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I haven't posted about it in ages but I still think CONSTANTLY about a soulmate scenario between a reluctant Reader and a yandere Lex Luthor because... he's just such an intelligent and powerful man that, like girlypop, he could genuinely make or break your entire fucking life in a laundry list of ways
Things like... in the very very very beginning, when you've met him and he knows you're soulmates but you're still putting him off and rejecting him, you see something on TV about, politicians are proposing a bill where a soulmate can make legal and medical decisions for their bonded if that person is unable to make those decisions themselves, some bill named after some random metropolis citizen where their soulmate lover died because the next of kin family they were estranged from were allowed to make medical decisions instead and their lover died, like it's something you would totally see on the news for real.
Then, months and months later after you're in a relationship with Lex, he's hosting a party and you see some of those very same politicians there, overhearing them thanking Lex for his contributions. Snapcut to a day you really REALLY do something to defy him, either you're rejecting him or trying to break up with him or trying to run away or, all of the above but also you do legitimately have some mental health issues, and here Lex is, now having the full legal power to say, "oh honey, now you have to go to the hospital :( why would you make me have to do this :(" and you get to go on your Super Duper Funtime Adventure to a private clinic he coincidentally has made some major financial donations to.
Genuinely I feel like I've mentioned this before but I feel like there's a real... personal horror in the idea of "my yandere took me to a doctor and that doctor diagnosed me with stuff and I have no idea if I genuinely have those disorders or if my yandere paid the doctor to say those things" because the twist is tasty in either direction??? Is your yandere delusional and trying to chalk up your rejections to extreme anxiety and other grasped straws and insists you be medicated so you can love them? Is your yandere just trying to legitimately help, and you actually genuinely did see a legitimate non biased doctor? Is your yandere actually totally just lying and they just want you to be more obedient and reliant on them, have doubts in yourself and trust them alone, letting them make decisions for you? It's all so good...and then not knowing would stress you out and make you paranoid even MORE...
but then I also think of like. How he could genuinely try to make gestures to win you over and things he could do that are positive. You two are just getting to know each other and you're extremely reluctant to do anything and, while internally he wants to do these quite grand little expenses for you, he's willing to analyze you and calculate a plan of making smaller gestures over time. At least, smaller in the scale that he's like one of the top richest and smartest creatures on his entire planet, and that's a planet with aliens and magical creatures on it, but, you know. He'll try and tone it down a little-
I've had this idea where like... he gives you this expensive bracelet or ring or necklace or watch, some sort of accesory, as a gift and, being the self loathing person that you are, you're out on the town one day and you walk into a higher end jewlery store because you feel like punishing yourself by trying to figure out how much money was spent on your gift, and, through whatever means, the store accuses you of theft (because you're just a dirty poor person, why would you have this nice thing unless you swiped it) and maybe they even have the audacity to technically assault you and take it off of your person
Somewhere on the other side of the world in a conference room, there's a hidden earpiece buzzing, "Mr Luthor we have a situation-" and he's on a private jet within the half-hour. He gets there and you've either been arrested and put in a cell or he gets there to find you getting manhandled by police because you're technically resisting arrest by panicking, "please just look at the footage, i didn't do anything wrong-" and he flies into a rage at the way you're being jerked and tugged and twisted until you're crying out that they're hurting you
Police department? Sued. That store? Sued. Bankrupted. Bought out. Bulldozed. It's a gentrified downtown sculpture garden now. Lex buys you another gift that's even nicer than the first since the first one has now been "tainted" with this bad memory, plus he's now indirectly (but, of course, with calculations) has made a very VERY public warning to anyone who would dare to harm you in any way whatsoever.
He's a very, "sweetie didn't you ask for no pickles? Should I have them killed for you? It wouldn't be any trouble at all-" kind of guy
Lex Luthor who catches wind of confidential news that a mysterious asteroid has crashed down on an island off the coast of Fake DC Country and he plans a research expedition to study its contents BUT ALSO that same day he's like "darling have you ever gotten to eat freshly caught crab before?" and suddenly you're jet-setting off to a tropical island, because what kind of evil supervillain future-husband would he be if he didn't turn his research expedition into potential alien activity into a bonus vacation with his pookie?
You're wandering the beaches or exploring the tide when you find this pretty little gemstone that may or may not turn out to be platinum Kryptonite that was brought to Earth by the meteorite and you're now the first organic creature that has touched it.
I like the idea of, you develop these powers and suddenly you have all these new potential problems but also possibilities? Sure you're suddenly under Batman and the government's radar, but, think of all the good you can do now that you can fly, have super strength invulnerability, the works? Meanwhile Lex is simultaneously fascinated, curious, proud, but also, wanting to research this, see if it can be replicated, exploited.
