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soaps-mohawk · 3 months

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 1 - The Introduction

Summary: Captain Price has been fighting the requests to add an omega to his team until those requests become commands. You find yourself traveling half a world away to join a pack of highly trained soldiers to balance out their dynamic. Not all of them are quite so happy about your arrival, but you're a good omega who does as you're told.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, brief moments of panic on the reader's side, scenting, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I couldn't help it and I've found myself falling into the Call of Duty brainrot once again so here I am to bless you with some poly 141 a/b/o goodness. It's just part 1, I promise things will get better as the story goes along.

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“I don’t like this.”

“Believe me, John, I know. But the higher ups are putting a lot of pressure on us with this initiative and I’ve pushed back as much as I can. They’re convinced it will be good for morale and team dynamics.”

He wants to protest, but he’s been protesting this idea for three months. “What more can you tell me about her?”

“Not much that isn’t already in her file.” Her tone is not lost on him. She can, but that’s not a conversation to be held over the phone. “She’s quiet and polite, a bit jumpy but she relaxes once she gets to know you. Remember, I picked her out myself.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better.

He flips through the file again after he hangs up with Laswell. He almost has it memorized by now, having looked through time and time again since the letter was dropped on his desk three months ago.

He stares at the photo, the headshot taken by the institute in her file. She’s cute, as most omegas are. American, but she had grown up on military bases. At least this world wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her. He grimaces as he looks over her DOB below the photo. She’s young, younger than he would have liked, but at least she was old enough to drink.

He sighs through his nose as he flips through her records. She’s been in the institute for nearly ten years, likely sent as soon as she presented. He flips through page after page of test results, notes from her instructors, personality and temperament analysis, essays and essays worth of information written on her and also by her. He didn’t care so much about what her instructors thought, he was more interested in her.

“Christ.” He breathes as he pauses on the page with her statistics, rubbing his eyes. The file has everything in it, down to heat tracking and her early signs it was starting.

As if he doesn’t have enough to worry about, now he’s going to have an omega under his care.

He hasn’t considered taking an omega in well over a decade. Back when he had been young and reckless, he had once considered starting his own pack, but then his career in the military began to take off and he let that dream go. It became too dangerous, and he had seen many times what happened to omegas who were left behind during deployments for too long.

His team didn’t need an omega. He had briefly considered it in the beginning as they adjusted to the new dynamics, but he knew it was too dangerous and their schedules were far too unpredictable for the sort of stability omegas needed. He had fought time and time again against the push to add an omega to the team. They had settled into their roles easily, and operated perfectly fine with the missing dynamic.

Then the Omega Initiative was born and he found himself with no grounds to refuse anymore. Task Force 141 was getting an omega whether they wanted one or not.

He can’t help the tickle in the back of his mind that something else might be going on. He flips back to the first page, staring at the omega’s photo. They’d be here in a week. She’d be flying with Laswell to London where she’d be given a few days to adjust before they’d fly in here and she’ll be left with her new pack.

Price closes the file, leaning back in his chair. He has a lot to do in the next week.

You stare down at the files laid out on the table. Four of them, hardly more than a single page each, most of which was blacked out. They’re all older than you, their birth years at least visible to you. Most of the things on the file you don’t understand, and you weren't even sure how tall they were since you can’t convert meters to feet in your head.

You’re tired and on edge, nervous about tomorrow when you'd meet your new pack. You sit back in your seat, letting out a long breath.

“I know.” Station Chief Laswell, Kate as you had been told to call her, takes the seat across from you. “You’re going to have to get used to hearing the word classified. What they tell you about themselves is, of course, up to them, but the things they do, the places they go, even with your security clearance as high as it is, that will all still be-”

“Classified?” You finish for her.

Kate smiles. “Exactly. It’s mostly for your safety. The less you know...”

The less there is to make you a target.

You’d been given that speech before you left D.C. You’d been given a lot of briefings, as Kate had called them, since you had been pulled into the director’s office at The Institute and told to pack your bag. You remembered Kate and the interview you had done a few days prior. It hadn’t been any different than the other interviews you’d done before, except that you were chosen this time.

What had come after was three months of intense briefings and training, for what, you hadn’t really known at the time. They had told you little, at least until last week when Kate pulled you into her office and told you what was happening and why it was happening and where you were going.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, though.” Kate continues, something you’ve been told over and over again during your briefings. “They’re all good men. John and I know each other well. I wouldn’t have picked you if I didn’t think you could handle them.”

You continue to stare at the files. Two alphas, two betas. It wasn’t an unusual pack, evenly balanced, except for the missing omega. If the situation were different they may have elected to have two omegas to keep the even balance. This wasn’t a normal situation, though. This was a military pack, special forces at that. It wasn’t unusual for packs to form on bases, especially those stationed together for long periods of time. Alphas and betas united together with one purpose, one collective goal.

That was why so many alphas were drawn to the military.

That, and the excuse for violence.

Omegas weren’t allowed to enlist, omegas weren’t allowed to hold many jobs at all. It was usually only in special circumstances, and even then, they were more likely to be assigned into a pack than be allowed to work and care for themselves. In a lot of ways you were lucky. You wouldn’t have to fight to find a pack, fight to find a match, fight for one of the few decent alphas left in the world. Your road had been chosen for you as soon as you presented.

In a lot of ways, though, things were worse for you.

“How do you feel?” Kate asks, looking you over. You’ve grown to like the beta Station Chief in the weeks you’ve spent together.

“Tired.” You run a hand across your face.

“The time difference will do that to you.” Kate says, giving you a sympathetic look. “Not to mention everything else.” Kate stands, stacking the files and pushing them to the center of the table. “I have a couple more errands to run, so get some rest. I’ll pick us up some dinner on the way back.”

You look nervous.

He can’t blame you. He’d felt a bit of a nervous twist to his stomach this morning as he’d finished ensuring everything was in place. He doesn’t often get nervous anymore, years and years of experience giving him the ability to expect anything and react accordingly.

This is different, though. This isn’t a soldier he’s greeting, this is an omega.

His omega.

As Pack Alpha he had more of a claim to you than anyone else. It was his mark you’d wear, his scent that everyone would notice first. It was his duty to protect you, to ensure you have everything you need. You’re not another member of his team, you’re not even a soldier. You’re just a poor civilian that’s been thrust into this world of danger and secrecy.

“Captain Price.” Laswell greets him, shaking his hand.

He greets her back, but he can’t help his gaze as it flickers to the omega. You’re small, as expected of an omega. Your sweatshirt hides most of your curves, but your jeans hug your full thighs. Most omegas are small and soft, designed to be held and healthy enough to bear children when cared for correctly.

He doesn’t even want to think about that.

Laswell introduces you, your feet shuffling a bit as you step forward toward him. Coming from an institute, you likely hadn’t had much contact with alphas before now. You try to stand taller, look braver as you stand before him, but he can smell the tangy edge of anxiety surrounding your scent.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” You say, shaking his hand. It’s small and warm in his, your skin soft and slightly clammy.

“The pleasure is mine.” He says, releasing your hand.

You let it drop to your side, pulling your sleeve down over your fingers. You shift on your feet, your body language betraying your nervousness. Hunched shoulders, fingers tugging your sleeves over your hands, shifting your weight foot to foot as if you might take off running at a moment’s notice. Your eyes dart across the airfield taking in the movement around them. You’re on edge, alert, and likely a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll show you around and let you get settled.” He says, his eyes shifting to Laswell. “You and I have some things to discuss.”

You follow behind him with Laswell as he leads you towards the building that served as the 141’s home base. He points out different places you might find yourself visiting. The gym, the rec area, the mess hall, and finally their barracks. He leads you down the hallway where their rooms were located, pointing out each door before he gets to yours, sandwiched between his own and Gaz’s, with Soap and Ghost on the other side.

He opens the door, letting you enter. He stays in the doorway, letting you explore the small space. Your bags had been brought in, the faint hint of the beta Corporal that had brought them in still lingering in the air. There’s four shirts folded neatly on the desk, one from each of them that they’d slept in for the last couple days to give you a chance to get used to their scents.

“The lads are still running a simulation, but they’ll be done within the hour.” He says, drawing your gaze from the bed. “We’ll let you get settled in and I’ll come get you when they’re ready.”

“Thank you, sir.” You say.

Laswell steps in as he steps away for a moment, letting the two of you say your goodbyes. You’d likely see Laswell again, and soon, but he knows after three months you’ll have bonded with her just a bit.

Price leads Laswell to his office after she leaves your room, his ears picking up the sound of the lock clicking into place as they walk away. He’d left it on for a reason, wanting to give you the ability to feel safe and secure as you adjusted, even though you had nothing to worry about.

“So.” Price says as he sits behind his desk, reclining back in his seat. “What can you really tell me about her?”

Laswell gives him a knowing look. “The CIA has had their eyes on her for years now. The Omega Initiative as it is now, isn’t how it started. They were going to train omegas as agents, and she was one of the first names on that list. They had FIOT put a hold on her file once she came of age.”

Federal Institute of Omega Training. The name was stamped on the front of your file. It was the highest rated institute in America, the place where most omegas born to politicians, government workers, and some military went.

“They had agents go in and pretend to be interested parties just to make it seem like there was interest in her.” Laswell continues. “But, you know omegas aren’t cut out for this kind of work, so they changed the Initiative. She was still at the top of the list, but there were some...hesitations as to where to place her.”

“What sort of hesitations?” He asks.

“You saw those scores, John. She’s a good omega. Those purebred instincts are strong, and that makes her an easy target.”

Most omegas born from an alpha/omega pairing were good at listening to their instincts. That was why they carried such a high standing, even among omegas. But, being so closely intune with their instincts made them more sensitive, more vulnerable. They were more likely to give in to an alpha, if the alpha knew how to play them right.

Laswell pulls a file from her bag, sliding it across his desk to him. “She’d get walked all over in a larger pack, and the last thing she needs is to get hurt by an overbearing alpha.” There’s something hidden in Laswell’s words, his mind filing that away for later. “I need someone I can trust with her. She’s smart, learns fast. She needs a challenge, but also someone that won’t take advantage of her.”

“It sounds like you’ve grown rather fond of her.” He says, flipping open the first page of the file. It’s the CIA’s data on her, everything they’d done in the last three months to prepare her for her life as a Special Operations pack omega.

“Like I said, I’m the one that picked her for your team.” Laswell leans forward against his desk. “She knows what she’s in for. She was well prepared for this kind of life. She’ll let you mark her, no questions asked because that’s what she’s been told to do. She’s obedient, John, almost to a fault.”

“That could be dangerous.” Price says.

“Yes, it could.” Laswell says. “I’m leaving her in your capable hands. She has my number, and so do you.”

Price walks her back to the airfield, his head reeling a bit as he replays their conversation over and over. The hidden messages in Laswell’s words aren’t lost on him, and his gut feeling that something else was going on had been correct.

“Take care of her, John.” Laswell says. “I’m putting a lot of trust in you.”

He hasn’t failed her yet.

Your body is tingling. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or something else. You haven’t been around an alpha since the day of your presentation, when you had been pulled from your home and taken to the institute. You had nearly wanted to keel over when you came face to face with Captain Price. Your alpha. He’s a commanding presence, the tickling at the back of your neck still not quite gone even though the door is shut and locked.

The bed is comfortable, not any worse than what you slept on in the institute. There’s extra pillows and blankets stacked at the end, likely for your nest when you finally settled enough to make one. The door to the private bathroom is cracked open, facing the end of the bed. There’s four shirts on the desk next under the window next to the bathroom door, and your bags are sitting in front of the dresser and closet situated on the opposite wall from the bed.

You push yourself to stand, ignoring the way your legs wobble as you stare down at the four shirts on the desk. They’re all olive green, folded neatly in the exact same way. You wouldn’t have known any different, except for the scents gently wafting from them, and the names on the tags.

Price. You pick up the one that will be the most familiar, bringing it to your nose. Tobacco smoke, aftershave, something sharp like whiskey. All things you had scented on him in your short time together. Underneath you catch a whiff of his natural scent. Something woody, fresh. A tingle crawls up your spine, prickling in the back of your neck again. You drop the shirt on the desk, taking a step back to breathe in the unscented air for a moment.

You’re breathing heavily as you go for the shirt next to Price’s. Garrick. You press the shirt against your nose, inhaling. Aftershave, different from Price’s. Some kind of lotion. Coconut oil maybe? You can’t pick up more than the base scent of beta, the soothing almondy scent.

You take another deep inhale of it, letting the beta scent ease you before you let it drop to the desk beside Price’s. You grab the one next to it, looking at the tag. MacTavish. You lift it to your face, scenting another aftershave. There’s something citrusy mixed in as well, slightly watered down compared to the scent of the aftershave. Again, you can’t pick up more than the scent of beta, letting it ease the tickling on the back of your neck again before you let it drop back on the desk.

One more to go.

You pick up the last shirt. Ghost. The faceless one. You bring the shirt to your nose, wincing slightly at the sharp tang of gunpowder and metal, smoke and a lingering aftershave. You try to smell deeper, but your nose burns with scent blocker spray. You let out a huff, dropping it back onto the desk.

This Ghost was dedicated to his anonymity.

He’s going to be a problem.

You sink back onto the bed, eyeing the shirts. Your senses have heightened, picking up the scents wafting off of them, mixing in the air. You pick up the sound of boots approaching, three pairs of feet making their way down the hall. You can hear them talking and laughing as they approach. There’s a pause outside your door and you hold your breath, sitting as still as possible.

Of course they can smell you. You had sprayed yourself down with scent blockers before you left the hotel, but it had likely worn off by now. Even with the blocker, the scent of unmated omega wasn’t hidden easily. The entire base had probably caught a whiff of your scent by now. Caramel, vanilla, strawberries with the undertone of pure omega that made alphas go insane.

“Coming, Si?”

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and for a moment you’re afraid your heartbeat might be audible from how hard it’s pounding. Steps recede from your door and you don’t breathe until they’ve disappeared.

You decide to unpack to keep your mind busy as you wait. You don’t have much, mostly clothes from the institute and toiletries. You don’t even have a photo of your family, that part of your life behind you. You put your clothes away, venturing into the small bathroom to put away your toiletries. There’s towels already inside, along with a few things like shampoo and soap. They’re all scentless, like the things you had brought from the institute.

Nothing that could dampen your natural scent.

You almost don’t hear the knock on the door, lost in your own thoughts. You take a steadying breath, hand hesitating over the lock. What if it wasn’t Price? What if it wasn’t anyone from your new pack?

“Just me.” Price’s voice comes through the door.

Of course he would notice your hesitation. He’s a trained soldier, he’s always going to be aware of his surroundings. You unlock the door, opening it slowly.

Price greets you with a small smile, your nose picking up the scent of his aftershave and the lingering scent of tobacco smoke now that you’re attune to it. “They’re ready, if you are.” He says.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” It wasn’t like you had much of a choice to say no.

You slip out the door, closing it behind you. You’d ditched your sweatshirt, wearing a scoop-necked shirt to give them easy access for the scenting. Price leads you down the hallway, back towards his office. You’re not quite sure what to expect, the nervous twisting in your stomach coming back.

“I thought we’d do it in a meeting room.” Price says, likely picking up on the change in your scent. “Somewhere neutral.”

It’s smart, it’ll keep you from getting too overwhelmed by other scents or sounds. The last thing you need to do is panic and send them all into a spiral. Talk about a first impression.

