#ghost store graphic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

qwimchii · 8 months

Text

𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 (pt. 2) — 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

playlist pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4 pt. 5 pt. 6 pt. 7 pt. 8 (10/24)

𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘤 — 14.5𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵!𝘢𝘶, 141𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘶, 𝘨𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 (10𝘺𝘳𝘴), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 & 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘢 (nothing too graphic but please be warned!!), 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬

note: it's here 🤲 header gunslinger ghost render by @ave661

the next morning you woke, Ghost was gone again, much to your chagrin. you were beginning to pick up on a pattern—a strong tendency to disappear without a trace. his clothes were absent from your room and the kitchen table, where you haphazardly undressed him without thinking about the evidence left behind for an unsuspecting one-four-one and Kate to see.

the only trace of Ghost’s presence in your room last night was the neat pile of undergarments and clothes on the ottoman nestled in the corner of the room. after washing up, you slowly redressed that morning. in the mirror, your neck was covered in swollen purple patches—a parallel image to the softness of your bruised inner thighs. you were lucky enough to have been lent a high-collared blouse from Kate, mulling over everything with a bitter distaste in your mouth.

it only grew when you stepped into the back room, Soap looking positively smug and Gaz avoiding your eyes. John looked undisturbed as he paged through a book, sipping at his coffee mug with his boot neatly crossed over the other beneath the kitchen table.

“good morning,” Soap sang, practically skipping to you and handing you a sticky, cinnamon bun, rolled up in a sweet delight.

“thank you,” you said with a polite dip of your head, sitting beside John at the table.

“you know, Gaz,” Soap said suddenly, turning to his friend who only paled in response, his face looking sour. “i could’ve sworn i heard something last night—”

you withered with shame, but luckily, Gaz kicked him hard in the shin to shut him up. immediately they began to bicker, and John only gave a disapproving grunt.

“where’s Kate?” you asked, meek, and desperate to escape the three men in the room.

John jerked his head in the direction of the main store room, and you whispered a quick thank you to him, wiping the last crumbs on the back of your split skirt rudely before making a beeline out the room.

Kate was tending to the shop, lounging behind the counter as two customers perused the catalog. she was stitching together pieces of leather with a wax thread and needle.

you carefully noted the absence of Ghost in the store room as well, but didn’t comment on it when she shot you a fleeting, knowing look. it was gone as soon as it came and yet it made you burn with shame nonetheless.

“Ghost is out on business again,” she explained, sewing with a practiced hand, and you frowned.

“I wasn't…” the words died in your throat. instead, you implored, “let me join one-four-one today.”

she paused her ministrations and sent you a look of grief. “why? so you can run away?”

that irked you. “you know i won’t.” in a meek voice, you added, “where would i even run too?”

she shrugged, returning to her leather pieces. “i don’t know. maybe off into your own rich glory.”

you resisted rolling your eyes. smoothing the front of your split skirt, you folded your hands politely, posture straightening.

“are you really going to ransom me to my daddy?” you challenged, and her hands paused

“because if you are, i know your secret base of operations. i know all your names, one-four-one’s, and Simon’s. i know what one-four-one looks like and that you’re working with los vaqueros.”

her eyes narrowed, brow pinching.

you continued. “i think all that information would come very handy for Turner and my daddy.”

“so what are you going to do?” she snapped, “run straight to Turner and cry at your daddy’s feet?”

“no,” you said cooly, “i think you don’t plan on giving me back to my daddy at all.”

her eyes flashed and you contented with her glare, meeting it with the strongest one you could muster.

“because if you did plan on it, i’d tell them all that and more in a heartbeat. so why’d you let me in on all that information in the first place?”

taking a shaky inhale, you hoped to god you were right. “i know too much. i think you’re planning something else for me.”

she stared at you for a long moment before heaving a long sigh, screwing her eyes shut, surprising you when her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped grin, her blue eyes crinkled with a wild look.

“Ghost said you were a smart girl.”

she returned back to the leather work, finishing off the needlework by snapping the string with her teeth, pulling it taught with a knot.

“but no,” she said with finality, and you balked.

“no…?”

“let’s say that maybe Ghost is planning something for you. something big,” she dramatized with a mocking smirk. “you’re still our hostage. you stay here, the boys ride out. simple.”

she shot you a displeased look when she finished. “if you weren’t here, i’d be riding out too.”

you swallowed, shoulders falling slowly. all that pent up energy deflated from you like a balloon, defeat curling in your stomach. looking out the front store windows, you saw Sugar dozing at her fence post. you eyed her saddle on a rack behind the store counter.

nodding, like you were deep in thought, you stepped away from the counter. “right,” was all you offered and she gave you a mixed look of pity and irritation.

as if on queue, the one-four-one boys clambered from the back room, murmuring low words to Kate so that you couldn’t hear. Soap tipped his hat to you on the way out, and he began to turn away when you clutched at his elbow.

“where are you going?” you asked, casual, and his brows raised, looking from you to John to Kate.

after a long look, she just gave him a slight nod.

“five miles north. ‘nother nearby town,” he relented with a shrug, and the way his lips tightened let you know he was leaving something else out. you cocked his head at him, pressing with curious eyes, and his mouth fell open but Gaz grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him out the store, Soap shouting in protest.

“be back before sunset,” John said, gruff, closing the door behind them with a resounding thud.

you watched as they saddled up in the bright noon light. Kate sighed. the look on her face let you know she was lamenting just as much about their departing as you.

you lazed about the main store room, eyes flicking between the leather crafts items. belts, wallets, holsters, a few couple saddles. the clicking of the wooden clock suspended on the opposite wall served as your entertainment for the afternoon.

when Kate finally excused herself to close the shop for a lunch break, washing up first, you knew you had to make quick haste. sneaking down the hallway, you passed by the bathroom as quietly as you could, you were surprised to find the basement door unlocked.

maybe they did trust you, a small voice spoke in wonder, but you mentally swatted it away. your desire to find out what the hell was going on burned brighter than anything else.

you descended quickly down the stairs, wincing at every creak and thud, till your feet met cobblestone. sweeping around in the darkness, you pulled out the matches you pocketed last night. lighting one with a quick stroke, the room lit up in a warm orange glow and you scrutinized the place.

in one main room, preserves of fruits and veggies, miscellaneous barrels, and leather working stations littered with various tools and supplies crowded the room. you could only assume the doors branching from the main room were one-four-one’s bedrooms, and you confirmed as much when you tried turning the knob of each one, finding them all firmly locked.

cursing, you wished you could remember that lock picking trick Tommy used at the schoolhouse to prank teachers in your childhood. you clambered through the space, squeezing between a nook of filled shelves, pausing when an old bookcase caught your eye. by it was a small circlet of space, several chairs, and a desk sprawling with papers. you walked to it, hand smoothing over the map littered with marks, lines, needles shoved into the wood at certain locations.

the writings made no sense, all in their own code. a large portion was circled in red with a big T scribbled in the middle. you squinted. Turner, most likely.

it was north of the town you were currently in, or so you assumed by the small star bead shaped from an ivory bone pinned down on the map. like Ghost said, you were on the border of southern california, your mama and daddy most likely twenty miles to the east in Arizona. below southern california lay another red circled portion, dipping into mexico and southern texas. LV, it read, in a smaller, less menacing font. los vaqueros.

blue circles stretched from the west to the east, centered around towns and cities, big and small. one location in particular was familiar—jackson county, missouri. all that blue, stretching from california to louisiana, was one-four-one territory. you balked at the physical size of it.

the more passing seconds you took to study the map, the more you worried Kate may emerge from the restroom and find you snooping in their basement. if she did, you dreaded the thought of being locked up in your room for the remainder of your possibly indefinite stay.

a piece of paper caught your eye. it was a letter addressed to Turner from your… your daddy. you poured over the note, running over the quill grooves in your hands.

Mr. T,

my darling belle has been stolen by the devil. you promised me that working with you meant no harm to my family. i want her back. i don’t want no man getting the idea that they can steal my things from me.

you shuddered. his things, he had called you.

i want your men on every one of one-four-one’s outposts. none of their towns will be safe. i’ll round up my men and join the effort in two weeks time after we conjoin at the social. there, we can talk finances.

your eyes ran over the line again. social?

if Ghost won’t give me my daughter, i’ll make him.

your daddy didn’t sign off the letter. carefully, you put it back down in its place. how did the letter even get there in the first place? had Ghost intercepted its messenger during a shootout in a northern town?

you swallowed. did Ghost find it in your own daddy’s house? your house?

the thought of your daddy, keeled over his desk with a bullet wound in his temple, blood oozing out in a puddle as Ghost loomed overhead, pocketing Daddy’s letter in his trench coat, made you sick to your stomach.

you thought of what Ghost said the night prior. i searched half the plains for your horse.

did that include your daddy and mama’s house? your breath hitched. was your mama alright?

you steadied yourself against the nearby bookshelf, distracting yourself with its contents instead. fictional literature stared back at you, and you brushed your fingers down their spines in a slow descent until you met the very bottom row. a line of small journals, so small you could squeeze them into the extra space in your pocket, stared back at you. picking one on the very edge, your eyes widened at the title scrawled over it.

GHOST.

you opened it to its latest entry, dating back to the day you were taken by Ghost. in all capital letters it read:

PICKED UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.

beneath it was a sketch of your profile and… numbers. there wasn’t an exact order or sense of them but they littered the page.

despite the numerical mystery, you found your eyes lingering on the catch of light conveyed through Ghost’s drawing, the twinkle in your eyes and the barest smile on your lips. you admired the attention to detail before flipping through to earlier pages.

a familiar, blaring title stuck out to you that dated back several weeks ago.

PICK UP GIRL FROM ARIZONA HOMESTEAD.

there was more writing below it.

RANSOM: $25,000 REFUSAL → PHASE TWO

you flipped to the page after it to find another entry on a typical grocery list. you thumbed through more pages with a frustrated huff, finding nothing more on phase two or a ransom. just more sketches of wildlife, horses, and scribbled dull paragraphs on irrelevant business investments.

you mulled over the strange entry and its date from weeks prior. the night Ghost had taken you had been an arranged dinner out of the blue with only a few days of notice. but the date of this entry suggested that Ghost had been arranging the dinner for much longer.

more than that, Ghost had forced your daddy to make a decision at the dinner table—pay up or let Ghost steal his daughter as collateral.

Ghost didn’t necessarily know that your daddy would go with the latter. but the entry already had a resolute ransom for your safe return, and a phase two plan for when your daddy refused the ransom. which, to your knowledge, has not happened yet.

in spite of your confusion, there was a relief knowing that your suspicions from the conversation with Kate earlier had been confirmed. they wouldn’t be giving you back to your daddy.

right?

quickly, you pocketed it, hoping no one noticed its absence as you weaved out the basement and up the stairs. the door was still shut as you left it, and you blew out the match, slowly opening the door, your heart hammering. there was a silence on the upper floor, a warm draft passing through the narrow hallway, blinding light streaming in through the windows.

you noticed movement beneath the bathroom door, and let out a shaky breath. what felt like hours in the basement was only minutes.

but you knew you didn’t have much time left.

you made your way down the hallway and into the main store room. hooking Sugar’s saddle over your forearm, you made a quick haste to your horse who lazily drank at the water basin by the fence. patting her shoulder, you saddled her up in record time, hitching the cinch tightly with the grind of your teeth. untying the reins, you grabbed the horn, hoisting yourself up by the stirrup.

as you backed Sugar away from the leather crafts store, you heard Kate shout, your head whipping to see her already moving with a terrifying speed to her own horse, a burly and strong looking thoroughbred that snorted heavily.

with a slap of your reigns against Sugar’s shoulder, and your heel digging into her flank, she took off with a pitched whiny. you always thought she was a crazy wild thing, but you were more glad for it now than ever.

the rush of the wind at your face didn’t help the scramble through your mind for the mental image of the town. the bell tower pointed to the north—head on a swivel, you pressed a hand on your stetson to keep it from flying away. conveniently, the thing chimed, making it known it was two hours past noon to the town

you pulled sharp on Sugar’s reigns, spurring her on through the sparse crowd that scurried out of your way as you headed straight for the tower, and out the town. the cobblestone path underfoot quickly fell into a dusty dirt and you headed dead on into the forest.

weaving between the sparse trees, ducking beneath them, and wincing when some prickly pines brushed at the exposed skin on your cheeks, you steadied on for a gallop for as long as you could muster before you were sure Sugar needed a break.

when you slowed to a standstill, listening for the breaking of a horse through bushes and leaves, met only with chirping and the rush of the forest, you nudged Sugar to walk on.

she hung her head low, winded, and you rubbed at her neck in comfort.

Soap had said the town was five miles north. your eyes sweeping across the barren terrain, you hoped that you wouldn’t come across a different town five miles north of one-four-one’s hidden base.

after another thirty minutes of short gallops, followed by slower canters and trots, you eventually wandered far enough to spot a town on the distance of the horizon.

you startled when a big boom resounded across the land, shaking the earth beneath you. something—a building maybe—that spearheaded the sky fell with a crash. Sugar whinied wildly, stuttering backwards with jerky movements, but you urged her on ahead with clucks and a heeled boot at her flank.

you rode fast to the town, swerving around the masses of people running around it. a woman, tugging on her floral, broad brimmed hat, carried two children under her arms and ran into the woods with next to nothing. some men rode out on horses, charging ahead without a glance back.

as you neared the outer wall of the town, you could hear the ricocheting gunshots, loud shouting, screaming, crying, the beating of horse hooves.

you cursed yourself for not thinking to grab a firearm. trotting along the wall, between a stretch of two buildings a man rode past in a flying gallop, twisted back to shoot at something—someone riding after him. you recognized his raucous, wild laughter.

Soap.

you spurred Sugar forward, creeping through a break in the walls where more townspeople leaked out in a panic. on the main dirt pathway, a horse tied to its fencepost tossed its head wildly. a revolver flashed in its saddlebag.

riding around the building, narrowly avoiding running people underfoot, you flanked the horse and pulled the revolver from the horse, then leaned down to untie the poor, squirming thing so it wasn’t in the line of fire. you grit your teeth, trying to mentally will your own horse from wriggling so much. once its reins were pulled loose, the horse bucked and made a beeline for the woods.

“hey!” an older man, beard flecked with gray, ran at your horse with a wobbling, drunk ire. the owner, you presumed, by the gun he was loading in his hand.

pressing hard into Sugar’s flank, she sidestepped him and you took the butt of your newfound revolver, jamming it into his jaw hard. he slumped to the ground ungraciously.

turning your horse in a fast pan, you rode from street to street, revolver swinging as you searched for familiar faces. it was a dizzying panic. you didn’t know who was who, or what was what, in the mass alarm.

“that’s her!” whipping your head over your shoulder, a group of men sharply turned their horses in your direction. Turner’s men.

cursing, you spurred Sugar on in a wild gallop as they pursued you.

you checked the cylinder of it—it was only half full. three bullets. cursing yourself over and over again, you gave them a wild chase, weaving between buildings and people into a marketplace. a cart of vegetables went flying as Sugar lurched, last second, to leap over it.

the movement jerked you, and you slipped to the side, world turning over as you fell to the dirt and skidded a good ten feet, knocking back into another cart. your revolver lay discarded a short length away, stetson thrown somewhere else.

Sugar galloped off without a second to look back.

scrambling to pick up the revolver as the group of Turner’s men approached fast on horseback, you gasped when your ankle completely gave out on you, falling once more to the ground. the adrenaline pumping through your veins didn’t give you a second to hesitate, crawling forward to grab the gun.

you shot into the group blindly, satisfied when one man shrieked, holding his arm where crimson poured, and slipped off the side of his horse. picking yourself up, you limp as fast your could leg could let you move down a branching dirt path, thunderous hooves coming from behind you.

you checked over your shoulder. they were dangerously close now.

the closest man’s hand—a turquoise bracelet glinting on his wrist—came down and swooped for your hair, missing when you ducked. but he groped for a hold on your clothes, when suddenly, he crumpled into the dirt behind you. blood splattered across your back, and you bit back a scream when a strong arm hefted you up onto their moving horse.

“i got you, darlin’,” John gritted out, and you clambered into the front of his saddle, clutching desperately at the mane of his chestnut mare as he spurred his horse on faster through the streets with one arm around your waist.

a rider approached your right flank, trying to maneuver close enough to shoot John and not you, but John was too fast and blew his head clean off. you couldn’t suppress the scream that tore from your throat.

John barked over the roar of the wind. “i’m gonna need you to cover my blindspots, eh?”

you nodded rapidly, panning your revolver over your shoulder as another rider neared.

“deep breath,” he commanded, swerving his mare to get out of range, bullets whizzing past your head.

you took a deep breath, watching the rider edge closer to your left as he slapped the reins against his horse’s shoulder, willing it to go faster. his eyes blew wide when you caught a glimpse of his gaze under the brim of his stetson, mouth parting in shock when you fired.

the bullet hit his chest dead on, and you watched in horror as his eyes went cold and empty, whole body slack as his shoulder crumbled forward in the saddle of his horse, before slowly slipping off the side and falling to the ground with a crash. his horse thundered on without him, blood soaking the dirt in a crimson halo around the corpse.

“good bloody shot!” John roared in your ear, and you turned your attention front again. the roads were emptier now with the stragglers having evacuated the town.

John slowed as he neared the town’s center square, and one man on a grulla and the other on a bay circled the fountain square in a pan, shooting at the men who came barreling down each pathway. each one dropped like a fly.

you counted about a dozen bodies on the floor of the square.

the man on the grulla laughed maniacally, who you instantly recognized as Soap. the other rode with a tight rein with a mechanic movement.

John pulled his horse to a sliding halt, almost making you fly over the shoulder of his chestnut if it weren’t for the arm around your waist.

“picked up a straggler!” he shouted, turning into the fray as another trio of Turner’s men came down an alleyway on horseback.

Soap flanked your horse, shooting two of Turner’s men down as John finished off the other. flies were whirling around the dead bodies on the ground. you wanted to puke.

“first time gunslingin’?” Soap asked, a poisonous glint in his steel eyes.

you didn’t have time to respond because Gaz was shouting— “your left!”

John was whirled, but not in enough time before two bullets hit his chestnut with sickening thuds. she whinied, rearing, and for a second time, you were sliding to the dirt, ungracefully landing on top of John in a winded pile.

you scrambled off him and he crawled to his knees as he reloaded his revolver. your own was thrown somewhere away—obscured from view as a couple of Turner’s men slid off their horses, striding towards you at a dangerous pace.

head on a swivel, you scurried backwards, a low throb in your ankle blooming. the adrenaline was wearing off as a thickening dread seized you. Gaz and Soap were occupied, grappling a thickening trickle of Turner’s men into the town square.

a man with a gold tooth, you recognized as an affiliate of the man with the turquoise bracelet from a few minutes prior, swung his leg back and kicked John straight across his cheek.

two other men seized you by the front of your blouse to hoist you up, but you kicked and screamed, biting down hard on a hand that came to pull on your hair. he cursed, throwing you back down into the dirt, and you skidded till your back struck something hard.

eyes widening, you twised your arm behind you to feel a familiar, cool handle. this time, you let them yank you up, letting the revolver fall into the loose cuff of your loose sleeve and holding it there.

the man with the gold tooth gripped your cheeks tightly and spat at your feet. his breath was grimy, alcoholic, and made your skin crawl.

“you’ve been giving us a hell of a time, angel.” his other hand stroked down your chest.

you twisted to bite his fingers and he slapped you, the strong sting bringing tears to your eyes. the two men were holding your arms back in a bind, one pressing his front into your shoulder, mouth almost to your ear.

“he’ll kill you,” you seethed, dead serious. the man with the gold tooth laughed.

“so you really are the devil’s angel?” he leaned back, hands on his holster, a menacing look twisting his lips. “thought Mr. Tuner was bein’ dramatic. looks like Ghost’s got a pretty missy now.”

the man by your ear chuckled, hot breath down your neck and you reeled, fighting against him.

“i’ll kill you myself if i have to,” you hissed, both to the man in front of you and to the one digging his hand into your backside, squeezing.

the third man sounded considerably younger, more nervous. “whadda’ we do with her, Charles?”

your eyes went wide. you remembered the man at the cabin, the one who said—

let’s move quick. Turner said the first man to lay hands on the girl gets dibs.

that’s what he had said.

a coiling fear seized your chest, your breath trapped and lungs stuttering. you looked to John, flattened and forgotten by Charles’s feet. you internally begged him to get up. when he didn’t move, you looked up behind Charles to Gaz and Soap, bloodied and firing round after round.

when the men hefted you to your feet, half-dragging you down the dirt road, you struggled, tears welling in your eyes. “no—” Charles tried to cover your mouth but you bit his hand hard and he snarled.

“no!” you screamed, fighting even when they yanked you into an empty saloon and threw you against the bar top.

