spare you his teasing, so you kept your mouth shut. Stayed silent for the remainder of the drive, in fact, a solid quarter-hour — until the car bounced over something and you jolted in your seat. Quickly realised he had pulled up into a parking lot as the truck began to slow. 

A two-star Travelodge, evidently, one planted directly on the side of the northbound highway. It looked barren, coral bricks all grimy with lichen and sludgy brown water stains, every window blocked by shut curtains. Not a single light glowed from within a hotel room, only the dim yellow lantern bolted to the wall above the sliding door at the entrance. 

You held your tongue in your teeth as he drove to a park at the very back of the lot, under a low-hanging tree branch, concealed by shadow. Your skin began to itch, crawling with bugs and alight with adrenaline — you could run, now, if he opened your door. Maybe you could sprint to the nearest building and hammer on the door, shriek that you’d been kidnapped, and to please please call the police. Or, maybe you could try to snatch his gun from him and shoot him in the fucking head. 

Instead you sat still in your seat. Felt your chest breaking out in a panic rash. 

“Righ’,” he said casually as he killed the engine, the suspension of the truck bouncing under the weight of him as he adjusted in his seat. “Look at me.” 

You shook your head in refusal. Entire body stiff as wood. Anticipation frayed your nerves and made your hairs stand on end. It was suddenly real. 

You kept your eyes pinned away from him, but it was futile, because he reached a massive arm across the gap and seized your jaw in a single hand. Fingers dimpled your cheeks as he twisted your head to face him, and you attempted to scowl at him, but your quivering lip made plain your alarm. 

“You gonna make a fuss?” He asked stiffly, pinching his cigarette with his free fingers, silvery smoke clouding out from behind his teeth. 

You just about said no on reflex, but bit down on it instead, because it likely would have been a lie. Only pouted at him scornfully and shivered in his grip. 

“What d’you think will happen if you do.” 

You swallowed. “You’ll shoot me.” 

He shook his head. “Would be an uncomfortable night for you, though, I can tell y’that.” 

A crease pulled between your brows. “Are you going to — to beat me up, or something?” 

He chuckled at that, a cocksure grin; you suddenly felt a weight in your chest, burning hot, made your ribs sink and your heart flutter. 

You hadn’t yet seen his face up close. His cheeks were stubbled, skin peppered with freckles and the creases of early aging. Teeth were sharp and unexpectedly white, raffishly crooked with pointed canines, a silver cap on a premolar. His lips were full, pale, a single scar running through the top one, white stripe in the ruddy pink. 

The shame returned with a kick to the stomach when you noticed yourself staring at his mouth, and you tried to look away from him, but he riveted your head in place. 

“Don’t plan on it,” he said, after a beat too long. 

Sweat pricked along your hairline. “Then what.”

“I’d like to have a nice long snooze,” he grumbled. “I don’t wanna be up all night wrangling you. So if you throw a tantrum you’ll be sleeping tied up with a sock in your throat. S’that what you want?” 

“No,” you chirped. 

He nodded approvingly. “I don’t want that either. I like the sound o’ your voice. Be a shame to snuff it out, wouldn’t it?” 

You attempted to nod, and though his hand kept you still he understood the intention. With a ragged sigh he finally released you, giving you a condescending pat on the cheek. 

With a grunt he suddenly twisted and leaned between the seats, gargantuan body taking up the entire cab as he reached behind you to grab his duffle bag, and you wedged yourself against the door to avoid touching him. 

Clambered about as he reeled the giant bag back to the front, before snatching the car keys out of the ignition and unlocking the driver side door. He kicked it open and hopped out with a huff, immediately slamming it shut behind him — only unlocked your door with his keys only once he was directly outside it, pre-empting any of your attempts to slip away. 

He opened the door for you with a clunk, and the biting air of the late autumn night made your entire body tighten up. 

“Get out,” he said.  

You nodded, swivelling yourself on your bottom and sliding out of the truck cab, landing directly in front of him. He flicked his cigarette to the ground and left the stub smoking on the concrete. 

“C’mon.” He fixed a hand to your bicep and yanked you away from the car, shutting the door with a slam. 

You were light on your feet as he ferried you towards the entrance to the cheap hotel, his other fist white-knuckled around the strap of his bag. 

“You don’t need—” you chirped, almost tripping over your feet, “—to hold me so tight.” 

“No?” He snorted. 

“I’m not gonna run,” you spat, hushed despite yourself. 

“Obviously.”

The sliding glass doors trundled open as you approached them, a tired ding echoing out to welcome you. The reception was quiet, poorly lit by vibrating fluorescent bars, stunk of fresh linen toilet spray and floor cleaner. 

Your abductor let go of your arm abruptly when he noticed the receptionist — a teenage boy with headphones on, who disinterestedly looked up from a Nintendo Switch to address the tall brute that sauntered in with you in tow. 

“Y’after a room?” The kid asks monotonously. 

“Standard double.”

The receptionist clicked around on the computer, smacking chewing gum between his teeth “How many nights.” 

“Just the one.” 

Click click. “It’s sixty-eight for the night.” 

“Y’take cash?” 

The kid frowned dubiously at that, jaw hanging open as he rolled the wad of white gum along his tongue. “Sure.” 

“Lovely,” your abductor grunted, unzipping the flap of his duffle bag and fishing out a thick wad of paper notes. 

Jaw gaped as you watched him unashamedly finger between the notes to pluck out three twenties and a tenner, slapping them on the counter of the reception before tucking the stack away again. As agog as the receptionist at his brazenness, all but showing off his spoils, plainly stolen. 

The kid pouted skeptically as he swiped the notes and counted them again, tucking them aside, and you wondered if he used the same technique as you. 

He dropped a keycard on the counter. “Room thirteen,” he said. 

“Cheers.” 

Your abductor scooped up his bag and planted his other hand on the small of your back, nudging you ahead of him towards the narrow hallway, never allowing more than two feet to grow between his body and yours. 

You glanced around feverishly as you wandered meekly down the corridor, identical doors mirroring each other for as far as you could see, until the hall turned a corner. Eyes clung to the glowing green emergency exit lights dotted along the ceiling, as if they might lead you to your salvation. 

“Can’t believe you actually paid for a room,” you murmured spitefully, when he nudged you forward by the arse as if guiding a ewe. 

“Wouldn’t want to break the law,” he chuffed. 

In any other circumstance you would’ve giggled. You might have found him funny if he weren’t the deranged fugitive who had kidnapped you. 

A yank of your shirt stopped you in your tracks, tugging you back — your abductor had flippantly taken your t-shirt in a fist, as he shoved the key card into its slot under the handle of a door behind you. 

“In,” he snipped, shoving you through the door once he had pushed it open. 

The room was small. Hardly enough room for the double bed in the middle of it, skinny end tables wedged on either side. The only amenities were a shin-height fridge and a kettle on a bench, tucked into a nook by the door. It was hot in there, too — radiator bubbling all day, you guessed, to counteract the cold weather. 

Immediately you fixed your stare on the window by the bed; a good metre across, brown aluminium trim, lumpy textured glass that distorted the view of whatever sat directly outside the hotel room. Ground floor, you thought, easy to slip out, if you could open it —

Noticed, then, that there was no indication it could be opened at all. No hinges, no frames, no handles. Simply a flat plane of glass stuck in the wall. 

Your stomach wrung itself, and you did your best not to keel over. The air was suddenly infinitely stuffier, sweltering, torrid in your lungs. 

He flipped shut the bolt on the door, and landed a pat on your shoulder. You could unlatch it, obviously, but the old thing was squeaky, clanking old brass, and undoing it would certainly alert him. 

He nudged you out of his way and dumped his duffle bag on the floor beside the bed, evidently claiming the side closest to the door, as if prepared to catch you should you try to slip around him. 

In truth, the notion of escape was scarcely a whisper. Supplanted by a nauseating docility — a survival instinct, you thought, to simply behave. To do as you were told. 

He began undressing himself, uninterested in whether you observed him; shucked off his old leather jacket and hung it over the back of his bag, unlaced and kicked off his muddy old boots. Your toes curled involuntarily into the soles of your shoes, watching him like a degenerate, as he tore off his hoodie and t-shirt and tossed them to the floor. 

Something out of a movie, you thought; gargantuan beast of a man, broad-shouldered and cladded in such a dizzying mass of muscle and adipose bulk that he looked encumbered by it all. The icteric light of the sconces by the bed carved out the divots in his back, the valley of his spine, the symmetrical dimples above the waistband of his jeans — you felt sick with yourself, that you even let your eyes venture there, but they cleaved fast to him despite your chagrin. 

He was slathered in tattoos as you had imagined, all flames and skulls and barbed wire, broken up by the occasional stamp of something more meaningful — a sacred heart, serif-font numbers, somebody’s name with a date beneath it. You could read it from where you stood; Johnny, 11/2023.

You were only thankful he hadn’t turned around — couldn’t see you leering at him, and spared you having to see him from the front. 

“Still need to piss?” He asked roughly, and your lips twisted. 

“No,” you said, still standing awkwardly by the door. 

He snickered. “Seemed pretty desperate before.” 

“I — yeah,” you stammered, “I don’t know. I’m fine.” 