Price pauses outside a door, looking down at you. His gaze is kind, almost sympathetic as you take a deep breath. “Ready?”

Not really, but you wouldn’t dare say that. You have to do this, and the sooner you got the awkward part over with, the easier things will get. You nod, hands tugging nervously at the bottom of your shirt. “Yes, sir.”

Price opens the door, stepping in first. You’re glad for the few moments you’re hidden behind him as the scents in the room slam into you. Alpha and two betas, scents you recognize from their shirts. They stand as Price enters, and for a moment you want to stay hidden behind the alpha but you know you have to be brave. You were made for this. The words drilled into your brain over and over again at the institute flash through your brain. You have one job in life and this is it.

You can hold power over them.

The words from the book your bunkmate had smuggled in flash through your mind. “The Powerful Omega”, it had been titled. Authored by a progressive omega, it talked all about how powerful omegas could be, even those forced into traditional roles. You can get them all wrapped around your finger if you wanted to.

You steady your nerves, clenching your hands into fists at your sides and step out from behind Price. Your skin prickles as three sets of eyes are set on you. Price is speaking but you’re not really listening as you take them in. You recognize the two betas from their files.

Gaz, you pick up Price doing introductions, has kind eyes. He’s tall for a beta, almost the same height as Price. He waves to you, offering you a small smile.

Soap is the shortest of the four, more what you would expect from a beta. “Good to meet ya, lass.” He greets you, giving you a charming smile. He’s going to push your boundaries, you can tell.

You’re beginning to see the dynamics already.

“And Ghost.” Price says, your eyes finally moving to the place you’ve been avoiding since you walked in.

All hulking muscle, Ghost seems to take up the entire room. Your heart flutters nervously as you meet his dark gaze, his face hidden by a balaclava with a skull painted on the front. His presence is oppressive, tickling the back of your neck. You’re not sure if you want to run or submit to him, every inch of him screaming alpha.

Price’s hand on your back nearly makes you jump, your gaze finally drawing away from Ghost and back to him. “Come on, take a seat. Tell us about yourself.”

Price sits at the head of the table, Ghost, Soap and Gaz to his left. You take the seat on the right, staring at the other three members of your pack. You jump into your spiel, things that they already knew if they’d read your file. There’s not much else to tell, since everything about you was in that file. That was its purpose, to make you look as appealing as possible to potential alphas and packs.

“What about your family?” Soap asks, the sharp scent of your nervous energy spiking for a moment. “Do you still talk to them?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few years. Institutes don’t really encourage keeping ties with previous packs, but I know there were a few omegas that did. It was hard to keep track of where my family was.”

“Your father was a Marine, correct?” Price, even though they already know the answer.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You lived on base?” He asks.

You nod again. “Yes, sir. We moved a lot, but we lived in pack housing on every base. We were a family pack, and I was number four of eight by the time I presented.”

“When did you get sent to the Institute?” He asks, almost regretting answering it.

It’s a sore subject, he can tell by the change in your face and the slight souring of your scent. “The day after I presented.” You say.

The tension in the room is palpable, Soap and Gaz’s eyes widening in shock as Ghost's shoulders tense just slightly. Price stares at you with a sympathetic look in his eyes. He knew it was likely shortly after, but that soon? Most would wait until the presentation had finished at least, and usually there was some downtime when it came to getting into an institute as well.

“My father was a traditionalist alpha.” You say, something they also knew by your status. It was printed all over your file, squeezed in every place it could be as a reminder of your worth to whomever was reading it. “It was because we were already on base that they got to me so fast.” You explain. “It was my dad’s status in the Marines that got me into FIOT.”

“What was it like, in the institute?” Gaz asks, wanting to change the subject a bit, if only to ease the sourness in your scent.

You huff out a laugh, the corner of your lips lifting in a smile. “Not unlike the military, I think. We had strict schedules we stuck to every day. Everything was dictated for us, what we wore, what we learned, what we did with our free time and how often we got it. Even what we ate was chosen for us. We always had to be ready to be tested at any time, and we were always being observed.”

“Your test scores were high.” Price remarks.

You shrug. “I’m a perfect omega, or so my instructors always said. It comes easily to me. I don’t really have to think much about it.”

“Did you really kneel for two hours straight?” Gaz asks.

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah. There was one day...it was a couple years ago. I don’t know what caused it but there was something in the air. We were all on edge and worked up. The director got tired of us and made us all kneel in the mess hall during our two hour afternoon break. No cushions, no pillows. Just all forty of us, kneeling on the marble floor for two hours. Not everyone could do it. Quite a few got too fidgety, couldn’t handle the pain. Three even passed out.”

“How did you manage it?” Gaz asks.

Price wasn’t a fan of using instinctual habits as punishment. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and he can only imagine what else you could say they forced you to do with such nonchalance.

“To be honest, I don’t remember most of it. I just let my mind go somewhere else and before I knew it the time was up.” You shrug.

“We won’t make you kneel for two hours.” Price says. “And definitely not without a pillow.”

You smile softly. “Thank you, sir.”

Price watches you, the way your eyes dart around the room again, the sour edge of your scent gone, but the tang of anxiety remains. You’ve relaxed some, though, your shoulders are not quite so tense and you’ve stopped picking at your nails.

Ghost has remained silent the entire time you’ve spoken, eyes glued on you. You’ve tried not to look at him, finding your words get stuck in your throat whenever you meet his gaze.

He’s going to be a problem.

“There’s some rules we need to go over before anything else.” Price says. “You have freedom to roam this building as you please, but one of us will escort you if you need to go elsewhere at least until you’ve been marked. There’s other alphas on this base and I don’t want them getting any ideas.”

You knew well enough omegas frequented the barracks on bases often. You don’t want to be mistaken as one. Even with their scents on you, you know that won’t stop some. You’re not even sure a mark will stop them either.

“I want full transparency. If something happens you come to me, or you call Kate if we’re gone. If you need anything too, the same order stands.” You’re beginning to detect the edge to his voice, The Captain slipping through his more casual demeanor. “We have some downtime to adjust for now, but sometimes we may leave for weeks at a time. It will be rough, I won’t lie to you, but Kate pulled some strings and there’s an Omega Specialist that’s been brought in for you. You’ll meet her later, I’m sure she wants to do a full workup.”

You’ve met many Omega Specialists in your time. The beta medical professionals that go through specialized training so they can assist and treat omegas better than regular doctors and medics. Most of them go through a residency at Institutes, studying and practicing on young omegas. The thought of having at least someone who might understand you on a deeper level is comforting.

“I’m starving, let’s get the scenting over with.” Soap nearly whines, rubbing his stomach.

His words strike a chord of nervous energy in you again. You had been prepared many times for the scenting. You’d seen instructional videos and done mock practices with your fellow omegas. Yet you feel like it’s not going to be enough. These were real alphas and betas, your pack. What if you don’t like the way they smell?

What if they don’t like the way you smell?

“If you’re alright with it?” Price says, looking at you.

You’re taken aback by the offer for consent. You weren’t expecting it, as this was something you have to do. What would happen if you said no? Would they respect your boundaries? The fact you had been asked at all is shocking to you. You won’t say no, because you’ll have to do it eventually, and at least this way you’ll be walking around smelling like them. If nothing else, it might make this transition a bit easier.

“Yeah.” You nod, swallowing down your nerves. “I’m okay with it.”

All five of you stand from the table, your stomach churning with nervous energy. You try to clear your head, try to calm yourself so you don’t stink them out with your anxiety. You need your scent to be clear, to be as tantalizing as possible.

“Don’t look so worried, lass.” Soap says as they gather around you. “We won’t bite.” He winks at you playfully.

Your cheeks warm as Price steps up to you. He is right, that would come later. Likely during your first heat when Price would give you his mark and claim you as his. It wasn’t unusual for packs with multiple alphas to let more than one claim an omega, but judging from what you’ve seen of Ghost, you’re not sure that’s going to happen.

He had a right to claim you too, but from the look of it, he was the least excited about your joining their pack.

You tense as Price’s hands settle on your waist, lifting you up so you’re seated on the edge of the table, putting you closer to being eye-to-eye with them. They’re all so big, the natural consequence of genetics and their jobs.

“Ready?”

You turn to look up at Price, close enough you can see the freckles on his nose and the grey in his blue eyes. You nod, pressing your hands into the table as you bare your neck for him. Your heart is fluttering in your chest as he leans in closer, pressing his face against your neck. His beard tickles your skin as he rubs his face against your scent gland, warm breaths fanning against your skin.

He pulls away just slightly, baring his own neck to you. You press forward, gripping the edge of the table as you press your face against his throat. You catch the scents you had picked up on his shirt in your room, the surface level scents that were environmental. You close your eyes, inhaling deeper. Woody. Pine? Spruce? It reminds you of a candle your mother used to burn. There’s another scent, the one that lingers. Petrichor, you think, rubbing your face against his scent gland.

His hand on your side pulls you back from your scent-induced haze, and you force yourself back from him. You take deep breaths of the sterile air in the meeting room, picking up his scent more clearly now as it mixes with the others.

“Good girl.” He says, squeezing your side gently. Something flutters in your stomach at his praise, some deep primal part of your brain preening at the thought of making your alpha proud. “Ghost.” He says, stepping back from you.

You’re snapped back into reality as the hulking alpha steps up towards you, moving almost silently. You try to keep yourself calm as he stalks towards you, his sharp gaze burning into yours.

He’s testing you.

You won’t satisfy him, holding his gaze as he reaches you, his thighs pressing against your knees. One hand comes to rest next to your hip on the table, his body leaning in towards you. You’re enveloped by the black fabric of his sweatshirt as his other hand reaches up to tug his balaclava up. Stubble tickles your skin as he presses his face against your throat, breathing in deeply. He lets out a quiet sound as he scents you, almost akin to a growl.

He shifts his weight, pressing his uncovered scent gland against your face. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. Gunpowder and metal stings your nose again, along with the scent of his body wash. You press deeper into his throat, seeking out his natural scent. Something deep and musky washes over you, like suede or leather. There’s something fresh in there too, almost like eucalyptus. You press your face closer, inhaling it deeply. Your head spins, and you’re sure your knees would have given out if you hadn’t been sitting.

Something rumbles in Ghost's chest as you scent him in a daze. While all alphas’ scents carried a natural musk, Ghosts seems to shoot directly to some deep part of your brain even Price’s scent hadn’t reached.

You let out a quiet whine as he’s pulled from you, his mask back in place by the time you pry your eyes open. Ghost is leaning back against the wall, eyes back to their icy stare as he watches you. Your head is still spinning as someone steps up next to you, taking Ghost’s place.

“How ya doing?” Gaz asks, eyes assessing you. “Hanging in there?”

You nod, taking a couple deep breaths to try and clear your head.

“You’re halfway there.” He says, leaning in closer. “Got through the hard part.”

His breath fans your neck as he leans in, the familiar scent of beta flooding your senses. He was likely doing it on purpose, trying to calm you after the intensity of being scented by two alphas. You breathe in the almondy scent, relaxing into him as he scents you. Your hands raise, gripping his shoulders as he presses his neck close to your face. You seek out the source of the calming scent, pressing your nose into his scent gland.

You’re drawn from the room and to the time your family took a trip to the beach when your father was stationed in North Carolina. Salty sea air, briney and clean, and something else, something soft. Like the clean linen scented spray your mother used on the laundry. You’re clinging to him, his arms around you as you relax into his scent. The tingling energy that had begun to build up at the proximity to the alphas fades as you melt into the calming energy of the beta in front of you.

“Easy.” He says, his hand on the back of your head as he pulls you away from him. You take a deep breath, trying to clear your head. “Still with us?” He asks, meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” You say, sounding breathless. You knew scenting could be intense, but you hadn’t expected it to feel quite like this.

“Almost done, hen.” Soap says, taking Gaz’s place in front of you. “Lucky there’s only four of us.”

He’s right, you think as you bear your throat for him. You’re not sure you could have handled it had there been more of them. You already feel like you’re floating, enveloped in so many scents you’re not sure what to do. That tingling has begun at the back of your neck as Soap scents you, your eyes meeting Ghost’s. The look in them has changed, his body poised like he’s ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

Soap pulls back, blocking your view of him as he bears his throat to you. You press your face into his neck, pushing past the scents you knew, and that beta scent, looking for him.

You inhale deeply, the scent of warm spices invading your nose. It smells like the holidays, cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger enveloping you. You can almost taste the apple pie, see the gingerbread houses. You cling to his shirt, holding him against you as you rub your face against his throat.

You’re trembling just slightly as Soap withdraws from your hold. It’s subtle, but to them, highly aware soldiers, it’s likely clear as day. Your skin is buzzing, like the fluorescent lights above you. You can hear it now, the buzz of electricity. Your pupils are blown, the room suddenly clearer and sharper.

“There she is.” The low grumble of Price’s voice begins to pull you from your heightened state, your eyes turning to him as his hand cups your cheek.

You press into the rough palm of his hand, eyes picking up the grey in his beard and hair as he stands in front of you. He’s older than you, they’re all older than you. Older than you, bigger than you, stronger than you. A small tickle of fear begins to itch in the back of your mind, drawing you from your daze.

You’re vulnerable, entirely vulnerable and incapable of defending yourself against them. Forgetting second genders, they’re all much stronger than you, not to mention trained fighters. You’d be fucked if they decided to try anything, if they wanted to do anything. You’d be entirely helpless against them.

They could if they wanted to.

It would be well within their rights. Even though you had just met, even though you bore no claiming mark, there was nothing stopping them. You couldn’t stop them, and no one would help you.

“You hungry, pup?”

Price’s voice cuts through your fearful daze. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, likely picking up the sharp edge seeping into your scent. Omega fear and distress was the one defense nature gave to your kind, aside from the omega itself. It’s a putrid scent meant to ward off alphas and betas. You’ve heard it described as smelling like sulfur, burning coals, gasoline, melting plastic, and sometimes even the ozonic scent that accompanied alphas in a true rage. It was a warning, but it doesn't always work.

Pup. Price called you Pup.

You haven’t been called “pup” since you were a pup. It’s a commonly used nickname for any status. You remember your father calling your older brothers pup, even after they presented. It could be derogatory, but it’s more commonly used affectionately. He’s trying to ease your discomfort, the fear welling up inside you.

The door is open, the fresh air of the hallway watering down the heavy mix of scents that had become trapped in the room. Soap and Gaz have already stepped out, Ghosts hulking figure blocking the doorway for a moment as he follows them, leaving you alone with Price for a moment.

“Alright?” Price asks as your gaze meets his again.

You nod, still leaning into his touch. “Yeah, ‘s a lot.”

“I know.” His thumb strokes your cheek, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell him I told you this, but Soap nearly passed out when we scented him.”

You cover your mouth to stifle your giggle. It wasn’t unusual for scentings to become so intense that the receiver passes out. You’re sure if there had been more than four in your new pack you would have passed out.

“Come on.” He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to lift you off the table and onto unsteady legs. He doesn’t even grunt with the effort, moving you easily. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not entirely one of fear.

His hand is warm on your back as he leads you out of the room, the clean air in the hallway clearing your head further. Most bases have circulating air systems, constantly filtering out scents to keep things as neutral as possible. They’re less effective in smaller areas though, especially after scents were intentionally projected. Most military members wore scent blockers, at least while performing their duties. You remember your father coming home at the end of the day with the dull burn of scent blocker still on his clothes.