Charles held you down with an iron grip, and other man unbuckled himself with a malicious grin. you felt overcome with an intense fear, trying to squirm up the side of the bar counter, but Charles held you steady.

you should’ve never come here. this was your fault. this was your fault.

the third man was just a boy, shaking as he stared at you splayed across the counter.

help me, you mouthed, but he just turned away so his back was to you.

this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault.

soon, your struggling subsided, and your mind drifted to a far, far, far off place.

the cool gun tight in your grip kept you tethered to your sanity when Charles kissed your now exposed calf. you tightened around the handle, feeling its silver embroidery, the men too distracted to notice the click of the safety.

an eerie calm drifted up in you as they continued their movements, Charles’s hand slipping underneath your skirt and drawers. you noted the glass bottle half full of beer abandoned right above your head.

you waited for the second man to float upwards, till his mouth was on your neck, and you shoved your sleeve right under his chin.

his eyes widened in surprise at your compliant behavior, humming something like approval before you pulled the trigger and blew clean through his face. he fell to the floor with a thud, half of his face gone, and Charles shrieked, looking down at his body in horror. that’s when you snatched the glass bottle of beer over your head and lurched off the counter to strike him in the head—over and over and over again.

your body was a machine, moving mechanically. the bottle shattered and alcohol pooled into blood. you didn’t stop until you couldn’t see the gold shine in his gaping mouth, until two arms gripped at your wrists, pulling your back into a broad, strong chest.

the musk of bourbon, smoke, and earth cleared your mind.

“Simon?” you squeaked, returning to yourself.

the familiar cold of his mask against your neck brought you back down to the ground.

he slowly pried the shattered bottle from your hand, only the neck and jagged shoulder left behind. he folded your hands into his gloved ones, crossing over your chest in a tight bind, crushing you to him.

you should’ve felt like you were debilitated, or trapped even, but you never felt more safe in his arms as you sobbed, tears streaming down your face. he was the only thing holding together the pieces of you right now.

he shushed you, smoothing a big hand over your chest as he rocked your entwined bodies.

“it’s alright, lovely.”

“it’s my fault,” you chanted, voice raw with effort. “it’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

Ghost didn’t respond to that, and instead began explaining with a calculated, low murmur into your ear. “i told the boys that there would be some Turner boys in this town. nothing they couldn’t handle. but there was an ambush.”

your breath hitched at that, cries dying in your throat.

“i was stationed with Alejandro and a lot of his boys in a town two miles west of this. we thought Turner would tear through there.” his thumb smoothed over your exposed neck. “he didn’t.”

it fell into pieces now. one-four-one stationed here, expecting less than a dozen of Turner’s men, when instead, they crawled through this town like ants. an ambush.

“Kate rode into town like a wild animal. i thought someone died.” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “i thought you died.”

you remembered the lashing tendrils of panic you felt in pressed against the wall in the back room, Ghost bleeding out a couple feet in front of you, the billiard parlor up in flames across the street.

had he felt the same?

“the boys,” you began instead, pushing the memory away, “how are they?”

he gripped your chin, turning your face to his and pressing his forehead to yours. the swirling darkness of his eyes was more comforting than anything you had ever known.

“they’ll live.”

you shivered at that and he soothed you with a shush, gently pulling you to your feet. wincing, he caught your wobbling body immediately.

“hurt?” he asked cooly, but you could hear a sharp edge in it.

you gave him a sheepish look. “my ankle.”

he just nodded, sweeping you into his arms like you were his bride. even if it was so improper, the exhaustion that furled around you like a fog had you curled into his chest as he stepped over pools of blood.

over his shoulder, your stomach curdled at the sight of Charles, his face a gaping wound of pink, mangled flesh. he was half-beaten into the ground, and his associate was sprawled near his shoulder. the boy was nowhere to be seen.

you closed your eyes against Ghost’s neck, pressing your nose to its steady pulse. you barely registered the light that enveloped you when he stepped outside, the light crunching of dusty dirt under his boots a mile away. there was murmuring, new and foreign voices coupled with old ones. no more gunshots. no more shouting.

you let the foggy undertow pull you somewhere softer and sweeter—right into the roughness of your mama’s hands brushing your hair by the fireplace, Daddy reading an old book aloud behind your shoulder.

it was the rhythmic clatter of steel tracks against steel rail that stirred you from a light slumber. your sweet dreams had stretched into grotesque, bloody depictions the further they ran on, replaying scenes over and over in your head.

Charles’s face split open on the floor. red running from Daddy’s temple. a knife through your mama’s heart. Turner’s wrinkly hand on your thigh as he shoots three bullets through Ghost’s heart—his eyes wide as blood poured down his maskless face. but beneath the blood, he was faceless, skin smoothed over and pale, till his face morphed into Charles's deformed flesh and it replayed again.

a soft stroking along your thigh brought you further from the murky haze, and you pushed up against a solid form. you opened your eyes to find Ghost’s, blinking down at you.

there was an endless, crushing relief to see his mask still firmly clasped to his face.

you tried to push away any lingering curious voices in your head, but they pushed through the weak pockets of your mental blockade, whispering out, what’s under it?

you prayed that you wouldn’t find a faceless form beneath the red gleam of it.

his arm was wrapped around your shoulders and back, fingers digging into your waist and thigh. you were practically half in his lap, cheek pressed to his chest, his big trench coat slung over your curled up body.

for the first time, you realized, you awoke to Ghost’s presence by your side. you would’ve happily nuzzled back into his warmth and fallen back into the nightmares that clutched at you, if you didn’t realize that you had an audience.

eyes snapping open, and sitting up straighter, you blearily tried to shake the sleep away as you met the stares of several foreign faces sitting in chairs opposing you. save for the weary one-four-one—John dozing lightly, a new splint in bandage over his nose, Soap’s face a remote grim shade, Gaz’s and Kate’s attention trained on you.

you noticed Soap’s arm in a sling with a bitterness.

shifting, you looked out the train compartment window moving through the arid, weedy forest, sun dipping far into the horizon in a crimson-purple hue.

“good morning,” Ghost greeted, pressing the nose of his mask to your hair. muffling a squeak, you tried to shift away because it was improper, but his strength held you close, hot gaze burning into your cheek.

you cleared your throat, looking to the man nearest to you. his hair was slicked back in dark curls, a toothpick between his teeth. he gave you a wild grin.

“we finally meet, chica,” he said in a beautifully lilted accent. he stood to offer his hand politely, and you would’ve stood to curtsy if Ghost’s hold on you wasn't so… possessive.

instead you put your hand in his and he kissed the back of it with a sly look.

Ghost tutted, muttering an impatient, “Alejandro.”

your brows rose when Alejandro released your hand with a laugh. he gestured to a clean-shaven, handsome man beside him.

“this is my most trusted right hand—Rodolfo.”

he smiled at you politely with a slight nod but made no move to shake your hand.

you nodded back. “pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Alejandro gestured to the other men littered around the room, leaning back in their plush seats. “and these are my men. los vaqueros.”

your breath hitched, looking around the room in a slight awe. these men were legends you heard of in childhood—iron fists of justice in the south that grappled with corrupt conglomerates and drug-dealing cartels. they also dabbled in their own bouts of illegal trouble. their hard-lined faces stared back at you.

instead you croaked, “where are we? and where are we going?”

you jumped a little when Ghost thumbed at your cheek, almost forgetting he was there. “we’re mid-way through southern california, bound for san francisco.”

your eyes ran over the los vaqueros, donned with bandoliers and sombreros, then one-four-one, looking much smaller and more meager. you couldn’t help but give them a weary smile, a warmth spreading in you when Soap perked up a smile of his own.

“why?”

Kate leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest. you were eternally grateful for the comfort in at least one other female presence.

“we’re going to war.”

you stiffened. “what?”

Soap quickly followed. “against the Turner boys.” his eyes darkened. “they’re wreckin’ all our towns. they won’t stop and we don’t have enough boys to get ‘em.”

Ghost’s grip on your hip tightened. Gaz pushed on. “we’re going straight to the source.”

in san francisco?

you remembered the map in the basement, the large red circle over midwest california that included the bustling hub that was san francisco, with a scribbled T in the middle. a feeling of dread gripped your stomach. this was going to develop into a gang war—or something like it at least.

“does it really have to come to that?”

you grimaced when a terse silence followed.

“this is more than about money, lovely,” Ghost said with a thickness to his accent. “this is about revenge.”

you summed that much up from the dangerous flicker in Soap’s eyes, but you worried more about where you fit into the equation. you thought back to Ghost’s journal, a sudden apprehension for the arm coiled around you tightly.

did phase two include you? were you of use once your daddy refused Ghost’s proposed ransom? and if you weren’t?

Ghost’s journal burned a hole through the pocket of your split skirt—maybe it was selfish, maybe it was childish, but a flurrying panic rose in you at the thought of going back home. you just couldn’t.

you bit back your tongue as Kate and a half-awake John moved to discuss with Alejandro in quiet murmurs that you couldn’t hear. they circled around a table, Soap and Gaz leaning into the conversation behind them.

you felt Ghost’s hand twitch on your hip as he shifted, gaze still trained on you.

sighing, you inclined your head in their direction. “go.”

he pressed his masked lips to your cheek in, what you deciphered as, a silent thank you.

you just swatted at him with a blush as he helped you to your feet, drawing his trench coat tighter around your shoulders. Rodolfo lended you a gracious arm to lean on as Ghost neared the table, your ankle an irritable throb in the back of your mind. the crowd split, his broad form pushing through, and merged again, Ghost’s stetson half-obscured from view.

you wanted to join their circle, or lean in at least, and absorb their low murmurs, but instead Rodolfo helped you limp out of the train compartment into a plush hall.

you must’ve been in a first class sleeping car because you had not seen something so lush—springy green carpet beneath your boots and a ruby red wallpaper that crawled with patterns of roses and prickly vines. the lights overhead were gilded in gold.

Rodolfo must’ve caught your gaze because he gave you a half-smile, clarifying, “Kate pulled some strings.”

you just nodded weakly. the thought of one-four-one’s influence spreading to big railway conglomerates was staggering, but at this point, didn’t sweep you into shock.

he led you to a door with a carved brass knob and chiseled key hole, fumbling with a circlet of keys in his hand. you looked down the hall and startled when, at the end of the hallway compartment, you spotted a man staring straight back at you. he wore a fashionable black jacket with silver buttons and embellishments, a cap on his head that read pullman porter on a brass plating.

his eyes flickered from you to the door Rodolfo opened with a soft click, before he drew the hallway compartment door shut with a slam. you watched him stride away fast through the window, other first class passengers lounging lazily in the opposite compartment.

“senorita?”

Rodolfo held the door open for you and you thanked him quickly, pulling yourself together and stepping into the luscious, but cramped, bedroom. politely, he closed the door, and you were left in a relief crushing silence.

the bed bowed beneath your weight as you sunk into it, kicking off your boots and laying out Ghost’s trench coat, falling back on it. you itched to loosen the strings of your corset but it was buried beneath too many layers of clothes for you to care about that now.

instead, you emptied the pockets of your fraying split skirt. you lined up Ghost’s journal, the matches, bunch of rope, and extra ammo on the bed. at the sight of it, you couldn’t help but lament the continuous absence of a revolver in your inventory.

you wondered if it was one-four-one’s intention to keep it that way as you picked through the room. there was an oil lamp on the nightstand—a carved cherry wood piece you took a moment to admire before moving to the equally exquisite armoire. opening it with a gasp, a bright bunch of fabric spilling into your face and almost knocking you back.

the thing was stuffed full of dresses and fancy garments—dresses, skirts, blouses in silk and chiffon with lacey embellishments. for a moment, you panicked. was this your designated room?

from outside the door, you heard someone taking slow steps down the hall. the knob was hallway turned when you swept up the stolen items you had laid out on the bed and shoved them back into your pockets.

Ghost slinked into the room without so much as a word and a tired look. your heart was still beating out of your chest.

“ever heard of knocking?” you frowned deeply. “what if i was indecent?”

he huffed an amused sound at that, eyes twinkling as he sat on the bed. “i’ve seen you indecent before.”

your stomach curled at the memory. suddenly, being in such close proximity alone with Ghost felt like a sinful thing, and a heat snaked under your skin, traveling up to your cheeks till it burned in your ears.

he cocked his head at you but not unkindly. “we need to talk, lovely.”

you nodded. “yes.” then, curiosity overtook you. “but what’s this?” you gestured to the open doors of the armoire behind you.

he cleared his throat and avoided your eyes, shifting on the bed. “they’re for you.”

your brows shot up. that’s what this was?

you looked from Ghost twitching on the bed to the stuffed armoire. you could imagine him picking out dresses and blouses and skirts at a tailor shop with Kate by his shoulder as you slept away the afternoon’s traumatizing events, then boarding the luxurious train with you curled into his arms.

a romantic gesture?

before you let your thoughts run away from you, sitting beside him on the bed, you had wanted to thank him in that polite manner your mama has always taught you, but you find yourself wanting to tease the apprehensive tenseness in his shoulders instead.

“it’s going to take a lot more than money to charm me, Simon,” you called softly, leaning into his side.

even if he had plenty of it, you thought dreamily, eyes running over the expensive fabric of his black suit.

he just scoffed, turning his head completely from you, but didn’t lean away. you inched behind him to smooth your hands over his shoulders which seemed to impossibly tighten even more.

“so tense,” you said in his ear, massaging your thumbs into the fleshy parts of his back. head tipping back slightly, his slow, deflating exhale didn’t go unnoticed.

“we need to talk,” he repeated, voice gruff. you leaned over his shoulder to peer at his face, but his eyes had already slid shut beneath his mask.

humming, you rubbed circles into the back of his neck, then inching back down between his shoulder blades and along his spine. one hand on his back, you slid the other to the front, watching the way his shoulders laxed with wonder.

when your fingers fiddled with the button of his vest, his gloved hand caught your wrist, heavy eyes looking over his shoulder at you with a warning that dripped with something darker. you squirmed under his gaze, skin feeling impossibly hot, a familiar clench in your stomach.

“you minx,” he said, voice a low rumble that coaxed a whine from your throat and only darkened the look in Ghost’s eyes.

he began to push you over to the bed with a hand on your chest, towering over you with a glint in his eye, but you yelped, squirming away from his hold. the movement tipped you over the edge of the bed and you crashed into the nightstand, almost knocking over the oil lamp. your ankle screamed in protest, but the images flashing through your head cut right through the pain.

the man unbuckling his belt. Charles’s hand holding you down in an iron vice, rough lips against your skin. his hand digging into your naked flesh beneath your undergarments. both of them looming over you with black eyes, and the glint of gold—

“lovely?” Ghost steadied you with an arm around your waist—but not in a way that constricted you. his eyes searched your own.

“what is it?” he demanded, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

“nothing.” you laxed, curling over him and instead pressed him down so his back hit the bed with a thud. “it’s nothing.”

you clambered over him clumsily, allowing his hands to guide you to a comfortable position, legs hooked around his waist and hands braced against his chest. it was solid and warm beneath you, like a rock that swelled slowly. you bit down on your lower lip, trying to the best of your ability to ignore the sharp stabbing of your ankle.

“you sure?” from his warm grip on your hips, and the narrow of his eyes, you knew he didn’t believe you for a second. you didn’t think he was stupid enough to not know why.

but you nodded with a stuttering breath anyway. “just let me…” you searched for the words, finding your head back in the place where you laid with him only a night ago. “take care of you.”

you unbuttoned his vest as he worked on your blouse, pulling it off with an ease that sent chills down your spine. you squeaked with surprise when he pulled you flush to his chest, sitting up to throw his vest to the floor and strip off his dress shirt. untangling yourself from him, you stood to undo your skirt, letting it pool around your ankles.

you looked up to Ghost who watched you from the bed, eyes a hungry, smoky glare. you studied the muscled gleam of his torso, breath hitching at the sight of his stitches. the wound was a raw pink and dangerously loose.

huffing an impatient noise, you yelped when he pulled you back onto his lap, pressing his mask into your neck and hair. it screamed such a Simon gesture that it had you melting into him, clutching at the fabric on the back of his head.

this was Simon. any dread furling at the edges of your mind dissipated. but still, you couldn’t hold yourself back from worrying—

“your stitches?” you gasped, feeling him pull up the fabric of his mask and press his hot lips to your neck, tongue sliding out.

a breathy noise left your lips and you squirmed, bracing your hands against the brawn of his shoulders to push him back down to the bed again. he gave way easily, to your surprise.

in the low light of the day, his lips looked pretty and full as he licked them. “they’re fine.”

you ran your hands over his chest, gasping when he pressed his hips up gently into you. there was a hardness in his pants that felt delicious against that painful ache of your core.

you muffled a sigh, allowing his hands to drag you over that hardness once more, then you gasped again. your eyes snapped up to his and he smirked, teeth glinting in the light.

“feel good?”

your head tipped back, hands scrambling for purchase. you gripped tightly at his forearms.

“i’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you whined out as he rocked you back and forth.

“you are,” he grunted through gritted teeth, head lolling back against the pillows, his muscled neck bobbing with a heavy swallow. your eyes followed the movement with a hunger, feeling a strange desire to lick over it.

even through your drawers, the friction felt like heaven, and as his movements grew faster, the tightness of your corset felt constricting around the heavy pants of your breast.

noticing this, Ghost moved to quickly unstring it, your hips endlessly canting against him. you felt a wonderful burn in your core, traveling up to your chest, throat, and tingling behind your eyes that were screwed shut.

you gasped when the corset fell away, a coolness enveloping your bare skin, jolting when you felt something hot and wet at your nipples. looking down, you moaned at the sight of his tongue swirling around the hardened buds of your breast, suckling one into his mouth. it left your chest tingling, the feeling raw and sensitive and foreign, but you only wanted more.

“that’s it. moan for me, princess,” he purred, one hand trailing down your bare spine and stopping at your backside, massaging it down into his hardness, spurring your hips forward.

you barely registered his words, biting down hard on your lip to keep the growing noises at bay as Ghost led you closer and closer to an inevitable precipice. he drew away his tongue from your chest, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. you whimpered in its absence.

“louder, pretty thing.” he tugged back a bit on your hair, so your head tilted back and your lax jaw fell open, releasing a slew of pretty sighs that had him humming approvingly.

“good girl.”

his husky words sent you hurtling over the edge, and your body shook with pleasured delight, vibrating across your skin in seizing spams. you would’ve toppled over if it weren’t for the strong arms that circled your middle.

“Simon…” you whined, clutching weakly at his arms as he scattered kisses all across your jaw, neck, chest, breasts till the murky colors exploding in your vision faded.

he lowered you back down to the bed, and you collapsed beside him, panting. he stroked at your hair, turning onto his side with a warm fullness in his gaze. your lips stretched into a weak smile and you craned up to kiss his neck softly, licking over that swollen appendage in its center like you had wanted to earlier.

you relished in the way his breath hitched. eyeing over his body, there was still a bulge in his dress pants that stirred your curiosity.

sending him a silent question with your gaze, his knuckles dragged over your exposed arm. he cocked his head. “i’m alright, lovely.”

“but…” your face heated up. “i want to see.”

he shifted on the bed, black eyes darting over your face. for the first time since you’d known him, Ghost looked… nervous.

“why do you want to see?”

“because…” the words died in your throat. his lips stretched into a wry grin.

“you don’t need to. i like you like this,” he sighed, twirling your loose hair between his fingers.

your brow furrowed. “like what?”

his grin grew fuller. “innocent.”

you mustered your most bitter look and threw it at him, mood plummeting when he let out a throaty laugh.

“you really want to see that bad?” his eyes went dark again, and you nodded eagerly.

with a long look, a hand twitching at his side, he just sighed and willed you closer with a beckoning hand. you sat up with a sharp clarity to your mind, inching forward towards his pants. he remained leaned back against the pillows, one arm stretched over his body and cradling the back of his head as he unbuckled his pants with one hand.

he pulled himself out of his undergarments, the flesh heavy, swollen, firm, and drooling a thick fluid at the flushed tip. your whole body heated up with something—shame, embarrassment, longing, or something even deeper.

“oh,” you squeaked, avoiding his gaze entirely, though you knew it was burning into your cheek. he grabbed your chin, turning your head to meet it.

“we can stop here, but i don’t know if i can hold back if you just—” he swallowed hard, “watch me like that.”

“like what?” you asked, lips parting and eyes growing doe-like.

he cursed, and you watched in amazement when his hand flexed around his length, abdominal muscles flexing in time with it, tip oozing out more fluid. weirdly, saliva pooled in your mouth, and you resisted the urge to swallow it back.

you wanted to put your tongue on it.

“like that,” he rasped, throat strained with effort.

you gazed at him wordlessly, hands feeling restless. you wanted to touch him.

he cocked his head. “what’s wrong?”

when you said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line, starting to tuck himself back into his pants, and you felt a growing panic in you. “i told you i’m alright pretty girl—”

“no!” you lurched forward to snatch his wrist away, his length straining against his stomach. his eyes snapped up in surprise and you felt your entire face go red with embarrassment. “i mean,” you inhaled deep, “no. i… i want to…”

you swallowed hard. Ghost lips twitched, a very amused expression stretching his face.

“can i…?”

his hand rubbed over your thigh, squeezing. “can you what, pretty thing?”

you whimpered, clutching at his hand. “want to put my mouth on it.”

the growl from the back of his throat should’ve scared you but it only spurred you forward, settling closer to the side of him, your thigh firmly pressed against his as you sat your backside over your ankles. one experienced a stabbing pain, but the sight in front of you cut right through the nagging sensation.

Ghost’s gaze was intense, heavier than you ever felt before, even with his body laxed back into the pillows, one arm hooked behind his head.

“go ahead, lovely.”

tentatively, you reached out, brushing your fingertips over the very tip of it where all the fluids were spilling out in rolls down his length. the hiss he let out made your core shiver, vibrating back to life in slow, hot pulses.