Gave you a shrug as he lumbered into the ensuite bathroom, and you heard the unbuckling of a belt and zip of a fly, the clunk of metal on a counter, then the steady stream of his piss landing in the toilet water. 

You scoffed in revulsion. Fucking pig. Couldn’t even close the door. You heard him rinse off his hands at least, though you couldn’t be sure he had used any soap. 

He emerged from the bathroom rubbing his shaven head and with his belt undone, leather straps hanging loose from his hips, zipper of his jeans wide open. His gun was gone. Plaid boxers bunched up, distended by the mass within and protruding through his fly — you felt yourself turn berry pink, more repulsed by yourself than him. 

This time he caught you staring, and he was manifestly pleased about it. A smug grin pulled in his lips as he shuffled towards you, and you rested your weight on your back foot. 

“Y’want a Valium?” He asked you, and you frowned at him bewilderedly. 

“What?” 

In front of you, now, you panted like a cornered animal in the shadow he cast. “Might help you sleep.” 

You grimaced at him. “You just want to knock me out.” 

He snorted. “Why would I do that?” 

The daggers you stared at him served as your only reply, and he half-heartedly rolled his eyes at you. 

“You reckon I’d want to fuck a sleeping bird?” 

“Probably,” you muttered, averting his gaze when he uttered the word. 

“No fun in that,” he said simply. “No nice noises if you’re asleep.” 

You scoffed, perturbed by how he discussed it happening with you as if it were an inevitability. “What, like screaming?”

He cracked a grin. “Screamer, are ya?”

Your blood went runny. “Stop it.” 

He brushed a knuckle under your chin, and you flinched — but to your relief, he relented. Turned away from you and squeezed the back of his neck as if to release tension. 

“Get into bed,” he grumbled, plodding towards the bathroom, returning swiftly with his gun in hand. 

You went cold. “Why?” 

“The fuck do you think?” He replied curtly, shoving his pistol under his pillow, before he pulled his jeans down and your mouth went dry. 

“I don’t want to,” you squeaked. 

He chuffed at that. “Christ, fucking is the only thing on your mind, in’t it?” He taunted, “don’t get all worked up.” 

“I’m — I’m not worked up, you—”

“I’m too tired for this shit,” he grunted, “‘n I’m not havin’ you up and about while I’m sleeping. Get into bed or I’ll put you in bed.” 

There was no give in his expression, it was a final order. He did look tired — eyes were sunken and beset with aubergine rings, lids heavy with frustration and exhaustion. He stood with hands hooked on his hips as he impatiently awaited your acquiescence, and you sensed you were on a short timer.  

“Fine,” you murmured, shuffling around the end of the bed with your arms crossed tightly, eyes averting him.

He watched you, though. Scrutinised your every move as you bent over to untie your shoelaces, pulling off your converses and dumping them on the carpet. 

“Sleepin’ in your jeans?” He jeered, when you reached to pull back the blankets.

“I’m not taking my clothes off,” you retorted, sitting on the mattress and swiftly tucking yourself under the covers. The mattress was foamy, soft, sunk deep as though permanently impressed by all the bodies that have ever slept in it. 

“Hardly comfortable,” he said, smirking, decidedly amused. 

“Don’t care,” you groused, rolling onto your side away from him, blanket up to your ears. 

He chuckled. “Suit yourself.”

You bounced on the mattress as he fell into it, springs moaning as they sunk deep beneath him, and you felt your body tip back towards him — you curled up, as close to the edge of the bed as you could get without toppling over the side. 

He switched off the sconce above the bed, and the room was abruptly black as pitch. 

The mattress recoiled as he adjusted himself, settling into bed with a gruff sigh, and you felt his warm breathing on the back of your head. 

He seemed to find comfort quickly; exhales turning deep and languid, you sensed he had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. 

There was some relief in that. Temporarily escaping him while he was unconscious. 

With your heart thundering in your ears, though, sleep was impossibly out of reach for you. You could hardly keep your eyes shut, they fluttered and twitched as you tried to close them, and they’d bolt back open as though spring-loaded. 

Now’s your chance — it echoed ad nauseum in your skull like the chiming of a clock, over and over until your ears rang. 

You could have slithered out of bed and scurried to the door, unbolted it and ran down the hallway if you were quick enough. You could have used the steel-legged chair in the corner to shatter the window and sprint into the night. You could have slipped a hand under his pillow nice and slow, snatched his gun from under his head and shot him while he slept. 

Instead you lay dead still, save for the trembling that never quite subsided. 

You tried to vivisect your own mind while you stagnated in the bed. Attempted to determine why you failed to enact your own rescue, why you actively avoided pursuing your freedom. 

The answer eluded you, in concrete terms anyway. 

Truth was, you didn’t know where you’d go. 

Literally, of course — you had no idea where you were, no phone with you, no sense of direction. You could run to a bystander and ask, of course, but you didn’t want to do that either. 

It was as if you didn’t want to go back. 

The thought of it nauseated you almost as gruesomely as the uncertainty of the path ahead. Of being dragged back to Dunhill, of being back to square one, of having no money, no prospects, no future. 

It was the obscurity, you thought, that kept you there. Something new. Something different, albeit terrifying. The ambiguity of any future, however short, was somehow preferable than the certainty of not having one at all. 

Worse to admit was whatever churning you felt between your legs. What seed he had planted when he took you had taken root, tendrils burrowing into the recesses of you and tumescing with a reluctant anticipation. You all but throbbed with it, as if your body were preparing itself for the inevitable, manipulating your mind into assenting to it. 

It made you feel sick, and your skin was febrile, sticky with apprehension. 

You were baking — the air was thick with it, stifling heat, though in truth it was likely your thundering nerves that set your body alight. Too anxious to release yourself from under the covers, or to roll into a cooler position, or to flip over your pillow to the cooler side. 

You lay cocooned for as long as you could bear the heat, but your blood was molten and your head began to ache, and you resorted to uncovering yourself. 

You did it desperately slowly, peeling the cover away from you inch by inch, and even in the air you found no relief. Your last resort was to turn off the radiator — if you could — but you’d need to get out of bed for that. 

Slinked a leg over the edge of the mattress, whisper-slow, used your elbow to prop yourself up—

You felt a hand grab at your hip, and you were unceremoniously yanked back into the bed with a squeak. 

“Where d’you think you’re goin’,” he grunted, voice gratingly hoarse after a half-hour sleep. 

A ten-tonne arm was suddenly hooked over your waist, and you were flush with his back, his knees folded in behind yours. 

“I just wanted to turn the heater off,” you whispered, hoping he wouldn’t hear you. 

“Too hot, eh?” 

You exhaled shakily. “Yeah.” 

“Y’know why you’re too hot,” he murmured, and you felt him stick his fingers into the back of your skinny jeans, tugging the stretchy waistband and snapping it against your lower back.  

“I just can’t s-sleep when it’s warm,” you stuttered, tongue tangling in your mouth. 

“Bit restless, are ya?” 

You felt his hand glide over your belly, and your muscles turned to stone, entire body tensing up with the touch. 

“I’m not havin’ you tossing and turning all night,” he grumbled, thumbing at the button of your jeans, unfastening it with a pinch. 

“Don’t do that,” you breathed, heart plugging your trachea, unable to swallow a real breath. 

He persisted unimpeded as if he had not heard you, pushing down your zipper and stuffing his hand unhesitantly down the front of your underwear. 

You squeaked in fright the moment his fingers brushed your mons — every millilitre of blood in your body flooded out of your extremities and pooled between your legs, a reflexive reaction that fired off every nerve ending under your skin. 

“No, d-don’t—” your whimpers of refusal eked out between your teeth on instinct, but their root lay more in humiliation than fear. 

His hand was icy against your feverish skin, and goosebumps bristled out from his touch — your vision went foggy as a cold middle finger the size of two of yours slid along your seam, lips went slack as the tip burrowed deeper. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he grunted, his stony voice tickling the hairs on the nape of your neck, “you are warm, aren’t ya?”

“Stop it,” you whined, half-heartedly, defeat viscid on your tongue. 

His finger snaked deeper between your legs, the others flush with the puffy outer lips of your cunt, thumb burrowing into your groin as he wedged his hand in the tight gap between your pussy and your jeans. 

He chortled under breath when the tip of his finger broached your entrance, dipping into the mortifying abundance of your fluid that had pooled there. God, there was so much of it, you were humiliated — you had been in denial, ignoring it, even as you felt it slicken the gusset of your underwear, maybe even the inseam of your jeans. It was only instinctive, you told yourself, it wasn’t like that—

“Jesus Christ, girl,” he chuffed, breathless, and you could not for the life of you tell whether he was proud or disgusted. “Made you wait too long, did I?” 

You shivered, cunt pulsing around nothing, felt the nettle sting of adrenaline crawling down your spine. 

“N-no, I—”

Bit down on your tongue as his slippery finger dragged up between your folds, catching your clitoris with a swipe and making your legs clamp together in a vice. 

He only scoffed in awe. “Sensitive thing.” 

“Stop doing that,” you mewled, so embarrassed that your cheeks were aflame, ears burning red-hot, heart galloping in your chest. 

He didn’t believe your attempts at refusal, and you weren’t certain you did either — not when he stroked your clit with the palp of his finger, up and down, all of his movement honed in on the one spot that made you choke on air. 