Your head is still spinning a bit as you follow them out of the barracks and towards the mess hall. They seem to almost walk in a formation, though you suppose with years of having it drilled in your head, it’s almost second nature. You’re sandwiched between Soap and Gaz in the middle, Price in front and Ghost bringing up the rear.

The other personnel on the base give your group a wide berth, and even in the mess you can feel the glances, but none of the stares linger. Price guides you next to him as you get your food, adding things to your tray for you. That tickling feeling starts again at the back of your neck as he makes your plate, your omega preening happily at the knowledge of what he’s doing.

He’s proving his ability as a provider.

In more primordial times he might have gone out and hunted for food to bring back to you to prove his capabilities. Even in more modern times, he might have hunted as some alphas still did, or he would have gone to the store to keep the fridge stocked full of food. Alphas are good at adapting to their surroundings and situations. He’s proving his capabilities in the way he can.

You’re also silently grateful to not have to think too hard about the choices in front of you. Even after a week, British food is still a bit unfamiliar to you. It’s not entirely indiscernible, though, and you’re sure you could pick out things that sounded good if you had to. At this moment, though, with your head still reeling a bit and the unsettling energy of a new place filled with unknown alphas and betas, you’re happy to let Price do it for you.

He carries your tray and his to a table, sitting you next to him. Gaz takes your other side, Soap and Ghost sitting across from you. The choices in their seating arrangement don’t feel quite so random to you, and you quickly realize the arrangement is similar to the room setup in the barracks.

A beta for each alpha, you think. Gaz and Price. Soap and Ghost.

Then there’s you, stuck somewhere in the middle of them. Somehow you’ll fit between them, squeezing into their perfect dynamic. Omegas are supposed to help balance packs, but as you sit with the four members of your new pack, you can’t help but feel like you’re only going to make things more difficult.

I'm willing to put together a taglist if people are interested...

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #a/b/o

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mo0nfairy · 10 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, MASTERLIST !

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

⸺ PART ONE .

⸺ PART TWO .

⸺ PART THREE .

⸺ PART FOUR .

⸺ PART FIVE .

⸺ PART SIX .

⸺ PART SEVEN, ENDING ONE .

⸺ PART EIGHT, ENDING TWO .

gif credits.

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rose-tea-and-strawberries · 24 days

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Of Lions and Mice

Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Reader is intended to be female

Masterlist

Leona was annoyed.

Once again, his golden goody-two-shoes older brother decided to shirk his responsibility of being a father and dump the overexcited, disgustingly bright-eyed crown prince on him for the day. And not only that, it had to be today of all days - a rare day where you were free from picking up Crowleys’ slack, where the loudmouthed, nattering extras that always followed you were otherwise preoccupied (and bribed to bugger off with a bag full of tuna), where he was certain he’ll spend the day in bed with you right next to him.

But no. Just like with everything else in his miserable existence, his dreams were crushed and he had to spend the day playing caretaker to his nephew instead of wrapped up with you. What’s worse was that, you’d decided to carry the pint-sized load off of his back and gave your undivided attention to the cub when it should have been rightfully his. How he hated that selfless nature of yours, that sweet, caring, gentle nature that would make you look at anyone that wasn’t him with that loving gaze, that would make you brush your fingers through Cheka’s golden orange curls the same way you would Grim’s fur or the stray cats you’d find around campus or any other being instead of his mane.

He hated just how loving you were, how your eyes could see the beauty in everything.

How, now that it’s late at night, and he’s closed his eyes and pretended to sleep in his attempt to actually get some shut eye and so that the little hairball would quit bothering him but Cheka just continues yapping.

Even in the darkness under his eyelids, he could feel you cast a worried look his way from the spot where his bed sags a little.

“Hey Cheka,” your sweet, dulcet voice (which is currently being used to please his nephew and not sooth him to sleep with the sweet nothings it usually does) pipes up, “how about I tell you a bedtime story from my world?”

“A bedtime story?!” Wow, even with his eyes closed he could see the stars coming out of his nephew's eyes, “yes please!”

Once the little cub has settled into bed, he asks you, “do you know any stories from your world with lions in them?

“Any ones with lions? Hmm, well, I suppose I could tell you about Narnia but I think you might be a bit too young for that and - wait,” you punctuated your words with a snap of your fingers, “I know a short one. There was this man called Aesop who wrote these short stories called fables.”

“What’s a fable?” Cheka asked, his words covered in that innocently curious lilt that all six year olds seemed to have during every occasion Leona wished they wouldn’t - and that was all of them.

You, however, seemed to have much more patience than him, “A story with a moral in them. Like, always be honest, or share, or work together, that sort of thing. I had a book of them when I was younger and I really enjoyed reading them.”

Figures. Of course, the shining beacon of sickeningly polite goodness grew up with such stories. He would’ve teased you for that but he had a child who he’s still trying to convince he was asleep.

“That sounds so cool, Aunty Y/N! Will you tell me more?”

“Of course, I will,” he can hear your smile, “but I’ll tell you them later, okay. Now, it’s time for you to rest.”

“Okay, Aunty Y/N.”

“Alright so,” you clear your throat, “there was once a lion that lay asleep in his den. A shy little mouse came upon him and in her fright she ran away, only whilst doing so she accidentally ran over his head, waking him up.”

“Oh no,” Cheka gasped, “that lion is going to be so angry if he wakes up.”

Oh, so the little hairball does have a brain after all.

“You’re right. Furious that he had been woken up, the big lion slammed a paw down on the tiny mouse and grabbed her by the tail. Holding her up, he growled at her,” here you made your voice noticeably deeper, trying to imitate a gruff growl, ““How dare you wake me up! I am the king of beasts and anyone who interrupts my slumber deserves to die! I shall kill you and eat you!””

It took everything within Leona to not burst into laughter at your adorable imitation of a ‘big scary lion’. It’s a voice you’ve used before whenever you tease him, playfully repeating the words his old self would have said to you, and it’s one that he’s rather fond of.

He loves and respects you, Herbivore, and he’s the first to attest to your formidability and capability - even though you have the annoying tendency to not only blur the line between bravery and reckless stupidity but also play skipping rope with it - but intimidating you are not.

“This scared the terrified mouse even more. Shaking with fear, she begged for him to let her go,” you make your voice higher at this part, squeaking in a way that oddly suited you, in Leona’s not so humble opinion, ““please, your majesty, I beg of you, please don’t eat me. It was only a mistake and if you let me go I’ll be sure to repay you. If you spare my life one day, I might even save yours.””

“The lion looked at the tiny creature and laughed, amused at how such a small mouse could ever be of use to an animal as powerful as him, “You? Save me? How absurd. You’ve made me laugh and put me in a good mood so I shall be generous and let you go.”

“Thank you, your majesty, thank you,” the mouse squeaked as she was put back on the ground, before scurrying away as fast as fast as her little legs could carry her.”

“Yay, so the mouse is free.” Cheka giggled.

“He is,” you said, “but there’s still more left. A few days later, the lion was prowling around when out of nowhere he was caught in a hunter’s net. Try as he might, he couldn’t get out of it. He tossed and turned, roaring angrily as he struggled to escape.”

“Wait, so now the lion’s in trouble. How’s he going to get out?” Cheka asked in worry.

“You’ll see. Hearing his cries, the mouse followed the sound, recognising it from the lion he met earlier.

“I have to help him,” she squeaked as she scampered towards him.”

Upon seeing the lion in the net, she said, “hold still your majesty, I’ll get you out!”

And she quickly started to nibble on the ropes with her sharp little teeth, biting until all they broke apart. It wasn’t long until the lion was free.”

“So the mouse saved him. Was it because the lion helped him earlier?”

“It certainly was Cheka. “Thank you, little mouse,” the lion said, “I laughed at you and didn’t think you could ever help me but you saved my life.”

“It was my turn to help you.” The mouse replied, ”never forget that even a creature as small as a mouse can help a lion.”

And that’s the end,” you say.

“Thank you, Auntie Y/N, I really enjoyed that. Do you think the lion and mouse became friends after that?”

“You are very welcome, Cheka. I think they did. They did help each other, after all. Now I think it’s time to go to sleep.”

And once you were sure that the crown prince was asleep, you made your way next to your boyfriend, running your fingers through chestnut locks, “did you enjoy that little story, Leona.”

He opens his eyes to see your endeared smile. Rolling over so that he could wrap his arms around your waist he muses, “it seems awfully familiar don’t you think? A scared little herbivore wakes up a sleeping lion and ends up saving him later.”

“I’ll have you know, Your Highness, that I was never scared of you. Even when you were a rude old brute who threatened to knock out one of my teeth. And I’m certainly not little.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

He pulls, letting you flop down on his bed beside him so that he can spoon you.

“Sweet dreams, little mouse,” he kissed your forehead, “I hope you know that I don’t ever intend on letting you go. Not after you helped in ways you could never even imagine.”

And so the lion fell asleep, holding the prey who rescued him from the confinement of his past safely in his arms.

#leona kingscholar x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #fem reader

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kookslastbutton · 1 month

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Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter ii

✒ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, fighting, confrontation, tornado of emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, public shaming (both direct and indirect), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of abandonment issues, mentions of therapy, attempts to self-regulate but reader is pissed, mentions of self-blame though oc knows its not entirely her fault, mentions of defamation charges, JK is just 🤬 while KTH is 😇

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: Woah okay....so had I fun writing this, even though it took me a hella long time to decide whether to continue the story as a series or not 🫣 Anyway I altered the summary slightly from chapter one (and updated for consistency purposes), but it doesn't change my overall plans! As you read this chapter, I hope you will be able to see my vision (I'm nervous af! haha)! Enjoy 🥰 (edited but pls forgive me for any oversights...my typos are ridiculous)

series masterlist | next >>

You’re seated in a wide sofa chair, surrounded by four blank walls, and the gentle sound of water tricking from a faux rock waterfall. Every element of the space is carefully integrated as a means to calm you. Yet it doesn't calm you in the slightest. Your hands are clammy. Muscles tense with the adrenaline spiking through your veins. It doesn’t help that you’ve been running on nothing but black coffee all week either, refusing to eat until the first promo shoot with your company’s new endorser was launched.

A natural in front of the camera, Kim Taehyung was able to speed the process up, yet it didn’t stop the massive dark circles from forming under your eyes. This morning, he'd told you they were unnoticeable but you've seen how you look in the mirror, and they're anything but unnoticeable. Still, you find his gesture to soothe sweet. Thankfully, your new partnership has been smooth sailing which is quite a blessing considering the disaster he nearly walked into.

Yes. You’re referring to that disaster in particular. When, in some desperate last-minute attempt for validation, you threw yourself into the arms of your ex-husband.

More like fixed the collar of his shirt and whoops, slid right on his dick…again.

What is wrong with you?

You’ve been asking yourself the question far too many times. You’d think being a hot-shot CEO of a million-dollar tech company would make you like titanium, resilient as finely pounded steel but no; you're just barely keeping yourself together. You regret your rash decision that day, you regret ever marrying Jeon Jungkook, and you regret ever giving in to your stupid feelings.

That’s why you’re here now, waiting in the office of your therapist’s private practice, hands restless in your lap. You’ve been seeing Melody for just over two months since your divorce was finalized, ready to move on; trying to, more like.

‘JeonX CEO Jeon Jungkook’s ex-wife compensated $1.8 billion in divorce’

‘South Korea’s Golden It couple split with ex-wife taking half the company revenue’

These are the lovely words that greet you from your phone screen.

You have the urge to grab your special red ballpoint pen from your bag and scribble out the entire paragraph, except it’s not a printed gossip magazine— it’s a newspaper column on the internet. Instead, you close out the pesky tab on your phone and reply to its sender.

Chim 🐥: can you believe this crap they’re saying about you?! It's no shit you were given a hefty divorce settlement. You brought in half the income! They’re making you look like some kind of gold digger. I swear if I ever lay my eyes on that pretty ex-husband of yours, I will end him! 😡 [sent at 5:06 pm]

Park Jimin, your childhood best friend, sends you a follow-up text when you don’t immediately reply to the news articles he forwarded over. He’s been extremely overprotective of you lately and especially pissed at how the media’s been portraying you, while Jungkook is seemingly getting a free ride. He’s always had an axe to grind with your ex-husband, to be honest, the divorce gives him only more reason to hate him.

You: Thanks for your concern Chim, but nothing they say surprises me anymore. If you don’t mind, can you stop sending these to me? [sent at 5:12 pm]

You hope your message doesn’t read as cold or dismissive. Jimin’s concern for you is a light in a dark place, but you don’t really want to be reminded of the amount of slandering articles still targeted towards you.

Gone are the days when the public saw you as a powerful woman in business, the one to watch, or the CEO of the fastest-growing startup in the last ten years. You're now simply Jeon Jungkook’s conniving ex-wife; as if you’ve merely seduced him for his money and ran when the going was good.

Of course, the whole situation is skewed to his side; half the world is in love with him after all, and that includes the few lingering reporters who've been practically salivating three feet from you at any given chance, hoping to get an exclusive “inside look”. Your marriage was a sham, you wanted to scream, a mutual business transaction.

Too bad rather than an increase in status, resources, and market share, you gained a pile of twisted, unwarranted emotions and regrets.

“I apologize for the wait Ms. __."

The door swings open as your therapist rushes into the room. She stops at her desk to retrieve last week’s session notes, then takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you with crossed legs.

“It’s okay,” you assure, straightening your posture. “I understand how crazy busy the day can get. It wasn't a long wait anyway."

Melody gives a small smile and jots a few words on her notepad. “Thank you for understanding. How are you doing this week?”

You take a deep breath. "Tired," you respond, "especially this week at work. It's like as soon as I wrap up one project, there's another jumping out from nowhere." You used to be ahead of the game. Now you're barely surviving.

"That's right," she hums. "Last week you mentioned having to attend a charity gala soon. Would you like to start there today?"

Crap, you're suddenly reminded that you have to pick up your gown by 7 pm tonight. You entertained the idea of not going to the gala at all, but that would do you no favors in the end. Given your situation, you can't skip out on such an important charity event.

"Sure," you nod. "The Winter Gala's tomorrow night, actually. It's funny how I used to look forward to it every year, being an opportunity to network and catch up with my peers. I can't say I feel the same thrill this time around."

"Because of the divorce you mean?"

"Exactly. Being the CEO of one of the largest software corporations in the world, my ex-husband's influence far exceeds my own. So whether out of loyalty or political agenda, anyone who's anyone will be on his side of the room. I'm gonna end up being that one awkward person in the corner in a far too expensive Dior gown who no one wants to dance with." You nervously chuckle out the last sentence.

Melody opens her mouth to respond, yet stops when she notices you're not quite finished.

"It'll be the first time seeing my ex-husband after months of no contact too. I guess that's what I'm looking forward to the least."

When you think about it, the most you've seen of Jungkook is his face appearing on the massive screens downtown. He's been featured in at least a dozen interviews lately, teasing a brand-new product his company's planning to release in the spring. Seems he's doing well.

"What you feel is valid Ms. __." Melody seeks to assure you. "In the past, you used to go to these events with Jungkook right? He provided you with a sense of safety, as you did for him, no doubt. I wonder if it's a lack of consistency and belonging that worries you, more than it is about seeing your ex-husband and your peers. Companionship too, of course."

"I suppose that makes sense, but it never used to be this way." Your voice raises to match your sudden argumentativeness. "I used to be very comfortable in my own skin. I used to be confident going to these events alone, long before Jungkook came into the picture."