“what does it feel like?” you whispered, and his eyes closed.

“good.”

“how good?” you pressed, dragging your fingertips down the underside and back up again. his breath hitched when you brushed over a sensitive spot nestled beneath the tip. massaging at it with your thumb experimentally, his eyes snapped open again, snatching up your wrist.

your heart skipped a beat, a new worry clouding your mind. had you done something wrong?

on the verge of apology, you stopped short when he pressed a kiss to your inner wrist.

“you have to tell me if you want to keep going or not.” his eyes flashed. “if we do, i won’t want to stop, and i don’t want to scare you.”

even beneath the layers of his mask, the way his jaw was set in a grim clench, you could see the sincerity in his face.

“i want to make you feel good,” you said with finality, and his lips twitched up.

“i know you do.” he rubbed your cheek with affection. “such a polite girl.”

“tell me what to do,” you almost begged, squirming in his hold, and he guided your hand back down to his swollen length, gasping when he wrapped your entire hand around it.

it was wet, sticky, warm, throbbing.

“feels good when you squeeze tighter,” he said softly, eyes going hazy when you immediately obeyed. slowly, he dragged your hand up and down its length, going completely lax against the bed.

you watched in amazement, clenching your thighs together as your entire hand went up and down it in a rhythmic grind, the swells of his chest rising faster with every ministration. his eyes fluttered close periodically, sometimes tightening his hold on your hand, then going loose, altering speeds between painstaking slowness and a quick jerking movement.

“doin’ good, princess,” he panted, and you flushed at the praise because you really weren’t doing anything.

scanning over his body, you remembered the way his breath stopped short when your tongue was on his skin.

you wanted to hear those sounds again.

leaning down, you shyly mouthed over the skin at his neck, sucking there, and you were immediately spurred on with the low groan that left his lips.

your lips traveled down past his collarbones, to the plush muscle of his chest, tongue circling his nipples now, and he jolted in beneath you, hand stuttering almost to a stop.

“christ,” he gritted out as you sucked there, thighs squirming together for an ounce of relief.

you found it when Ghost snaked a hand beneath your drawers, seeking out your puffy clit and eagerly discovering it, rubbing firm circles against you.

your lips fell away from his chest, and you almost crumpled onto him, grinding down into his hand with a greediness that bloomed through your whole body. he hummed approvingly in your ear, kissing the shell of it gently, when you jerked your hand over his length on your own—matching the movements of his fingers on your clit.

“fuck, just like that,” he rasped, sounding a bit desperate now.

his hand fell away from yours around his length, gripping at your hip instead to steady you. when he sped up, so did your hand, sparks flying beneath your eyelids as you keened loud. his lips were on your neck, and your whole body went numb, but your gaze was intent on his own length that throbbed deliciously strong in your hand.

it twitched, then shuddered, and you felt Ghost muffle a groan against your neck as his hips stuttered up, watching in amazement as fluids spurted out from the tip in rhythmic pulses, rolling down over your hand in a milky substance.

you both shuddered through mutual pleasure, and once the last of the wracking waves struck you, you crashed forward into his chest, a sticky and sweaty mess.

you caught his eye, tired and half-lidded, a bead of sweat going down his neck as his chest rose rapidly, and you couldn’t help but laugh—feeling giddy from the open display of his own pleasure that Ghost had just revealed to you.

his lax face shifted into one of amusement, craning down to kiss your nose. that’s when you remembered—

“i didn’t put my mouth on it,” you realized with a cracking disappointment.

looking down to his length, now softer and still covered in the fluids, you leaned down to press your tongue to it, but were pulled back suddenly by a soft hiss.

“don’t,” Ghost rasped, and you gave him a wide-eyed apologetic look.

he just shook his head. “it’s different than this—” he smoothed a hand over your clothed cunt, and you gasped with embarrassment at the blunt movement, “—s’more sensitive after i orgasm.”

you tilted your head. “orgasm?”

he brushed the hair from your sweaty forehead. “your climax,” he elaborated in a seductively smooth voice and you blushed, pushing his hand away as he smirked. you knew what he meant.

your gaze traveled back to the pool of fluid on his stomach, a curiosity brewing in you. “is that what this is?”

he followed your gaze. “mhmm. it’s what this is, too.”

he snaked his hand back into your undergarments, and you jolted with a gasp, squirming when he pressed two fingers against your entrance. when he pulled them back to show you, there was a sticky wetness on them—similar to the one on his pelvis.

“oh,” you said, flushed with embarrassment at such blunt displays of education.

you mentally chided your mama for teaching you absolutely nothing about this. though, you assumed she would’ve told you before your marriage about… lovemaking.

before a crashing guilt could consume you, the view of Ghost wrapping his tongue around his fingers that were sticky with your orgasm startled you back to reality.

“Ghost!” you exclaimed, pulling his fingers out of his mouth.

his brow furrowed as he huffed with frustration. “what?”

“that’s improper!” you slapped at his chest. “very improper! and…” your face screwed up. “unsanitary.”

that face-consuming smirk of his stretched his pretty lips. “don’t forget i was drinking it straight from the source last night.”

with your hand to your mouth, you gasped, pushing yourself completely off the bed as he shook with quiet laughter, delirious with it, even.

“i’m done with you,” you said with a roll of your eyes as he beseeched you to come back, but you refused to comply, clasping your corset back around you.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched him mop up the wetness on his body with his balled up dress shirt before he padded over, swiping your hair over your shoulder.

“let me help.”

you felt him lace the thing back up, and tug it close loosely. you sent him a look over your shoulder, instructing him to tighten it more, but he just grumbled, barely tugging it tight and you ended up shooing him away to do it yourself.

he gave you a grumpy, reproachful look and you had to bite back a grin at his behavior—that intimidating stoicism returned as promised as a rising ocean tide.

from the armoire, you picked out a loose nightgown, bodice embroidered with small bows and lace, sleeves pulling into a wide bell shape at your elbow. Ghost was still half-naked, leaning back on your bed with a sleepy gaze. he gave you a highly approving hum when you pulled it on before excusing yourself to wash up in the lavatory.

drawing Ghost’s trench coat back around your shoulders, and stepping into the hall, you muffled a shout when the same pullman porter was stationed at the end of the hallway, eyes boring into you. in the darkness of the night, shadows were cast strangely across his face, and his eyes looked like they were a pure black.

resisting the urge to step back into your room, where a very dangerous and strong outlaw lay, you just gave the porter a polite nod to move to a lavatory in the opposite direction. the porter stood stock still in the dark, not even moving to acknowledge you.

bitten with fear, you sighed in relief when you pushed into the private lavatory, locking the door behind you. inspecting your appearance in the mirror, you cringed at the disheveledness of it. there was a dark, purpling circle of exhaustion under your eyes and a swollen pink hue to your face—not to mention the frizzy circlets of hair defying gravity on your crown.

you took your own washcloth and dipped it in the basin, turning the faucet, praying for hot water. when none came after you stripped yourself of your nightgown, you grimaced as you scrubbed the cold washcloth over yourself. you wet your hair and brushed it back, splashing your face with the icy water, toweling off, then redressing yourself in the nightgown.

a hand on the lavatory knob, you worried about the porter at the end of the hallway. what if he had moved? what if, when you opened the door, you’d open it to his face—the all-encompassing black of his eyes?

suddenly, events just hours prior came crashing down on you. men looming over you. the sickening thud of the bullet hitting that man on his horse, face going black, before falling to the ground with a crunch. the clink of a belt.

gunshots were in your ears, an intense ringing after each click, trigger, pull, boom and smoke.

“no,” your hands shook as you slid down the lavatory wall, covering your ears.

the banging became louder. with each boom another body dropped dead, blood unfurling around it like a bad omen, its tendrils snaking. snaking towards you.

“no, no.” you couldn’t stop shaking.

this was your fault.

you had killed three men today. one, on the horse, second, bullet through the face, third, beat him to death in the ground. beat him to death.

this was your fault. this was your fault, this was your fault, this was your fault—

“HEY!” you jolted back to reality, breath in a dizzying flurry. really dizzying flurry. when you stood, you felt nauseous, almost keeling over and throwing up. you pressed your forehead to the cool of the wall, swallowing back the bile hard.

there was a banging knock on the door.

“how much fockin’ longer are ye going to take’n there?” you tried to work out your voice but all that came out was a scraping rasp.

“sweet mother of mary and jesus, what does a man need to do to piss ‘round here—”

you swung the door open suddenly and Soap jumped back with a yelp, pressed flat against the opposite of the narrow hallway. the soft, yellow lighting poured out into the dark hallway and bruises you didn’t notice before littered Soap’s cheeks, his right eye a pocket of swollen, purple flesh.

his anger dissipated in a second at the sight of you, giving you a nervous, wry smile.

“sorry, lassie, didn’t know it was you—” he paused suddenly, face contorting. “are ye cryin’, lassie?”

you touched your fingers to your numb face, pulling back to find a wetness on your fingertips. you just stared at him as he fumbled awkwardly, mouth opening and closing.

you spoke for him. “i killed three men.”

he didn’t even react, expression deflating as he nodded. “it happens, lass.”

he reached out a hand tentatively, just barely brushing his good hand over your shoulder, the other still hanging limp by his chest in a white sling.

how can murder be normal?

“no, i killed them. on purpose.” something in you broke. “i wanted them to die.”

he just shook his head again, gripping your shoulder tightly now. “they would’ve done worst te you if you didn’t, bonnie.”

you chewed that, finding it indigestible no matter how you looked at it.

Soap continued quickly, “i enlisted when i was sixteen. saw things in a war i shouldn't've. luckily one-four-one and Laswell had my back…”

he smiled fondly before shrugging. “war happens. death happens, lassie, whether you wish it on someone or not. those men had it comin’ for ‘em.”

nodding slowly, you barely mustered a tight-lipped smile when he patted your shoulder brazenly, beaming with a grin. behind him, a grumpy looking blonde materialized in the hallway, her hair tousled and still in full riding attire, grip tight at her holster. Soap’s grip dropped immediately.

“what’s goin’ on here?” Kate demanded, looking from you to Soap.

you jolted, the roughness of her expression pulling you back to reality. a creeping shame rose in you—crying in front of a man you barely knew, confessing your sins to him in your lacey nightgown in the middle of the dark, narrow hallway. Kate’s gaze hardened, and you balked, struggling to find an explanation when Soap interjected.

“i was just waitin’ to use the loo!” he tossed you a smile, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that told you to play along. “funny meetin’ you here in the hallway, princess!”

like ice water dumped over your head, you were strung back into your body.

you rolled your eyes. “don’t call me that.”

“right,” Soap sang, “only Ghost can say it. apologies, lass.”

you stepped out of the lavatory with Ghost’s coat around you and Soap slid in after you, shutting the door. looking into Kate’s furrowed face, you could see the red-rimmed bloodshot of her eyes and the bags beneath them. she looked exhausted.

beyond her, down the hall in the compartment where you ventured from earlier, John, Alejandro, and Rodolfo were still engrossed in conversation.

Kate followed your gaze with a sigh. “don’t even ask, missy,” she warned with a warm hand at your back and you suppressed a smile.

you were grateful as she led you back down the narrow hallway to your room, the porter still in the same spot from earlier, eyes dead on you. eyes looking dead as well.

you tried your best to ignore him but his head jerked, cracking it, rolling back his shoulders from the stiff position. rushing a bit faster, you could feel Kate’s hand tighten against your spine as you fumbled with the room key.

you jolted when she called down the hall.

“what the hell’re you lookin’ at?” she griped at the porter, who finally turned his head to the window beside him.

her eyes narrowed, and she grumbled low into your ear, “don’t go venturing off in this train alone at night, as much as i know you love to explore.”

there was a dripping sarcasm in her voice that you chose to ignore as you swung the door open, bidding her a soft goodnight as she gave you a tight-lipped smile before it dropped from her face into a scowl. but the full look in her eyes made you feel as though you may have grown closer than you thought over just the past three days.

shutting the door behind you, you leaned against it, sighing out, before turning to find Ghost in a sprawled out position like before. your spent clothes for the day were folded in the corner on a plush chair as well as his own. you couldn’t help but smile at that seemingly persistent habit of neatness he had as you laid down his coat over the back of the chair.

you neared him but he didn’t turn to look at you, just leaned his head against the wall.

you crawled onto the bed and brushed your knuckles over the red mask. you were disappointed to see the black fabric beneath it pulled down over his jaw again.

“have a good wash?”

he blinked owlishly out the window on the opposing wall, desert passing by serenely, washed in a cool blue tone by the sweep of the moonlight. the rattling of the train clinked through the room.

you opened your mouth before swallowing down hard.

no one has to know about your episode.

Soap had made sure of that in front of Kate, and you felt endlessly indebted to him. how would Ghost react if he knew you were having… mental struggles? you could only pray under your breath that it wouldn’t persist, but you doubted god was listening to your meek voice after the sins you’ve committed today.

shivering, you just nodded with a smile. “refreshing.”

“good.” his face swung to you, a hardness to his eyes. your brow furrowed but you buried it with another smile. “we need to talk.”

blinking, you slinked away from him and sat on the far edge of the bed, which wasn’t very far at all in the cramped room, his outstretched foot resting against your hip. you leaned back against the window, the moonlight casting his mask in a blue gleam.

“we do,” you agreed, though about what—you didn’t know where to begin.

what exactly would happen once you reached san francisco? would you be included in their business, or would they shut you out like before? a stranger and a hostage?

you one-overed Ghost’s relaxed form, to the muscles of his torso, the veins spidering up his arms, and the distant look in his eyes.

what was going on between you and Ghost?

what exactly was phase two?

you thought back to this afternoon in the basement and what you had found—the intercepted letter from your daddy and Ghost’s journal. your eyes darted to the pile of clothes in the room.

“looking for this?”

you jolted when he tossed something onto the open space of the bed beside you, stomach dropping at the words scrawled over it.

GHOST.

a snaking dread sized you, any lingering warm feelings of your shared night sliding off your body like icy water.

your eyes snapped up to his—cold and dark.

like the porter’s, a traitorous voice in you called out, but you immediately willed it away, because this was Simon.

“you can’t blame me for snooping.” your jaw clenched when he didn’t respond. “you took me and confined me to the shop. no one told me what would happen to me. i needed to know if…”

you swallowed around your next words. “...if you were going to ransom me back to my daddy.”

Ghost made no move, didn’t even blink, hand twitching on his bare chest.

“you want the truth?” holding your breath, you gave him a curt nod.

“i was going to,” he chewed out, and you blinked. “last night i was still deciding.”

last night. when you were curled up in his arms and he had taken your first bout of innocence from you. a spark of something dark lit within you. as of recent, it seems he’s taken a lot from you in general.

your gun, your innocence, your parents. your home.

“did you go see my daddy that day?”

that day when you said you were searching for Sugar, you wanted to challenge, was it all a lie?

you thought back to the intercepted letter—your daddy’s anger seething through the note, and his promise to wrung one-four-one of everything until he got you back. maybe the proper term was rescue.

Ghost’s jaw clenched. “yes.”

you sucked in a breath, a spiraling panic coming back to you like the one in the lavatory before. you willed it away best you could, pressing cool knuckles to your temple as you closed your eyes. images flashed—your daddy dead, blood everywhere, all over his papers, letters, clothes, a bullet in his temple and Ghost with a revolver to his head. was he dead?

did Ghost kill your daddy?

“is he alive?”

you waited for the answer with bated breath.

“‘course. even if he tried to kill me.”

a whoosh of air left you, and you leaned your head back against the cool window, taking in Ghost. his head was tilted, a curious glint in them that you ignored.

his voice was cold. “anymore questions?”

you gave him a hard stare. “what changed your mind?”

“about?”

you scoffed. “not selling me away after…” last night. you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

his foot pressed into your hip but you ignored it. he sighed out.

“i went to your father to offer a ransom.” your brow raised. “$25,000.”

this sounded familiar.

“but he refused.”

you flinched at that, somewhere between a crushing weight of disappointment and embarrassment falling on you. you wiped away a brewing wetness in your eyes. Ghost couldn’t return you if your daddy didn’t want you in the first place.

“so?”

his foot dug deeper into your side.

“he told me something else.”

you finally met Ghost’s gaze, his head tipped forward and brows furrowed. you could tell from the way his eyes pinched with a haunted glare.

after a long silence ensued, you poked at his foot. “what was it?”

the void bluntness of his voice told you it wasn’t anything good.

“he refused the ransom because of his pride, but also because he didn’t want to ransom you when…” Ghost sucked in a breath, “when you already belonged to someone else.”

your mind reeled at that.

“what?”

“he thought it wasn’t fair he had to pay. he was already working with a businessman to make you his mistress.”

your stomach curdled, heart beating out your throat. “no, that’s…” you choked down some tears, “that’s not true.”

the end of your words turned up in a weak tremble that you desperately wanted to hide but Ghost pinned you down with his eyes.

“he was going to make you Turner’s mistress. that was part of their deal.”

your blood chilled at that, body going impossibly numb. what did this mean for you now? you scrambled to find purchase in your mind, in anything that would slow the spinning of the room. what did this mean for you now?

were you still of use to one-four-one? would they abandon you in san francisco to fight a war, leaving you to the streets? and if they did, would your daddy accept you back in his home, or turn you right over to Turner as his personal whore?

you shook, vision clouded over.

even if you didn’t choose your daddy, you still wish he chose you over everything.

you were his only daughter after all.

“that doesn’t make sense,” you said thickly, “why would he do that?”

Ghost was as still as a rock, his only sign of life was the hand that came down to play with the hem of your nightgown.

“bigger investment and more money, ” he said, voice eerily empty, and an iciness passed through you.

just another one of Daddy’s business transactions.

you remember what Ghost called out at the dinner table that night.

you sell your daughter to investors for a buck. do you really want to talk about honor?

your eyes flickered to Ghost again. had he known all along? or had he just taken a great guess from doing so many years of business with your daddy—who you really didn’t seem to know at all?

a weak, strangled noise came from the back of your throat.

“but in that letter,” you groped, clawing for anything, “he said he would do anything to get me back. he said that.”

your voice rose and Ghost’s eyes slid away from you to the window behind you.

you felt like a whining, whimpering child. a mile long chasm was being torn straight through the room, and when you looked to the other side, Ghost was the older, war-torn man he always was and you were just… you.

hopeful, naive, innocent.

you.

you balled up into your chest and let the tears stream from your eyes in the most silent sobs you could muster, only the gentle clinking of glass on metal in the room, train chugging on relentlessly, dragging you in tow.

had you really thought, only five days ago, that you could become a gunslinger alongside Ghost? a cowgirl with a great shot and a tough spirit?

you felt so far from all of it that you dug your nails into the soreness of your ankle, relishing the way the sharp waves of pain brought you back down to earth.

there was a sigh in your ear, and two strong arms that wrapped you up, but you twisted in them immediately, your nails digging into the flesh of Ghost’s arms as you shoved him away.

“don’t you dare,” you hissed, pressing yourself as far as you could from him in the diminishing room. your eyes flickered to the ceiling above his head. it really looked like the room was getting smaller—the ceiling shrinking by the second.

he only watched you with an eerie calm, a nauseous feeling climbing in you.

“you did this,” you spat through tears. “a couple days ago i was with my mama and daddy and everything was fine until you showed up.”

your breath shook. “you devil.”

whether Ghost was hurt by it, you couldn’t tell, because he only blinked harshly, but you regretted the words anyways. because you knew that Ghost was telling the truth. even if you did stay with your mama and daddy, and Ghost had never taken you, you would’ve been swept away to Turner’s big estate in san francisco anyway.

but the bile poured from you like a sweltering, infected wound. “i would’ve been married,” you cried out, tears dripping from your trembling chin onto the breast of your nightgown. of Ghost’s nightgown.

liar, a voice in you hissed, but you pushed it to the furthest corner of your mind.

“you stole me from my parents, took my honor, and you’re a liar!”

Ghost cocked his head at you, eyes glazed over and mask glinting. you hated that stupid mask. you just wanted to rip it off his face.

you jolted when he spoke, grumbling out, “i didn’t mean to.”

if there was a revolver slung in your holster, you would’ve shot him dead three times in the heart by now, just like your mama said.

Mama, a little girl in you cried, i’m sorry. i should’ve listened to you that first night in the cabin when he fell asleep.

he continued with gritted teeth. “i wanted revenge against your father for betraying me and i wanted revenge on Turner.” he wouldn’t look at you now. “i wanted to steal something of theirs and make it mine.”

of all the things he could’ve said, nothing in the world prepared you then. you lurched for him, vision red and wrapped your hands around his neck, wanting to see a flicker of fear in his eyes—or something other than the cold, dead wall you were talking to.

but he just flipped you easily in a calculated movement, weight keeping you pinned as you mindlessly struggled, arms in a bind above your head.

he talked over your cries and shouts now, voice in your ear— “i knew your daddy had a daughter. but i didn’t know she was so young and full of spirit and…” your struggling subsided. the look in his eyes seemed something like defeat. “...lovely.”

you spat right onto his mask but he didn’t even flinch.

“liar,” you hissed, working up into a frenzy again, squirming against his bone-crushing hold. “liar, liar, liar, liar—”

“i thought his daughter would be some rich, prissy girl who didn’t want anything to do with outlaws. then she told me she hated her happy, small town life, and her two parents that loved her.”