“Not so bad, is it,” he sneered. 

You curled up like a cat, but he kept you fastened to him, immovable hand burrowed deep in your jeans. His finger slid between your folds effortlessly despite how hard you pressed your legs together — there was no escaping it, every brush of his fingertip against your slippery clit burned more than the last, igniting an inferno in the core of you that seemed inextinguishable. 

Fucking humiliating, degrading, shameful, that the brute who had abducted you could make you feel that good, do so little to have you so, so—

“You’re a fuckin’ furnace,” he jabbed, and he swiftly tugged his hand from between your legs and out of your jeans. 

Whatever remorseful noise spilled from your mouth was beyond you, high-pitched and so wanton it made you sick to hear it, but he only snickered. 

“Quit whingein’,” he chided, taking your waistband in a fist.

He hiked your jeans down with a violent tug, tearing them down to your thighs, underwear pulled down with them. What little abnegation you had left turned to sugar on your tongue, dissolving in your saliva and sliding down your throat. 

The blanket was gone, then, pulled off and pooled at the end of the bed — the slightly cooler air biting at your bare skin scarcely settled your tempers, even less so when he roughly shoved his hand between your legs again, now unobstructed. Three avid fingers prodded against your hole as if to collect the syrup that pooled there, slickening themselves before they dragged back up. 

You yelped like a kicked puppy when he kneaded your clit, pads of his fingers pressing and pulling in firm circles, bud swollen and shuddering and so sensitive it was sore. 

You could only whine about it, now unwilling to fight him off and likely incapable even if you wanted to. He had you riveted to him, chest solid against your back, heaving arm locking you in place. Your compunctions had melted, deliquescing into the stodgy recesses of your mind; usurped by the revoltingly animal, blood-thinning want that thundered in your temples and made your mouth all wet. 

“Don’t, p-please, you’re—”

“Tha’s it, girl,” he rumbled, directly into the back of your skull, and it made you dizzy. “Let it happen.” 

Your core tightened up, cunt constricting as tight as a vice, painfully empty — the surge was as sudden as a flash flood, just as violent, and you drowned in it as it swept you under. You came beneath his fingers with a winded whimper, so forcefully you bucked your legs to evade him, bullied clit ablaze and spasming in waves that made your heart stop with each contraction. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he chortled, easing his infliction but not yet stopping. “Listen to you.” 

“Shut up,” you whined, unable to catch your breath. 

“That’ll help you sleep, eh?” He teased, fingers finally retreating, trailing your slick up your mons before he landed flat on his back with a huff.

You were molten, sweaty hair clinging to the nape of your neck, and you wanted nothing more than to take off all your clothes and have a cold shower. All you could muster was your jeans, though, already half-off — you used your feet to peel them down to your calves, kicking them off into nowhere. Your shame had dissolved, now, utterly irretrievable. 

The stale air was cool against the wetness of your inflamed cunt when you rolled onto your back; a potent relief, despite how unbecoming you felt it to leave yourself so exposed in the company of a bedlamite.

“Now stop fussing,” he grunted, settling into the mattress, hand resting on his stomach. “Don’t want you wakin’ me up again.” 

You couldn’t have fussed, even if you tried. Body utterly siphoned of all energy, mind as foggy and blank as smoke. 

It took you less than a minute to fall asleep. 

Morning came with rain. 

The glow of daylight through the embossed window was powdery white, you heard the gentle patter of raindrops landing on the pane, the loud dripping of a leaky gutter pipe somewhere outside. 

Your mouth was chalky, tongue swollen, vision too blurry to identify where you were at a glance. 

The realisation rinsed you like cold water when you heard the gruff breathing from beside you. Heavy and deep, the warmth of a body lying too close to you, you felt the hirsute skin of a leg against yours. 

You were nauseous as you remembered the night before, when your legs brushed together and you noticed they were bare — no underwear on either, the sheets tangled up between your feet and your hair greasy on your forehead. Your cunt was still sticky and it made you wince to move and feel it, remembering how he had touched you, that his fingers were likely still covered in the dried residue of the orgasm he had milked from you. 

The remorse was as pounding as a migraine. Brontide in your skull that made the room spin, and you wanted nothing more than a glass of icy water and some ibuprofen.  

You peered over your shoulder at your abductor; lying on his side with an arm folded under his pillow, shoulders rising and collapsing with each heavy breath, scarred face somehow peaceful in his slumber. It was surreal to witness him like that, observing him in his most vulnerable state — you knew his gun was under that pillow, but the thought of trying to steal it faltered as fast as it came. 

Instead you slipped out of the bed, pattering on the soft soles of bare feet to the tiny kitchenette, and filled up a brown glass mug with tap water. You drank it all in three hard gulps, then filled up another. 

He didn’t stir, not even slightly. In such a deep sleep that you likely could have put your jeans back on and unbolted the door without even waking him. 

Instead you went into the ensuite, shutting the door behind you. The bulbous knob had a push-button to lock it, but it was loose, and no matter how many times you pushed it, it failed. You gave up quickly, though — didn’t want to wake him up yet. 

The bathroom was arranged nonsensically — the toilet sat by the door, the vanity across from the shower that was tucked into the corner. Its glass walls were grimy with limescale, every amenity made of faded ivory acrylic and stained brown at the edges where the janitors had failed to clean it.  

You flushed the toilet when you saw that he hadn’t and swore under your breath in disgust. Fucking animal. You quickly peed, rinsed out your mouth with water from the sink, then turned on the shower. You only had a t-shirt to take off, revolted that it was all you had worn during the night. You hung it on the towel rail. 

You kept the water lukewarm, too sensitive for cold and too feverish for hot. An array of cheap mini soaps and shampoos lined the tiny in-built caddy, and you were not frugal in using them. Used almost the entire bottle of body wash to lather every crevice of your body, washing away the sweat of panic and ignominious lust that mired your skin. Shampooed and conditioned your hair with products that smelt like pine and citrus with an undercurrent of battery acid. 

The water was cleansing, a pleasant distraction, and you shut your eyes as you rinsed off your face, rubbing the grease off your skin. 

You rubbed your eyes before you opened them — immediately spotted a silhouette outside the shower, and a blood-curdling scream erupted from your chest as you sprung from the ground. Almost slipped over when you landed on the PVC floor, but you managed to catch yourself with your hands on the glass.

“What the fuck!” You shrieked, heart galloping so rapidly you worried it would break a rib. 

He was blurry through the spray of water landing on the shower walls, but you could see him lumber towards the shower door. You shrunk into the corner when he cracked it open, back firm against the square tiles as if you could slip through the fractures in the grout. 

He stepped into the shower as if he hadn’t noticed you there, leviathan that he was, his body took up two thirds of the space in the narrow glass box. Boxers were gone, his cock hung heavy and unashamedly, and your stare caught on it like a fish on a hook. Fucking bludgeon of a thing; it swung as though prideful, thick from root to head, roped with veins and sheathed in rosy foreskin. Half-hard, it jutted out from his bed of wheaten curls at a forty-five degree angle, and it bounced as he took a step. 

You looked at it for too long, breath caught in your gullet, and he noticed. 

“Settle down,” he taunted, hardly a croak, morning voice abraded and gurgling from his throat. He shut the shower door behind him. 

You had a plethora of disputes to mount — get the fuck out, how dare you, you didn’t even knock — but they all fizzled at the back of your throat, when he hauled you out of the corner by the hips, swivelling you around until your nose was flush with the shower wall. Kept you there with a hand cuffed around the back of your neck, wet hair knotting in his fingers. 

“You can’t—”

“Prettier than I thought,” he murmured to himself, a rough hand smoothing from your hip to your ass, brazenly taking a handful and squeezing hard enough to make you chirp.

“Get off—”

You choked on the rest of your dispute when he packed his hand between your legs, the gap tight where you held your thighs together — he gave no warning when he snaked his finger between your folds, nudging for an entrance. 

It happened so fast you couldn’t catch a breath — he found it quickly when your hole twitched at the intrusion, and you yelped in shock when he unhesitantly pushed it inside you to the knuckle, palm flush with the base of you. 

“Lovely little cunt.” 

And despite every effort to maintain some dignity, every bulwark you had attempted to erect against succumbing to your baser appetites, came toppling down in the quake of his words. Scruples sloughed off from you like the shed of a snake, and whatever slithered free was as shameless as she was hungry. 

“Mh, still nice and warm after last night, in’t she,” he crooned, flexing his finger to push it deeper before raking it out. 

He was priming you, evident in how he stretched you open around his thick finger, pumping it in and out of you as though assessing how deep he could go. You pressed your forehead against the cold tile, toes curling into the plastic shower floor, whimpering like a wounded animal.

You felt like one, when he tried to push a second finger in — he had to wriggle it to wedge it in, bully it deeper before your hole could stretch to fit it. It stung where the fragile skin pulled taut, but it was a delicious pain, like the burn of liquor or the sting of pulled hair. 

“Christ, that’s tight,” he grunted into the shell of your ear, and a chill prickled down the side of your neck. 