You pause to take a breath before continuing.

"When Jungkook became CEO of his family's software company, JeonX, he was steps away from being bought out by both our competitors, so a partnership was proposed. We married at 27 as nothing more than two ambitious, rising leaders in business. Neither of us was after love or romance when our careers were at stake."

"But then that changed for you," your therapist carefully observes. "Combined, you both held the largest share of the tech market. You and Jungkook were also in an extremely intimate relationship, yet treated it as a business contract. Unfortunately, those don't always come out clean in the wash. It appears to me that while you gave him three honest years of your life, he stole those three years from you."

The words take a moment to sink in; Jungkook stole three years from you. It conflicts with what you want to believe, though from the bottom of your heart, you know she's right.

"I feel so...guilty. I hate that I fell for him, and I hate that I'm struggling this much to let him go." As you tear up, Melody hands you a tissue from the side table with an empathetic gaze. You mouth a thank you and gently dab your eyes with the soft fabric.

"I'd give yourself some grace Ms. __. But if I may ask, what about Jungkook?" she gently probes. "Do you think he feels the same?"

"No...," you say with remorse, shaking your head. "He's moved on."

Melody remains silent for as long as you need in the moments following, cautious to follow your lead. The last thing a therapist should do is rush their patient through the session, so she sits patiently and waits for your go.

"Sorry," you finally say. "We should continue."

"No need for apologies," she replies. "Take your time."

It takes a good minute or two longer of sitting in your car before you can fully compose yourself. As usual, your session with Melody was intense and insightful, but it was far too short. You're gripping the wheel with both hands when her final words of the session echo through your head: "Give yourself some grace; blaming yourself won't do any good."

Seemingly simple advice, yet tough to follow when you constantly feel responsible for the mess you're in. Yes, even though Jungkook has the bigger end of the stick, you made your share of mistakes too. You should have looked into other options when you found out your competitors were looking to buy out JeonX instead of eloping with their CEO.

Just what were you thinking __? you harshly scold yourself. You were trying to protect your company. You both were. Too bad you placed the cart in front of the horse.

Forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath, your eyes widen in alarm when you catch the time on the clock— 6:38 pm. Fuck! The boutique that's holding your gown for tomorrow's gala is closing in twenty minutes. Without a moment to spare, you yank the seatbelt and slam your foot on the gas.

"Good evening Ms. __." A young woman, fitted in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, greets you with a faint bow as soon as you step foot into the posh boutique.

"Hello, Hana," you refer to the young lady by name with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry to be coming in this late. I came by to pick up the gown I sent in for alterations two weeks ago. The event's tomorrow and I know the shop will be closed for the day."

Knowing the exact dress you're referring to, Hana responds with a soft tone, "Please don't worry Ms. __. We have the gown ready." She disappears to the back of the shop to retrieve it.

As you wait, your mind drifts to memories of last year's gala. You had worn a vibrant, gold gown that evening, slightly risky with a low neckline. Jungkook liked it though, as he wore a matching gold vest himself. You can imagine how crazy the press went when you both set foot on the scene, arms linked and appearing to have coordinated your attire perfectly.

Every investor at the gig wanted to be your friend that night, anxiously pushing through the crowds to speak to you. One of them nearly split your dress in two, as he had accidentally stepped on your gown after one too many drinks. You recall Jungkook scolding the man before turning his full attention to you, making sure you were alright. You consider this to be the first time you truly started looking at him as your husband, a feeling of warmth blooming inside you.

How foolish you were to let that feeling grow.

You're attending the gala alone this year, without him.

Possessing no desire to call attention to yourself this year, you've chosen a rich, navy blue gown instead. It's subtle yet sophisticated. Made out of the finest silk, its silhouette is sleek and falls straight down to the floor without any extravagant frills. The neckline is simple too, paired with a tasteful open back. There are no flashy accessories or embellishments, just a straightforward, classic design. You find the gown beautifully elegant, and nowhere near as bold as your previous one.

"Here it is Ms. __," Hana chips from afar, her heels clacking against the polished floor tiles. In her hand is a generously sized garment bag, your dress flowing underneath.

"Thank you so much, Hana," you say, taking the gown from her hand. "Again, I'm sorry for my tardiness picking this up. I hope you have a wonderful night."

You leave the boutique, the sun having already set.

The Winter Gala takes place on the top floor of Seoul's most luxurious hotel, specifically in its grand ballroom. The walls are adorned with gold trim, and its floors are elegantly lined with polished black marble. Above, a magnificent glass chandelier glimmers, catching the moonlight filtering through the surrounding glass windows.

Despite being a private event, the gala attracts a whole slew of press and locals who eagerly gather on either side of the hotel's front doors, treating it as a prime spot for viewing the red carpet.

Physically, you're ready; dressed to the nines, and makeup done just right. Mentally, you're absent; secretly sipping a margarita at the end of the earth, wherever that is. The day finally comes for you to make an appearance at the Annual Winter Gala and it's clear, you're not prepared in the slightest.

Your nerves consume you as you sit in the backseat of your limousine. You protested against being dropped off at the front entrance. Hell, you hadn't even wanted to arrive in a limo. However, your PR team insisted you be seen arriving, happy to be supporting a charitable event for the eighth year in a row.

Reluctantly, you complied.

Chim 🐥: I wish I could be there with you tonight 😞 No matter what, don't let those snobs get into your head. You look stunning and you have nothing to be ashamed of! [sent at 6:23 pm]

"Thank you, love," you whisper to aloud upon reading your best friend's endearing message. Before you can craft a reply, your door is flung open, with harsh flashes of cameras blinding you. When you step out of the limo, you hear a mix of passionate cheering and interrogative remarks.

"Ms. __, could you share with us your experience of attending the gala without Jeon Jungkook by your side for the first time?"

"Ms. __, it's unexpected to see you here this year, especially considering your recent separation from your ex-husband, who is also on the guest list!"

"Ms. __, how do you plan to navigate the evening's festivities without the familiar presence of your former partner?"

Just keep walking __. If you can just get inside the building and tune out the noise, you'll be fine. You coach yourself with every step, but make little progress with the amount of discomfort only skyrocketing. Your photos are being taken, and questions barrage you from all angles. To top it off, you feel a strong migraine coming on and oh fuck— is that the devil now?

You don't have to glance back to guess the sudden increase in cheering is due to the arrival of another hot A-lister. It has to be Jungkook with a new woman by his side. You think he wouldn't bring a date to an event like this, even if she were a hire? You'd be horribly mistaken.

You fight against the urge to turn around and confirm if your suspicions are true.

"__!" a voice calls out, which you ignore.

But wait a minute.

You stop in your tracks—that's not Jungkook's voice at all; it’s far too raspy.

Peeking over your shoulder, your jaw falls open as you see Kim Taehyung steps behind you wearing a boxy grin on his face. He's dressed to the hills with a shiny maroon, Louis Vuitton suit hugging his slim waist. Quite handsome, per usual, but what is he doing here?

Taking the initiative, Taehyung strides next to you and waves to the crowd charismatically. “My movie shoot wrapped up early so I thought I’d swing by and see what all the excitement’s about,” he says.

You observe how easy it is for him to appease the crowd, a skill you’re still working to sharpen.

“Tae-” you begin.

He then turns to you and looks straight into your eyes. You shiver at from the sudden intensity.

“I got an invitation too, and the gala happens to support a cause that I find close to my heart.” His voice lowers for the next part, allowing only your ears to hear. “I also didn’t want you having to be alone this evening, __. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Taehyung’s words manage to coax you away from your previously frazzled state, comforting you as the chaos quiets around you.

“Thank you, Taehyung. You didn’t, don’t worry,” you reply, giving a tight-lipped smile. “It’s actually a good thing you came since you’re basically the second face of my company after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’ve been working so well together recently, and I don’t want to ruin it. May I?” He offers you an arm.

“You may.” You slip your arm into his and continue towards the hotel entrance. You admit you’re glad to see him.

With Taehyung nearby, your apprehensions of the night start to subside. He’s not always beside you, slipping away to mingle often, yet his mere presence relaxes you. You haven’t even thought about Jungkook to be honest. Well, maybe a little bit.

You take a sip of the drink in your hand and casually scan the ballroom until bingo, you spot your ex-husband by the bar in the middle of half a dozen people. Figures he’s the center of attention, effortlessly tethering people to himself. Jungkook loves the spotlight, and the spotlight loves him. As you continue watching him from across the room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within you; longing, sorrow, anger. You haven't seen him in over two months, it feels surreal.

Memories of your time together come flooding back all at once—both the good and the bad, yet mostly bad. It's strange how someone you were once so close to can suddenly feel like a stranger. You allow your gaze to linger a moment longer, curious to conclude a date is nowhere in sight. Perhaps you’re mistaken and they’ve merely slipped away for a second. You’re positive he would’ve brought someone.

Bitterly, you gulp down another sip of your drink. When you place your glass down, you nearly choke at the sight of Jungkook's dark eyes burning holes at you. You avert your gaze immediately, silently begging that he didn’t just witness you staring at him and take it as an unsolicited invitation to come over.

“So,” a provocative voice unexpectedly slides next to you. “Looks like you just traded one bachelor for the next __. I’m shocked to see you’ve shown up to our little soirée.”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, recognizing the owner of the slithery voice like the back of your hand. You do not have the stamina for this tonight.

“Kathy," you greet with the fakest, yet sweetest smile possible. "Nice seeing you again. I haven't seen you since last year. How's the baby?"

"Oh please," she scoffs. "Don't try to deflect, sweetie. We both know it's you who is of far more... intrigue. If you understand my gist."

You want to hurl at this woman's condescending tone. Nothing gets under your skin more than someone your age calling you sweetie. It's not endearing in the slightest, especially when it's Kathy Lee, Director of CommaTen. You despise each other, likely because you both hit it big in the industry at a young age. Meeting someone who reminds you so closely of yourself isn't always a blessing.

“Anyway, as I was saying," she continues, brushing her hair behind an ear. "I have quite the bone to pick with you about stealing that actor from me. Kim Taehyung was mine first, you know."

Hers? She speaks as if a person can be owned. You won't lie, you're surprised Taehyung agreed to partner with you at a time when most of Seoul's elites have turned against you. You're naive to assume that his support wouldn't backfire on his reputation. On the other hand, he's been your endorser for two months now and his following remains fully intact.

“To be frank, I didn't know the two of you were talking business at all," you respond to the accusations with composure, though burning up inside. "But of course, he's free to make his own decisions, can't he? Whatever the reason, something must have enticed him."

“You—" Offended by your insinuation that your offer was better than hers, Kathy doesn't stop what comes next. "We both know the only reason why Kim Taehyung's with you is because Jungkook left you! And you need the extra publicity, isn't that right?"

Fuck. Well, now you're really fucking embarrassed because, at that moment, everyone in the room shifts their attention your way. A pin drop could be heard in the entire ballroom since even the live band ceased their playing.

This is why you didn't want to come. Your fingers fumble with the fabric of your gown.

“Don't act like you're above me just because your company might be worth more than mine, __. We'll catch up with you soon," Kathy spits her final words before spinning around and triumphantly walking away.

Don't cry, you tell yourself. Everyone's staring at you; the press, your peers, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Don't you dare cry.

As the murmurs of conversation gradually resume around you, you force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. Kathy's words were nothing but a feeble attempt to save her own face. Besides, what company doesn't have at least one endorser?

"Are you alright?" Taehyung's low, gentle voice catches your attention as he swiftly returns to your side, no doubt influenced after witnessing Kathy's verbal jab.

You manage a tight-lipped smile, nodding faintly as you attempt to push back the overwhelming wave of humiliation. "I will be," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I hope you don't take her words to heart, __," he mutters. "I chose to become your partner because I genuinely believe in your product. I'm selective about who I support, so please trust me when I say it wasn't because of material gain or pity."

You're on the verge of responding to his reassurance when you catch sight of your ex-husband from the corner of your eye, striding his way over to you for the first time tonight. His expression is unreadable, so you brace yourself, unsure of what to expect.

"__," he starts, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable urgency. "Can we talk?"

You and Taehyung share a quick glance before you follow Jungkook out of the ballroom, seeking privacy.

As soon as you're out of earshot, Jungkook turns to you, his features softened by a hint of concern. "Hey," he starts. "I meant to get over to you sooner but got tied up. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you respond, though you'd rather he didn't come over at all, especially after being dragged into the spotlight in front of all your peers and colleagues.

The two of you share an unsettling silence before he speaks again.

"You-You look good." He allows his eyes to rake up and down your body, causing you to cross your arms in discomfort. There was a time when his gaze brought a flutter of excitement, but now, you're not so sure it brings you the same pleasure.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there," he says. "You okay?"

"What?" you repeat, your eyes wide with surprise, stunned by his unexpected apology. "Am I okay?"

Where was this concern when he handed you the divorce papers nine months ago? Or when he willingly took advantage of your vulnerability that time in your office, only to disappear afterward, as if he hadn't just torn your heart out of your chest? You clench your fists, trying to contain the rising temperature of your anger.

"Yeah, about what she said about you," he clarifies. "It was uncalled for, and I feel horrible about it." He reaches out to touch you, but you instinctively step back, as if his touch would scorch you.

"Please, don't," you sigh, a trace of weariness in your voice. "It's fine."

"I'm serious __, I can have her charged with defamation for that. It wouldn't take much!" His insistence is unwavering, and it strikes your last nerve.

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Jungkook," you suddenly snap, voice stern. "I'm not completely helpless now that you've divorced me!"

Jungkook's expression darkens, regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" you repeat, doubtful. "How do you think that's going to look for me in the media? Jeon Jungkook slaps another high society member with a defamation charge for ex-wife. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that as is."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know they've been difficult on you recentl—"

"Difficult?" you interject, your anger bubbling to the surface. "In case you haven't noticed my face is on every gossip magazine, billboard, press release, and anything else they can use to scorn me with. It's unbearable, especially since I still have a business to run."

Jungkook winces, clearly stung by your words. "Then let me help. I'll get them removed for you. I still care about you, __."

You scoff. "You care about me? Is that why you made me sign our divorce papers three months after you found out I wanted more than a fake marriage?"

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping to the floor guiltily. "It's not like that, __. I'm not trying to be an avoidant asshole. I want you to-"

"Find someone else. Yeah, I got it," you mutter bitterly, feeling a fresh wave of hurt wash over you.

"I'm sorry, __. I am."

You stare at him, torn between resentment and a lingering ache for the connection you once shared. Now, he's apologizing?

"So am I," you say, slowly backing away from him. "You don't have to do anything, Jungkook. I'm fine."

You then turn on your heels to return to the ballroom where Taehyung still waits for you, leaving your ex-husband standing in the hallway, alone.

a/n: A much-needed confrontation between oc and jk eh? But... *laughs evilly*..this is not the end...LMK what you think! 🤔🤍

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izjeon · 6 months

Text

GONEGIRL.

athlete!jungkook x f!reader

𖥻 genre: s2l (strangers to lovers?), fwb (friends with benefits), pwp, and university au.