“liar, liar, liar, liar—”

“she told me that she could be a gunslinger if she wanted to be. she rode like one, too.”

you tried to scream and shout over his words and block it out of your brain, but his low murmur against your ear cut right through it all.

“when i realized what’d i’d done, that i’d stolen a girl who was a thief, it was too late. you saved my life when i got shot. i thought you would’ve ran away and left me for dead.”

his voice dropped even lower, the forehead of his cool mask pressing against your jaw. “i wanted you to leave me for dead.”

at that, your struggling subsided, confusion welling up in you like a stormy cloud.

“i wanted you to leave me for dead.”

he pulled back to press your arms to your chest and loomed over you.

“i wanted to be dead for what i was doing.”

you kicked out under his legs, knee connecting with something soft, and he dropped his hips with a hiss to pin you down.

“what were you doing?”

his voice was deceptively soft. “i was using you for revenge.”

more tears ran from the sides of your face like fleeing raindrops.

then a fast anger cooked in you, a slower simmer turning to a hot boil.

“i hate you,” you seethed, staring right into the wall of his mask. there wasn’t a human being beneath there.

just a calculated animal.

“i hate you,” you said again, voice breaking.

“good,” he nodded, though his tone was broken. “honest to god, i didn’t know your father was going to give you to Turner.”

you hissed, “how can you be honest to god?”

he ignored you. “i would’ve returned you to your family if they paid the ransom. even if they didn’t, i would’ve given you back eventually. but they didn’t want you and you didn’t want to go. it was always about Turner—we didn’t care about the money. your father happened to betray us and we found the perfect bloody outlet to Turner.”

you dug the side of your face into the side of the bed, refusing to look at him as he held you there. a pool of your tears formed beneath the swollen fleshiness of your cheek.

“i needed Turner to take the first step in this war. and he did. i got lucky when i happened to steal his future mistress.” his eyes flashed. “Turner hates it when his things are taken.”

“since, you’ve gotten what you want,” you cried, voice raw “what do you still need me for?”

he closed his eyes. “i don’t know.”

“liar.” the word was becoming melded into your tongue. “you want to use me for revenge. is that all i’m useful for, then?” your throat cracked open, wide and full of emotion. “i’m just for your revenge? did you bed me for revenge?”

his gaze was half-lidded, tired. “yes.”

you fell limp at that, feeling every ounce of energy drain from you—like the devil was sucking away your life force.

you wanted that poisonous, gurgling voice inside you to breathe out another liar, to call Ghost’s bluff for what it was, but it fell silent the moment you needed it most.

closing your eyes, Ghost’s body draped over your own, warm and solid and flushed together. he pressed his mask into your hair.

bourbon, cigarettes, and the musk of wood and dirt and sweet spruce.

you couldn’t even fight it. you don’t even think you wanted to—because even if no one wanted you in the world, not even your daddy, Ghost did want you for something. one thing.

revenge.

“get out,” you whispered, and he didn’t move, a big, swelling rock above you.

“get out!” you shouted, straight into his ear, but he didn’t even flinch. after another long pause he slid off you with a gentleness, a fleeting caress of his hand against your swollen ankle before he slinked away. there was a soft click of the door closing, Ghost’s boots thumping against the floor in the hallway.

you stayed in that position for a long time, pressed to the mattress right where he had left you.

it was like, if you moved, the invisible imprint of him against your skin would disappear like his physical form, lost into the night.

maybe this is what you needed, you decided. maybe, if you could convince one-four-one of your usefulness, that you were important to them, even beyond Ghost’s revenge ploys, you would become a permanent member and carve out a space in their lives. but not Ghost’s. never Ghost’s.

a withering, squirming dread in your stomach made it known that it would be impossible. at this point, you were too tired to even try and convince them to let you stay.

so you turned over and forced yourself into a relentless, exhausting sleep.

ok that was kinda crazy. but i promise the angst will not last forever. chapter 3 coming soon.........

i hope you guys enjoyed!! <;33

taglist: @poohkie90 @kunikku @silverianni @doublesuicidewithme @cliosunshine @one17 @warenai @saturnknows @tomiesdiet @migueloharaapologist2 @keiva1000 @kenma-izhu @lilvampirina @deltottoro @maki-z @leeeenistop @danika1994 @stillinracooncity @saevitiaa @itsalwaysbetternottoknow @karagd13-blog @nattywatty @oyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoyaoya @havoc973 @mr-sol

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

2K notes · View notes

fushipurro · 2 months

Text

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

masterlist

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

His partner has to be you, his arresting officer.

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

☆ Word Count: 17.2k

Toji Zenin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You ordered a hit on yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

No evidence? No conviction.

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

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

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

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

…Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Hell no.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is going to be a pain in my ass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think they’re cheaters?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you learn from this scene?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

The nerve of this guy!

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

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

That’s Toji.

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

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

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

BEEEEP.

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

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

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

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

“A bar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s it, I’m done.

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

“Why are you like this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You like a pretty boy. With the pretty voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because love…

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

…burns like a cigarette.

And leave you alone with nothing.

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

And leave you alone with nothing…

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you trust me?”

“Not really.”

“Tch, then act like you do.”

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

I’m going to kill him; I really am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck am I doing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, fuck, this is too much!

“I-I just ─ I can’t, this is wrong!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That so?”

No. “Y-yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Big mistake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great, is he telepathic now?

“T-toji I don’t thi-“

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

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

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

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

“Hahh─ fuck!”

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

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

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

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

“Nghh, Toji please.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes! Fuck, please please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew all along!?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that all he thinks of this as?

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

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

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

Love.

It really makes people do such stupid things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Toji─ wait!”

It’s too late, and he opens the door.

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

“You ordered pizza?”

Oh.

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

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

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

Love works in mysterious ways.

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

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

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

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

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

More like 15 minutes given the timestamps of the voicemails.

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

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

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

“Five more minutes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Better believe it, sweetheart.

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

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

“You’re all mine…”

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

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

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

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

“What else do you see?”

“What else?” you say, confused.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How would you even know that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s her! The chestnut-haired woman!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Balls deep, you might say.

Ha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The killers’ workstation.

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

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

POP. POP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Katsura, we really should–“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Toji! Your arm!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Room 214: Dr. Mafune – Cardiology

“Bingo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

POP.

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

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stops, slowly turning to face you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

POP. POP. POP.

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

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

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

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

He’s so warm.

Shit… is this what dying feels like?

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

Even got the chance to fall in love…

. . .

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

I’ll miss you, Toji…

Thanks for showing me true love.

. . .

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Shh, she’s waking up!”

“Satoru, give her some room to breathe!”

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

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

“…Guys?”

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll leave you two to chat.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir?”

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

The door clicks open and you spin in your seat. Whiplash hitting in the form of déjà vu as Toji Fushiguro himself walks in, devoid of any handcuffs or guards. He wolfishly grins at the sight of your bewildered state, taking a seat neat to you exactly how he did the last time you both were in this room together.

“Higher ups made yet another deal. Toji will be working with us now as your very own partner.” Your boss slides a gun and badge across the table which Toji happily accepts. “He’s not out of the clear, so think of this like a special parole. I expect good things from you both.”

“Yes, Sir,” you both respond, this time without any sarcasm or mock salutes. Toji follows you closely back to your new desk of operations, sitting himself down over the oak wood top.

“So, partner,” He lowers his head and at the same, cups your chin turning you upwards to meet his lips with a sliver of space between. “Still wanna raise my kid with me? Let’s make it official, sweetheart.”

☆ Notes: did i go a bit overboard with the greek mythology references? maybe, but in my defense they were all last minute additions for some extra details which btw, jesus christ i went fucking ham for this. the word count baffles even me.

took so fucking long to get this out though. you ever find a fanfic that is so goddamn good and beautifully written that it makes you want to delete everything you've ever done because you feel like you'll never compare? yeah well i found that while writing this. that and i've had migraines every day for like a solid week now, i hate it here.

ANYWAYS, this was a prompt inspired by tojisfanatic based on this artwork

448 notes · View notes

proxima-writes · 11 months

Text

title: in a feud with her neighbor

bonus scenes now available

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5621

summary:

Five times you think Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever, and the one time he isn’t.

author’s note: this is so self-indulgent. i hope you guys enjoy it! if you like this work, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment because they make my day 💕

special thanks to the angels who helped with ideas: @dreamingofdaddydin @jksprincess10 @mydailyhyperfixations @funnygirlthatgab

additional warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no use of y/n, story contains visual graphics, everyone pretend the 12 ft skeleton was available in 2003 and you could stream TV shows, no sarah, no outbreak, neighbor feuds, enemies to lovers, oral (explicit f receiving, non-explicit m receiving), semi-public sex, making out in a pool, reader is a menace and arguably the bad neighbor here, unprotected p in v, use of sex toys, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk. let me know if any are missing!

Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever.

Your issues with him started on your first Halloween in the neighborhood. You had moved into your new home a few months prior, thrilled that you finally managed to escape the horrors of apartment living. You were now the proud owner of a little single story two bedroom craftsman style home, complete with fenced in backyard and a pool.

You loved your little house and the neighborhood was ideal, quiet but tight knit. The neighbor to your left, an elderly woman named Betty, had invited you over for tea and cookies and given you the lowdown on the neighborhood gossip.

The neighbor to your right, Joel Miller, she said, was a wonderful man. Polite, kind, and not too hard on the eyes either. You hadn’t met him yet, but with a glowing review like that, you couldn’t wait until you did.

She had also mentioned that the neighborhood goes all out for Halloween. They even hosted a contest for the best decorated house. Your mind already raced with the possibilities.

You loved Halloween. In Texas, the stifling heat finally eased around that time, dropping to a slightly more tolerable range in the 80s with cooler nights. You loved seeing all the displays in the stores and how abandoned storefronts would be overtaken by whole companies dedicated to Halloween. You watched all the horror movies you could and on the weekends you’d seek out local fall festivals because you’re a sucker for candy apples and funnel cake.

No one ever decorated at the apartment complex you previously lived in, so you were extra excited to decorate your house and yard. You bought fake tombstones and plastic skeletons for the yard, spider webs and little ghosts to hang in the trees. You carved two pumpkins to set on either side of the steps leading up to your front door and made little ghost statues out of tomato cages, foam balls, and white fabric. You even strung purple lights through your hedges.

You were totally going to win the decorating contest. You were confident that you would.

Until you woke up Halloween morning and Joel Miller had somehow decorated his entire home in the time that you had been sleeping, blissfully unaware.

The man had somehow managed to set up an entire army of skeletons, including a handmade wooden jail stuffed with ones trying to escape. There were some posed on the house itself, climbing up the sides and the roof. He had some coming out of the ground, red spotlights fixed on them for an eerie glow. But perhaps most impressive of all was the twelve foot skeleton with glowing red eyes that was posed near the makeshift jail, holding the door open like it was releasing the trapped undead soldiers.

Joel Miller had the motherfucking twelve foot skeleton. You wanted one of those so bad but it was always sold out. You checked every nearby Home Depot for months trying to find one and here Joel Miller has one, taunting you.

He won the decorating contest, sweeping the victory from right under your feet.

It may seem silly, but that was the moment you decided Joel Miller was the worst neighbor ever.

When you were buying your first home, you had been meticulous in calculating your finances in order to comfortably afford the purchase. You did not, however, account for having to repair your air conditioning system within less than a year of moving in. This made a significant dent in your savings, which led you to cut your expenses elsewhere.

One such expense was your internet. Why? Because it turns out Joel Miller, asshole neighbor, doesn’t password protect his router and you can just use his.

It’s not like he would notice.

_________________

Joel stares at his internet bill in confusion. This is the third month in a row that he’s been charged for going over his data allowance. That doesn’t even make sense. He’s the only person in his house and he only uses the internet on his phone to check the news and sometimes play Candy Crush. It’s why he got the lowest data plan in the first place.

He tries to think of what he could be doing differently, but comes up short. Hell, he’s not even home most of the day. He works long hours at different contracting jobs, so his free time is spent watching TV (cable, not connected to the internet), and sleeping.

But then it hits him. The overage charges never happened until you moved in.

Joel powers up his ancient laptop and has to Google search what a router is. Turns out, he doesn’t have a password set on his. Which means, if his hunch is correct, you’ve just had free access to his internet this whole time.

He learns how to set a password and, more importantly, he learns how to change the name of his router.

He needs to send a message, after all.

_________________

You’re about to start another episode of Grey’s Anatomy, courtesy of your friend generously sharing her Netflix password, when you receive an error message.

No internet connectivity. Try again?

The little WiFi connection icon is missing from your toolbar. You investigate further, opening the list of options and scanning them for Joel’s, conveniently titled Miller.

But instead you find a new name.

GetYourOwnWiFi. And it’s password protected.

“Son of a bitch,” you hiss.

Joel Miller’s tree is always dropping debris in your yard. The limbs have grown over your shared fence line and on windy days you have to deal with extra pool clean up on top of the usual mess it makes of your yard, twigs and leaves ruining your perfectly manicured backyard oasis.

You’ve asked him to trim the branches. Left him notes on his door and in his mailbox, but he still hasn’t done it.

Today you’re sending a new kind of message.

He’s going to wish he’d listened when you asked nicely.

_________________

“What the fuck,” Joel growls when he gets home just after sunset. There’s piles of leaves and twigs littering his front porch, almost to the point that he can’t see the concrete slab beneath.

There’s no way this just happened through the force of nature. It’s been a perfectly clear day in Austin and besides, there’s no trees at the front of his house for this kind of mess to fall from.

Which can only mean…

His eyes spot the bright pink Post-It note stuck to his door and he curses under his breath as he stomps up the porch steps and rips it down.

Here. Clean your own mess up for once.

xoxo

Joel crumbles the note in his fist, taking deep breaths as he heads for the garage to grab a broom and a trash bag.

He’ll get you back.

He always does.

You love animals, especially cats. Unfortunately, being allergic, you don’t have the option to have one of your own all the time.

When you spot the first neighborhood stray, your heart lights up with excitement. It’s a little black and white cat with bright green eyes that walks right up to you while you’re getting your mail, winding its lithe body between your legs and purring against you. You stoop to pet it, mentally reminding yourself to wash your hands before you touch your face, otherwise your eyes would be itchy for hours.

“Hello, little baby,” you murmur, rubbing a hand down the length of its back. “How are you?” The cat gives a strong meow in response. “Oh, are you hungry? Let’s go see if I have anything I can give you as a treat.”

Back inside your house, you locate a can of tuna and dump it into a small plastic bowl. The cat sits patiently on the porch, tail flicking in anticipation. It hops down and shoves its little face into the bowl as soon as it’s within reach.

“So cute,” you say, giving it one last pat on its back before returning inside.

_________________

There’s a cat sitting on Joel’s porch, watching him as he parks his truck. It’s the second time this week there’s been a cat lurking around his property. The first one he found out in the backyard, tearing up his flower beds.

The neighborhood had never had an issue with cats before, so he has a sneaking suspicion that you’re, once again, the root cause of his suffering.

His suspicions are confirmed when he sees you on the porch one day, laying out a row of plastic bowls filled with what he assumes is cat food. At first he’s annoyed that he’s right, it is you feeding the cats, which is why they’ve been terrorizing his yard, but then you turn around and he’s struck by how utterly gorgeous you are.

This is the first time Joel’s ever actually seen you. He’s usually out of the house before dawn and back after sunset, which must not coincide with your schedule since you’ve never run into each other. He remembers Betty, the older woman who lives to your left, telling him about meeting you.

“Gorgeous girl, that one. You two would probably hit it off,” she said as he hung a picture frame for her.

“Don’t go playin’ matchmaker, Betty,” he replied.

But damn, seeing you now in a pair of little shorts that hug your hips and ass just right and a tight white t-shirt that shows off the tiniest bit of skin above the waist of your shorts is making him think he should have taken Betty up on her word.

Joel’s so distracted that he almost misses the way the cat on his porch hits one of his planters with his paw, knocking the ceramic over and spilling dirt all over the ground.

“Fuck!”

_________________

There’s a note on your door the next morning, a torn piece of paper with a familiar scrawl of messy handwriting that could only belong to one person.

Stop feeding the cats or you owe me new plants.

-Joel

The note actually makes you giggle. Betty sees you on your porch and beckons you over to hers.

“What’s got you gigglin’ like a schoolgirl?” The older woman asks.

“What? Nothing,” you reply too quickly.

“Wouldn’t happen to be a note from a certain tall, strong, and handsome young neighbor of yours?”

“No, definitely not.”

She smirks at you. “You better quit terrorizin’ that poor man, honey.”

“Now, Betty, where would the fun be in that?” You say brightly as you head back to your house, the sound of her laughter following you through the door.

There’s a package on Joel’s porch when he gets home from work. He doesn’t remember ordering anything, but he wouldn’t put it past himself.

He brings it inside without thinking twice or checking the label, chucking it on the counter with the rest of his mail as he searches for a box cutter in his junk drawer.

Joel cuts through the packing tape, lifting the flaps and rifling through the packing paper to pull out the contents.

It’s another box, light pink with the image of a hot pink u-shaped device on the top. The text across the top reads REMOTE VIBRATOR in black script.

He nearly drops the box in surprise, fumbling it in his hands. He’s certain he didn’t order this.

Joel pulls the shipping box back towards him, keeping an eye on the vibrator like it might grow legs and run away. He flips the lid over to inspect the shipping label, his eyebrows rising as he reads your name and home address instead of his.

He looks at the toy again, mind whirling with images of you on your back, remote in hand as you bring yourself pleasure. He coughs, clearing his head and adjusts himself in his jeans.

He searches the junk drawer for a sheet of paper and a pen.

_________________

You’re staring at the delivery confirmation email from Lovelies, panic creeping down your spine. It says that your new toy has been delivered but there’s no package in your mailbox or on your porch. You’ve checked everywhere.

Which means it was either delivered to one of your neighbors or someone stole it.

If you’re being honest, you’d rather someone stole it than to have to go knock on Betty or, god forbid, Joel’s door to ask if they accidentally received your sex toy delivery. Your cheeks heat at even the thought of Joel knowing what you ordered. You head back inside empty handed.

Later, when you open your door to feed the cats, you’re surprised to find a box on your welcome mat. You set the bowls of food down and carry it inside, your excitement mounting.

But when you open the box, you’re mortified to find a torn piece of paper on top of the packing material, Joel Miller’s familiar handwriting on the sheet.

Interesting choice

-Joel

“Fucking asshole,” you mumble, crumbling the note and tossing it to the side. You pull your new toy from its box and turn it on. “Huh. Fully charged.”

Your jerk of a neighbor won’t ruin your night if this little gadget has anything to say about it.

It’s Joel’s one day to sleep in and you’ve been blasting your music all fucking morning. He’s already got his head shoved under his pillow but the sound still filters through, ruining his chances of any extra hours of sleep to make up for his lack of it during the week.

He rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand across his beard. He heads downstairs to make coffee, the heavy beat of your music chasing him through the house. He can feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his eyes.

Joel tries to tune it out. Really. He does. As much as the two of you butt heads, he doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, nor is he trying to be one.

But if you don’t turn your music down soon he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

He gives you another hour. He’s feeling generous. But when the music just keeps playing, he finally snaps.

Joel shoves his feet into the work boots beside the door, paying little mind to the fact that he’s not wearing socks. In fact, he’s still in his sleep pants and ratty old t-shirt but he’s too far gone to care.

Once he’s in front of your door, he bangs on the wood with his fists. He waits for a response and when he doesn’t get one, probably since you can’t fucking hear him, he bangs again. There’s movement from the corner of his eye and he turns his head to find Betty watching him, lips tilted in a smirk.

“You okay with this?” Joel asks, gesturing vaguely to your house to indicate the noise level inside.

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” she replies before shuffling inside. He turns back to the door to pummel it with his fists again but he’s surprised to find it open.

“Howdy, neighbor,” you say, eyebrow raised and arms crossed beneath your breasts.

Which were currently covered by the tiniest bikini top he’s ever seen. His eyes trail lower, over the expanse of your stomach to the matching bikini bottoms that peek out past the folded waist of your denim shorts.

“Uh,” he says, followed by a strained cough. “Hi.”

_________________

Joel Miller is standing on your porch dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms that sit low on his hips, a strip of soft tan belly peeking out from above the waistband when he stretches an arm up to run his fingers through his dark, messy curls.

Christ, you think. The man is prettier than Betty gave him credit for.

“Can I help you?” You ask. His eyes snap from where they’d been lingering on your chest and you straighten your back just the slightest bit at the knowledge he’d been checking you out.

Joel clears his throat. “Your music is way too loud.”

You roll your eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Does…what hurt?”

“Always having a stick up your ass.”

Betty barks a laugh from her porch and Joel’s head turns so fast you have whiplash just watching him. He throws his hands up.

“Who’s side are you on, Betty?!” He shouts.

You’re bent over, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and tears form at the corners of your eyes. When you finally catch your breath and return your attention to Joel, he’s got his hands on his hips and an impressive furrow between his brows.

“Listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m about to go out by the pool and have a drink. Wanna join?” You ask.

“I don’t have my suit with me.”

“Well good thing you’re just right next door, huh? Go get it. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” you tell him before shutting the door in his face.

_________________

Joel returns to your house thirty minutes later, showered and wearing his swim trunks and a new t-shirt. He wipes his sweaty hands against his chest, not entirely sure why he’s nervous. He’s just having a drink with his annoying neighbor to hash out all the issues. No big deal.