He ran out of patience, you supposed, because he slid his fingers out of you and your cunt spasmed in protest of its emptiness. He had spun you around then, handling your body like a ragdoll, moving you right where he wanted you — had his hands under your ass in a blink, and he deftly hoisted you upward, back grinding against the tile wall. 

You hooked your legs around his hips on instinct, arms slung over his shoulders when he put them there, his face level with yours. Water ran in rivulets down his face, dripping from his hairline and off his chin. Pupils distended and black as tar, beady as a shark, and glaring into the depths of them made your tongue even wetter. 

His titanic arms held you up without exertion, and one released your thigh to scoop underneath you — held his cock upright in a fist, and with no pause he lodged the clubbed head of his cock against your opening. He pushed in with his full weight, reaming you open on the girth of it, and your eyes glassed over. 

The noises you made were animal, mewling and gasping, coughing when he landed against the spongy plug of your womb, cock as hard as a gun barrel and just about as threatening. 

“Fu-hu-huck,” he chuffed into your cheek, voice oozing ardent satisfaction, vibrating directly into your skull. “Tha’s heaven.” 

It tracked that he was a talker, given how chatty he was for the duration of the drive — but you liked it. God, you liked it. Mortifying, yet liberating to admit to yourself, that you wanted to hear him talk; you wanted to hear him tell you how lovely, how pretty, how perfect you were. 

“All sweet now, aren’t ya?” He purred, bouncing you upward as he rutted hard. “Just what she needed, mh?”

You almost said it aloud — yes crept along your tongue and prickled at the tip, but you weren’t quite ready to let loose the confession. It escaped instead as a moan, head rocking back and knocking against the tile, and he let out a low chuckle, because you said it in all but words. 

“Yeah,” he grunted, panting, pelvis grinding against yours as he pistoned into you, somehow deeper every thrust. “Fuckin’ knew it. Barmy for it the second I walked in, weren’t ya?” 

He grabbed your face by the jaw, angling your head to look directly at him, the squeeze of his fingers forcing your lips to pucker. His cheeks were ruddy, blood fresh and hot under his skin, eyes rabid with hunger and pride. They scoured every feature on your face and you melted beneath their attention. 

“Gorgeous girl, aren’t you?” 

He rutted with purpose, chasing his own end with no mind paid to your squeaks of sore rapture, grunting as his cock reeled out and stuffed you full again in steady rhythm. You could only burrow your fingernails into the meat of his back, carving into his wet skin as if holding on for dear life. 

“Just fuckin’ perfect,” he grunted, a tirade that persisted through every thrust, 

“Sweetest thing I ever stole.” 

“Who needs fuckin’ money, eh?” 

“Hit the jackpot with you, din’t I?” 

“Might just keep you forever.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, sweetheart?” 

Perhaps your brain had been knocked against your skull one too many times, turned soggy and stupid in the heat, because you whimpered; “Y-yeah.” 

His brows shot up at that, shocked — but that surprise quickly gave way to a lavish conceit, a vicious smile that oozed pride for having conquered your inhibitions without even having to try. You’d have been embarrassed if you had the capacity for it anymore, but all shame had been bled from you. 

“Yeah?” He goaded, grin wide and jaw loose, panting through his teeth. “Want me to steal you away, eh?” 

You nodded as much as he would allow you to, and his lips planted on your chin as though tempted to bite you. 

“I can do that, love,” he crooned, “I can take y’where no one will ever find ya. Keep you all for m’self.” 

You whined when he only fucked you harder, tender skin of your back chafing against the grout with every jolt. Seemed he was approaching the summit of his own pleasure — huffing like a bull, thrusting with anger, not nearly as chatty as he had been for the rest of it. 

“Agh, shit—” he groaned, mouth landing on your shoulder, teeth catching your skin. “Fuckin’ hell—”

He hastily reached underneath you to unsheathe his cock from your hole, leaving your cunt bitterly empty and convulsing in its sudden vacuity — his entire body jerked against you as he came, you felt his cock jolt beneath the cleft of you as it spurted ropes come against the tiled wall he held you to. 

His climactic groans were music, to you, little lecher that you were. Some foul part of you was remorseful he hadn’t come inside you instead, hadn’t carelessly pumped you full of it — not a drop of rationality left within you, evidently. 

You didn’t expect him to kiss you, but he did; planted a slovenly kiss on the side of your neck, pillowy lips wet with saliva and the water of the still-running shower. 

He released you, then — didn’t quite drop you, lowered you as gracefully as he could before letting you land on your feet with a thud. Gave you a pet on the head as though to praise you, a prideful kiss into your scalp. 

He shut off the water with a shove of the chipping lever, and the showerhead continued to leak fat drops of water despite it being shut off. He pushed opened the shower door for you, and you slipped out, sodden feet landing on the bathmat. 

There were scant words exchanged as you handed him one of the towels, using the other to dry yourself off. You couldn’t help but watch him as he rubbed himself down with the teal-blue cotton, polishing his head like a bowling ball, flossing under his arms, unabashedly rubbing the towel under his balls to dry between his legs. Something in his nonchalance, unapologetically going about it all as if it were normal, was endearing to you. Made your hackles soften, if they were still at all raised. 

You put your t-shirt back on, wishing you had a change of clothes, and ventured back into the bedroom — the air was still thick with the dusty warmth of the heater, and ripe with the musk of both of the worked up bodies that had spent the night in it. 

“Get dressed,” came a demand from behind you, followed by a coaxing pat on your bare arse. “Need to hit the road.” 

You looked over your shoulder at him, watching as he pulled on his boxers, tucking his cock away and snapping the elastic waistband around his hips. You picked up your knickers from where they had landed on the carpet the night before, shimmying up your legs. 

Couldn’t yet believe what you were girding yourself for. What you had already accepted as the next step you would take. 

You caught his eye, a pout in your lips; 

“Can we get breakfast first?” 

i've got a pinterest board for this one. the vibes have been stewing for a long while

I don’t normally ask for a lot but please help my friend find her sister, the last time she was seen was august 4th 2022 around 6 am. She was wearing black and red plaid pajama pants and a black hoodie. Last places she was seen was 3110 Norway pl norfolk virginia. She’s a black girl around 5’5 with brown hair and blonde dyed tips and faded red streaks in her hair.

@seraphsanzu @strawberriebunn @kyovtani (sorry for tagging y’all i just need to get a boost 😞)

So good omg

In the Night

Yandere! Yuu Nishinoya x fem! reader

Synopsis: A routine movie night with your best friend turns into a bit more than you bargained for – action movies, popcorn, drugged soda, and a man absolutely desperate for you, no matter how underhanded his methods may be.

Warnings: non-con, non-consensual drugging, choking, bruising, non-consensual groping, delusional Yuu, lowkey dragging action movies sorry, mentions of stalking, mentions of past non-con (by Yuu), somnophilia, implied somnophilia, obviously timeskip!Yuu who decided to get educated and go to college, mentions of reader’s pubic hair, fem reader

WC: 5.2K

I do not condone the behavior or the actions in this work of fiction; please do not replicate anything. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation, please reach out for help.

        “So what movie do y’wanna watch?” Yuu asks, his voice high pitched with excitement as his brown eyes scan through the rows of movie titles. The TV perched on the wall is queued up with Netflix, the various titles jumping out and seeming to fly by as his fingers repeatedly press down onto the ‘next’ button, moving too quickly to even get a glimpse at the synopses.

        You roll your eyes but giggle lightly, the behavior typical from him.

Keep reading

one of my all time favs!!!

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

chapter warnings: disassociation, class discrimination, mentions of suicide and mass death

taglist closed — but if ur someone who actively reblogs n leaves feedback i might just find a spot for u

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER Ⅶ. AND YOU'LL NEVER BE PURE AGAIN

FOURTEEN YEARS EARLIER.

“Do we really have to go?” Rindou murmured, tugging at the ends of his suit jacket uncomfortably, glancing back at you. Your shoulders slumped as you fixed your dress in the mirror, a pout tugging at your lips.

“I mean, you don’t have to but I just don’t wanna go to this stupid event alone,” you said, giving both of the brothers a sullen look as they shared a look with one another. 

“Whether the boys go with you or not, you won’t be alone,” Miss Yua chided as she brushed your hair, “Don’t be dramatic, your uncle will be attending with you.”

“Uncle Ichirou will be off with Mister Sugawara the entire night, he’s not even driving there with us! He will not be with me, I’ll be off on my own dealing with the creepy Sugawara boys,” you said loudly and let out a sharp cry as Miss Yua smacked the top of your head with the brush, clicking her tongue. “What was that for! They are creepy! They’re always hanging around me and being touchy when I tell them not to, and they’re mean, they always call me names.”

“They what?” Ran asked, voice low, and you missed the dark look that he shared with Rindou as your eyes fluttered shut, letting Miss Yua finish up pinning your hair. 

“You heard me, Ran!” you said, turning around once Miss Yua let her hands drop from your head. “They’re just so awful, don’t make me go alone, please.”

You puffed your lip out, looking up at Ran, “Pretty please,” you asked, widening your eyes and letting your bottom lip tremble. Ran rolled his eyes, flicking your forehead hard, you let out a yelp, flinching back.

“Stop with that stupid face,” he muttered, you gaped at him.