𖥻 rating: 18+

𖥻 word count: 3.2k

𖥻 warnings: [MINORS DNI] afab/f!reader, heavy infatuation, they basically stalk each other, a lot of sexual tension, smut is literally the plot, many mentions of wet dreams, debatable infidelity, reader has debatable morals, jungkook & reader are horny, switch!jk (but he does most of the dominating) and switch!reader, a lot of making-out, hickeys (f.receiving), reader lowkey has a praise kink, hair pulling (m.receiving), jungkook whimpers, extra beefy jungkook, dry humping… and they get caught.

a/n: this is not proofread, but why is standing next to you such a bop?? helped me finish this after months of it being stuck in the drafts. also, to whoever told me to stay in the basement, i couldn’t stick to my word, pookie 😔. enjoy!

series masterlist: GONEGIRL

chapter one - ‘slowburn?’

𖥻 GONEGIRL

you knew who he was.

jeon jungkook: the senior that all the freshmen drooled for and the senior that all the seniors wanted to themselves. as a senior yourself, you couldn’t say he didn’t intrigue you. he was a sporty guy, winning national and global championships in track and wrestling for fun on the side. obviously, his matches were the most popular in viewership across the university. the golden boy, he never once failed to add another gold medal to your university’s esteemed profile.

so, you knew who he was, but you couldn’t understand why his eyes were stuck on you and only you.

you’d first met him at a party held by one of his close friends, namjoon. you were introduced briefly and didn’t exchange any numbers or socials. but, that following morning, jngkk_97 followed you on instagram. and, from that day on, he was the first guy to like your posts, the first guy to view your stories and the first guy you knew of to not slide into your dms.

with his intriguing, yet unexpectedly distant, behaviour, he found his way into your mind— 24/7. so, every morning, you awoke, gaslighting yourself into believing that the thought of his pink, pouty lips on yours didn't actually send you into a midlife crisis. they just made you a little faint.

every single night, you tucked your fragile mind into bed, losing yourself in hazy dreams branded by the thought of jungkook's touch. but, after a few weeks of contactless flirting, you let the idea of him go.

because you’d been told he had a girlfriend.

although it usually took a lot to do so, you felt the cowardly urge to give up on your infatuation. it'd been more than 2 weeks of mutual stalking but, still, no message. you guessed, he just wasn't as desperate for you as you were for him.

and you didn't like that. so you quit your daily routine of streaming his instagram and greedily watched as he kept up his own stalkish routine, consecutively failing to direct his focus back onto his girlfriend.

the same gorgeous girlfriend sitting with him on a black and cushy beanbag, radiating as she spoke to the other students around them. and that's when you realised, not having each other's undivided attention must've been a thing in their relationship.

because, his doe eyes of false innocence were only on you.

it was the first time you were seeing each other in person after namjoon’s party.

you stared back at jungkook through the wide, unglazed window in the separating wall between the kitchen and the living room. even with his supposed girlfriend of 5 months on his lap, running her fingers through his hair, his eyes were only on you. you scoffed, chuckling to yourself.

he would be fun.

leaning back on the kitchen counter of jennie’s apartment, you tilted your head to the side. intrigued, you watched as he did the same, copying your actions with a lopsided grin. now, you didn’t have the best eyesight but you weren’t so blind that you couldn’t tell that he was clearly hinting at something. something that would land you in a very taboo situation.

and you loved that.

you lifted your plastic cup to your lips and turned away from the athlete sitting at the other end of the room. you downed your drink as you walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. you looked around for your best friend and there she was, face deep in boobs.

as you made your way to the couch she was sprawled on, you realised the athlete had disappeared from his girlfriend’s side. curious of where he’d disappeared to, your eyes ran across the packed apartment, desperate for the sight of him.

and there it was, the something.

he was standing near the front door and his girlfriend had gone to sit with other seniors. it looked like he was exchanging goodbyes with his friends.

he was leaving— without his girlfriend.

“jennie, i think i’m going,” you mindlessly whispered, eyes stuck on the 5’10" hottie with his foot out the door and doe eyes drifting back across the crowded room. then his eyes were on yours again: a silent exchange of words.

“already…?” a drunk jennie whined, lifting her face from the deep cleavage of her girlfriend. “wait,” she mumbled, eyebrows scrunching into a sobering expression, and squinted her eyes at your side profile. “you think?”

satisfied with your decided future, you turned back to your best friend with your lips curling into a sly grin. “no, i know.”

she lazily propped herself up on her girlfriend and whined, “but how’re you gonna get home~?”

the front door slammed shut.

“i’ll find a ride.”

𖥻 GONEGIRL

jungkook picked at the zip of his thin bomber coat. he was leaning against his black benz, waiting.

ever since he first laid his eyes on you in that little backless, black dress, jungkook knew you were trouble. you were a distraction; more distracting than the pending termination of his current relationship; and much more distracting than the thought of joining the national track team again. you were a parasite living in his mind.

he practically breathed you. when he woke, you were his first thought. when he felt compelled to open instagram, you were there. even when he would try to escape you in his sleep, you were there. he could barely last ten seconds sinking into the thought of you. if you let him sink into the reality of you, jungkook would cease to exist.

jungkook groaned, throwing back his head. he thought he would be fine and perfectly content with your instagram and your daily occurrence in his dreams (sexual or not), but you just had to show up at this party— held by your best friend. how was he supposed to know you guys were best friends? now he was actually waiting for the real you and he could feel himself going mad. he wasn’t sure he could keep his hands to himself and he could already feel the consequences of his future actions creeping up on him—

“who bought that for you?”

his ears twitched.

his heart lunged and his eyes found yours in an instant. but jungkook’s always had a wandering eye.

his eyes almost instantly fell to your body, trailing over your exposed cleavage in your white dress, and then dropping to the high slit on your left thigh, almost exposing your crotch. you were some type of angel for sure.

he was fucked.

jungkook was fucked the moment he met you; the moment he spent over an hour scrolling through countless instagram accounts to find yours; the moment he couldn’t dream of his own future without you showing up; and the moment he began to pray you showed up in his dreams every night before bed.

he was fucked because he feared once he had a hold on you, he would never be able to let go.

a man’s logic.

“my dad,” jungkook finally replied, pulling himself together. “he decided i needed a car— because i run 24/7. and there definitely cannot be a cheaper and better car than a mercedes benz.”

his sarcastic tone made you smile.

“that’s cute,” you smiled.

it went silent.

“do you need a ride?”

“don’t you have a girlfriend?” you rebutted with a smirk. truthfully, part of you didn’t care about his answer. you were an addict in front of a line of coke. you would get what you wanted one way or another.

“ha,” he chuckled, lowering his head in what you thought was shame. your question put jungkook on the spot. and you knew cheaters never worked well when put on the spot. but jungkook looked up with a wincing smile and corrected you, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

oh.

“we’re… complicated.”

now, jungkook wasn’t sure that choyeon would’ve given you the same answer. they weren’t together, but she acted as if they were. and he didn’t make much of an effort to correct her. so, he guessed he was still guilty. but he only felt guilty to a certain extent. he’d already chosen feeling guilty about hurting choyeon rather than missing an opportunity to get what he dreamed of.

what he fucking craved.

the sound of your heels getting closer to him kissed jungkook out of his thoughts. oh, you seduced him: the feeling of your manicured fingers gently grabbing hold of his chin and slowly lowering his clouded eyes to yours.

you whispered, “how complicated?”

jungkook held his breath for a second or two. how complicated were they? well, he knew they were complicated enough for him to forget about her in your presence and only remember her when you asked him to. however, they weren’t complicated enough for them to not be in some sort of a relationship.

but he decided it didn’t matter. when it came to you, she didn’t matter. he realised how beautiful your eyes looked under the moonlight. they glistened with the false innocence jungkook knew would ruin him. after all the nights of imagined panting, moaning and fucking and mornings of bitter reality, post-clarity and cum-stained sheets, jungkook burned for your touch.

fuck, he could almost taste you.

as if you could read his thoughts, your awaiting finger finally fell onto the his plump bottom lip, sweetly kissing the man out of his stupor. your eyes left his and fell to where your finger slowly traced across jungkook’s soft, pink receipt of kisses.

that’s when his lips parted, and he whispered, “as complicated as you want.”

at his answer, your distracted eyes flickered back up to his awaiting, hooded eyes. that’s when you, too, realised how dangerous your infatuation had gotten. just the sight of those buttered chestnut eyes and the intoxicating feel of his slow exhales on your skin forced you into a reality where you lacked even the smallest control over your own body. but, even more dangerous, was how little you cared about the way you drowned in his presence. but then again, you never did learn how to swim.

you smiled, letting your hands fall back to your sides.

“i’ll take that ride.”

𖥻 GONEGIRL

the ride back to yours was almost silent, only filled with random whispers of directions coming from jungkook’s gps system. the voiced map directed him to your address and, yet, everything else pointed his eyes to you.

jungkook took a glance at you. he watched you; he watched you with your elbow propped up onto the rolled-down window, relaxed upper body peeking out into seoul’s night. he saw how you leaned further into the wind licking at your cheeks when he pressed on the gas, a hint of a smile wavering across your partially hidden face. he watched you in the silence, accepting his loud need— his loud need for you.

and he didn’t even know you. but jungkook couldn’t seem to find the rational sense to care. he knew you were a ‘stranger’ but, fuck, you’d overwhelmed his entire existence. you had damned him to the crucifying point where he actually felt the need to breathe you— to accept every single inch of you into his being— and he had no idea why. even as he glanced in your direction for the hundredth time, he couldn’t dare try to understand how you’d done this to him.

once again, as if you could read his thoughts, your head turned, lost eyes running over the lavender lights in the car. and like a key, your wandering eyes pierced his and locked his gaze onto yours.

“you’ve arrived at your destination,” the gps announced, breaking the exchanged glance. jungkook turned back to the road, and you turned back to seoul’s night.

“mm, just here,” you hummed, pointing to an empty parking spot in front of the tall apartment complex. maybe it was just human curiosity, but you found yourself mesmerised by the way he smoothly slotted the benz into the empty space.

fuck, everything he did was hot.

the sound of the engine’s hum softening into a quiet mew reminded jungkook of the anticipation clawing at his skin. it clouded his senses. but when his eyes flitted back onto you, yours were already on his.

he watched your lips part, and stilled as your next whisper left a trail of wet kisses across his mind.

“come up with me.”

𖥻 GONEGIRL

“thanks,” you started, slotting your key into auburn door’s lock. turning to catch a glimpse of jungkook’s dewy eyes behind his black locks, you smiled and continued, “for the ride.”

jungkook’s lips quirked into the same lopsided grin from earlier. “you’re welcome,” he replied.

it was silent again.

with those hidden eyes still on yours, jungkook’s tongue slipped past his lips, running over his bottom lips. your gaze dropped to the pink tongue flitting across those pink, pillowy lips of his, and you sunk. those lips forced you into a familiar daydream where all that mattered was letting your tongue glide across his bottom lip until you slipped in, fucking his tongue with yours— tasting jungkook.

you needed a taste.

you glanced back up into his prolonged stare. then your hands were falling from the keys in the door, fingers smoothing across the nape of his neck and cheek, and tugging his lips down to yours. but jungkook’s hands were already cradling your hips, touch-starved fingers pressing into your sides, as his lips met yours first.

it was a gentle yet deep peck. a peck was quick: it allowed jungkook to draw back for two crucial seconds and let his clouded vision run over your expression. alluring eyes looked up into his gaze and jungkook could finally see it: your mutual desperation, the hunger, and the torture. it was all he needed to see before his finger was tilting your chin up once more, and his lips were taking you in.

from brushing his tongue past yours to savouring the taste of alcohol on your tongue, jungkook sunk into the taste of you. but he didn’t know if he could go any longer without sinking into you. his hand left your waist cold, fingers fumbling with the keys in the door and failing miserably. “no,” you rushed, lips barely leaving his. “turn them to the right.”

after hearing the click of your stubborn door unlocking, you were all over each other again. you stumbled into your apartment, hand quickly muddling with the light switch, with jungkook hurrying after you, tossing your keys and his suffocating jacket aside.

his daring fingers smoothed over your ass, kneading the soft, clothed skin, before lifting you to his hips. a deep hum of approval rumbled against your lips as your legs wrapped around him. but, in this position, your little dress had ridden up, exposing a white thong snug to your weeping slit. and who on earth would jungkook be if he didn’t cop a feel?

lifting you up once more to adjust his arm, the tips of jungkook’s fingers slipped under the white lace, fingers grazing across your supple ass. feeling his fingers inch closer to your needy cunt, your breath hitched and the dull stir in your core began to hum, itching for more than a simple touch.

and, as if he could read your mind, your breath was forced from you, head falling onto the lush cushions on your sofa. wafts of mint invading your senses, your hazy eyes took in how beautiful jungkook looked above you— like it was where he was meant to be. and he realised the same, the apartment’s warm and amber lights cascading through his locks and clouding the irises of your tempting eyes.

in that still second, both you and jungkook came to a silent agreement. your dreams couldn’t compare to reality.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

you blinked. you knew you were beautiful— of course— but hearing the phrase trickle out of jungkook’s pretty mouth felt…different. your eyes followed his as his gaze fluttered across your face, brows furrowing as if he were in awe.

“kiss me,” you begged, and he obeyed.

greedy, jungkook’s kisses were everywhere— on your swollen lips, before tumbling down your jaw to the middle of your neck, littering a trail of bruising hickeys. and you couldn’t do anything but moan, whimper, and sink into his sweet touch.

“oh, fuck,” you whined, head tilting back into the plush sofa. your fingers pushed through the thick rift of hair at the nape of his neck, tugging on it. but you never would’ve expected such a pathetic moan to leave his throat, rumbling into the sweet spot right above your collarbone. you paused. his moan echoed in your mind— a repeating succulent sound. so, you tugged a little harder, relishing in how he muffled a guttural whimper into the base of your neck, “mmf, fuck”. but then his hips began to move against yours, revengeful, and you realised how fucked you were— and would be.

jungkook had a bulge that made you wonder; wonder how he crammed that shit into his boxers; wonder how he lived a seemingly normal life with it; and wonder how he would struggle to cram that cock into your sopping mess of a cunt. so, as he ground down against your erect clit, your hips bucked up into his fucking, eager to measure the sheer size of the hidden dick. “oh, please,” you whined, thoughts stained by the way he licked a hot stripe across your ear’s helix, boner perfectly smushing down against your clit.

bruising lips barely touching yours, half-lidded eyes cruelly watched as you rode up into his clothed cock and stuttered moans so pathetic your cheeks burned, glazed eyes brimming with tears. he was already fucking you so good, and he hadn’t even touched your bare pussy yet.

oh, jungkook ruined you. with a hand trailing down your heated sides, he sent your body into a rabid heat, his touch only licking the wet flame ruining your ability to think. and when his hand finally cupped your leaking cunt, thumb circling over your pulsing clit, you were already begging pitiful whimpers. “please, please, please—”

“___?”

your bodies stilled.

a voice that was not yours or jungkook’s echoed throughout the apartment, piercing the thick haze that’d swallowed your minds whole. you blinked, stare slowly lowering to jungkook’s stunned stare that was already on you. his doe eyes wrinkled into a smile as his lips pursed into an awkward grin. the cringe was evident on his face; he was a grown adult getting caught with his hand deep in the cookie jar.

jungkook’s head slowly raised and turned, peeking over the sofa to see your intruder and his cockblock. then he froze. still hidden from the eyes of your cockblock, you eyed his expression, confused on why remained still, eyes wide, lips pursed and ears burning red.

who was it?

begrudgingly, you shuffled out of jungkook’s caging arms, propping yourself up on your elbows, and looked over the sofa, ready to kick out your cockblocking neighbour. but who you saw wasn’t an unfortunate neighbour you could just dismiss. in fact, the person you saw made you the unfortunate neighbour because there your best friend stood, mouth agape and only a foot into the apartment.