Your music is still playing when he enters your house, giving the door a courtesy knock before letting himself in. The front door opens directly into the main living space, a large sectional couch facing a TV mounted between two windows to his right and a dining nook to his left. Your kitchen is nestled in the corner, just past an opening to a hallway that he assumes leads to the bedrooms. Your place is bursting with colors and textures and patterns, from the floral blanket draped over your velvet couch to the leaf patterned wallpaper and natural stone backsplash in your kitchen. You have tea towels hanging from your stove that say “ANOTHER ONE BITES THE CRUST” with a picture of a pizza, and an impressive looking bar cart that houses a variety of liquor bottles and glassware.

There’s a splash from outside and Joel sees that the sliding glass door to your patio is open. He steps onto the concrete deck, surveying the backyard oasis you’ve created for yourself. The pool is on the smaller side but still, it’s a pool, and Joel’s a little jealous of it. You’ve got chaise loungers lined near the edge and matching chairs that surround a little fire pit further out in the yard. There’s string lights hung from the shade canopy that extends from your house.

You pop up from beneath the surface, your hair slicked back from your face and little droplets of water clinging to your skin. Joel stands there, unsure of what to do, until you swim to the ledge closest to him and drape your arms over it, regarding him with keen eyes.

“Hi,” you say. He swallows, the nerves returning as he tries desperately to not let his gaze fall below your neck.

“Hey,” he replies.

“There’s beer in the cooler. Grab me one?” You ask before ducking back beneath the surface. He can see you swim towards the edge of the pool that the loungers face. He grabs two beers as instructed, popping the tops with the bottle opener fixed to the lid of the cooler. You break the surface once more, swimming over to where he sits on the end of one loungers.

Joel passes you the beer and you tip it towards him in thanks before taking a deep pull, your lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle and distracting him monumentally.

“So, you’re the Joel Miller, huh?” You ask. “Tell me about yourself.”

The two of you talk for what feels like ages. He learns that you’re a software engineer and you work a typical 9-5 schedule, which is why he’s never caught you around the neighborhood before. You don’t like to be outdoors much, preferring reading and catching up on your Netflix shows. You have two brothers, both of whom are older than you and live on the opposite side of the country, but you visit them around Christmas. You love animals, but have major allergies so you settle for fleeting moments with the neighborhood strays and occasionally watching your best friend’s dog when she goes out of town.

He tells you about his work as a contractor, which he’s been doing since he was fresh out of high school and had no idea what to do with his life. He talks about his brother Tommy, how they work together on most projects and they want to start their own contracting business, but that’s a dream for another day. He mentions he’s more of a dog person than a cat person, especially because he has a grudge against the orange neighborhood cat that is still tearing up his flowerbeds.

Joel loves the way you laugh, bright and full bodied as you toss your head back and bring a hand to your chest each time. You talk with your hands a lot, which is funny because you keep letting go of the pool ledge and scrambling to grab it again when gravity pulls you down in the water. If he doesn’t give enough detail in an answer, you’re not shy about asking him for more information, like when he said his favorite color was blue.

“Okay, but what shade of blue?” You asked.

“Just…blue?” Joel asked, clearly not understanding your question.

You rolled your eyes. “Men. I like lavender. Not just purple. Purple is a range of shades.”

“I guess…navy?”

“Now you’re getting somewhere, big guy!”

The conversation lulls as you share your drinks in companionable silence. The Texas sun bears down on his back, his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his sweat slick skin. He bites the bullet and reaches behind his head to tug the damp fabric off, leaving him in just his swim trunks. He doesn’t miss the appreciative once-over you give him.

You extend a hand to him. “Help me out?””

Joel grasps your hand in his, marveling for a moment how small it is in his broad palm. He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the michievous look on your face, or the way you plant your feet to the pool wall for leverage.

You give a sharp tug with both hands and he goes toppling into the pool with a surprised shout.

_________________

You’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The look on Joel’s face as you tugged him into the pool will be burned into your memory for years to come. You’d been waiting all afternoon for the man to take his shirt off, not only because you were admittedly dying to see what was hiding beneath the fabric, but also because you wanted exact a little neighborly revenge for stomping over to your house to tell you your music was too loud.

You’re feeling mighty accomplished, right up until you feel a hand wrap around your ankle and you get pulled beneath the surface with no warning.

You open your eyes, chlorine stinging them as you see Joel torpedo towards the shallow end of the pool. You give chase, breaking the surface with a gasp.

“You asshole–”

Joel cuts you off by wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you close and tipping his head down to capture your lips with his. He kisses like a man starved and he tastes like sunshine and chlorine and the beer he’d been drinking as his tongue slides hungrily against yours. He uses his arm to press your body to his, but it’s not close enough.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your legs to circle his waist, your center grinding against his rapidly hardening length. Joel trails his hands up and down your back, stopping to grab rough handfuls of your ass as he groans against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he curses. “This little fuckin’ bikini has been torturin’ me all day.”

“Why don’t you just take it off then?” You offer. He pulls back to watch your face as his fingers find the strings of your bottoms beneath the water, giving both sides a quick tug until you feel the material fall away. His hand creeps up your back, pulling at the strings holding your top together around your back and neck until they, too, fall away.

Joel walks the two of you forward until your back collides with the rough stone of the pool wall. He presses a muscular thigh between your legs, boxing you in with his body. Your hips jerk at the sudden pressure and friction against your bare pussy, a moan slipping from your lips as Joel presses kisses to your jaw and neck, nipping the delicate skin with his teeth.

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver dance down your spine despite the Texas heat. “Those sounds are just for me, isn’t that right?”

You nod your head quickly and he rewards you with another toe curling kiss. Your hips rock against his thigh and he swallows every little whimper as his hands explore your body.

“Joel,” you whine. His fingers pinch and pull your nipples before he soothes them with sweet circles of his calloused thumb.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks. One of his hands slides across your thigh and your breath hitches as he brings it dangerously close to your pussy before trailing it back down. “You need somethin’?”

“Need you to touch me.”

“That right? You want me to take care of that pretty little pussy?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Please.”

“So polite. Where’s all that attitude from earlier, hm?” Joel asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. You narrow your eyes at him.

“I can be rude, Miller. You want that instead?”

“Trust me, I know, but I think I like you better when you’re beggin’ for me,” he replies with a grin.

Joel’s hands grab onto your waist and he hoists you up onto the ledge. His broad shoulders press against the back of your thighs and his arms drape across your hips. He smiles at you, mouth tauntingly close to where you’re desperate for relief. You lean back on your elbows, the concrete warm against your bare skin and the sun washing over you.

“How about you show me those nice manners one more time?” He asks.

You grit your teeth. “Joel, I swear to god I will go inside and lock you out–”

Your threats are cut off by your startled moan as he licks through your folds, broad swipes of his tongue from your fluttering entrance to your aching clit. His sweet brown eyes are sinful as he looks up at you from between your thighs, devouring your pussy like his last meal. His nose rubs against your clit each time his tongue dips inside of you and you’re quickly reduced to a writhing mess.

You shift your weight to one arm and reach down with the other to tangle your fingers into his hair. He moans appreciatively against your cunt, the vibrations making you keen. When your hips start to fight against his hold, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking and rolling it with his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that,” you babble, trying to keep your voice down as you balance right on the edge of your orgasm. He hums again, tongue swirling over your clit until that final thread snaps and you free fall into oblivion, fingers curling tightly against his scalp and making him groan as he works you through your release.

Your limbs go boneless in the aftermath and you collapse against the ground, an arm over your eyes to block out the sun. You hear the sound of water sloshing before Joel lays beside you on his back, arms beneath his head. He turns to look at you, his bright smile making your heart flutter in your chest.

And when he extends an arm out for you to snuggle up against him, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller isn’t such a bad neighbor after all.

“What do you mean you thought I was the asshole?!” Joel asks indignantly as he leaves your bathroom. He’s got a towel held up around his waist and you’re finding it hard to concentrate on his words at this exact moment.

You’ve just finished showering together after your outdoor activities, where you returned his poolside favor with some attention of your own. Now, you’re laying on the bed in your own towel, tired from the sun and the sex.

You’ve also just admitted that you thought he was the worst neighbor. An asshole even. And now he’s looking at you like you’re insane.

“You stole my internet!” He exclaims.

“You can’t prove that,” you reply, maybe a bit too quickly. He raises an eyebrow at you, but you refuse to back down.

“Fine, but you put all those twigs and shit on my porch.”

“They were from your tree, I was simply…returning your property.”

“And the cats?” He crosses his arms. “Because of you, my flowerbeds look like shit and I’ve lost two planters.”

“Not my fault they can sense you’re the weak link. They’re asserting their dominance. Hiss at them or something,” you say with a shrug.

Joel gapes at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look, it’s water under the bridge now, right? What can I do to make it up to you?”

He’s silent for a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“Where’s that toy you bought, sweetheart?”

_________________

Joel’s got you on your back, your wireless vibrator placed snugly inside of your and against your clit. You’re glaring at him because he’s stopped you from another orgasm. He’s quickly becoming obsessed with that fire in your eyes and the curl of your lip when you’re mad at him.

He presses a trail of kisses from your ankle to the inside of your thighs, nipping the sensitive skin close to your pussy just to hear you gasp. He continues across your abdomen and your breasts, stopping to lavish attention to each sensitive nipple, your back arching against him for more.

“Joel,” you whine, squirming beneath him. He stretches up to capture your lips in a kiss, your lips dragging across his in the most addicting way. His cock slides against the smooth skin of your hip, making him groan. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the toy back on. “Oh, fuck!”

“Want you to come for me this time, baby,” Joel tells you. “Then I want you to come all over my cock, okay?”

You nod, back bowing and muscles straining as your writhe against the vibrations. Joel sits back on his heels to watch you, the way your mouth is dropped open in a silent shout and how your eyes find his at the exact moment you start to come undone.

“Oh my god,” you pant as Joel swiftly removes the toy, the pink silicone shiny with your release. He tosses it to the side and presses his cock to your fluttering hole, sinking inside of you with a deep groan. Your walls are still clenching with the aftershocks of your orgasm as he begins to thrust, slow and deep.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he growls. He uses a hand to press one of your knees closer to your chest, his fingers wrapped tightly beneath your knee.

The change in angle gets him deeper and his pace grows faster in response to your moans. He can feel you start to pulse around him, each drag of his cock out of your cunt getting harder as your walls squeeze, desperately trying to keep him inside.

“Touch yourself,” Joel commands. “Wanna see you come for me again, pretty girl, come on.”

Your fingers find your clit, swirling through the mess of slick coating your folds. Your eyes are glued to him as you work yourself to the same rhythm of his thrusts. He knows you’re close when your eyes start to flutter, your head dropping back against the mattress and your thighs going tight against his hips.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, just like that,” he growls as you come with a shout of his name. “Christ, you look so damn good.”

You blink at him, your eyes hazy and your smile languid as he chases his own release, using your sensitive cunt for his pleasure. When it gets to be too much, too close, he withdraws, fisting his cock with rough strokes until he comes in thick splashes against your belly.

He collapses on the bed beside you, both of your chests heaving with deep breaths. After a moment, he uses one of the towels to wipe you clean, tossing it to the floor. You glare at him.

“You better put that in the hamper later,” you admonish. He pulls you into his side.

“So, why exactly did you think I was an asshole neighbor?” He asks. To his surprise, you blush, mumbling something he can’t make out. “What?”

“I said because you beat me at the Halloween decorating contest.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. You have the twelve foot skeleton and I’m jealous.”

“I’ll get you as many skeletons as you want,” Joel laughs. You smile at him.

“Sounds good to me, big guy.”

_________________

The following Halloween, there are two twelve foot skeletons in the neighborhood, and they live right next door to each other.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-cat @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @dreamingofdaddydin

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #pre outbreak!joel #enemies to lovers #hot neighbor

1K notes · View notes

perotovar · 25 days

Text

bloody kisses — part two: i don't wanna be me

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 6.6k content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, descriptions of a crime scene/injury (bullet wound and head trauma)(not shane or tim), heavy petting, oral (male receiving), protected p in a, discussions of dom/sub and top/bottom, tiny bit of misogyny (shane is ignorant af and it's like 2002 lol), first time bottoming, shane's internal battles, tim being a really fucking good partner, f e e l i n g s, seriously this is sappy y'all, if i missed anything lmk! dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @chronically-ghosted (seriously i can't explain how much taylor has helped with this story, go give her some love!)

series summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

series masterlist

for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications ♥

Shane locked himself in his bedroom for three days after the disaster at Tim’s apartment. He’s never felt so stupid in his life. How could he just… kiss him like that?

Why did he do that?

He thought about that moment constantly, for hours at a time. Tim’s lips, for how briefly they’d touched his own, felt so… correct. They were soft, a little chapped, but warm. It was like things clicked into place for him. He doesn’t remember any kisses with Raven ever feeling like that. Or any girl he’d been with, for that matter.

He hated himself for how good it felt. Especially because Tim ended it before it ever really began.

Shane wasn’t sure if there was anyone else he could go to about any of this. Legally, he still lived with his mom and her husband in their downtown apartment, but they never saw each other. He basically had his own area of the apartment to himself. His mom and her husband made enough that they didn’t really notice or care what Shane did with his life. He didn’t have any goals, and he guessed that’s why he did petty crimes like he did. He was just so fucking bored.

And now he was dealing with… this.

He stared at Tim’s business card, his thumb rubbing over the older man’s name. He was curled up on his bed, holding one of his pillows close. He looked at the clock on his bedside table. The bright green text read 2:18am. He sighed to himself and rolled over onto his back.

He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

Nobody noticed a change in Tim at work. If they did, they were professional enough not to bring it up. He felt fucking awful for how things went down with Shane. He wanted to reciprocate so badly, but Shane was vulnerable and Tim didn’t want to take advantage of him like that.

“Boss, I got those files you needed.”

Tim looked up from his desk, pen still in hand while he filled out the paperwork for a robbery he’d taken care of the day before. He’d thought about Shane and his magazine the entire time. “Thank you,” he grunted, pointing at an empty spot on his desk. “Can just set it there, please.”

The agent set it down and took off, getting back to work.

Tim looked back down at the file he was working on and sighed, losing his focus. He looked over at the phone on his desk and frowned. He didn’t have Shane’s number so he couldn’t call him. He wanted to tell Shane that what happened wasn’t wrong, or even unwanted.

The sound of heavy footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. Matthews, his partner, slammed Tim’s office door open.

“There’s been a shooting!”

Tim furrowed his brows, pushing his thoughts of Shane away for now, and focusing on the task at hand. “Where? Do we know anything else?” He asked, opening the drawer in his desk to put his gun holster on over his shoulders.

“Yeah, it was at a liquor store downtown. We have an idea of who the victim is based on descriptions from the employee working at the time, but not of the shooter,” Matthews answered, handing Tim’s trenchcoat to him.

The two detectives made their way to Tim’s car and sped off to the crime scene.

“His name is Howard Xavier, and he’s twenty-eight,” Watson, the cop who was in the area, explained. “He’s on his way to the hospital now, but he looks to be in decent condition.”

Tim nodded, eyes looking over the crime scene. Flashes of photos being taken filled the peripheries of his vision. There were bottles of wine and hard liquor crashed everywhere. “Looks like Xavier tried to run from the shooter,” he mumbled, crouching down to look at the dirty boot prints on the linoleum floor.

“Do you think they knew each other?” Matthews asked.

Tim sighed, looking up at his partner before standing again. “Who’s to say?” He shrugged. “Maybe. Do we have any information on any relatives or associates?”

“No family, but we’ve found a couple of friends on file,” Matthews replied. “I think we’ve got them back at the station.”

Tim nodded. “Let’s head back and see what we can find.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim couldn’t believe his fucking eyes.

Known Associates: Tracy Wynanski and Shane Morrissey.

This had to have been the coincidence to end all coincidences or Tim had an insane amount of luck. There was a phone number for Tracy, but no address. He stepped out of his office and approached his secretary, an older woman by the name of Dolores.

“Can you get me Shane Morrissey’s file, please?” He asked, voice a little more gruff than he’d intended.

“Of course, sweetie, give me one moment,” Dolores smiled, rolling her chair to the file cabinets.

Shane’s file in hand, he sat back at his desk and started looking through the files for Howard Xavier again. A bullet wound to the thigh, and blunt force trauma to the head.

He figured it’d be easy to get the professional parts out of the way first and called Tracy, asking if she knew anything about the shooting. She said she didn’t, since her and Howard hadn’t seen each other in a couple of months. She’d gone back home to Philadelphia after a breakup.

“Thank you, Tracy,” he said. “Do you happen to know Shane Morrissey? He’s one of Howard’s other known associates and I’d like to ask if he knows anything.”

Tracy let out a bitter laugh and said, “Oh, I know Shane. He can kiss my ass for all I care.”

“Ms. Wynanski, please–”

“I don’t have a number for him, but I can tell you where he lives. Not saying he’ll be there, though,” she paused. “Likes to frequent this one house full of his ‘friends’ when he’s not at home moping.”

Tim felt his entire body relax, shutting his eyes as he took a deep breath. “That will be very helpful. Thank you, Ms. Wynanski. Do you have the address for the other house?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t go in there like you’re looking for him, though. They’ll all run off.”

“I can handle it. Thank you, Ms Wynanski.”

After confirming that the address Tracy had matched the one they had on file, and wrote down the other address, he called Matthews, who decided to check on Xavier at the hospital.

“He’s stable. He’ll probably stay here for a couple of days,” his partner said through the phone.

“Alright. I’ve got a lead on one of his associates. It’s fucking Morrissey, John,” Tim chuckled.

“You’re shitting me. Employee at the liquor store said Xavier looked like he walked out of the Satanic Temple so I guess I’m not too surprised.”

Tim rolled his eyes and snorted, making one last note on Howard’s file. “I’m gonna head out and look for him. Could you go to one of these addresses for me?”

“Sure thing, Tim. Don’t get trapped in some ritual sacrifice.”

“Fuck off,” Tim laughed.

Tim decided to go to the second house full of Shane’s “friends”. He figured it was more likely that he was there, and he was right. It looked like it was a gathering of about ten or fifteen other kids around Shane’s age, all dressed in similar clothing.

The house was filled with smoke and had music playing, so he decided it was better if he stayed in his car until Shane came outside. He didn’t want to embarrass the kid.

It didn’t take too long, Shane stumbling out of the house and laughing loudly. Tim turned the key, the engine for his Caprice coming to life. Shane startled and looked over, eyes locking with Tim’s behind the wheel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Shane barked, stomping over to the passenger window and glaring at the older man.

“I need your help,” Tim said softly.

Shane rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you fucking stalk me here? You can’t be here– They can’t see me with you.”

“Then get in. They won’t know.” Tim looked up at him, eyes softening when he saw the clear hurt on Shane’s face. He wasn’t very angry by the looks of it. Just upset.

Shane scoffed, looked back at the house, and raised his arms in defeat. “Fine,” he grumbled, opening the passenger side door and sitting down.

“Seatbelt.”

“Eat me, old man,” Shane rolled his eyes. He lifted a leg and rested his chunky boot on the car’s dashboard.

Tim sighed heavily and didn’t argue. He’ll just clean his car later. “You wanna talk at the station or at my apartment?”

Shane bit his lip, picking at a rip in his jeans and making it worse. “I don’t wanna go to the station.”

“Figured as much,” Tim exhaled, looking behind the car for any oncoming traffic and pulling out of the neighborhood towards his apartment.

Shane stared at Tim’s arms underneath the tight white dress shirt, the fabric pulling at the thick muscle. He wondered what Tim looked like on top of him, those strong arms pinning him to a mattress and–

“You know a Howard Xavier, right?” Tim asked, eyes squinting at the file in his hands.

The two of them were seated at the table in Tim’s dining room, the surface in front of them covered in documents and files.

“Yeah, that’s X,” Shane mumbled, picking at his nails so he could hide the pink in his cheeks.

Tim raised a brow but didn’t comment, nodding. “Do you know if he had any enemies, Shane?” He asked, digging his glasses out of his front pocket and putting them on. “That’s better,” he said to himself, the text on the files clearing up.

Shane blinked a couple times, the sight of Tim wearing glasses doing more for him than he thought possible. His breathing picked up a little, heart pounding in his chest when Tim made eye contact with him, waiting for Shane to answer. “U-um, I don’t think so? X was always pretty chill,” he mumbled.

Tim nodded and took notes on a sticky pad. Tim’s phone started ringing, making the older man get up and answer it. “Rockford,” he grunted into the receiver.

Shane stayed seated and kept to himself, listening to the one sided conversation.

“You’re shitting me. He did? Thanks, John. Yeah. You too. Have a good night.”

Tim exhaled and hung up the phone, clicking his pen. “Good news,” he smiled, taking his seat at the table across from Shane. “Xavier woke up and described the shooter. My partner found him.”

Shane nodded, tapping his fingers against the surface of the table. “‘S good,” he mumbled.

Tim watched Shane’s face closely, eyes trailing over the piercings and the messy hair. “I’m sorry I took you away from your party,” he said softly.

“‘S okay. Don’t like those guys very much,” Shane shrugged. Now that he was here, he was having a hard time not curling in on himself again. He couldn’t even look Tim in the eye without thinking about what his lips felt and tasted like.