“Ran, don’t be mean,” Rindou said and you straightened, pleased that he came to your defense, “She can’t help it, it’s her natural face.”

You gasped dramatically as Ran and Rindou burst into laughter, “Rindou!” you complained, shooting him a withering look, “you guys are the worst! At least my face isn’t as stupid as your hair!”

Ran only grinned at you, his hand falling from the top of your head to your shoulder, squeezing gently. You looked back up at him, eyes meeting his lavender ones and you almost smiled at the light look in his eyes, one that you still hadn’t gotten used to seeing over the past few months. 

“Don’t be dumb, ‘course we’ll come with you,” he murmured and a warm feeling settled in your chest as Ran looked down at you, hand lingering on your shoulder. You felt your face begin to heat up and you looked away.

“... I don’t actually think your hair is stupid,” you muttered, and Rindou snorted, nudging your shoulder.

“Yeah, we know that from how often you force us to sit down so you can brush it,” he said and you whipped toward him, scowling.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it! You’re practically sitting there half-asleep and drooling by the time I’m done, Rindou!” you said and Rindou gaped at you.

“I do not! Take that back!” 

“You do too!” 

Miss Yua clicked her tongue sharply and the two of you quieted down, turning to look at her. Her eyes were trained on you and Rindou gave you a severe side-eye as you tried to shift behind him to step out of her gaze.

“Go to Ayato,” Miss Yua pointed her long finger at you, flicking the air, “He will-”

“Miss Yua!” you complained, watching as she raised her eyebrows at the interruption, “I do not need to be lectured about behavior by Mister Ayato this time! If anything, Rindou and Ran should be going to see him! This is their first time at an event like this!”

“Way to throw us under the bus,” Rindou muttered and you giggled, he only glared at you from beneath his long bangs. 

“Go,” Miss Yua said, and it wasn’t up for argument so your shoulders dropped and you pouted, ignoring the way that Rindou snorted as you turned on your heel and walked away.

“How do the two of you even see under this mop of hair? And what is this dye-job?” you heard Miss Yua snap as you made your way down the hall toward Mister Ayato’s office, “Next week the two of you will be dragged to the stylist down the street whether you like it or not. Understood?”

Miss Yua’s voice became muffled as you turned down the hall, distantly hearing Rindou and Ran muttering their agreement before your eyes fell upon Mister Ayato fiddling with a hunting knife on his desk. He placed it down once he saw you approach, you eyed it curiously, never having seen it before, “What’s that from?” 

“My brother’s,” Mister Ayato said simply, walking around the desk to step toward you, “he gave it to me a few days before he passed away.”

You blinked, “You had a brother?” you asked quietly. A brother that passed away like… your throat felt swollen. It’s been a good amount of time since you’ve thought deeply about your parents and little sister, the Haitanis were always sure to keep your mind off of it but…

“I did, he was ten years older than me, died when I was in my early teens,” Mister Ayato said, and you stared at him, waiting for him to explain. He patted your head, “Gang violence.”

… but you’d never be able to forget the pain.

“Oh,” you said, “Like-“

“No,” he responded before you could finish, “Not like the boys’ little delinquent groups, actual gang violence.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, looking up as Mister Ayato sighed deeply, a strange look in his eyes.

“Look out for them tonight,” he said quietly and your brows furrowed in confusion, “This event is going to have a lot of dangerous people, don’t let them do anything that would put a target on their backs.”

You stared at him, “A target?”

Mister Ayato’s face twisted, as if he were trying to figure out how to explain, “You… you are in a unique position. Your uncle is a powerful man, amongst the people that will be at tonight’s event, you will be untouchable. The boys do not have that same luxury, do you understand? You will have to use your status to protect them.”

An ill-feeling settled in your stomach, “They might be in danger?” your voice wavered.

You knew your uncle was involved with shady stuff. You’ve known it since the week of the trial but you didn’t think… You weren’t thinking, why would you want to bring Rindou and Ran around these people? You were too focused on your distaste of the Sugawara boys, you weren’t thinking about others who might be attending the event.

Mister Ayato shook his head, “I didn’t say that. There’s no inherent danger in simply attending the event and I doubt that they change their minds now, just make sure they don’t do anything to bring unwelcome attention, and if they do…”

“If they do, I will take it off of them,” you said firmly, nodding your head, “I understand.”

Mister Ayato eyed you for a minute before letting out another heavy breath, “I wish that your uncle didn’t demand your presence at these events,” he murmured, “he should wait until you’re older.”

You opened your mouth to speak but Mister Ayato only waved you off, “Go, Akira will drive you and the boys to the event. Be sure to stay with them.”

You nodded, walking back toward the door, pausing before turning to look back at the older man over your shoulder, “Mister Ayato?” he raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue, “uncle Ichirou doesn’t really tell me what goes on at these events but I know it's more than just a party.”

It wasn’t a question but Mister Ayato looked perturbed, he wouldn’t meet your eye. You frowned.

“It’s not for you to worry about now,” Mister Ayato murmured and you opened your mouth to protest but Mister Ayato gave you a stern look, one that had you faltering, “Go, Akira is waiting.”

--

“Do not do anything rash at this event for whatever reason, do you understand?”

Rindou’s fists were clenched tight at his side as he watched a group of boys his and Ran’s age leer in your direction as you gleefully spoke to an older woman that Rindou didn’t recognize--it was hard to remember Miss Yua’s words as you shifted uncomfortably, bright smile temporarily fading as you met eyes with one of the boys. He and Ran lingered near you, silently snacking on some of the cheese and crackers that had been set up on a nearby table. 

They had been like this for twenty minutes now, standing back while you talked to the older woman, trying to ignore the unwelcome stares of the boys halfway across the room. Rindou didn’t have to ask to know they were the Sugawara boys that you had been bitching about before you all left the penthouse--they were the only other kids their age at the event, dressed in clothes that Ran and Rindou couldn’t have even dreamt of being in the vicinity of three years ago.

Rindou tugged uncomfortably at his own suit jacket, shifting on his feet. He hadn’t been able to adapt as well to the new lifestyle as Ran did--though that shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to him, everything came naturally easy to Ran and that included shifting from a survivalist lifestyle to a luxurious one. The new expensive clothes that you, and now Ran, donned like a second skin felt like a silly costume on him, one that he couldn’t quite get used to. 

“Should we do something?” Rindou asked, watching as another smile wavered on your face at a particularly loud comment. “She’s uncomfortable.”

Ran’s lips twitched down, eyes dark with irritation and a sort of helplessness that Rindou hated seeing on his brother’s face. 

“We can’t,” he said and Rindou’s jaw was tight as he forced his gaze away from Ran and back onto you, a feeling akin to relief sweeping through him when he noticed you bidding goodbye to the older woman and walking back toward them.

And Rindou felt warm when he noticed the smile on your face become wider and more genuine as you drew closer to them. 

“Rindou,” you said and Rindou gave you a questioning look, “Wanna dance with me?” 

Rindou’s face heated up immediately, eyes wide as he looked between you and the dancefloor, taking a step back. Next to him, Ran snorted and grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place before shoving him forward toward you, “Go on, don’t let the princess down.” 

Rindou stumbled forward into you, barely catching himself. He shot Ran a betrayed look but you had already grabbed his hand, “Ran, you’ll dance with me next?” you asked gleefully. Rindou watched as Ran winked at you.

“Of course,” he said, grinning, but Rindou knew from the look in his brother’s eyes that Ran would be long gone before the song was over. 

You didn’t give him the chance to protest, instead only dragging him toward the dance floor, smiling bright as you took his hands into yours. Rindou was sure his face was on fire and he didn’t know why--because it was just you. And I mean, yeah, Rindou didn’t really like entertaining conversation or hanging out with anybody but you or Ran--he wasn’t the most sociable or friendly but he’d never been one to get flustered and-

You moved closer to him, Rindou leaned back. You glared, Rindou looked away.

“I can’t dance with you if you’re holding me three feet away, Rindou!” you said.

And Rindou’s mouth was dry, eyes trained on the wall behind you instead of looking down at you and your pretty dress and your pretty face. Not pretty, Rindou thought viciously as you wrapped your arms loose around his neck, pointedly looking at the hands dangling at his side and he reluctantly placed his hands at your waist, letting you lead him in time with soft music because Rindou had no idea how to dance and you knew it, and he knew it, and Ran knew it from how amused he looked, and if Rindou had to bet, anyone that looked in your direction would be able to tell from how stiff he moved. 

“Why ya so tense?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips and Rindou scowled, pointedly looking away.

“I am not,” he said and he hated how petulant he sounded because you obviously noticed it from how you tried to smother a laugh. He couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed because your eyes were light and you were happy and Rindou supposed that he could deal with the ego blow if it made you laugh.

“You totally are,” you giggled, leaning in close, and Rindou’s eyes widened as he leaned back instantly.

“Why are you getting so close?” he asked, flustered, sure that his face was burning red. 

“Why are you getting so nervous?” you countered, and Rindou hated how you didn’t even look bothered at the proximity because he didn’t even know why he was thrown off by it--it’s not like this was the first time you’ve ever been this close to him so he wasn’t sure why it was affecting him like this. He hated it. 