“oh, fuck. well, um. oh wow,” jennie blubbered, feet awkwardly wobbling over the door’s threshold. now, drunk jennie didn’t have the best memory but she could’ve sworn she’d warned you about jungkook’s relationship status. so, as you watched the cogs turn in her head, her brows furrow and her eyes squint, darting between the both of you, all you could do was blink and smile.

“…what the fuck?”

gg: ‘slowburn?’ - fini

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook ff #jungkook fic #bts smut #bts ff #jungkook recs #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #jjk smut #smut recs #🌟: angel’s fics

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xqueen-of-disasterx · 8 months

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Lonely

Paring: Innocent!reader x dads!friend!Nat

Summery: You looked lonely Natasha could fix that

Warnings: SMUT, pervy Nat, innocent reader, (legal) age gap, masturbation, intersex nat, oral, fingering, p in v, slight degradation, pet names, anal play, manhandling, fluff at the end, implied aftercare,

Word count: 1.8k

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional!

AN: @xxforeverinadayxx it’s a bit late but I hope you like it

Masterlist

ꕀꕀ ─── ⋆⋅ ✨🌞✨ ⋅⋆─── ꕀꕀ

Natasha knew very well how morally wrong her behavior was but how could she help herself when you were this cute. She was aware of the fact that Steve had an adult daughter but until this burning summer in Italy she had yet to meet you. But time came and Natasha found herself living with the most beautiful girl alive. Natasha had tried to spend as much time as she could with you, trying to find out everything about you. She’d take you on cycling trips and read to you your favorite novel while laying in the grass. You had been enchanted by Natashas presence. She was kind and yet smart. She happened to like the same authors as you and treated you like an adult, and not like your father who always shielded you. You didn’t want to accept it but you quickly had a crush on the older woman. In your eyes she was just perfect.

Who could’ve known that all of that was just a facade Natasha had put on to hide her true perverted fantasies. She had wanted you from the moment you first stepped down the stairs only wearing a light summer dress who looked so beautiful on you. She couldn’t flirt with you like she would with any other girl. No. Natasha had to be smart about it. She couldn’t risk Steve picking up on her true intentions with you. Natasha also of course didn’t want to do anything to you that you didn’t want. She might have been a pervert but she wouldn’t step over that boundary. Natasha knew exactly what she was searching for when she forged through your drawer. Her long fingers delicately caressing over the light pink cotton fabric of your panties. Her breathing was heavy as she quickly stuffs the the piece of fabric into the back pocket of her suit pants.

She’d do it like she did many times before on her summer vacation at your fathers mansion. Natasha would take the piece of clothing to her room and deep in the night when everyone else would be asleep her hands would find their way into her boxers. Moving her hand up and down her shaft as she whimpers your name quietly wishing it would be your smaller hands instead. She would grunt and moan muffled by her pillowcase. She’d cum into your panties cleaning her seed from the deep red tip of her cock. The next day while you would be in the garden she would put it back neatly folded hoping you would notice the difference which was a false hope. You weren’t aware why your “fresh” underwear had crusty but you chose to ignore it.

She quickly fled the room through the connected bathroom as she quickly hides the panty in one of the drawers of her nightstand. She moved on her turning to her bed as she grabs some book and pretended to read as she hears your light knocking on her door. “Come in Bambi” you could her her mumble as you pushed the heavy wooden door open. Her nicknames never failing to make you want to melt. Your feet make their way across the floor before you take a seat on the side of Natashas bed. “What brings you here” her voice was husky coming out almost as a whisper. You had your eyes located on your lap as you could hear Natasha move behind you. “I felt lonely” You could hear her chuckle in response as she moves beside you. “Is Steve home” You shook your head “He said that he won’t be home till late at night today”

Natashas smirk was devilish as she knew now was the time she could finally shoot her shoot. “And he left you all alone with me?” You didn’t answer her. The question was more rhetorical than anything. “Tell me pretty girl” her hands moved to your chin making you meet her lustful gaze “Do you feel something 'down there' when I touch you” Your cheeks turned a light shade of red. You were too embarrassed to say it but she was right. You slowly nod and making Natasha the happiest woman alive. “What do you do then” “W-Well I-” Natasha cut you off “No Олененок I want you to show me. Show me what you do to make those feelings go away” Your movements were shaky as you laid your fragile body on her kingsized bed. Your hands had found their way towards the waistband of your shorts as you slowly dragged them down your feminine legs. You had revealed your undergarments, a white pair with flowers on them. Natasha smirked as she saw the pair. She was familiar with it once having right her under her hips as she wished she had you instead. However her time had come, she had finally had you all to herself. You disposed of your panty too as you left your dripping cunt on full display for Natasha who was sitting between your spread ankles. Her breathing got more rapid as she could feel herself het harder and harder. Your hands had found their way towards your clit rubbing the bundle of nerves in tight circles as you kept releasing moan after. Natasha looked at you with a pitiful expression it was clear that you didn’t really knew what you were doing. The older woman highly doubt that you’ve ever managed to made yourself cum judging by your inexperienced movements.

“Let me help you pretty girl” Natasha was fast to strip from her shirt throwing it somewhere behind herself as she moved between your legs. Your legs were thrown over her shoulder as she took a long lick from the bottom of your cunt right up to your clit. Your hands carefully grabbed Natashas hair not wanting to hurt her. Natasha kitten licking between your folds, the taste making her hum deeply. The vibrations making you release soft moans. You tried to buckle your hips making the release seem closer. Natasha responded in slamming her forearm down on your hips grounding your hips. You whimpered and Natasha just laughed “Have you ever tried to you know use your little fingers Зайка” she mumbled against your puffy cunt. Forming words seemed incredibly difficult even through Natasha hadn’t really done anything “N-Never” you managed to get out. Natasha gave you a fake look of pity between your legs “Let’s pop that cherry shall we?” It was again a rhetorical question, how could you ever say no to Natasha. “Will it hurt” I whimpered looking at Natasha through hooded eyes. “Зайка, I’m not gonna lie it will hurt a bit but you will feel so good” She rubbed my thighs trying comfort me into believing her and I did.

“Do it… but be gentle… please” the last part came out mote desperate than you had intended to. “I’ll try Зайка” she whispered against the soft flesh of My stomach kissing her way down again. She carefully inserted one of her long fingers making me groan in pain as she ripped my hymen even drawing a few drops of blood on the white sheets. Natasha groaned as she saw and felt it. She knew it was wrong being obsessed with taking her friends daughters virginity but she couldn’t help herself. “Fuck baby you’re so tight” he breathed out as she can feel your walls clenching around her finger as she pushed it in and out. The pain of her fingers soon turned into pure pleasure as you moaned like a whore in a brothel. She added a second finger on which you clench down even harder sucking her in. “Fuck you’re even tighter then you thought you little slut.” Her movements got faster and rougher having me moan louder as you climax all over Natashas fingers and hand. You eyes are glued shut as you try to calm yourself.

You can feel Natashas strong hands on your hips turning you onto your stomach. Your face is pressed into the pillows as she pushes your hips up your knees touching the soft fabric of the sheets. You can hear the sipper of her pants followed by the sounds of her undressing. Natasha was painfully hard, her large member standing proud as she places herself behind you. Her tip pressed against your clit as you whimpered for her. “Are you ready for the real deal Зайка” She didn’t give you much time to respond as she pushed inside your hole making you scream out only for it to be muffled by the pillow case. She bottomed you out giving you some time to adjust to her girth. She whispered sweet nothings against you back until you gave her the go to go further.

Her pace started out slow not wanting to make you uncomfortable as the wet sound of skin clapping against each other filled the room mixed with both your groans and moans. Natasha pace was steady as the moans you released got louder and louder. Natashas hands gripped the flesh of you ass kneeling it before she got an idea. She spread your cheeks giving her the perfect look at your muscle ring. She spit on it only making you consciously of her actions. “Natty what are yo-” you got interrupted by your own scream as Natashas finger pushed past the ring the spit and your cum making a perfect lube. You clammed down hard in Natashas shaft as you were unexpectedly an anal whore. Your moans turned into screams the mixture of both penetrations making you climax in recored time. “Fuck you dirty slut you can deem yourself lucky I haven’t made you my breeding bitch yet” she mumbled pulling out of both holes before roughly throwing you to your back again. After a few more pumps with her large hands she came all of your stomach before laying down next to you.

She didn’t need long to recover from her high as she pushed some sweaty strands of hair behind your ear smiling like she didn’t just turn you into her whore. “Are you still lonely” you shook your head being too tired to even speak. She finally kissed your lips before picking you up bridal style and caring you into your shared bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up in a nice and warm bath shall we baby” she was just the woman for you.

#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff smut #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff

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incognit0slut · 7 months

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Reid’s Slut Kinktober

It’s finally here. Kinktober is probably the only time I can get away with writing explicit, partly dark themes I don’t usually write. This is also kind of a celebration for hitting a milestone of 2k followers, which by the way, I’m very grateful for! I thank you all so, so much.

And I decided to do one story per week. There will be no taglist for this, so make sure to check in on the dates of each fic.

DISCLAIMER - The works underneath contains 18+ language/sexual/graphic content. Please do not interact if you are a minor or if you are uncomfortable with the themes.

(All fiction will be paired with fem!reader)

Oct. 6th - SILENT PLEA

softdom!spencer; Thigh-riding, teasing, semi-public, praise

Being a few feet away from your friends wasn’t going to stop you from seeking pleasure with your professor.

Oct. 13th - BATTLE SCARS

sub!spencer; Face sitting, male oral, body worship, cockwarming

What started out as innocently counting body scars with your coworker, who you were stuck in the same bed with, ended far from being innocent.

Oct. 20th - A SPECIAL SHOW

virgin!spencer; Lingerie, Exhibitionist/voyeur, overstimulation, squirting

Worker by day, sex streamer by night. No one would’ve guessed you liked to touch yourself in front of billions of people online, except for your roommate, who you thought would be a great addition to your next late-night session.

Oct. 27th - MASTER OF PERSUASION

meandom!Spencer/Hotch; Threesome, creampie, dumbification, degradation, brat taming

Your involvement in a heinous crime was questioned by the two FBI agents who were eager to do anything to get you to talk.

Oct. 31st - DARK DESIRES

ghostface!spencer (based on this); dubcon, knife play, sensory deprivation, rough unprotected sex, forced orgasm, dacryphilia

A twisted encounter with the masked killer roaming in your neighborhood had you questioning your morals, because as it turn out, you were more attracted to him than you let on.

You may have noticed it gets darker and darker by the end of the month, which is actually intentional because I need to end it with a bang (pun intended).

Anyway… like, reblog, save this post for future reference. I will update the links every time I post the stories. Come and join in the fun!

Check out my main masterlist!

dividers by @cafekitsune

#kinktober 2023 #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #spencerreid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff

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eggyrocks · 2 months

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SYRUP-T. OIKAWA SMAU

….he has a thing for the barista at his favorite coffee shop. & he’s pretty sure she feels the same. the only thing in the way is her annoying boyfriend.

main masterlist

status: ongoing, updates random but frequent

tags: oikawa x f!reader, friends to lovers, unrequited feelings, university au (i love a university au)

warnings: language, alcohol use, messy relationships, cheating, adult themes, everyone will probably suck really hard at one point, angst at points, grammatical mistakes probably, everyone probably will be out of character, please note warnings may change as story progresses, and to check each chapter for individual warnings

minors dni

taglist: closed

introductions: yn’s roommates | oikawa’s roommates

part one: 120% tip part two: sisyphus part three: yarg part four: alpha female part five: womp womp part six: silly string part seven: special latte part eight: toxic space part nine: stab him part ten: strange (bad) part eleven: pity ramen part twelve: messy part thirteen: hive mind part fourteen: cardinal sins part fifteen: moral compass part sixteen: robarazzi part seventeen: maybe: piece of shit miya part eighteen: coming soon

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fushipurro · 2 months

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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

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celestie0 · 2 months

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MASSIVE gojo x reader fanfic rec (no spoilers)

ok i know a lot of my followers are gojo girlies and i just need to put yall onto this fucking fanfiction because i just read the latest release for it and i’m genuinely tweaking rn🧍🏻‍♀️

@lostfracturess ‘s amazing work called “symptoms & causes” - a medical au

[image pulled from her masterlist]

let me just…let me just try to even gather the reasons why you need to add this to your tbr lists (weekend is comin up too so perfect time)

characterization of gojo satoru.

gojo in this fic is characterized so fucking well, from chapter one. there are so many distinctive ways miss lostfractures goes about building his aura (word of mouth/reputation, dialogue, expository, primary interactions, secondary interactions, etc.) it reminds me of the show where gojo just has this energy to him that you can't tear yourself away from i picture him in this fic to be unrelenting, unforgiving, morally grey, with an undertone of softness yet still feral through it all,, basically gojo during shibuya arc LOL. i looove reading cute silly boy gojo fics sm (he’s so baby) but THIS fic explores the borderline wicked side of him that is so thrilling, unique, and rare to find i think in this fandom’s collection of works. it’s just so fucking good.

forbidden romance.

UGGHH i love stories w forbidden romance. in this one, it’s med student reader x professor gojo (additional power dynamics in that he’s a senior surgeon in her field and also a research mentor in her study of interest…TRIPLE THREAT DAMN). i love how miss lostfractures doesn’t shy away from reminding the reader that it’s wrong, and that they shouldn’t be doing this. that’s my fave part of forbidden romances like yesss remind me again why this is all so wrong but let’s still do it anyways LOL <333

reader’s voice.

i’ve LOVED reader since the beginning, so relatable, emotionally mature, all her flaws are so believable & her strengths are shown seamlessly. it’s just so much fun to read because i’ll literally have a thought like “hmm…that (something a character said/did) doesn’t sound very convincing” and then the next line will be something like “he didn’t sound very convincing” like!!! me and s&c reader?? we’re locked in like this fr🤞🏼 like gojo’s domain expansion fingers

escapism.

everything in this story feels so damn real it’s insane. the pacing is stunning, love the utilization of stacks of scenes that are sort of short but so concise, enough to be a smooth read but still descriptive enough to entirely transport you into the world that’s being built. cannot praise the writing in this story enough. also the variety of ways that scenarios are made that pull characters closer to one another?? so creative. as someone who works in a research lab, studied bio in college (some of the fkn biochem stuff that comes up in this fic gives me heart attacks lmfaooo pls im traumatized), and has worked in clinics/hospitals it just itches my brain so damn good. you’ll be convinced you’re a brilliant med student while you read this fic.

writing.

the writing is just. so. good. it’s so good. better than most PUBLISHED works i’ve read. i really can't say much other than that, you just have to go see for yourself.

—

if any of these reasons speak to you, i highly recommend you check the fic out. just a note tho it does have some dark themes but you can find all the tags/warnings on her page!

OK BYE

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nsk96 · 1 year

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Writing Help

General Tips

The purpose of writing

Important: only you can tell your stories

Every fanfiction genre has value

HOW TO STAY MOTIVATED!

Maintaining Motivation

Reasons to Keep Writing

Stretch your hands and fingers

Analyze the stories that you like

Title creation

How to comment on your favorite fics

Moodboard sources

PIRATED FAN FICS!!!