Tim furrowed his brows. “Why do you hang out with them, then?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t want to pry, but it was sort of his job to find information. Shane wasn’t a job, though. He was much more than that.

Shane sighed and angrily looked at Tim for a second before looking away again. “Why do you care?”

Tim bit his lip, fiddling with his tie. “You really wanna know, kid?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” he rolled his eyes.

“Because I see a lot of myself in you, Shane,” Tim admitted gently, crossing one leg over the other.

Shane furrowed his brows and looked at Tim incredulously.

“It’s true. Would you believe me if I said I got arrested? Was about your age, too.” Tim chuckled as he remembered what caused his arrest.

A small smile grew on Shane’s face. “What’d you do?”

“Public Indecency.”

Shane’s eyes grew three times in size. “Did you get caught having sex? Were you streaking?” He giggled, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Uh, well,” Tim chuckled. “I was in my car at the time and having sex.”

Shane laughed, face as red as a tomato. His thoughts flooded with images of what Tim having sex looked like. What sort of faces did he make? What kind of sounds did he make? Was he more dominant or submissive?

“Were you going down on her or…?”

“Him,” Tim answered easily. “And no, we were uh… I was found on top of him.”

Shane froze, eyes wide. He looked away, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked back at Tim briefly before settling his eyes on Tim’s tie. “You’re…?” He asked shakily.

“Yeah, kid,” Tim chuckled. Shane looked terrified and it broke Tim’s heart. “I said I was here for you if you needed me. I still am.”

Shane squeezed his eyes shut and let out a heavy, shaky breath. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his jeans and looked at Tim with wet, glossy eyes. “I don’t– I don’t understand,” he shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t seem–”

“Not every gay person is really flamboyant, Shane.”

Shane blushed in embarrassment. “Why did you turn away from me, then? Why didn’t you kiss me back?” He frowned, voice shaky and hurt.

Tim’s eyes rounded, his whole face becoming softer. “I wanted to,” he admitted, looking down at Shane’s ring-clad hands. “But it wasn’t fair to you. I didn’t… I didn’t want to take advantage of you like that.”

“Take advantage–! I kissed you!” Shane roared.

“You were vulnerable and confused. And,” Tim gulped. “And I’m a lot older than you, it’s… It’s not appropriate.” He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly at how much it hurt to say out loud.

“Tim,” Shane whimpered, biting his lip. He felt a thick lump in his throat. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation right now. He couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. It felt like he was having an out of body experience. “I don’t care about that, I’m– I’m more worried about you being a cop than being older than me. I’m an adult,” he scoffed, his bottom lip trembling.

Tim couldn’t hold in the chuckle that bubbled out of him. “I know you are. I just don’t– I don’t know how this could continue–”

“Please, shut up,” Shane begged, getting out of his chair and making his way over to Tim. He looked down at the older man, face burning, and slowly crawled into Tim’s lap, wrapping his arms around Tim’s neck. “I don’t wanna talk anymore,” he whispered. “I don’t wanna think anymore. Please.”

Tim’s hands instinctively found their place on Shane’s hips. His eyes moved from Shane’s to the younger man’s lips, then back up. “Are you sure?” He asked softly, rubbing his thumbs into Shane’s hip bones.

“No,” Shane mumbled. “Well, yes, but… No.”

Tim raised a brow and smirked. “How about we take things slow.”

Shane nodded, biting his lip. “Okay.”

Tim smiled and softly connected their lips, caressing Shane’s head, thumb rubbing at his jaw. Shane whimpered quietly as he tentatively kissed back. His lips trembled against Tim’s, soft huffs of air expelling out from between them. He’d kissed before but this was so… different. The feeling of Tim’s facial hair against his lips was weird. Good, but weird.

Shane experimentally ran his tongue along Tim’s bottom lip. Tim took the hint and softly caressed Shane’s tongue with his own, making the younger man gasp into his mouth. Tim squeezed Shane’s narrow hips, trying to ground him, and sighed into the kiss. It built a little over time, but eventually, they found a rhythm. The soft clinking of metal from Shane’s earrings filled the otherwise silent apartment. They learned each other over the course of their kissing. Tim learned that Shane liked to nibble and bite, and Shane learned that Tim liked to encompass him entirely, like he could devour Shane’s mouth if given the chance.

When Tim pulled away for some much needed air, Shane whined in protest, his face leaning toward Tim’s to keep going. “Slow your roll, kid,” Tim chuckled, pressing his forehead to Shane’s and panting quietly. Shane blushed, and chewed his swollen bottom lip while he waited. “C’mere,” Tim grunted, tugging Shane’s leather duster off his shoulders. Shane went along with it, pulling his arms free before the sound of squeaky leather fell into a heap on the floor.

Large hands ran over Shane’s hips and waist, but never ventured lower. Shane shivered when Tim’s blunt nails lightly scratched at the exposed skin of his lower back as his t-shirt rode up. Shane’s cock twitched in interest, making him blush high on his cheeks.

“‘s okay, sweetheart,” Tim hummed. He rolled his hips a little, his own half-hard cock rubbing against Shane’s.

Shane’s eyes grew twice their size at the feeling and looked down at the bulge in Tim’s slacks. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away. His imagination was a lot easier to handle than the real thing pressing into his inner thigh.

Tim furrowed his brows in concern and rubbed Shane’s skin underneath his t-shirt comfortingly. “What are you thinking about?” He asked softly.

Shane inhaled heavily, and slowly let out a deep breath before turning his head back toward Tim. He opened his eyes, but didn’t make contact. “Just… weird. Feeling your…”

Tim hummed in acknowledgement. “Do you want to stop?”

Shane shook his head, eyes still burning holes into Tim’s slowly rising and falling tummy.

“Need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“N-no, I don’t want to stop,” Shane whispered.

“Do you want to lie down? There’s no expectation for anything,” Tim said, sitting up a little more in the dining room chair.

The stretch in Shane’s thighs suddenly overtook any doubts he had, making him shakily get up from Tim’s lap. He was used to having someone sit on his lap like that and being in that position made his stomach hurt.

Tim laced his fingers through Shane’s and gently guided him to his bedroom. He kept the lights low and rubbed his thumb over Shane’s knuckles. “You okay?”

Shane stared at Tim’s bed and swallowed a lump in his throat. “Y-yeah,” he croaked.

Tim chewed on his lip in thought and let go of Shane’s smaller hand. He gave Shane some space as he took off his glasses and removed the tie he was wearing. He toed off his dress shoes and put them in his closet. When he turned around after unbuttoning his dress shirt, Shane was sitting on his bed, hands curled up into fists on his ripped jean-covered thighs.

Tim sighed softly and sat next to him on the bed. “What’s goin’ through that pretty head of yours?” He asked, tugging on pieces of Shane’s hair that were sticking straight out.

Shane shut his eyes and took another deep breath. “I’m just… I’m having a hard time being… like, the female part.” He curled in on himself, his shoulders hiding his ears.

Tim blinked a couple times. “Sweetheart, we’re both men.”

“I-I know that! I just,” he swallowed a lump in his throat. “Usually, I’m in your position. Taking charge.”

“I see,” Tim sighed, getting more comfortable and turning toward him. Shane did the same, but didn’t make eye contact with him. “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”

Shane blushed, those big brown eyes of his lifting up to meet Tim’s.

“Alright, firstly, who told you there were ‘male’ and ‘female’ roles?” Tim raised a brow.

“W-well, uh–”

“It’s alright, I already know who. Lesson number one,” Tim smiled reassuringly. “Just because you’re sitting on my lap, letting me ‘take charge’, doesn’t mean you’re weak, honey.”

Shane gulped and nodded, taking all of this in. Tim felt like a professor. Probably the first one Shane would ever listen to.

“And women aren’t weak, so get that out of your head, too.”

Shane let out a heavy breath. This was a lot to take in.

“Did you feel good?” Tim asked, picking up one of Shane’s hands and rubbing his thumb over the scabbed knuckles. When Shane nodded jerkily, Tim grinned, his chest feeling warm at the admission. “That’s all that matters. Think of it this way,” he paused. Shane hung onto every word. “Everything we do? It’s with your say-so. You’re driving the car here.”

Shane blinked as he thought about it. He could work with that. “Oh,” he said quietly.

“You want me to make you feel good again?” Tim smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. Shane’s heart thundered at the sight.

“Y-yes.”

“Go ahead and lay back for me, alright?”

Shane nodded and got comfy, head cradled by Tim’s fluffy pillows. His entire body was buzzing and tense. He kept his eyes on Tim’s popcorn ceiling, the sounds of Tim’s belt jingling filling the room. When the bed dipped with Tim’s weight, Shane’s heart stuttered a little. One of Tim’s big hands cupped his cheek and gently turned his face so he could look at Tim again. Shane wasn’t expecting the softness in Tim’s features, or the heat in his eyes.

Tim rubbed Shane’s cheek with his thumb. “We don’t have to go far tonight. There’s no rush.”

Shane nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

This time, when their lips connected, Shane eased into it a lot sooner, kissing the older man with renewed fervor. He sighed into it, the warmth radiating off of Tim being an endless source of comfort. He gripped onto Tim’s opened dress shirt and tugged it down his shoulders. Tim released Shane’s lips briefly while he shrugged the shirt off and tossed it on the floor. Shane moaned weakly when Tim surged forward and sucked his bottom lip between his own.

Shane’s head was fuzzy, all the blood there rushing down between his legs. He gasped when Tim rolled him over and hovered over him, pressing his hips between Shane’s thighs. Tim took his time with him, kissing him languidly while he unbuckled Shane’s jeans.

“Can I touch you?” Tim breathed between kisses.

Shane nodded quickly, holding the sides of Tim’s head and tangling his fingers in the short, thick locks of Tim’s hair. Tim smiled against the younger man’s lips and pulled Shane’s baggy, ripped jeans off. Shane toed off his own socks before wrapping his legs around Tim’s thick waist. Tim was so much larger than Shane was and it made his head spin.

Tim’s hands played with the bottom of Shane’s t-shirt and slowly lifted it up, bunching under his armpits. He pulled away to look at Shane’s torso and grinned when he saw the small tattoos there. Both hands holding Shane’s sides, he gently rubbed at the younger man’s nipples, making Shane gasp. Goosebumps and flushed skin covered his entire body in seconds, making Shane lightly smack Tim’s shoulder. Tim laughed lightly and softly kissed his way down Shane’s torso until he was eye level with the tent in the younger man’s boxers.

Shane blushed hard, eyes wide. “W-what are you doing?”

Tim raised a brow and tilted his head slightly, tugging on the elastic of Shane’s boxers. “Said I’d make you feel good, sweetheart.”

Shane blinked. “B-but isn’t that…”

“There are no roles. But if you don’t want me to, then–”

“I do!” Shane smacked his hand over his own mouth and shut his eyes, hoping the bed would swallow him whole.

A wolfish smirk crossed Tim’s features as he lowered his head, kissing along Shane’s pelvis. Shane whimpered at the feeling of Tim’s facial hair across his skin, his body shuddering. “Breathe, sweetheart,” Tim whispered, shutting his eyes to suck gently at Shane’s hip and leaving a mark.

Shane forced himself to take a deep breath, shutting his eyes to center himself. When he opened his eyes, Tim quirked a brow up at him as he tugged on Shane’s boxers again. Shane nodded his consent and almost groaned at the cool air in the apartment hitting his throbbing cock. Tim hummed appreciatively and didn’t waste a second, kissing the tip, then making his way down the shaft.

Shane moaned openly gripping the sheets of the bed into tight fists. “T-Tim, what–”

“Shh…” Tim whispered, engulfing the head of Shane’s cock in his mouth. He moaned at the taste and watched Shane’s face as he slowly bobbed his head up and down. Shane’s eyes rolled back and arched his back off the bed.

Shane felt his cheeks throb and the blood rushing in his ears, doing everything in his power to keep his hips down. When his hips bucked up on their own, he moaned weakly, looking at Tim’s face to make sure he didn’t choke him. What he found instead made his cock twitch.

This was one of Tim’s favorite things to do. Making his partner feel good with his mouth was something he always got pleasure out of and Shane was no different. In fact, this was probably one of the more rewarding times, because this was the first time a man had done this for him. He felt good knowing he got to be the first, and a little possessive side of him liked the idea even more.

Eyes shut, Tim moaned around Shane’s length, losing himself in it. He gripped Shane’s hips and rubbed the bones there to soothe him. Shane’s chest rose and fell quickly as he watched. He felt a little embarrassed to admit that this was probably the best head he’d ever received.

Tim opened his eyes, keeping an eye on any changes in Shane’s face.

Shane felt his balls drawing up, making him moan weakly. “I-I’m gonna–” He cut himself off, gripping the sheets tighter. Tim doubled his efforts, bobbing his head a little faster. “Oh, fuck,” Shane whined, his thighs trembling on either side of Tim’s head.

Tim moved his hands up Shane’s torso and rubbed at the younger man’s nipples again, urging him on.

“W-wait, wait–” Shane gasped, smacking his hand against Tim’s shoulder as the pressure built and built. Tim watched closely and if he could, he’d grin to himself as he watched Shane’s eyes roll back. Shane’s entire body stilled and he came hard, thick ropes of cum shooting down Tim’s throat. Shane’s moans went up three octaves as he shook with pleasure, his toes curling.

Tim swallowed everything and slowly, gently, raised his head. He licked Shane clean, kissing back up his torso. Once he was hovering over Shane again, Tim smiled at the blissed out expression on his face. He chuckled lightly and kissed Shane’s cheek.

“Still with me?”

Shane shivered at the gravelly tone of Tim’s voice. It must be an octave or two lower than normal given what he’d just done. He slowly blinked his eyes open and didn’t have the energy to hold back the smile when he saw Tim’s handsome face. “Yeah, ‘m here,” he mumbled, his body feeling heavy and sated.

“Good. You should get some rest, sweetheart.” Tim’s laugh rumbled in his chest.

Shane pouted, big brown eyes glazed over, but determined. “What about you?”

“I’ll be okay. Get some rest,” Tim said, kissing Shane’s forehead. “Can I take your shirt off?” He asked, pulling the material down from where it was bunched up under his armpits.

Shane nodded, watching in awe as Tim took care of him. It was at this moment that Shane realized Tim was completely serious with him. He wouldn’t make fun of him, or use him. Shane felt tears prickling behind his eyes, but quickly blinked them away.

“Be right back, okay? Gonna get you some water,” Tim grunted quietly, crawling off the bed. Shane didn’t have the energy to argue, and just watched Tim’s broad back leave the bedroom.

When Tim returned with the glass of water, he was greeted with the sight of Shane’s sleeping form. He smiled at him, and set the water on the nightstand closest to Shane.

He got himself undressed, making sure to be careful of his own half-hard cock. Once he was down to his boxer briefs, he crawled into bed behind Shane and held the younger man close. The day caught up with him as he laid there, eyes trailing over the messy curls and multiple piercings in Shane’s ears.

He drifted off quickly, and had a dreamless sleep.

Twitch. Twitch.

Shane groaned in his sleep.

What was that?

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he adjusted to the light. He tried to turn and feel what was poking against his back, but he was held firmly in place by… Were those arms?

Shane’s eyes snapped open as the memories from the night before came flooding back. His cheeks burned as he looked down and saw the strong, very male, hands holding him close to a broad chest. Tim huffed in his sleep, making Shane smile shyly. He couldn’t deny it, being held by Tim felt really good. It was so warm.

He tried rotating in Tim’s arms, silently exhaling in relief when he didn’t seem to wake the older man. He felt the twitching again and looked down between their bodies.

Oh.

Shane smiled at the sight of Tim’s morning wood through his boxer briefs. He looked back up at Tim’s sleeping face and decided against doing anything until he’d woken up. For now, he ran his fingers through the thin layer of chest hair on Tim’s skin. It seemed obvious when he thought about it, but it was so different than when he was with a woman. He didn’t feel like he had to hide with Tim. Tim wouldn’t judge him.

Tim made him feel safe.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, sweetheart?”

Shane startled and looked up, Tim’s soft smirk and sleepy eyes greeting him. He shook his head in lieu of an answer.

When Tim grumbled in response, it reminded Shane of a bear.

“Do you want… You need help with that?” Shane asked timidly, pointing between their bodies. Their legs were tangled together and they were touching everywhere. The proximity and the feeling of warmth radiating from between Tim’s legs had Shane throbbing in no time.

Tim snorted and leaned forward, kissing Shane sleepily. Shane moaned into it, grinding his own cock against Tim’s. Tim pulled back and panted a little against Shane’s lips.

“We don’t have to. I’ll be okay–”

Shane cut him off by gripping Tim’s ass and squeezing. When Tim made a small noise of surprise, Shane smirked, attempting to pull Tim onto his own lap. “I want to,” he said, voice determined, but shaky. “I want… I wanna know what it feels like. I have to make sure.”

Tim blinked at him, a little shocked by the sudden change in Shane’s behavior. One of his legs was draped over Shane’s waist as he cupped the younger man’s face. Shane seemed to melt at the gesture, making Tim smirk. “Are you sure?” He asked, brows pinched in concern. He didn’t want Shane to rush into anything.

“Yes,” Shane nodded.

There was more conviction in that one word than a lot of things Shane had ever said to him, so Tim smiled softly at him. He held onto Shane’s thighs and rolled them over so he was hovering over Shane again, and rubbed the smooth skin comfortingly. “Alright. Lube and condoms are in the top drawer,” he nodded his head toward the nightstand.

With pink cheeks and a determined expression on his face, Shane reached over and dug out the necessary equipment. Everything really settled in his gut when he was holding everything. This was really going to happen. This wasn’t some dream he’d come up with while he was alone in his bedroom, looking at the cracks and fist-sized holes in his walls.

“C’mere,” Tim grunted, gently taking the items from him and holding Shane’s hip. “Gotta get you prepared, okay? Don’t want it to hurt for you.”

Shane nodded appreciatively and watched as Tim discarded his own underwear, kneeling on the bed between Shane’s thighs. He looked the older man over, eyes raking over the messy, gray curls and pillow creases on Tim’s cheeks. His eyes traveled down over the broad shoulders and chest, and down to the swell of Tim’s stomach. That was probably one of Shane’s favorite parts. His eyes landed on the thick cock between muscled thighs and Shane bit his lip. He had to remind himself not to pinch his arm, because this was real.

Tim carefully got the condom secured around his cock and drizzled some lube on his fingers. “You ready?” He smiled down at Shane, chest warm at the sight of him. Shane nodded, smiling shyly up at him.

Tim curled his fingers around Shane’s cock and pumped slowly. Shane sighed and shut his eyes, lips parting. Tim couldn’t help himself and surged forward, kissing the younger man deeply. He kept his hand on him, keeping up a decent pace as he teased a finger against Shane’s hole.

Shane’s body jerked at the intrusion, making Tim soothe him gently. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll be gentle.”

Shane let out a weak noise and nodded, holding on tight to Tim’s shoulders. He spread his legs a little more and wrapped them around Tim’s waist.

The first press of one of Tim’s thick fingers inside him already had Shane seeing stars. He panted as he looked down between his legs, trying to see what was happening. Tim cupped his face and forced him to look there instead. “Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he smiled.

Shane bit his lip and nodded, but gasped soon after as a second finger joined the first. His face twisted into an almost pained expression. Tim watched closely, eyes locked onto him. Tim pumped his fingers in a steady rhythm, searching for that sweet spot inside him. Shane was panting heavily, eyes glossed over, but staying on Tim’s face.

When Shane rolled his eyes back and he gasped, Tim knew he found it. Shane moaned, his cock twitching violently against his lower tummy. “H-hurry up, old man,” he groaned, toes curling on either side of Tim’s hips. “P-please,” he breathed.

Tim snorted, but didn’t argue, removing his fingers gently. Shane groaned at the loss and braced himself for the intrusion, eyes squeezed shut.

“Sweetheart, I need you to breathe first.” Tim leaned over him and kissed him tenderly. He watched as Shane let out one last deep breath and nodded up at him. “Atta boy,” Tim grinned.

Shane scoffed and rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. As Tim lined himself up, Shane’s heart thundered in his chest, watching the focus on Tim’s face mellow out. He had that same facial expression whenever he was interrogating Shane back at the station, or reading through files, or taking notes. But here, with Shane, he seemed to deflate a little. He relaxed.

The first push in knocked the wind out of Shane. He moaned, digging his nails into Tim’s broad shoulders. Tim hid his face in Shane’s neck and kissed along the younger man’s sleep-soft skin. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart,” he breathed, hips slowly pushing forward.

Shane trembled in Tim’s arms until Tim’s hips were flush against him. Time stopped as Tim settled, letting Shane adjust. Shane had to blink a few times, swallowing around a lump in his throat. All thought left Shane’s head and the only thing left was the sweet stretch of Tim’s cock inside him. Every wall he’d built up was successfully crumbling at his trembling form.

Tim petted Shane’s sweaty hair out of his face, kissing him on every available patch of skin he could find.

“M-move,” Shane panted, eyes half lidded and glazed over. “Please.”

So Tim did.

He built up a slow, steady rhythm. Before either of them knew it, their bodies rocked together in perfect harmony. Tim hugged Shane closer, his hips being the driving force while his arms kept Shane grounded.