He looked back in the direction of Ran, panicked, but the panic dissolved when he caught the strange expression on Ran’s face--Ran hadn’t even seemed to notice that Rindou was looking at him, despite the fact that Ran was staring at you and Rindou, and the grin that had been on Ran’s face had fallen into a more conflicted expression that Rindou couldn’t quite decipher, which was odd because Rindou could usually read Ran pretty easily. 

But Rindou didn’t get the chance to try to figure out what had changed because you were grabbing his arm to spin yourself beneath it and Rindou was focused on not making a fool of himself in front of all of your uncle’s rich friends and colleagues.

But you only laughed, a bright carefree laugh that had Rindou’s chest feeling light and tight at the same time, and Rindou couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as you finished spinning and leaned close to him, arms snug around his shoulders and smiling up at him before resting your head on his chest. 

And Rindou couldn’t breathe, his eyes were wide and his hands were almost trembling on your waist as you spoke, “I’m really glad you ‘n Ran came, Rin,” you said, and Rindou usually hated when people shortened his name but somehow when it was falling off of your lips, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. “It would have been dreadfully boring had I been alone ‘n I’m sure those dumb boys would have tried something by now, so thank you, I know this isn’t exactly your scene.”

Your scene, he thought to himself, glancing around at the gilded walls and antiques decorating the room, thousand-dollar paintings lining the walls. That’s putting it lightly.

“You don’t need to thank us,” he murmured, “We wouldn’t just leave you here.”

“Even so, I still want to thank you,” you smiled, looking up at him with such a sincere look in your eyes that it had Rindou tongue-tied, only able to nod in response.

“If I had known we were allowed to bring any old lowlife, I would’ve brought the whore that was eyeing me up on the way over here to make this shitty event less awful,” an unfamiliar voice said and Rindou stiffened, eyes darting over to where one of the boys--one with dark hair and darker eyes, was now standing much closer to where he was dancing with you, eyeing the two of you distastefully.

You didn’t pause in your movements, instead bringing Rindou’s arm up for another spin, “I am not surprised you’d have to stoop to whores for company, Sakuya, nobody would willingly spend time with you unless they were paid.”

Rindou choked on air and one of the boys standing near Sakuya snorted, trying to muffle it with his hand as Sakuya shot him a dirty look.

Rindou eyed the boy from the corner of his eye--Sugawara Sakuya, he recognized, you had warned him and Ran about him and his brothers on the way over. Sakuya was the oldest son--seventeen, a year older than Ran, three years older than you--and he was also the most vocal and aggressive when it came to tormenting and bothering you.

“Rich coming from the girl whose only friends are street rats that only stay around because they need shelter,” Sakuya said coldly and Rindou watched as your expression dropped and your feet faltered, a hurt look spreading across your face.

And Rindou’s ears rung, his blood ran hot and it took all of his self-control not to launch himself forward and rip Sakuya’s head off. Instead, his grip only tightened on you, shifting you behind him so he could step forward.

There’s five of them, five of them and one of him, and he has to protect you. He won’t win—maybe? How well trained are they? He didn’t know, you had mentioned that they were trained in some sort of martial arts but not how skilled. 

“What’s going on?” Rindou nearly relaxed at Ran’s familiar voice coming from behind the two of you, stepping in front of you and next to Rindou.

Okay, it’ll be fine. They wouldn’t beat him and Ran together.

“What? Are you gonna say I’m wrong?” Sakuya scoffed, stepping forward closer to Ran, and Rindou felt anxious when he noticed the dark look in Ran’s eyes, one that promised blood and violence if Sakuya continued. Dread pooled in Rindou’s gut as Sakuya started speaking again, “You think everyone here doesn’t know you’re using her for her money… or are you using her for something else too?”

Rindou’s mouth was dry at the connotation and he could barely even think over the blood roaring in his ears. This fucking-

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Rindou spit out as Ran’s hand twitched at his side, “You have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

Sakuya’s eyes snapped toward Rindou, a combined look of disgust and fury twisted onto his face.

“Who do you think you are?” Sakuya said, voice low as he walked closer to Rindou. Rindou tensed, Ran’s fist tightened as he shifted you further behind the two of them as Sakuya drew closer. “You have some nerve even looking in our direction, much less speaking. Know your place.”

“Our place?” Ran asked, eyes aflame and Sakuya only scoffed.

“You can wear all the fancy shit you want but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll always be street rats. You don’t belong here,” Sakuya spat and Rindou’s jaw clenched at the comment, a strange feeling bubbling in his chest. Ran took a step forward, eyes dark, fist tight.

Fuck, this was going to get-

Rindou’s eyes widened when he felt you fling his hand off of your arm, pushing forward past him and Ran to stand chest to chest with Sakuya, “Bold coming from the son of a family that gets the majority of their money from my uncle. You would have nothing without us, you have some nerve coming to my family to talk about wealth, know your place.”

Murmurs broke out around the group of you but Rindou couldn’t focus on anything other than you—my family, you had said and the words bounced around in his head over and over again, my family, my family, my family.

Rindou bit the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down. He glanced at Ran, taking how his brother’s eyes were wide and trained on you.

Sakuya spluttered, “Excuse m-“

“You heard me,” you interrupted, “Get out of my sight, just looking at you makes me ill.”

Rindou gaped, Ran gaped, Sakuya gaped before fury washed over his face. He stepped forward, fist clenched but Ran and Rindou were there first, grabbing his wrists and holding him in place.

“I would listen to her,” Ran didn’t make any sort of explicit threat but the dark undertone was there—listen to her or we’ll make you.

But Sakuya didn’t look deterred—at least not until a new voice spoke up, “Sakuya, father told us not to antagonize the guests,” a new voice said and Rindou’s gaze darted behind the older boy to a younger one with dark hair and cold eyes that made Rindou feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“Kenji, mind your fuckin business,” Sakuya spit out but even as he said that, he ripped his arms from Ran and Rindou’s arms and stepped away, brushing at his sleeves. “Whatever, a pair of filthy street rats aren’t worth the trouble anyway—gonna catch something if we stay around them any longer.”

Rindou bristled but didn’t say anything as they walked away, not now, he reminded himself over and over and over again. He frowned when he caught sight of the younger boy, Kenji, eyeing you curiously before following after his brother.

You tugged at his and Ran’s wrist immediately and they followed along quietly, pulling them away from prying eyes and toward the stairs that led to the upper floor. You didn’t say anything until you opened the doors to the balcony. The cool night air hit him hard, washing the anger away as the distant sounds of the party became muted.

You leaned against the railing, looking up at the night sky instead of at them, Rindou’s feet moved on his own as he joined you at the railing, Ran lingered back. Rindou tried to shoot him a look but only got ignored. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, “They’re despicable. I should have said something sooner.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” was all Ran said in response, “Gotten so nasty with them on our behalf, it could have-”

Rindou remembered Miss Yua’s warning, how their actions could have backlash on you, he felt sick.

You only rose your chin, “Don’t be silly, I’ll always defend you guys. I don’t care who it’s against!” you said firmly, and Rindou’s face was so hot that he swore he was on the verge of setting himself on fire. “Even Uncle Ichirou!” 

“Even who?” 

Rindou’s eyes widened at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice from behind the three of them, he watched as your mouth dropped open as you turned around to face the man that Rindou recognized from pictures as your uncle. You looked thrown off for a second before steeling your shoulders, “Even from you!” 

And Rindou tensed, waiting for your uncle to get angry but instead his expression only softened, if only barely, a fond look in his eyes as he looked down at you. 

“I hope they deserve your loyalty,” he murmured as if the two of them weren’t standing right there. Rindou shifted uncomfortably as your uncle’s gaze landed on him, a contemplative expression on his face. “I’ll speak to Sugawara about his boys. They were out of line approaching you as they did. Don’t stay up here too long, people will talk.”

Your shoulders slumped, “It’s stuffy in there and I hate all of them.”

Your uncle clicked his tongue, “Get used to it, this will be your life when you take over Izanagi from me,” he chided.

“I’m not taking over Izanagi!” you said firmly, “I’m going to make my own company and outdo yours, you’ll see!” 

Your uncle raised his eyebrows, an amused smile twitching at his lips before nodding, “Of course,” he said and you looked disgruntled at his tone but your uncle didn’t wait for another response, turning on his heel to walk back toward the event. 

You slumped as soon as he was out of sight, tossing a petulant look in the direction of where he disappeared to, “I will,” you muttered before letting out a loud, exhausted sigh, leaning back onto the railing and looking back up at the sky.  

For a few moments, none of you spoke, instead just basking in the silence of the night and the distant chatter of the party. It was peaceful--genuinely peaceful and Rindou didn’t often get to experience genuine peace like that so he shut his eyes and enjoyed it, letting out a soft breath at the feeling of the light breeze cooling his skin and running through his hair, your arm brushing against his. 

You broke the peace with a loud shout that startled him, his eyes flew open, watching as you pointed toward the sky, “Look! A shooting star! Make a wish, make a wish!” 

“Shooting stars are bullshit,” Ran said immediately.

“Make a wish!” you demanded and Rindou watched as you shut your eyes, looking up at the sky, a smile on your lips and your hands interlocked. His throat felt tight and he couldn’t tear his eyes off of you to make his own wish.