Fanfiction is legitimate (featuring Neil Gaiman)

Angst and Horror: if you can't handle it

Publishing

Writing Smut: overcoming shame

Don't toss your work

Dialogue / Writing rules

Prologue

Paragraph breaks

Sentence length matters!

Dialogue punctuation

Scene Checklist

Body Language

Descriptions between dialogue

3 dots in a sentence (Ellipsis)

Using adverbs

Using adjectives

Coming Outs

Commonly misused words & phrases

Words to Avoid

Flirting!

World Building

World building through plot holes

Using context clues

Creating land

Government

Matriarchal society

Dystopia

Descriptions

Resources for Describing Physical things

Alcoholic drinks & cocktails

KISS SCENES

Clothing references

Sewing sources (includes history of fashion)

Hair texture

Skin color/tone

Sword / Martial arts inspo

Character Development

Character sheet

Character sheets

Character development, agency, plot

Esk*mo is a slur

Naming characters

Naming characters in other cultures

Emotional intelligence

Human body limits

Making threats and the third option

Bartenders

Children

Kids

Asian characters

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Morally grey

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Romance development

Healthy Relationship

Sacrifices

Redemption arc vs forgiveness

Redemption arc trope

Regret / Remorse

Prompts/one-liners

Prompt masterlist

Another prompt masterlist

A third prompt masterlist

Best friends to lovers

Mob Boss

Prophecy of lost child

Super power of truth

Enemies to lovers

Enemies to lovers: Reasons to hate

Enemies to lovers: Getting together

Enemies to lovers Prompts!

Enemies to lovers: Fake dating

Past-life Enemies to lovers

Late-night wandering

Compliments

Touch-starved

Romance/physical intimacy prompts

Romance: little acts of love

Smut

Reputation

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More sources

Masterlist: body language, words, translator

Masterlist: prompts, LGBTQ+, NSFW Advice

Meme: fanfiction problems

Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice)

Bechdel Test

Part 2 ->

#writing #writing help #writing tips #writing inspo #writers of tumblr #writers of ao3 #writer #writeblr #fanfiction writer #fan fiction #writers block #writers #writer things

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morallyinept · 2 months

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Imbued - A Frankie Morales One Shot - International Women's Day

Dedicated to @undercoverpena whom is one of the most amazing, badass women ever. Happy International Women's Day, Jojobean! 🖤

I used a prompt from this list here. Prompt is marked bold in the story.

Summary: Frankie worships you and makes you feel like a Goddess. I mean, you are, aren't you?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. However, Reader speaks and understands Spanish.)

Word Count: 2k-ish

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Established relationship/face riding/facesitting/multiple orgasms/some mild squirting/body worship/Frankie eats you out because he's the 🐱👑

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Happy International Women's Day! What better way to be celebrated than by Frankie worshipping you! 🫠

☝🏻Whilst we don't need men to make us feel powerful, I hope you know that you're amazing, independent and gorgeous, no matter what! The world is yours for the taking, Queen. Today is to celebrate and empower all the incredible women/trans women/bi women from all walks of life. No matter your ethnicity, your background, physical capabilities, your age - YOU matter. Be proud of who you are and know that every day, you are incredible, and you are strong. 💪🏻🌎🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Frankie is a sight to behold in the mornings.

Almost ethereal as the sun kisses those beaming streaks over his tan, warm skin and muscles that envelope you in strong, cresting arms.

Pink lips that truly steal the show, full and inviting, they curl into a dreamy, crooked smile that hints at a mischievous spark lurking just beneath the surface of a bruised man, who wakes with you in crumpled sheets with entwined limbs, clammy with sweat.

Sleepy orbs of polished obsidian regard you in the oncoming glow of the golden dawn, flooding through thin linens and filling the room with an aureate haze. Thick, rough fingers glide against your cheek as the heat from his breath settles into your eyelashes.

“Hueles tan bien,” (You smell so good) he grazes to you, nose running the arch of your shoulder. “Siempre te ves muy bien por las mañanas.” (You always look so good in the mornings.)

“Mmm,” you hum, relishing the hard prodding of him in between your cheeks.

Smiling, your arch like a feline, stretching and working out your back from hours curled into comatose, rigid shapes around him.

Deft hands felt around your waist pull you against him. You feel him subtly grind; a thickness rutting against you, separated only by flimsy cotton and worn elastic.

Twisting to face him, you lick up the side of his jaw, tasting the salt in his greying scruff; the silk of it smooth on your tongue as you make wet tracks through the forest of grizzly hairs. Exploring all the prominent contours of his rugged masculinity, as his tall and broad body slowly cages over your own and starts his own explorations.

His lips find yours, tongue delving in and groaning around the kisses he pelts you with, tempered with soft lips under a satiny scratch of his moustache.

“Dime qué quieres.” (Tell me what you want.) He always knows what you want, delivering satisfaction in abundance. But hearing you tell him that you crave him never gets tiresome.

Frankie kisses down your body slowly, dragging his lips, lingering in places he knows will rile you. Collarbone, nipples, hips… smooches with a swipe of wet tongue appeasing as your hands follow his head, twirling curls around your index and middle.

Parting your legs, he kisses down your thigh, up the other one, eyes darting to yours. Soft, muddy irises, pupils already blown wide as he smirks at you.

“Bésame.” (Kiss me) You say, as he stretches up to find your lips again.

You shake your head, pushing on his shoulders. “Bésame ahí,” (Kiss me there) you iterate, guiding him by the chin down to your centre.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he groans, almost pained in its tincture.

Frankie smiles immediately as he licks up the centre of your crotch over your panties. A wicked glint in his eye as you gasp and grin down at him.

He then slides off your cotton underwear, patched damp, without hesitation.

“Sé lo que quieres.” (I know what you want.) Frankie husks with a grin that will scorch the sun.

Already swollen in anticipation, he licks around the outer lips of your cunt, tingles travelling deep into the layers of skin as you shudder; warm breath creating cool tracks as he goes.

He nestles, aquiline nose curved perfectly to brush against you, nuzzling gently over the protruding bump of your clit as it throbs almost painfully. Ghostly mouthing, you can barely feel it as he coats you in tepid breaths; teases and prolongs the agony until you tug on the curls behind his ears sharply with a pout.

“Then give it to me,” you demand softly. And he can never resist.

He starts his complete annihilation of you with slow precision. Skilled tongue curling out, the tip brushing over your clit faintly. Watches you keenly with those soulful eyes sitting under thick, expressive eyebrows, perfectly arched to accentuate the intensity of his gaze, as that singular stroke engulfs your body with a jolt as you moan, ragged and wanting.

He does it again. Flick.

And again. Flick. Flick. Flick.

Tongue flicking faster, rumbling back and forth with speed, your thighs jerk, ripples of skin humming.

Settles into a soft rhythm of his tongue lapping and padding delicately over the tip of your clit. An explorative make out session with your pussy as he slides his tongue around the most sensitive parts, waking them up with gentle prods and flickers.

Circling around and around, looping figure eights, spelling out his name, before his lips sink further into your folds, and he suctions around that bud, sucking on it with a deep pull.

He works you up; your fingers gnarling in his hair, fisting in the sheets, pulling around your nipples as the frenzy begins to unfurl from a deep slumber.

Frankie licks down, tongue trailing the length of your slit, finding the indent of your hole that’s pooling for him. Scoops up the clear, dripping honey with the curve of his tongue and deposits it around the hilt of your clit as he sucks on it again.

Orchestrating the delicate interplay of pleasure and longing. With each passing moment, the music swells, growing in intensity and depth, like the rising tide of an ocean before a storm.

He feels you raking in his hair; dark and tousled from sleep, framing his face in a halo of unruly waves that are only tamed into submission by his cap. Fingers exploring and gripping tighter around the back of his skull, wanting more, craving the pleasure he’s conducting within your core.

You’ll crash all over him.

“I want you to come, come for me, hermosa. Déjame probarte a ti.” (Let me taste you.)

His serpentine tongue squelches through your lips quicker, drenched with his saliva, foaming with your bubbly secretions. Sticky chin, silvery hairs darker with the wet coating around his lips and cheeks, as he buries his face fully into the shrine of your cunt.

He’s done teasing, he needs you to come. Needs to taste you flooding his mouth.

“Oh fuck, oh my god, yes baby…” you drone, you babble, you speak in tongues. Your voice rasps as you tense and shudder.

With each passing moment, with each practised flick of his tongue, you feel yourself drawing deeper into that whirlpool of pleasure, your senses heightening to a fever pitch. Feeling the tension coiling within you, a tightened spring ready to snap at the slightest touch, cinching and pulsing.

A white noise getting louder in your ears.

Sticky, inflamed lips rolling back, Frankie spreads you open with his blunt, stubbed thumbs; exalting in the exquisite taste of your most intimate flesh beneath his nose.

He hums in appraisal, eyes sinking back into his sockets as he closes them in rapture at his morning feast spread before him. Tonguing your hole, contracting around nothing, desiring to be filled with him, but denial is the path to imminent release.

“Damn, you look so amazing right now,” he breathes with a husk. “Eres tan malditamente hermosa.” (You’re so damn beautiful.)

You tug at his hair more, sleep-billowed curls tightly wound around your fingers as you grind against his face chasing your oncoming release. Thighs threaten to suffocate him as he puffs out of his nose and looks up at you with molten browns.

Your back arches, a perfect curve off the mattress as you dive head first into the sun, burning up as you explode.

He’s all speed and eagerness as he has you positioned above him, quicker than you can comprehend, and begs you to sit on his face.

Pulling on his hair you smother him and he groans like a dying man; fingers pressing bruises into your ass as he rocks you onto his awaiting mouth. You flex and grind, moving against him as you feel it build all over again.

“F-Frankie!” You judder, your voice a lump in your throat you can’t swallow as you gasp for breath around it.

He rolls out his tongue; a thick, wet muscle for you to fuck and use. You rock against it, feeling it slide through your folds as you scrape back his hair, fists stuffed into the pillow.

You take from him, seek your own pleasure and finish without his cock, without his fingers. Just worshipping you with his tongue. A simple man, flat on his broad back, his queen throning on his face.

He imbues you with strength, the confidence to discard shame and revel in your sensuality as he watches you arch and let your hips do all the work. He encourages it, feeds it to you impassioned with fascination, desire and a keen sense of empowering your womanhood to bloom and blossom.

This is his happy place, an exquisite drowning in you that he conveys through sleepy, subdued eyes and satisfied, wanting groans that haunt your blood.

He could die like this, your cunt leaking into his mouth as you fuck it, unabashed and free.

Strong, deft hands pull you forward, down fully onto his face until he can no longer breathe. Snuffles of misty breath fan against your mound, as he lets his tongue swim inside you, lips suctioned around you.

He knows that even without him, you're solid granite. A force to be reckoned with. Impenetrable steel holding yourself up with the power you command from within. He’s only proud that you allow him to bask in your light, your love. The divine femininity that you let him drink mouthfuls from.

Frankie knows you don’t need his love, you choose to have it and that’s what makes him love and worship you even more.

Rocking your hips back and forth faster, your clit brushing against his nose, the hairs on his face are felt everywhere with a pleasant scratch and tingle.

You feel his digits pulling on your nipples, rolling them between his finger and thumb as you start to let go again. Start to feel the vestiges of your orgasm seep out of the lush garden of your ribs.

You feel it building, crushing against your abdomen as you let go. As you give him what he covets from you.

You give him respite, the chance to breathe as you lift yourself up for a few seconds before he pulls you back down on him with a growl, greedy for more.

He doesn’t need to breathe - he just needs you coming all over his face.

You squirm, convulsing as you come; his arms pin you onto his face not letting you escape.

“Frankie! Fuck!” You wail as your body shakes itself of its own volition.

You lean back, supporting your hands on his chest as you ride his face through it. The head of his cock is poking out the top of his waistband, flush and leaking onto his stomach as you reach for it. He gently taps your hand away.

His face is soaked, the pillow drenched as beads of your slick gush down his cheeks and into his hairline and ears.

Drowning in you, pulled under that wave, succumbing.

No, this is about your pleasure only. Your undoing.

You, you, you…

His head shakes back and forth with abandon as you grunt and shatter above him - Frankie grunts hungrily. Giant hands splay you open so he can get to every part, drink you all down.

He whines and groans as your hand slides back down his stomach, grabbing handfuls of his pudgy hips and waist with greed.

Your fingers delve into a wet, sticky puddle of his own release spurted over his soft paunch.

Your body, like wibbly jelly, collapses onto your back into the creases of the damp sheets, the sun in your eyes like a gold strobe.

You smirk as the waves roll off of you, bite your lip at how a man as strong as he is, is reduced to nothing but a wet, softening mess beneath you, ejaculating on his stomach at the mere taste of you.

Desperate for you, whining, keening and clawing for more of you against his mouth.

“Más?” (More?) Frankie grins into your face as you pant, his fingers slipping into your greased folds and teasing at your sensitive clit.

He sucks on a nipple, tonguing it stiff as you groan, watching as he looks up at you with those beguiling eyes. Melted chocolate chips that you long to taste, cloying and sweet.

“Siempre más,” (Always more) you chime, as he trails that skilled tongue back down your body, pulls your thighs over his shoulders and takes you apart with his mouth, over and over again.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this story. Happy International Women's Day! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #international women's day #jett's writing

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mo0nfairy · 9 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!?

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

tag list :: @honey-beeuwu, @hex-touchstarved, @thel0v3hashira143, @cailey1011, @mickxxstxvxns-blog, @flaming-vulpix, @puthypirate42069, @dolliemoons, @mikalovesnoodles, @explosiongamora, @thegalacticnacho091, @brinleighsstuff, @shinsou-hoetoshi, @uselessbutinteresting, @amortentor, @fried-milkfish, @officiallypoopoo, @lu-lupe, @belladonnashifter, @forgottenbynature, @marooseshawnash, @gothika-spacech1k, @funtimefoxybae, @ethnicbratz, @painpainflyaway, @shadepelt4673, @vivacioussaint, @palepettycharmer, @rqdior, @clownwiki, @clever-username96, @bisoudoll, @darlingdontwe, @naiomiwinchester, @weskennedysgirl, @chubbuart, @simpfo, @neytirisarrow, @leilani04, @lizzymizzy-blogg, @sublimesoulmagazine, @minimari415, @hcmay, @jinuaei, @altusha, @daisygirlll, @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @islandgyal06, @the-hufflebird-girl, @laucoeurs, @nepherawinchester18307, @tiredao3reader, @decadentlawyerapricotcowboy, @kitisb0red, @gabiacee, @reneuv, @letmegetthestrap, @krentkova19, @ayupfrogg, @vita-nire, @emmbny, & @realifezompire

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undercoverpena · 2 months

Text

2. lemon twist

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter two of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.4k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie being a single!dad to a son. frankie gives reader/you a nickname (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: thank you so much for all the love on chapter one, and the bonus graphic. I'm so happy to bring you chapter two! also, WE'RE POSTING WEEKLY BABIESSS

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

A soft, melodic tune pulls you into the land of the living, aware of the tug of it, and the immediate reluctance you have to leave the comfort of your dreams.

Your hand hesitates, reluctant to emerge from under the snug warmth of your sheets before your fingers are tapping and searching, all sluggish with sleep, groping blindly as it crawls against the wooden top of your bedside table. It's only when your fingertips connect with the screen does the world fall into silence.

Nothingness. Stillness. Peace.