The sounds leaving Shane’s mouth were so unfamiliar to his own ears, he couldn’t even tell where he was for a moment. The only thing he could feel or think about was the stretch of Tim’s cock, Tim’s heavy breathing against his neck, and Tim’s big hands holding his hips. It was all Tim, Tim, Tim.

He didn’t even feel the tear slowly falling down the side of his face until Tim gently wiped it away. He nearly sobbed when Tim kissed him, chest hitching with every powerful thrust.

Tim grunted every time Shane clenched around him. He was so tight, which he expected, but he was having a hard time keeping a steady rhythm. He was still tired and his body was trying to catch up. He watched the younger man’s face twist in pleasure and sped up a little, moaning down at him.

Shane wailed, one fist curling up tight and weakly hitting against Tim’s chest. “I-I’m close,” he panted, his cock dripping pre-cum onto his stomach. “T-Tim, I’m–”

“‘s okay, I’m here,” Tim groaned, curling his fingers around the younger man’s cock. He started pumping his fist in time with his thrusts, eyes glued to Shane’s face.

Shane nodded furiously, scratching his nails down Tim’s chest. Not long after that, his entire body shook like a leaf and he clenched hard around Tim’s cock, coming in waves. He moaned out loud, his back arching off the bed, and gasping for air.

Tim’s own eyes rolled back as Shane squeezed around him. Shane’s face was turned into the pillow as he breathed heavily, coming down from such a high peak. Tim slowed down some, letting Shane have a moment.

When Shane made eye contact with him again, Tim’s heart stopped. He didn’t think Shane had looked more beautiful than he had right in that moment. His hair was a mess, his face was blotchy and red, there were tear tracks down his cheeks, and his lips were swollen from all the biting. Tim was pulled out of the fantasy when Shane clenched around him again, making a moan bubble out of him.

“C’mon, old man,” Shane smirked, voice tired.

Tim huffed a laugh and hugged Shane close, hips snapping quicker now. Chasing his own release, he hid his face in Shane’s neck, sucking a dark mark against the younger man’s collarbone.

In just a few short, quick thrusts, Tim was following Shane over that ledge with a deep groan, emptying inside the condom.

Shane exhaled deeply, arms wrapped around him. Then, he giggled quietly. He was elated, he was on cloud nine.

Tim lifted his head, hair sticking up every which way. He raised a brow at the younger man and smirked. “You alright?” He chuckled.

Shane nodded, a wide grin on his face. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good,” Tim grunted, slowly moving out from between Shane’s legs to dispose of the condom. He crawled back into bed and cuddled close, kissing Shane lazily. They both sighed into it. Eventually, they had to come up for air, and when they did, Tim breathed, “You hungry? I’m hungry.”

“God, yes. I’m fucking starving,�� Shane groaned.

Tim laughed and rolled his eyes and pressed a light kiss to Shane’s lips. “You like pancakes? I make some really good pancakes.”

Shane giggled, feeling lighter than he had in years.

#shane dio morrissey #dio morrissey #shane morrissey #dio morrissey fanfiction #dio morrissey fic #dio morrissey au #tim rockford #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford au #tim rockford smut #tim rockford fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #oaksfics

176 notes · View notes

cntloup · 2 months

Text

Simon Riley x ChildhoodBestfriend!Reader Pre-Ghost Simon, angst, allusion to sex

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

He comes to you right after the mission announcement; taking down a drug cartel led by Manuel Roba.

“Hey, Si! I missed you so much!” you beam excitedly as soon as you see him step through the door. You jump into his arms and he catches you effortlessly with his muscular arms. “Hi! I missed you too, dove." he sighs as he nuzzles his cheek on your shoulder and hides his face in your hair, breathing you in to ground himself. His grip tightens around you, fully engulfing you in his embrace. He's home.

Suddenly his face clouds over in gloom, “I don’t have much time. I have to tell you something.” he breathes into your ear, pulling away slightly, “But... but you just came back!” your smile falls, voice brittle, disappointed, feeling a tingle in the back of your eyes. “I know. I’m so sorry.” his head hangs low apologetically, “I-I...” he cuts himself off, “This next mission is a tough one.” “You mean?” you gulp, hesitant, not wanting to hear the answer, the lump in your throat threatening to burst. “Yeah. I may not come back.” he mutters, voice heavy and dark. The words hit you like a ton of bricks, causing you to let out a gasp and break into sobs. “Oh no, Si! Please don’t talk like that!” you wrap your arms around him, bawling onto his chest, “Please don’t go!” you plead desperately, knowing full well that he's unable to decline. He gives no response as he holds you in his arms and tenderly rubs your back and brushes his fingers through your hair in order to comfort you to some extent.

You slowly pull back, still shaken, wiping your tears away harshly with your sleeves, asking “What did you want to tell me?” “I- I... Fuck!” he stutters, sighing in frustration. “What is it, Si?” you question, eyebrows furrowed in concern, “You know you can tell me anything.” you add, lovingly caressing his cheek. He leans into your touch and mumbles “I know... it’s just-” he pauses, “Fuck it! I love you! I've always loved you!” he finally blurts out. Your mouth gapes open and your eyes widen at his words. Moments pass and that shocked look is still stuck on your face, “Please say something!” he implores, worried if he said the wrong thing. His voice shakes you out of your trance, “I- I... I love you too, Si!” you reply, looking into his eyes longingly.

Next thing you know, his lips are on yours, hands roaming across each other's skin, clothes discarded and you’re both panting heavily on the sofa, bodies tangled together. A wave of sorrow hits you as you come down from your high, “I’ll wait for you.” you murmur, your head lying on his chest, tracing your fingers mindlessly on his skin. “If I die-” he begins, “Please, Si!” you protest, not wanting to hear the words out loud. He goes silent, capturing your lips with his, not going any further in order not to take away your peace of mind. "I'll come back, love... for you, I will." he whispers reassuringly against your skin.

Neither of you has any idea what fate has in store for him, the amount of torment and anguish he will go through, what tragedies will beset him.

A/N: i'd give my left kidney to be able to prevent him from going on that mission :(

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥

dividers by @saradika-graphics & @hitobaby

176 notes · View notes

hiveworks · 5 months

Text

Graphic by @feathernotes // Read Ghost Junk Sickness // Store

✿10 YEAR ANNIVERSARY MASTERPOST✿

If you like to read comics with long archives, then you're in luck! These decade-old free to read webcomics await!

🐝 Bicycle Boy // @bicycleboyblog // Read // Store

🐝 Blindsprings // @blindsprings // Read // Store

🐝 Ozzie the Vampire // @ericlide // Read // Patreon

🐝 No End // @noendcomic // Read // Patreon

🐝 Cut Time // @jubyart // Read // Store

🐝 Daughter of the Lilies // @bludragongal // Read // Store

Daughter of the Lilies 10th anniversary print

🐝 Dollhouse // All comics by the artist!

🐝 Hijinks Ensues // @hijinksensue // Read // Store

🐝 Let's Speak English // @cubewatermelon // Read // Store

🐝 Stand Still Stay Silent // @hummingfluff // Read // Store

🐝 Star Trip //@mycorrhizastar // Read // Patreon

#hiveworks #webcomic #webcomics #read online #book tumblr #comic #comics #online comics #binge reading #archive dive

369 notes · View notes

crunkmouse · 1 year

Text

Art by Costin Chioreanu

#gif #my edit #the band ghost #Copia #not my art #ghost store graphic #tw flashing

9 notes · View notes

jiminstonic · 2 years

Text

In The Night | jjk

pairing: stalker!jungkook + fem/afab!reader

word count: 2.3k

genre: smut, yandere, thriller

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, stalking, male masturbation, female masturbation, obsessive thoughts, yandere behavior, mention of filming without consent, vibrator use, body worship, breaking and entering, use of “princess”, it’s hot

— synopsis: When you find out that the shy tech guy has been watching you at night, you take matters into your own hands.

Eleven P.M. on the dot. It’s almost time. Excitement bubbles in your stomach, nerves flowing from your toes to your fingertips. Immediately, you open your window just enough to leave a crack. Then, you sift through your dresser for something just right. Walking around in a bra and panties would be too obvious—you have to keep up the clueless act as best you can, but still be a tease.

So, you fish out an old shirt you had accidentally made into a too-short-to-wear-to-the-grocery-store crop tee, the graphic on the front more than halfway cut off. It’s perfect to show off the expanse of your stomach, which is key for what’s to come. Perhaps you can go with only that and panties—no doubt it would be game-changing, but you still grab for your heart pattern sleep shorts that do wonders for the shape of your ass. It’s perfect, and just in time.

Eleven-Ten P.M. He’s here. Adrenaline pumps through you at a speed incomprehensible, putting your heart to the test as you can practically hear it pounding. Remember, play it cool. You’re not supposed to know that he’s watching.

Yes, the hot, nerdy tech guy that seems to lose all collectiveness around you watches you through your window every single night. And honestly, you love it.

Of course, you’ve had the inner monologue about how it’s supposed to creep you the fuck out and that you probably should have called the cops by now. But that just wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?

You remember the first time you’d noticed him watching you. He was only on the rooftop of the neighboring building, sitting with his tripod set just over the cement railing, pointed straight into your bedroom window. That was about three weeks ago. Now, though…he’s gotten bold. Instead of being atop the next building, he now sits right outside your window on the fire escape, just out of sight. Although, he tends to become sloppy with staying hidden when he can’t keep from stroking himself faster and faster at the sight of you.

The feeling of eyes on you is unbelievably strong, especially now that you know his routine. It only fuels your actions further.

Laying flat on your bed with your right leg propped, you pretend to channel surf on your tv that’s mounted high on the wall facing your bed. As your left hand is occupied with pressing buttons on the remote, your right is lightly tracing over your stomach and fidgeting with your naval ring every now and then. Starting at your sternum, the tips of your fingers ghost over your skin, all the way down the waistband of your shorts, and back up; never breaking pace. You can practically feel his eyes following every movement, and you’re positive you’re not the only one wishing it was his fingers on you instead.

Audibly sighing, you feign boredom and act as if you couldn’t find a channel to settle on, so you just power off the television and toss the remote to the side. This is where the fun truly begins.

You look down at your stomach, pretending to ponder, as you rest your hand against your skin. Slowly, you begin to move your hand further down your stomach and under the waistband of your shorts. From there, you press your fingers slightly onto your mound where your clit lies right between your folds, feeling the small phantom of sensation. It’s nothing much at all, but you want to take this slow to leave him anticipating your every move.

Your chest caves with an exhale, then making sure to exaggerate your inhale and puff out your chest, nipples more than visible under the thin material of your crop top. This has to be driving him absolutely insane.

And is it ever. Jungkook’s back is pressed against the brick wall of the building, his neck twisted almost painfully in order to see through your bedroom window that he’s sitting right next to. His legs are folded against his chest in an effort to stay concealed from view, mainly from you since he could give a shit less if anyone else sees him. He only cares about you. He only cares about what you think. You are the only one he craves. And goddamn do you look ravenous right now.

He could almost feel your skin under his fingertips with everything you’re putting on display. The way your breasts move up and down with your deep breaths, he could almost hear your gasps. If he tries hard enough, he just actually might be able to. It was impossible to miss the small opening in your window. His eyes are glued to where your fingers are circling in between your thighs. It’s almost as if you want him to see with the way your leg closest to the window is lying flat on your bed, giving him a front row seat of your clothed cunt.

The erection between his legs pushes against his dark skinny jeans, something he fears may become painful if he gets any harder. And with the direction you’re taking things, he most likely will. So, to relieve some of the pressure, he unbuttons his jeans and lets the zipper slowly slide down on its own. Afraid to miss something, he turns back to look at you, only to see that you’re practically mimicking his actions by sliding down your own shorts. The sight of it moving gracefully down your legs only to fly off of your ankle and onto the floor makes him wish more than anything that he were the one undressing you.

For now, he’s more than grateful to be able to see you like this, in one of your most vulnerable states, thinking that you’re all alone. The tip of his dick peeks out from his waistband, precum smearing onto his stomach as he watches you slowly grinding on your own fingers. You’re teasing him, you know you are. It’s the whole reason why you’re still rubbing yourself over your underwear and not directly on your pussy. That and the thin cloth gliding against your clit coupled with the feeling of a certain pair of dark eyes on you is electrifying. You’re starting to have a hard time not losing yourself in what you started.

Fuck it, you think as you twist around and reach to your bedside table where your pink vibrator lies. It’s a few inches long and not exactly thick, but the vibration does wonders every time. Once it’s in your grasp, you make yourself comfortable over the duvet with your back propped up against the pillows. It takes everything in you not to look out your window and meet his eyes as you slide your underwear down your legs. He still thinks I don’t know he’s watching, I have to keep going. With your underwear at the foot of your bed, you bend your legs and let your knees fall to either side of you, giving him a perfect view of your glistening pussy with your legs wide open. You wonder if he knows that you’re this way for him—because of him.

At this point, Jungkook’s cock is already out and in his hand. His pumps are slow while he simultaneously tries to focus on you and relieving his problem that you caused. His eyes are glued to your form, heart practically jumping out of his chest when he watches as you grab the vibrator. He’s torturing himself with the lagging movements of his hand, fingers only gently brushing that sweet spot just under his tip. It’s all driving him crazy. You’re driving him crazy. It’s as if he’s in a lustful frenzy with the way his chest rises and falls rapidly with deep breaths. His body is on fire.

And then, your legs open like the doors to heaven. His breath hitches, dick throbbing violently in his tight grip as a drop of precum trickles over his thumb and down his length. His pupils are blown wide as he looks on at your glistening, glowing cunt for the very first time. God has he dreamt of this. And you’ve beyond exceeded his expectations. Of course, he knew your pussy would be pretty, how could it not when it’s on your ethereal body? But this…it’s perfect. His mouth waters as he could practically feel your clit on his tongue, the taste of your juices so sweet and so you. Fuck, he thinks as he tears his gaze away to look down at his length, having to harshly pinch his tip in order to not cum just from looking at you. He wants to feel good with you, and he’ll be damned if anything’s going to ruin it.

Once he turns his head toward you again, you’re already gliding the pink vibrator against your bare clit. With that, he resumes his strokes on his now insanely hard dick. As his hand goes up, he closes it around his tip and twists lightly, only to go back down, smearing precum over his length. The sight of you watching where the toy makes contact with your pussy does so many things to him, he doesn’t know how much longer he can take it.

That is until your jaw drops slightly—lips parting with a gasp he wishes to hear—as you slowly push the vibrator into your cunt. He can’t help but jerk himself with a now bruising pace. You’re practically giving him a visual aid of what it’d be like to fuck you. Him inside of you. He’s toyed with the fantasy often…very often, but always dismissed it thinking that he doesn’t deserve to feel the soft walls of your pussy around him. Yet, there isn’t anyone else that deserves to either.

You’re definitely enjoying this more than you’d originally thought. Originally, you weren’t even going to go this far, but now you’re in too deep, and you have to see it through. You’re also not complaining. You don’t even have the breath to do so when all that passes your lips are moans and groans from the euphoria flowing from your core. A thin layer of sweat coats your chest, giving you the perfect opportunity to lift your top, revealing your breasts. Your nipples immediately harden from being exposed to the cool air of your room, only enhancing the feeling when your fingertips smooth over one of them. With one hand on your cunt and the other toying with your nipple, a jolt of pleasure shoots through your body as your back arches and your head falls back onto the pillows. The otherwise quiet room is filled with your noises and all you can think about is him and what he might be doing to himself right now. You must be sick to be getting off to your stalker, but you don’t want any medicine either. It’s the best high you’ve had in a long while.

Your walls clamp around the vibrator as you move it in and out of you at a steady pace. For the first time you can feel the vibrations on your clit from inside, and it’s ecstasy. You’ve tried it before, yet your attempts were futile. It has to be him doing this to you; the effect he has on you is dangerous, but it feels so good.

Meanwhile, Jungkook is having a hard time not reaching his climax before you. He feels blissed out, both from his own motions and just looking on at your form. If he could only replace the hand on your breast with his, and the vibrator with his cock—oh, he’d stretch you out so fucking good, he just knows it. And while he hadn’t heard your moans before, he sure as hell hears them now. Your sweet, pleasured noises make his head spin and he is absolutely feral. The things he would do, the people he’d kill to put his mouth on your skin, on your pussy, on your lips. Oh, those lips of yours would look so pretty around his cock.

Suddenly, he sees your chest heaving, eyebrows furrowing, and mouth opening wider as you move the vibrator in and out of you at a faster rate. He mimics the pace on his own length, the feeling getting stronger and stronger and he knows—you’re about to cum together. He doesn’t stop, just as you don’t, and his eyes are practically superglued to your pussy, watching it suck in the toy every time you pull it out. Shit, you must be so tight and—

Simultaneously, your body jolts right as cum shoots from his tip. You ride out your orgasm on the vibrator as Jungkook milks his throbbing cock with gasps in the night. In his mind, all of his cum is shooting deep into you, so much so that it would leak from your cunt. It’s much better than the reality, which is all of it landing onto the fire escape and even over the railing.

You push the vibrator into you one last time before turning it off and pulling it out. Your walls spasm at the friction, extremely overstimulated, and you hiss at the feeling.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the same thought runs through both of your minds: That’s the hardest I’ve ever came.

And you’re satisfied with yourself, confident that you put on a good show for him. And who knows, you might even do it again sometime. You know for sure he’ll be back after tonight.

But right now, you’re spent, completely exhausted to the point that you don’t even bother putting your clothes back on and just pull the duvet over your form. With the last bit of energy, you reach over and pull the string to your lamp, blanketing your room in darkness as your heavy eyelids fall to a close.

You’re just on the edge of slumber when you feel a dip in your bed. Finally, your cat Minx came to lay with you for the rest of the night. With that thought, you let yourself fall asleep once again.

Until you remember that Minx never jumps on your bed by herself.

Your eyes snap open to find Jungkook’s dark and bulky form crawling onto your bed, now much closer as his face is mere inches from yours. The smirk on his lips is sinister, striking fear into your soul.

“You didn’t think we were done just yet, did you, princess?”

a/n: this is my first time writing smut so go easy on me pls! this was originally in my drafts forever and i finally got the will to finish it, and im so glad i did. i hadn’t initially planned on releasing it this early, but decided to for the follower milestone because that is more than i could ever ask for. the support is amazing and im so thankful <333

4K notes · View notes

beyond-series · 1 year

Photo

Buy this print on Etsy -> https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/JollyBiscuit?ref=seller-platform-mcnav

#BEYOND!#Tibbs #ghost #supernatural #spirit #digital art #painting #print #poster #etsy #store #sale #comic #comics #webcomic #webcomics #graphic novel #Ada

0 notes

writersdrug · 2 months

Text

Ghost x Reader x Konig: I Don't Need You (Ch. 10)

<- Previous - Next ->

Summary: Thankfully, things have been resolved between you and Konig. You start to settle in more with your team, and Roze shares a few thoughts with you over a smoke. The memories are still there, but just like the winter around you, they're cold and unwelcoming. You and Konig open up to each other a bit more, more than you had ever opened up to anyone.

WARNINGS: implications of masturbation, cursing, angst (if you squint?), plot building, graphic depictions of animal torture and death (PLEASE CONSIDER ALL WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME thank you kindly)

Notes: Yes! Hello! I exist!! I've been in a slump, and I really do apologize for that. Many of you have been very patient with me and I love and appreciate you all for it! I had to intake as much CoD literature as I could in the past few weeks to get me motivated, which helped a LOT (not to mention I discovered no fewer than ten works that currently have a hold on my heart). But it's here! I forced myself to write over half of the following chapter so that it would be less daunting to finish up. I also plan to make a wip post for yall, just to share will everyone what goes on in my rat brain.

This was edited at 3 am (god it's 4 am now, i just saw that), so if there are any grammatical or spelling errors you have my full consent to call me out on it! Please enjoy!

(sidenote, I completely didn't research how old you need to be to become a navy SEAL, so reader's age is a bit inaccurate in regards to that. pls ignore lol)

(last sidenote then you can read, does anyone have tips for customizing the layout of their fics? I see so many cool ways to style the font and cute banners and errything but I have no idea how nor what to do)

- - - -

The sky hung low with a blanket of gray. It looked like it was about to snow, although the threat was soon dismissed when noon came around and there wasn’t a single flake. The air was cold and dry, forcing me to zip my jacket up all the way and tuck my nose into the collar. I blew steady, warm breaths into my jacket and tried to soak up the heat into my bones.

It was as if the incident had never happened.

Konig and I ended up driving to the liquor store, which was a blessing, since I had run out of Yeungling (and I didn’t understand enough Turkish to converse with the clerk, nor did I have any of the appropriate money – Konig was graced with both of those necessities). We talked like there had never been a week and a half of silence between us. He talked about how he had nearly forced Ridgeback to drag me out of my room and into the common area, “… but it would have been too early for that.” He commented. That, and I would have rather died.

So life went on as normal: dreary, aside from shooting people and getting shot at. Nonetheless, it was normal, and there was a peace to be found in that.

I leaned against the building to the training room, with Roze to my left. I had intended to come out and soak up whatever natural light I could – when I saw her standing there, possibly trying to do the same, I felt the instinct to play it off as if I was just leaving the building. But she cocked her head in a greeting, and a part of me took an interest in her worry-free aura. Out of everyone, she always seemed to be the least-stressed person in the room, even in the middle of a warzone. It was the balm to my anxious mind that I never knew I needed, but gratefully stood by.