“What’d you guys wish for?” you asked after a moment and Rindou’s gaze darted back up when you reopened your eyes, looking at the sky.

“We can’t tell you, you idiot!” Ran said, “then it doesn’t come true,”

“I thought you said shooting stars are bullshit!” you accused, pointing at Ran and Ran spluttered, looking away.

Rindou took one last long look at your bright smile and Ran’s reddening face, a tight feeling on his throat as he looked back up at the sky, making his wish.

I don’t want this to end.

---

PRESENT.

You couldn’t breathe, it felt like your throat was stuffed with dust, your tongue was sandpaper. Your eyes were open and your vision was dark and blurry. 

Everything was silent.

What had happened?

You couldn’t move, something was on top of you, the lower half of your body was stuck—you couldn’t see and you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t hear anything.

Something was wrong, you should hear something—you were at the auction, people were here and then-

And then what?

Your breath quickened, your throat burned. You couldn’t remember. Think, you told yourself, you had to th-

“Ah, shit! Takuya, I’m running late to the meeting, i-what do you mean you’re not at Suvala HQ? Who the fuck is there representing us? …. Damn it, Takuya, this looks so bad on us, we-“

“Y/n?” you looked up at the new voice, a smile pulling at your lips as you recognize the man standing in front of you.

“Hm? Oh! Hey, Takuya, I’ll talk to you when we get to the building, be there in 15, okay? … yeah, see you. Gunter! What’s up?”

You couldn’t see anything. Your eyes were opened, you knew they were opened so why? You craned your neck up, wincing at the pain, your heart was erratic in your chest. 

Your face was wet, you could feel something warm dripping down your forehead into your eyes—blood, you realized what had been obscuring your vision. You lifted an arm, gasping in pain as your entire body screamed and ached in protest. You wiped the blood from your face, cringing as it smeared across your skin.

You gagged at the thick scent of iron, of garlic—garlic, the explosion, Hanma, Hanma had thrown himself over you. And Rindou, Rindou was in there and Ran you didn’t know where Ran was.

You wiped more frantically, trying to blink away the spots and blood staining your vision. Your stomach churned uncomfortably, the remnants of the explosion—the smoke, the fire, it reeked, you couldn’t think over the smell it was consuming you just like it had-

“Shouldn’t you be at the meeting?” Gunter Krüger grinned at you, “Here, I grabbed an extra coffee for Felix, was gonna meet him and Adie at the office, you take it. Don’t tell him it was his though, yeah?”

You laughed, taking the coffee from him and a small sip, “Yeah, my uncle’s secretary held me up on the phone at the apartment. I’m running late, bad look, I know,” you told him, “Wanna walk with me over?”

“Yeah, let’s go, it’s a short walk. I can cover for you so it doesn’t look as bad,” Gunter offered as the two of you walked down the street toward the large glass building in the near distance, “Say that I needed help and it took longer than it should have.”

“Don’t tell Felix,” you winked, “but you’re definitely the better brother.”

Gunter burst into laughter, “You say that until Felix saves your ass from one of those board meetings again.”

“True,” you agreed, “This should be the last one though.”

Gunter glanced at you, interested, “The decision’s being made today?” he asked and your smile fell, knowing damn well that the decision being made was not in your favor.

“Yeah, the dec-” but you weren’t even able to finish your sentence, eyes wide and voice faltering as an explosion rocked the very ground you were standing on, sending you and Gunter both careening to the ground.

You had to get up. Your arms trembled as you tried to push yourself up off of the ground. You couldn’t push up, whatever was blocking the lower half of your body was too heavy for you to push off. Panic began to flood through you, the scent of blood got stronger, the air got thicker. You couldn’t breathe.

You lifted your head up, neck aching but you could make out figures--or not figures? You couldn’t tell. 

Not figures, you realized, grimacing at the debris scattered all over the auction hall, broken seats, remnants of the stage, the balcony near the stage. Your eyes darted around, mouth drying when you caught sight of Hanma Shuji laying unmoving several feet away, body half-covered with debris, evidently having been blown off of you during the blast.

You tried to call his name but it felt as if there were ashes stuffed down your throat, your chest felt tight when you noticed the blood pooling beneath him and you tried to push yourself to your feet again, arms shaking violently but you let out a sharp gasp as your body fell limp to the ground as you failed again.

Get up, you begged yourself, get up.

“Y/n, get up!” your ears were ringing and your eyes were wide, the pavement was cool against your cheek but the air was hot around you, uncomfortably so. What the fuck had happened? You could barely breathe, think, much less rise to your feet. 

But someone grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet, your eyes drifted behind you, falling on Gunter pulling you to your feet, “We gotta get out of here, t-the building, Suvala it-”

“There are people in there,” you gasped but you could barely hear yourself, looking around at the screaming pedestrians, at the familiar building collapsing in on itself in the near distance, “Felix and Adie, Gunter they’re in the building, we-”

You pulled away from him, stumbling forward to run toward Suvala Headquarters, eyes blurring and throat burning, the only thought circling through your head being to get to your friends.

The pressure was pulled off of you and your eyes widened, you tried to push yourself up but a gasp was ripped from your throat as a hand fisted your hair, yanking you to your feet. You winced, pain shooting through you, you could taste blood in your mouth and you could still barely see. 

Your vision was blurry and spotted as you tried to look around, figure out what was going on--the front half of the auction hall was decimated--the explosion came from below, the other side of the building probably. Hanma had mentioned the storeroom was over there--someone had rigged it to explode? The phosphorus? The phosphorus wasn’t even supposed to be in the building, so how-

Hanma, your eyes darted around, he had covered you, you had to-

The grip on your hair tightened, your eyes widened and your lips parted to let out a cry of pain but nothing came out. You felt nauseous as your head was yanked back, turning it to the side, and your eyes fell upon the bloody, scarred face of Sanzu Haruchiyo, pink hair matted to his forehead and cheeks, eyes wild. His lips were moving--he was speaking.

He was speaking?

You couldn’t hear him? 

Panic began to swell as your eyes widened, as you looked around--you couldn’t hear anything. You should hear something--screaming, the aftermath of the explosion, the building collapsing in—but it was all silent, your stomach dropped, your heart caved in.

Sanzu’s grip tightened on your hair, something sharp pressed against your neck and you gasped as you were forced back down onto your knees, grimacing as a sharp piece of wood dug into your calf, throat burning uncomfortably.

Your knees hit the ground hard, tearing holes into the cloth of your pants as Gunter crashed into you from behind, preventing you from getting any closer to the building. His hands curled around your bicep, holding you in place as you tried to scramble back to your feet.

“Gunter let me go! Let me go! Felix is fucking in there, Felix and Adie, we-”

“If you go in there, you’ll die,” he shouted but his words were barely registering, you couldn’t tear your eyes off of the building, over the billowing thick, white smoke that was expanding over the street and the sky about Suvala Headquarters, the fire that was spreading to nearby buildings, a park full of children. You tried to push him off, his grip tightened, “We have to get out of here.”

“Felix and Adie-”

“They’re dead,” Gunter roared, and you could hear his voice crack. His wife, his brother, they- “If the explosion didn’t kill them, the smoke and fire did--do you smell that?”

Sharp pungent, like garlic--you couldn’t breathe, you barely even think but you were able to recognize what it might mean. Phosphorus? There was no way-

“We need to get out of here--the fire’s just going to keep spreading, we can’t let that shit touch us,” Gunter was tugging you to your feet, dragging you away, and you watched--you couldn’t bring yourself to cooperate as you watched a group of teachers desperately try to evacuate a nearby elementary school, as civilians ran into the building and ultimately to their deaths trying to help.

The smoke was toxic, the fire was spreading faster than people could run-

The fire, your eyes darted around, the smoke was rising on the other side of the room, fire spreading. You had to get out of here.

You tried to tug at Sanzu Haruchiyo’s wrist, “Fire,” you tried to say but you couldn’t hear yourself, you didn’t know if he could hear you, you didn’t even know if the words were coming out correctly, “We have to get out of here, the fire-”

The grip on your hair tightened, shutting you up, you inhaled sharply as something sharp dug harder into your neck--a knife?

Your head felt fuzzy and you would have swayed were it not for Sanzu holding you up, your eyes drifted around, vision doubled and you caught sight of Hanma on his hands and knees, something puncturing his side, blood dribbling from his mouth and smeared across his face but he was alive and as much as the man might cause you discomfort, you were relieved because you were pretty sure he had saved your life.

He was saying something, you could see his lips moving but you couldn’t hear and you couldn’t quite make out the words through the movements of his lips. He was angry, spitting out words, gaze directed toward you and Sanzu. 

You couldn’t breathe, everything hurt--the people, there were so many people in the auction hall. You tried to look around but Sanzu yanked your head back again, you grit your teeth. Your lungs burned and you couldn’t-

-breathe. You couldn’t breathe. Gunter was dragging you by the wrist away from the building, People were slamming into you, desperate to get away, some were trying to run in the opposite direction, yelling for who you assumed were loved ones that were supposed to be in the area.

You felt sick, you couldn’t breathe, you could barely even think, the only thing that kept you going was the hand wrapped around your wrist. He was talking to you but you could barely hear him over the screams and the fire roaring and spreading in the distance. 