The perfect environment for your mind to come to itself as you slowly open your lashes, raising a balled-up fist to rub slumber away, as your gaze meets streams of light rolling in through the breeze-blown curtains.

Then it hits you.

Comes to you in a trickle. Then a flood.

One after the other, memories of last night rush over you. Messages sent and received coming to you, recalling the way you'd tucked a pillow under your chest as your thumbs replied quickly to each incoming DM. Then, you recall the giddiness, how it fluttered through you—how it still remains. Still ever-present and very much thrumming inside of you as you begin to smile.

It remains on your face as you roll out of bed. A brief memory of something he said making you laugh as you wash your face, and another when you brush your teeth.

That feeling stays with you as the sun glistens through your kitchen window. One which adds a glow to the place, making the little smoke stains on the walls and the chips on the kitchen counter seem better, less noticeable—and less irritating.

You smirk as you wrap your hand around your mug—because is it too soon to wish him a good morning? Should you wait for him?

Sighing, rolling your eyes, you land on the dresser you were sprucing up in the place a dining table should be. Your eyes linger on it—teeth picking at the skin on your lip—just as it does so each time you come in this room.

A reminder once again that this place should be a home you’ve been building for years, and not just the last few months. There should be photos on the walls of a relationship playing out alongside family and friends, but those ones placed in between are still just empty.

Like so much of your home.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you drop your stare to the newspaper under the feet of the dresser. The stories were told in black and white splotches over in many shades, dotted around as you tested and checked to see what would make the old, worn thing look like something new. The same thing you’d somehow managed to get delivered through a smile and a sweet, please.

You had been, for so long, undecided on the shade.

Yet, as you gaze upon it now, your imagination begins to weave a vivid portrait. It conjures the image of what it might resemble should you succumb to the shade that's gradually painting itself in imaginary strokes.

Sliding your phone from your pocket, you open up your DMs.

Does butterscotch orange come in a paint type suitable for wood? It does. You at work today? Desperate to see me? Just looking to help someone shift paint they can’t sell. What you looking to paint, Rainy?

Taking another sip of your drink, the warmth kisses your palm similar to the temperature blooming in your cheeks from conversing with him again.

Choosing, instead of words, to snap a photo, knowing it'll be easier, simpler.

Watching it send, the little speech bubble appearing as your mind drifts to the hair above his lip, the facial hair along his jaw—the little patch you’d wanted to graze your thumb over.

You think of the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles; when he’d looked pleased to see you in the paint aisle—something akin to a modern-day meet cute you see on the TV.

You coming in today? If I can… gives me something to do this afternoon.

You bite your lip, considering it—whether it’s too forward to make a flirtatious comment. The two of you skirted around it last night, practically river dancing—not quite stepping over, but not quite retreating either.

I’ll get you it ready at the main desk. My hero, Frank.DIY Don’t push it.

It’s the third visit you’ve made, and while you gloss over the paint chippings on the door, you do notice the circular stains on the floor.

They’re brown, smudged slightly at the edges as though someone has, at one time, attempted to clean (whatever it was) quickly after it had appeared. It’s clear they had failed.

Your eyes scan over it, for a moment forgetting anything and everything.

Just existing in today's scent, which happens to be singed wood—chippings of it practically in the air—as the sound of an electrical saw starts up and begins screeching in some distant corner until you hear your name being called.

And it silences everything.

That voice could pull you from anything, you think.

A crisis, your thoughts, a spiral.

You’d heard his voice plenty all last night as you watched videos of him hanging shelves, answering questions likely sent to him on how best to prime a wooden handrail, and still, you weren't sure you were sick of his voice.

That, and DIY had honestly never sounded so hot.

After the shortest walk to the counter, a brief hello, a grin you wish you could try and smother a touch, you’re leaning on the counter. His eyes focused on you, watching every move you make as though looking anywhere else would be a crime.

“You got a Sharpie there?”

Frowning, you feel you can breathe easier when his eyes drop to the counter—rustling around the till area as you rest your elbow.

“Because I forgot mine and I think I should ask for a signature this time.”

Pausing, he slowly lifts his chin, then eyes. “Funny.”

Shrugging, you grin, watching him ring up the tin—occasionally smirking to himself, before shaking his head as you pay, your phone vibrating on the counter that you continue to ignore.

“You gonna be alright with that?”

Scrunching your nose, you pocket your phone and tilt the can on the counter. “Painting a dresser or carrying this to my car?”

Something sparkles in his eyes, a little shimmer. His mouth opening, likely ready to spill nothing but charm and flirtation again, when another voice cuts through—one gruffer, more tinged in age.

“Francisco, what you d—oh, I see.”

Your smile remains, even as you stare up at the older man—the one with wiry whites and spotted greys you’d seen sitting behind the counter on the day you left to get coffee with Francisco.

It’s notable, how smaller, and thinner the older man is—how he moves like he’s pained by each step until he slumps into a chair and puts on the brightest and biggest of smiles before offering his hand.

“The name’s Harry.”

You look at it, only briefly, flicking your eyes to Frankie who looks like he’s wishing the earth would open up at his feet and swallow him whole. A somewhat twisted, forced blank expression and the mildest of eye rolls follow when your hand slips inside Harry’s, offering your name.

“Thought it was Harold,” Frankie says, rather bitterly.

“You have to call me Harold, but she can call me Harry.”

Smirking, you bite your tongue, rolling your lips as you smooth down your blouse—trying not to make any more eye contact with the man you’d really come to see.

Sliding the paint closer to you, you offer a softer smile, one that is nothing short of kind. “It was lovely to meet you Harry, and I’ll see—“

“—Rainy.”

His voice cut through as the can slid from the counter, the sudden acknowledgement of the weight showing—likely scorched across your face as your arm drags down, shoulder going with it, just about saving it from the ground.

It’s only as you look up, do you find Frankie half over the counter, spotting the key rings and cart tokens rolling around the floor—the stand on its axis from his sudden movement.

So, is Rainy my name now?

You caught that?

I did 😏

I wasn’t thinking.

I have to ask.

Here we go.

Do you always wear the hat or is it a Frank.DIY thing? And is it Frank or Frankie or the newly learnt Francisco?

Whats wrong with my hat? And Frankie and Morales were taken.

Morales your surname? I feel I’ve hit a sore spot.

Yes. And you have but you can make it better.

How?

Meeting me for a very boring lunch this week.

You’re really twisting my arm. Which is mean. You saw the stress my shoulder had to endure today.

I tried to warn you. I’ll let you bring your Pinterest board and your saved Reels.

I fear you just want me for my organisational inspiration.

Can’t help you decide if I’m the man for your project if I don’t know what you’re after.

Fair, I guess I can meet you for a business lunch.

Would you be more into meeting me for lunch if it wasn’t a business lunch?

It depends on what kind of lunch we’re talking about.

I’m very badly trying to ask you out on a date.

Oh, that’s what you’re trying to do.

Unless I’ve read this wrong.

Nope, read it perfectly. I guess I have to confess to you that I really would love to go on a brunch date with you, Francisco.

Lunch date. Let’s not get too romantic. Don’t want you to fall head over heels and visit where I work twice in two days.

Has Harold told you how hilarious you are?

It’s nice—the place he’s chosen.

All washed in bright white, yellow splashes and pastel accents. Plants adorn as much of the walls and ceilings as humanly possible, with guitar-infused music softly playing as the door clicks into place behind you.

It's so nice, in fact, you almost want to live here. To spend an infinite amount of time brushing your thumb over the leaves to see which ones are real and which ones are very good fakes. So pretty that it’s the kind of place that if you weren’t looking for him at a table, you’d snap a photo of it all and send it to a friend.

But, as soon as your eyes land on him, he's the only photo you want to take.

White t-shirt, with a dark shirt thrown over the top, still very much all broad-shouldered and wide chest as he smooths his hand down as he stands.

The hat, one that you'd assumed would be a staple, is all but gone, curls at odd angles as though his fingers have been teasing them—tugging and pulling as the ends slightly frizz—as he moves around the table when you approach.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he grins, hesitancy thrumming before he must question himself, snaps himself back into place from dragging his eyes up and down you.

Then, he’s moving, gently—enough time to register he’s moving to hug you, and plenty of time to politely decline.

But you don’t.

Allowing his hand to slide over your waist, delicate, very much cautious and all but respectful, at the same time as his breath flutters over your cheek. You almost turn your chin, wishing to all of a sudden curl into it before his lips graze your skin, lashes fluttering before you feel him moving back.

And, fuck, the scent of his aftershave is still washing over you in thick waves. It does its best to slide up your nose and make a home there as heat rushes to your cheeks.

You almost turn, almost catch the last bit of his lips, eyes focused on his, holding, burning them in as you find yourself unable to tear away from it. Two people, swirling, completely lost in only the other—the rest of the world fading to a muted shade, nothing compared to the hue he exhumes in the centre of brightness and pops of colour.

A thing you turn over, unable to stop yourself from stealing stares as he pulls out your chair, before joining you by sitting opposite.

“Thought this was a safe bet, wasn’t sure what kind of lunch person you were.”

“More of a brunch person, honestly.”

He smirks, flicking his eyes up, even if his head is tilted down at the menu.

“It’s very nice—not been here before.”

A brow arched, he smiles—shyer, the beginning of the dimple appearing before he casts his eyes back down.

“What do you recommend, Francisco?”

You don’t miss his snort, the way he sticks his tongue in his cheek as he gives you that look—one that makes you want to keep flirting and testing him all at once. One that makes you clamp your jean-covered thighs together, but secretly hope he notices you doing so.

If he does, he doesn’t show it. Instead, using his index finger to point at various parts of the menu, recommendations falling, rolling—a shimmer in his eyes at certain parts, that makes it easy when someone comes over to ask for your order.

You suspect it’s a favourite, the one you’ve chosen. Something is written into the way he holds your gaze before he stumbles over his words, practically trips, to say his.

It’s only when you’re alone, do you rest your elbow on the table—the coldness of it rising up your skin, rooting you—as you lean your chin on your palm. “So, do I get my Pinterest boards out now or…?”

“Funny.”

You bite your tongue as you smile, staring, admiring. “So, outside of terrorising a man in his own shop, running an Instagram, what does Francisco DIY do?”

Shaking his head, he takes a sip of his water—a bead collecting, remaining on his lower lip for a ridiculously long time, before the tip of his tongue casts it away, and sweeps it from your view.

“My… my friend fights—like MMA. He stopped for a bit, but now he…”

You wait, let it form—let him decide what it is he wants to tell you and when, and how. Sliding your feet out under the table, stretching as you relax into the chair, finding his eyes fixed, concentrated.

“I go to some of his training.”

“Good at DIY and MMA training? Starting to wonder why you’re single, Butterscotch.”

He laughs, soft, rich. “Just… haven’t been looking to date.”

Nodding, you let out a heavy exhale. “I wasn’t either.”

His lips purse, twitch to the side, a smirk half forming somewhere in his cheeks as he leans over, elbow resting on the table, foot catching yours under the table.

Mirroring you entirely as the two of you just stare. And, normally, it would be weird. Odd. But, it doesn’t feel it. If anything, it makes you want to commit each crease from his smiles, each wisp of hair along his jawline that crawls up his cheeks—the patch that could be traced with your thumb, an almost heart shape left, ready to be stamped with a pair of lips.

Your eyes only pull from it when your drinks arrive—when the moment is broken by the real world—as you lean back, let your eyes move to your server, thanking them as you take your drink. And then, the two of you are alone.

“Might change my Instagram name.”

Brows lifting, he pauses his glass close to his lips. “Oh yeah, what to?”

“Rainier Grey—makes me sound elusive.”

Snorting, he shakes his head, sipping on his water before placing the glass down close to your hand. Fingers brushing against it, a thing which makes your eyes flick over your screen.

“I dare you.”

“You dare me?” you say. “How old are you?”

“A man too old for dares.”

You brush your index finger over the back of his fingers, lingering on it, noticing the way they flex as you do as if battling to take your hand in his.

Even if you’re determined to go halves, Frankie’s insistence beats you.

All ‘Don’t argue with me on this, alright?’ said in a tone deeper, more serious than you'd heard to date. And, it's hard not to let heat lick up your spine at the sound.

Even if he’s giving you kind brown eyes as you hold your hands up in defeat.

Smirking, you watch him pay, spotting the picture in his wallet of a boy with a missing-tooth smile almost as big as the man in front of you.

“Alright Morales, but next time it’s my treat.”

“Next time?”

Smirking, you bite your lower lip as you stand, grabbing your things. “Think you’ve earned it.”

Each step to the door feels heavy, a fluttering in your stomach—a grin that can’t be wiped, barely doused when you say goodbye to the people behind the counter.

It grows wider when he gets the door for you, the cooler, outside air creating a vortex of his aftershave all over again (that you hope finds a way to bury itself into your skin) when he opens it.

It’s odd, almost insane—the giddy way you feel as the two of you walk to your car. His fingers are so close to brushing yours, the distance to your little vehicle becoming shorter and shorter as you desperately wish for another few blocks.

Disappointment flares, trying to scratch out the happiness inside your stomach as you pause at the car, trying to smile, but finding it difficult.

Rubbing the back of his head, you watch him roll his lips. “I had a great time.”

Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you nod, “Me too.”

“Won't have to wait long, you've promised me brunch.”

“Think I said I’d pay. But, if you want brunch, I’m down to blow your mind.”

You realise too late, mouth hanging open, the words hitting—landing in his ear as you watch him process them.

It’s sluggish, almost lagging, the way his face lights up, the way his eyes widen and his smile grows into something close to what you had across the small table—not tinged in any way by the upcoming goodbye.

“Well, if that’s—”

“Shut up,” you say, cutting him off, hand ready to push his arm, but you slide it around his waist.

Face close to his, bodies almost flush.

You watch him swallow, how his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he flicks his gaze from eye to eye.

Licking his lips, he smiles. “Can I kiss you?”

The moment you nod, he’s leaning—lips brushing over yours, fingers tightening on his waist as you move with him, all delicate, smooth, downright velvety as your other hand finds his neck. Feels his pulse against your palm, the warmth of him against your skin, before your lips part, deepening it, letting him have more, as much as he wants—

Then, he moves you. His palm meets your car, guiding you back until your spine meets the side of your vehicle, and he leaves another mark of him—thumb and four fingers—in the grunge the city throws at your car.

The other is the one he leaves pressed against your lips, all invisible, sweet and aching. Leaning in, your fingers find purpose on his neck, skating around, teasing a low curl as you lick into his mouth delicately.

All teasing, caressing, the arm around your waist tightening as the two of you remain almost flush against the car.

And it’s dizzying, all unexpected—but then, so is he.

More so, when you part—nose against nose, eyes opening to find his doing the same.

“I should…”

Your fingers slide, wiping his bottom lip before resting it on his chin, nail stroking against the hair there. “Okay.”

“I’d like to,” he begins, slowly stepping back, allowing cooler air to flow between where your bodies were pressed together, “Not wait to see you again—and, help you. With your project.”

Rolling your lips, you smile. “I’d like that too—both of them.”

“Alright.”

“Okay,” you smile. “Let me know.”

Nodding, he steps back up on the curb, hand wiping across his mouth.

You actually changed your handle.

Told you, I don’t back down from a dare

Guess I owe you one.

Can I cash it in at any moment?

As long as it’s appropriate, yes.

There goes my idea of daring you to strip in the shop and make out with a paint tin.

Have to just dream about that one.

Oh, I will Francisco.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

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