We remained together in a comfortable silence (one I would most definitely would not have been comfortable with a while ago), staring ahead, watching the indecisiveness of the brooding clouds above. I wondered what the rest of the world was doing – if they might have been as calm and carefree as us, or if they were in some kind of peril, and the horrors of it were blocked out by the clouds.

I was drawn back to the present when I heard the click click click of Roze’s lighter. I turned my head and watched as she shielded the weak flame from the wind, lighting the cigarette that hung loosely from her lips.

“You smoke?” I asked.

“Sure do.” She replied nonchalantly. “Want one?” she extended her pack of cigarettes towards me.

I glanced at the box, feeling a sour taste in my mouth.

I lay on my stomach, my muscles still twitching and shaking as I tried to even out my breaths. Ghost had tossed a thin blanket over my lower half. I hadn’t even moved from the position he had ruthlessly fucked me in – my body ached too much to even try, and my mind was still recovering from the past hour.

I watch Ghost as he reclined next to me, pushing the bottom of his mask up to place a cigarette between his lips. It was the first time I had seen any part of his face all day. He grabbed his lighter from the pocket of his pants that were discarded on the floor, lighting the end of the cigarette and inhaling. He tossed the lighter back down to the floor as he tilted his head back, exhaling a long stream of smoke. I watched it swirl in the lamplight, settling in a cloud around us. He continued puffing, staring at the wall across from the bed as I lay beside him, although I felt worlds away from him.

He'd started off the night with a mountain of stress from a mission gone sideways. Instead of the usual slow build, where he would run his hands under my shirt and kiss my lips slowly and tenderly – he had walked in and immediately demanded I remove my clothes while he began stripping out of his. I had assumed tonight was going to be a passionate one, until he threw me onto my stomach and shoved my face into the pillows. It wasn’t the first time he’d been rough with me, but it wasn’t just rough – it felt dehumanizing. An hour of constant, merciless thrusts, and a hand around my neck that restricted both my blood flow and my oxygen, and I had fallen into a state of shock.

But, in the end, I was happy to be caged in by him again.

I was happy.

He turned his eyes towards me, seeming to sense that something was off. He exhaled another puff of smoke. “Everythin’ alright?” he asked, completely void of any genuine concern.

I met his eyes with my own. I felt like I shouldn’t have to answer the question, and it stirred up a bitterness in me. But I didn’t feel like arguing with him, and I certainly didn’t want him to leave – so I nodded my head, slowly blinking my eyes. “Just tired.”

He hummed and faced the wall again. He brought one of his knees up and rested his arm against it. “Want a smoke?” he asked, still looking away.

I shook my head as much as the pillow beneath me would allow. “No.” I replied.

He sighed disappointedly. Apparently, my lack of enthusiasm after being used like an old fucktoy was irking him.

To be fair, I never spoke up about how I felt.

He grunted and rose from his position, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray by my bed, and picking up his clothes and pulling them on. My heart ached slightly as I watched him slide his shirt over his torso. I felt the threat of tears sting in my eyes as I wished his hands were holding me instead, keeping me warm and grounded. He pulled his jeans on and fastened them, buckling his belt rather quickly; and all while he faced away from me.

“Well, I know you probably need some alone time.” He muttered, sliding the skull attachment over his mask. “So I’ll get going. I’ll see you around.”

He grabbed his tactical vest and jacket and slung them over his shoulder. He paused by the door. “Thanks for tonight.” He mumbled, before finally leaving the room and softly closing the door behind him.

My eyes lingered on the ashtray with the half-smoked cigarette. A thin trail of smoke plumed into the air – I wanted to throw the tray across the room and shatter it. But it was Ghost’s, so I couldn’t; I couldn’t regardless, because it was a piece of him that remained with me, even when he left.

That, and the smell of smoke.

“Nah, I’m good.” I replied, facing the cold, empty base ahead of me.

“Good.” She said, pinching the cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke. “Stay that way. Did you know these bastards give you cancer?”

I chuckled into the collar of my jacket. “Do they, now?”

She hummed affirmatively, sucking another breath in through the cancerous bastard. “Who would’ve thought…”

We fell back into silence. I continued watching the stillness of the base, trying to see if the sky would follow through with its promise to fall. Now that my free time wasn’t spent holed up in my room, it somehow felt like there were fewer ways to spend it. With another mission on the horizon – a simple recon, yet dauntingly close to a heavily-guarded compound – no one was out and about when they usually were. Finding Roze outside and seemingly not worried was usual, however, and a warm sight, compared to how the rest of the team was on edge. Even Askel seemed grumpier than most days.

I hadn’t been seeking out someone to spend time with, no… that I would never do (or admit). But talking to a familiar face provided a comfort I had grown to need over the past couple of months. And, frankly, I felt like Konig might be getting tired of how much I ran to him when I craved social interaction. Though he had never said anything about it, I felt like I needed to branch out to other team members than just my Colonel. One might think I was trying to kiss his ass (I knew the accusation had already crossed Juno’s mind, but the young soldier was good at holding his tongue – when Konig was around, at least).

“You ever think about how ‘little girl’ you would react to this?” Roze asked, and I turned to face her. She had her nose scrunched, and a tinge of pink dusted over her cold cheeks. “Guns, war, no playdates or days at the beach…”

I sighed. “Probably would have cried.” I replied, allowing my freezing nose to poke over the collar of my jacket. “Especially if I had known that being a princess now adays meant spending more time worrying about becoming a hostage than anything else.”

Roze chuckled. “It’s a good thing we didn’t know then.” Her face was mostly blank, but I thought I noticed a hint of bitterness in the way her gaze landed on the ground. I watched her flick her cigarette with a bit more aggression than usual. “I would’ve tried to convince my entire family to run away to Scotland, live in hiding and pretend the rest of the world was a dream.”

“Scotland?” I asked. Soap’s cocky grin and heavy Scottish accent stirred in my mind, but it felt like nothing more than a small cloud of dust.

“Yeah – heard it’s fucking gorgeous over there.” She waved her cigarette in no particular direction. “Now, I don’t know how peaceful it is in terms of politics and war, but it’s pretty spacious. Simple, too. I feel like if I talked about throwing all my shit away and becoming a fisherman for a living, I wouldn’t get people trying to talk me out of it like I would in the States.” She took another drag, and laughed out the smoke.

“Fisherman?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled, a hardened smile gracing her lips. “I don’t know why it sounds so appealing… it just does.”

I hummed and looked back out at the compound. I wondered about Roze’s past; she had never said or done anything to indicate that it was particularly rough, as it was for the majority of us (us – I still wasn’t used to including myself, but it was becoming more of a habit each time), but the weariness in her eyes when she spoke about her younger self made me question what that girl had been through. Maybe it was just nostalgia. A yen for simpler times. Roze seemed to appreciate the simple things in life.

“You know Askel goes ice fishing?” she said suddenly.

I smiled underneath my jacket. “Seems like something he would do.”

“Every winter.” She continued. She dropped her cigarette to the floor and crushed it into the gravel. “He takes about three weeks of leave, if we’re lucky enough to get it, and goes to Norway. Sits on a frozen lake for hours a day, just waiting for a fish.”

“You make it sound like he’s never caught one.” I point out, my eyes lingering on the cigarette.

She shrugged her shoulders. “So does he. Every time I ask him what he caught, he just laughs. Says he’s never expects to get a bite.”

I closed my eyes and hummed in response. It was easy to picture the scene – Askel, sitting on a thick layer of ice, nursing the hoppy beers that he and Konig loved so much and waiting for a fish to bite. I wondered if he even bothered to reel the line in when he did catch something. Or if he even went fishing at all. Maybe he just went out there to get a sense of peace, to pretend that war and death didn’t exist.

The motion of thick, heavy snowflakes falling from the sky caught my attention. They landed on the skin of my nose, resisting the warmth for a few moments, before they eventually melted into trickles of water. A sudden gust of wind blew a flurry of them towards us, making the both of us flinch.

Maybe fishing doesn’t sound too bad.

- - - -

The shooting range was mostly silent, save for the occasional conversation between me and Konig. The lights were low, easily illuminating the gunpowder and dust swirling in the air. Konig and I stared at the paper target as we analyzed my shots. A few hit dead center, although most of them were clustered around the lower left of the bullseye. My lips were pursed into a scowl as I glared at my sub-par aim – it wasn’t typically so awful, but of course it was while Konig had been watching.

“Eh, are you sure you didn’t lie on your paperwork about being a sniper?” Konig asked as he stood behind my left shoulder, taking the target from my hands and looking at it closely. “You weren’t even ten yards from it. This is very poor marksmanship.”

I scowled in embarrassment, taking my pistol to the counter and pulling out the mag. “Rough day.” I answered bluntly as I started packing more bullets into the small compartment. It wasn’t a lie – I had barely gotten any sleep the night before. I was in the middle of a rather interesting dream involving me and Ghost, until my alarm woke me up before anything of importance happened.

“Very bad…” he mumbled to himself. I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

“Y’know…” I grumbled, loading the mag back into the gun and shoving it in my holster, “I don’t like stereotyping, but the boot really does fit you.” I walked past him and out into the hallway, not waiting for him to follow.

“Hmm?” he made an indignant noise, momentarily stuck in his spot, before he came jogging after me. “What does that mean? What stereotype?”

I chuckled. “Haven’t you ever how Germans are extremely blunt?” I asked.

“Austrian.” He retorted. “Do I need to brand that onto my face for you?”

“Wouldn’t do me much good, with the mask ‘n all.” I replied.

He laughed – rather snorted, as usual – “Ah, you’re right. Maybe I am blunt – just as much as you are defensive.”

I stopped at the end of the hall, right in front of the exit. “Defe-“ I turned on my heel to scowl at him. “I am not defensive! Where did you get that idea?!”

He stopped behind me, his eyes widening. He gestured an open palm in my direction. “This.”

I huffed, turning back around to punch the door open. The snow from earlier that day had ceased, blanketing the base in a thin layer of white. The moon seemed that much brighter against the crystalized ground, and the yellow lights scattered across the compound made parts of the snow look like sandy dunes. My nose tingled from the nip of the chilly air, and I pulled my jacket tighter around my body as the door fell shut behind me and Konig.

“Well, what am I supposed to say when you call me defensive?”

“You could agree.”

“But I don’t.”

“Which proves my point.”

I huffed in frustration, despite the smirk curling on the edges of my lips. “So, either I have to agree with you, whether I really do or don’t, or you’ve corralled me into a paradox.”

I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “A what?”

“A paradox, like a – y’know, never mind. It’s too difficult to explain.” I let him fall in step next to me, although he was the one who needed to slow down to match my pace. “We can just agree to disagree, how’s that?”

“Agreed.” He nodded, and I chuckled. “It won’t change the fact that I’m right, you know.” He added.

I bit my lip and tried to keep my smile from growing ridiculously larger. I looked up at him and patted his shoulder – he looked down at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back. A stray, reddish-brown curl poked through the side of his balaclava, and I found the miniscule detail warming my heart through the cold air. He felt real, and in this moment, too human for this kind of life.

“Why did you choose the military?” I asked, turning back to look at the ground as we walked.

He hummed. “Isn’t that every boy’s dream?”

“Well, yes – but most of the time, it never becomes more than that.” I responded.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, mimicking my own position. “I’m not really sure what made me push so much for it. I almost didn’t make it, for obvious reasons.”

I chuckled. “Size does matter, huh?”

He looked down at me with a deadpan gaze, one that I refused to meet. “It almost did, in a bad way. And I almost backed out before they could be the ones to turn me away. But, of course, they knew they would find some use for my size – so they took me in.”

“And what did they do with you?” I asked, looking back at him.

“A ‘human battering ram,’ as my superiors had so nicely called it.” He framed the description with his hands in the air, as if it had been written on a plaque. I laughed and looked back down at my feet.

“Seriously?” I asked. “So they just had you breaking down doors, and then what?”

Konig laughed with me. “Well, I still had a gun, so I was able to shoot, thank goodness. And I had a bit more gear so I wouldn’t break my bones against the doors – I still dislocated my shoulder a few times, however…” he rolled his left shoulder, as if there was still a lingering pain from how often he had thrown himself at doors. “It was actually during a period of recovery when I proved that I could still be a sniper. My shoulder was still healing, so I had to give up being a battering ram for a while. I was sat with Horangi on the side of the mountain to give him cover. Of course, he was ambushed – he had to fight the Arschgiege right when we were given the order to shoot, so I had to take position behind the gun.” I noticed that his chest was puffed out a bit from pride. “That really knocked their pants off.”

I chuckled, choosing to ignore the inaccuracy of his phrase. “Did it now?”

“It did.” He replied, then looked at the ground. “For a moment. I got a good earful for overstepping boundaries that day, but it’s what ultimately landed me here – so I’m grateful for it.”

I nodded and hummed. “What was Horangi picked for?”

Konig shrugged, his hands now back in his pockets. “He never said what he and Commander had spoken about in his office. But, even if he wasn’t chosen – I like to think we come as a package. If I go, he goes, if he doesn’t, I don’t.”

I felt my heart warm at his words. The memory of how Juno had described Konig couldn’t be farther from my mind. It almost felt like I was talking to someone I briefly crossed paths with in my youth – not a war criminal, not the bloody and stiff soldier who had stepped onto the heli after our first mission. I envied his ability to separate his work stress from the time he had in between missions.

“Why did you decide to join?” He asked, catching me off guard.

It was only fair that I opened up to him, since he was so willing to do the same. Always the one to go first, too. But I had to be careful. I didn’t want this to turn into a pity party, and I didn’t want to dig anything up that I had worked so hard to bury deep beneath my subconscious.

“I was… a weird kid. Like you.” I said, making Konig scoff and roll his eyes. “Looking back now, I hate my younger self. I was so sensitive to what people thought about me, and I just wanted to be independent and strong. I wanted to be a ‘different girl.’” I gritted out the words that left a sour taste in my mouth. “I think I just wanted attention at first – of course, when I heard how everyone said they hated how annoying teenage girls were, and how gullible and weak they were, it just – it made me change. I wanted to prove everyone wrong, it wasn’t just about being different anymore. So, as soon as I turned old enough, I enlisted. Didn’t get to Navy SEAL right away, of course… but I joined every program I was allowed in until I could submit my application.”

I sighed, then chuckled. “Thought my family would say they were proud, that I was successful, that I was doing a good job… they were just angry. Said I was throwing my life away for business that didn’t involve our country.” I opened my mouth to say more, but I ended up scoffing and closing it once again. I felt like I had shared enough.

I looked at Konig, expecting him to acknowledge what I said. “That’s how the story goes…” he would say. But, when I met his gaze, I only saw concern. His brow was creased with what I imagined was pity, and my stomach churned. It was the exact opposite of the reaction I had hoped for. I only wanted to share stories with him, and now it was… this.

“I think you made the right choices.” He said, and I looked away.

“You don’t need to make me feel better, Konig. I appreciate it, but-“

“I’m not just trying to make you feel better.” He said, his accent slightly thicker from his exasperation. “You’re good at what you do. Your parents are just probably worried for you, and they don’t know how to show it.”

I bit down on my tongue, my eyes settling on the building in front of us with a hard expression. If only.

“Maybe that’s it.” I muttered, hoping he would drop the subject. He seemed to understand, and turned to look ahead with a disappointed sigh. My heart sank the tiniest bit at the sound, and I internally scolded myself. Still a people-pleaser, apparently.

We continued walking in silence, the buzz of the lights above us mimicking the static of a communication system that had been severed in a time where it was needed most. The edge of the barracks appeared into our view, just around the corner of the arsenal sheds that stood between us and our destination. I continued to stare at the ground, pretending to watch my steps and try to not slip on the snowy asphalt. My heart twisted with each second of silence that sat thickly between us. It wasn’t technically a fight, but somehow, it felt worse. It felt like the first time I had pissed him off, the first time we had spoken to each other – and god, did I already hate myself for the way I had acted towards him during those first few weeks. I didn’t want to drive another wedge between us, not after the ones that had already been worked back out.

I exhaled heavily through my nose. “Sorry.” I mumbled quietly, but loud enough that I knew it reached his ears. “Sensitive topics.”

He flitted his eyes in my direction, but didn’t bother to move his head. He sighed, and I nearly jolted when I felt his wide hand on my upper back. It rubbed back and forth, and it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was comforting me. Or, trying to, at least.

“I know.” He said, and his hand rested on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for pushing you.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I was stuck on the feeling of the roughness of his palm, which I could gleam through the fabric of my jacket. How his fingers squeezed gently and released twice. There was no hidden meaning, no forced contact or any kind of attempt to put context into the touch. It was… natural. Warm, comforting, and it spoke a thousand words that I wouldn’t have been able to stomach if he had said them. It broke past my self-hatred and walls of ‘don’t be weak’ that I would have used as my defense if he had tried to verbally convey any sort of consolation. It was the first time I didn’t feel awkward about being so close to him, let alone when he was touching me. I wondered if he did this on purpose, or if he had no idea what he was doing at all.

I let myself stand nearer to him, almost tucked under his arm. I looked up and smiled as genuinely as I could – not that it was hard for me, but because I wanted to make sure that he really knew how much I appreciated the gesture. Although, if he knew that this simple act of comfort would pierce through my outer shell, was it really necessary?

“Thank you, Konig.” I said.

He looked down at me and smiled. That damn smile. I wondered how much more refreshing it would be when he wasn’t wearing his mask. It was already too much for my soul to bear when it was just the crinkling in his eyes that I could see.

“Anytime, Bonnie.” He replied, patting my shoulder before tucking his hand back into his pocket. I grieved minimally at the loss of the touch, but I was happy for what it was. “And I mean it. Anytime you need to talk – or not talk, and do that empty staring that you do – just come find me.”

I quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “Anytime?” I asked amusedly.

“Mhm!” Konig replied, his eyes on the ground as he watched his steps. Then, the realization hit him, and his eyes went wide with panic. “Oh- well, eh- I guess, not anytime-“

“You gonna tell me when?” I joked, and he laughed. “You need an open/closed sign on your door.” I jogged ahead, trying to reach the door to the barracks before he did.

“How about this?” he called out, and I could hear the grin behind his mask. “I’ll nail a chalkboard to my door, and if I’m busy, I’ll draw a stick guy jerking off in his bed!”

My cheeks burned after I heard him. “No!” I shrieked, laughing nervously. “You’ll traumatize Juno!” I quickly tried to pin this on someone other than me.

“Juno, hah?” Konig teased, and I had half a mind to run into the building and leave him on the quad. “I don’t care about him. Kid needs to be traumatized.”

I laughed and threw my head back, turning the corner around the arsenal shed. “That’s not very-“

Immediately, my heart leapt into my throat, and I gasped. Konig nearly ran into my back as he skidded to a halt.

Sick, sick, what the fuck, I feel sick-

“Stimmt etwas nicht?” he asked, concerned. “What- oh, scheisse-“

We both stared at the bird on the ground. A crow from the looks of it, though it was hard to even decipher that it was a bird in the first place, due to the state it was in. Its belly had been cut open, entrails and bloody bits pulled from the abdomen and strewn to either side of the bird. Its wings were stretched to their full capacity and most likely beyond it, crushed and missing a large number of feathers. Both of the legs appeared to have been ripped off and tossed to the left of the crow. Its beak was the worst of it all: pried open, the jaw probably broken from how wide it was spread. A haunting look of terror in the crow’s red, glossy eyes made a violent shiver run up my spine.

I exhaled shakily, my eyes still glued to the horror. “Holy shit – what the-“

Konig quickly walked around me and knelt in front of the crow. I shifted to look over his shoulder, still fearfully curious, but he held a hand out behind him, urging me to stay in place. With his other hand, he pulled at one of the bird’s wings, stiff and heavy. Whether it was frozen from the cold, or this was the effects from rigor mortis, I couldn’t tell.

“How – did a fucking fox do that?!” I asked. Are there even foxes in this area? How the hell did one get on base?

“Nein.” Konig replied, still looking at the corpse. His gaze fell upon it with a sense of… familiarity, maybe? “Not a fox, no.”

“Then what? It – whatever it was didn’t even eat-“

“I’ll take care of this.” Was all Konig said. He stood up and marched past me – I was barely able to catch a glimpse of his furious expression. His eyes were hard and narrow, and as he walked away, I noticed that his shoulders were tense and his hands were balled into fists. I didn’t dare say anything to him; he almost looked the same way he did after our first mission together, except this time, his anger seemed to be directed at something, instead of just a post-mission adrenaline high.

“I’ll see you later.” He said over his shoulder. There was an obvious fury to his words, and although I knew it wasn’t intended towards me, it still made me freeze where I stood – almost as if I might anger him more simply by taking a step after him.

Whatever it is… I thought, watching him disappear into the compound, he’s sorting it out. I can take care of myself. Although, with such an abrupt and tense departure, I was at a loss on what to do next. I looked back at the bird; its terrified eyes locked onto the sky above it, frozen in its last wish to fly away from whatever horror it endured.

A shiver ran up my spine, prompting me to look away.

- - - -

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix @v3lv3tvampir3 @theoneandonlykymberlee @luvvnightingalee @dillybuggg @sun-joo @perfectus-in-morte @evilive @satakingslime @comfortless

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

#konig x reader #konig x reader smut #konig cod #konig smut #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #ghost cod #cod #konig #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader

108 notes · View notes