What had happened? Phosphorus, that had to be intentional, who would target Suvala? Y-

“I’ll handle it.”

You felt cold, which was strange because the heat of the explosion and the fire should have been overwhelming. There were more people--someone was helping Hanma to his feet and you could only barely recognize Mina. Relief swept through you like a tidal wave, he was okay. Your lips parted to say something but no words left your mouth.

There was someone on the ground next to them, Mina was holding him by the neck.

Kokonoi? You recognized, blood drenching his white hair--he was hit in the head during the explosion. His eyes were unfocused as they fell on you, dazed, blood dribbled from his nose and his lip was split. He had been punched too, you realized, eyeing Mina’s bruised fist.

You felt the knife that Sanzu had at your throat press deeper, Mina’s face twisted, he yelled something, his grip on Kokonoi’s throat tightened. 

A stand-off, you realized, catching sight of the man that had interrupted Ran and Rindou from interrogating you, Kakucho, looking between you and Sanzu and Mina and Kokonoi warily, as if unsure what to do. He held out a hand toward Sanzu, lips moving and you wanted to scream because you couldn’t hear and you didn’t know what they were saying or how you could help.

You could never help, everything that went wrong was always your fault. You never should have come back to Tokyo and-

“I never should have asked you for help!” you screamed at the phone that was laying on the ground of your apartment a few feet away, your uncle was silent on the other end. You pulled at your hair, sobs and dry heaves wracking your body, the news played in the background. “I didn’t mean like this, you know I didn’t mean this!”

“There is no risk of this being pointed back at you. It’s all under control.”

“That’s not what I’m fucking worried about!” 

Mina was shouting, his grip on Kokonoi’s throat was tightening. You could read his lips now but the words weren’t registering in your head--I’ll snap his fucking neck if you don’t let her go. 

“Investigations on the tragedy at Munich point toward a lack of continuity in safety inspections leading to a massive gas line leak.” 

Sanzu shook you violently, blood dribbled down your neck, the knife cut deeper into your skin.

“Nearly six thousand killed in the horrific gas pipe leak at the Suvala office in Munich.”

You had to get out of the auction hall, your hands were trembling, the floor creaked dangerously, the fire was spreading to the walls behind you and it was hot, it was so hot that you felt cold. If you stayed any longer, the smoke and the heat, it would cause irreparable damage. 

“Phosphorus munitions involved in the devastating incident at Munich? Eyewitnesses claim so! What isn’t the government telling us? Why are they trying to brush this off as a gas pipe leak?”

“Have to get out,” you gasped but you still couldn’t hear yourself and you felt sick, you brought a hand up to your ear, desperately trying to blink back the tears that formed when you felt the blood. “The smoke is toxic, the fire-”

“You will get on that stage and announce the merging of Suvala and Izanami. I do not care for your personal feelings on the matter, y/n. I gave you what you asked for, the means of how it happened is inconsequential now. Take advantage of the opportunity or be swallowed by those who will.”

Your body was snapped to the side, your vision went black, pain shot through your head, you reeled trying to figure out what had happened. Your head, Sanzu bashed your head into the debris of the chairs.

“In light of recent events, I, l/n y/n, founder and chief executive of Izanami Connect, will take it upon myself to step in for Chairman Krüger after the tragedy in Munich as previous negotiations dictated. As I move to bring the company under Izanami’s wing, I will take steps to ensure a disaster like this will never occur again. I swear to do right by all of the families affected by this tragedy.”

Your shoulder hit the ground hard, a gasp ripped from your chest, pain ricocheted through your body so intense that it had you blacking out for a second, vision spotty and head fuzzy. Your arms trembled as you tried to push yourself up only to crash back toward the ground. You turned your head to the side, still trying to figure out what was going on.

Your mouth dried as you caught sight of Rindou grabbing Sanzu by the collar, driving his fist into his face over and over and over again and your lips parted to call out for him, eyes blurring with tears because he was alive, he was fucking alive and that all that mattered because the last time-

“L/n-san, I’m so sorry for your loss. I know you were close to both of the Krüger brothers. Chairman Krüger in the explosion and now Gunter… It must be so hard.”

The last time none of them survived. 

Or, well. 

You supposed one actually did. You felt sick. Gunter is alive.

Kakucho rushed toward Rindou, trying to pull him off of Sanzu and someone grabbed your arm hard, yanking you back to your feet. You turned your head, eyes wide, but relaxed when you realized it was Mina, he was looking over you, speaking to you, but you couldn’t hear. You shook your head, trying to focus on his lips but you were seeing double, triple, you couldn’t focus.

Mina seemed to realize, instead only wrapping an arm around your waist to help steady you before motioning for Hanma to follow, fleeing the auction hall and you wanted to scream, tell Rindou to get the fuck out of there but you could barely breathe, your vision was going spotty again as Mina jostled you around, the pain becoming too much for your body to handle before it finally gave out on you.

--- 

You weren’t sure how long it took for you to come back to but your entire body ached and burned when you did. You grimaced at the light, wincing as you tried to push yourself up to figure out where the fuck you were. 

“Careful,” a familiar, gruff voice murmured, “You got fucked up back there, take it easy.”

“No shit,” you muttered, looking at Mina, wincing as your neck shrieked in pain in response to the movement, “Where are we?”

“A safe house,” a new voice said and your gaze drifted to the other side of you, where Hanma Shuji was laying on a bed, shirt rolled up as a middle-aged woman worked on stitching up a wound on his side. Amber eyes watched you curiously, “You’re already up.”

“No shit,” you repeated and Hanma snorted in amusement. “Where’s everybody else? Kawaragi? The guys she was with?”

Hanma looked away. Your eyes turned to Mina, whose lips were pressed together tight before he spoke, “Haven’t heard from her. Apparently, she was supposed to be where the bombs went off, doubt she made it out.”

Oh, something familiar and unwelcome squeezed at your chest. You pushed it away. Stop, you barely even knew her. 

“Bombs? Plural?” you narrowed in, trying to remember if there was more than one explosion but your mind was being torn to shreds and you couldn’t focus enough to remember. 

“Mm,” Mina agreed, “There were two explosions--a smaller one, which we assume was a grenade or something of the sort that set off the phosphorus munitions. Fucking lucky that the majority of it was being held in another warehouse otherwise we’d be melted right now.”

You felt ill. You opened your mouth to speak but paused when you noticed movement from the corner of your eye: Hanma waving away the nurse carelessly, teeth grit as he pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shirt back down, “C’mon, Sugawara wanted to talk to us when you woke up.” 

Mina looked between you and Hanma, a protest on his lips but Hanma simply ignored him, holding a hand out toward you.

“Why?” you asked warily, dread pooling in your gut. 

Hanma shrugged, “Didn’t explain,” he said simply, glancing down at his hand pointedly. Reluctantly, you took his hand, letting him help you to your feet and hook an arm around your waist to help you walk steady.

Mina rose to his feet, eyes narrowed. A mocking smile curled to Hanma’s lips, “Relax, I’ll bring her right back,” he cooed and Mina’s eye twitched, he stepped forward.

You shook your head and he frowned but stepped back, the wary expression not leaving his face, “I’ll be back,” you told him as Hanma started moving toward the exit of the room, not giving Mina any time to respond. As the two of you walked down the tiled floors of the hall outside the room, a dry comment rose to your lips, “Thought Sugawara said he’d bet his life the weapons weren’t at the auction hall.”

The mocking smile on Hanma’s face shifted into a crueler one, a playful look in his eyes that you weren’t quite sure how you felt about, as he looked down at you, “Maybe we should hold him to that, yeah?” 

You forced yourself not to let your eyes widen at the statement as Hanma pulled you down another hall toward a large open room, letting go of you as soon as you got in sight of the others in the room. No showing weakness, you understood as he forced himself not to wince with every step--he had been leaning on you for help as much as he had been helping you, you realized with a frown.

You shook your head, focusing on keeping yourself steady instead of Hanma Shuji so you didn’t make a fool of yourself in front of the other executives of Sugawara’s organization.

Your uncle was here, you noticed the grim look on his face and frowned. He refused to meet your eyes and an unsettling feeling took over--the woman from the meeting, Alyona, was standing next to him and on her other side, looking down at something you couldn’t quite see from where you were standing was Sugawara. 

He smiled bright when he saw you and Hanma, “Shuji, y/n, there you are! We’ve been waiting. I’m glad you’re okay, I heard the explosion was pretty bad.”

Pretty bad, your ears rung as you stared at him, certain that you must not have heard him correctly. Three-quarters of the people in that auction hall were probably killed. And he’s-

“It’s a shame it didn’t take out any of the Bonten executives though,” he frowned, and your eyes narrowed--how did he know that already? You glanced at Hanma but his expression was also tight and you could see the confusion spotting his eyes, “But! It’s not all bad news because we managed to get our hands on one of their executives anyway!” 

Tunneled. Your vision tunneled and the sound around you muted. 

Got our hands on one? But…

Your eyes drifted to the center of attention of the rest of the room, the figure tied on the ground, and at once, your entire world fell apart--the breath ripped from your lungs, the air around you became oppressive and suffocating, everything crumbled in a matter of seconds. 

Ran.

---

WORDCOUNT: 8K

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