Part of me is like, would he be 500% against you going into danger or would at the very most try and harvest your blood or something, OR, now that he knows there's really not much danger to you, he's like "oh, you want to be a little superhero? Oh, how adorable sweetie, let me help design your costume-" and he's, hm, I dunno if it would be entirely incorrect to say he's lowkey using you like a tool in the sense of, you're testing things he develops, he's observing and researching your powers, he's getting to watch you "play and have fun" while also gaining new research data from you, and also making connections with powerful people. He may even... pull some strings to have you do something in his favor. "Oh darling what's wrong? Oh no, that facility you attacked because you got 'information' they were terrorists were actually innocent people and now that country has been seized by hostile powers that have coincidentally agreed to let my company mine lithium there? Oh nooooooo :( darling I'm so sorry, we all make mistakes, I still love you-" or he just like, makes more business deals because he receives, shall we say, secondhand clout from any and all of your accomplishments should you become a hero
Lest we forget, there's a version of Lex Luthor who once built a powerplant under a Metropolis neighborhood and made it deliberately look suspicious as fuck just because he wanted Superman to attack it and make a fool of himself and upset the public because "what the fuck superman why did you just ruin this totally helpful normal thing just because Lex Luthor made it, thanks dickhead". Luthor is incredibly calculating, driven, petty, and has deep deep pockets and plenty of resources for any possible fantasy he has, and also he's 1000% willing to crash out if it involves Superman WHICH IS ALSO WHY I think it would be incredibly hilarious if he's just BEYOND PISSED that you developing powers means you need mentorship from Superman and Lex is forced to watch the two of you have like.... Genuine Moments
You develop the ability to fly for the first time and you're just high up in air jerking around shrieking unable to control yourself and you have no idea what to do and while Lex is still trying to formulate a way to get you down, here comes Kal, able to fly up, gently grab you, hold you in place as he talks you down, teaches you how to float, holding your hands and speaking so softly and kindly as he teaches you how to descend and the two of you sloooooooowly dip down until your feet are on the ground again
Cut to Lex being absolutely furious because not only did he "have that handled" but why is Superman feeling so emboldened to place his hands on yours, on your shoulders, giving you a comforting hug when you burst into tears about how scared you were and thanking him for saving you? You and Superman are like tenderly platonicly hugging and there's reporters and a little crowd nearby doing the whole "Awwww 🥺❤️" and meanwhile Lex is over here turning red as a tomato just absolutely steaming 'ugh I can't believe Superman showed up I hate him I hate him I hate him L + ratio + you're a loser I hate you die die die die'
Kal opens his mouth and offers to be your teacher and here's Lex trying to be a big man, storming up all but bumping chests with the guy, "➡️I⬅️ can help take care of my own mate, Superman 😡" meanwhile you're standing there ACTUALLY EMBARRASSED BY LEX, like can you even imagine the levels of "open wound, insert salt" of Lex puffing up against Superman because he's fucking jealous and then you're like "omg Lex you can't be mean to Superman! He just helped me!! Apologize, what the fuck?!" and you're clearly like, a fan or a person who looks up to the boy in blue and said boyscout may even brush a lil bit bc, you know, his mama did try to raise a kind honest man and, he sure is happy his efforts are appreciated-
Have I mentioned I see Lex Luthor having an eidetic memory, as in the condition where you never forget anything, which I think would make him really terrifying to deal with, actually. He'll literally be able to study and memorize every single thing about you, everything he notices, everything you say, do, all your little behaviors, quirks, habits, addictions, and it'd also make him a monster during arguments because what are you gonna do, tell the supergenius he's misremembering? Dude is over here inventing robots like Amazo and curing cancer AND he can never forget? Why not just fucking lobotomize me since you wanna make me feel so dumb-
Based in the same AU as this drabble Anesthesia
Doctor! Gojo x Reader x Nurse! Geto
Tw: Fluffy domestic bliss, tummy aches, established relationship.
A/n: I'd imagine reader has a super weak immune system where they have to change their scrubs at work now otherwise you will catch whatever bug they bring home. I think Geto doesn't mind that...because he lowkey enjoys fussing over you.
Tummy aches are the absolute worst. Mostly because you can’t quite place where they come from. Was it that leftover takeout? Something one of your boyfriends dragged home from the hospital? Are you pregnant? WebMD says you’re both pregnant and dying, so that’s fun.
Sure, you could just ask one of them for medical advice. It’s literally their job. They’d probably take one look at you and tell you to take some pepto and chill. But the thought of bringing it up is… humiliating, somehow. Like, yes, hello, my big sexy boyfriend who's seen every internal organ imaginable, please help me with my fragile little tummy ache. No thanks.
So instead, you burrow deeper into the warm sheets of your massive bed. Satoru’s still in the shower, humming off-key. Probably wondering why you haven’t come to join him yet. You just know he’s going to come into the bedroom, dripping wet and pouty, whining about how lonely he was without you in there. Probably tickle you until you're shrieking.
The thought alone makes your stomach churn.
And then there's the smell of Suguru’s cooking. Normally, that scent would have you halfway down the stairs with stars in your eyes. But today? All it does is make the bile climb up your throat.
Must be pregnancy. Or cancer. Or both. Maybe it’s something worse. The internet is not helping.
You close your eyes and prepare to meet your fate.
“Baby?” Satoru calls, water shutting off with a metallic clink. You hear the glass door slide open, followed by the plap plap plap of wet feet on tile, the steam trickling from the bathroom into the bedroom. He’s chuckling now. “Come on, you have to get up.”
Your heart thuds.
Why is being sick so weirdly vulnerable?
“Hellooooo,” he drawls, voice already playful. “You were supposed to join me. I was in there suffering. Naked. Alone. Practically crying.”
You barely stir, tucked so deep in the comforter cocoon that only the bridge of your nose peeks out.
He doesn’t let that stop him. He drops the towel somewhere behind him, no shame in being bare, and climbs onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, knees sinking into the sheets as he looms over your lump of a body.
“Are you mad at me?” he asks sweetly, already halfway through his routine - nose brushing your cheek, lips pressing light kisses to your forehead, wet hair flicking against your skin. “You never miss post-shower snuggles. It’s practically a routine now.”
You groan softly. Not the annoyed kind that he's used to either.
Satoru stills.
He pulls back, not all the way, but just enough to look at you. There’s a subtle shift, barely perceptible to anyone else, but you know him. His playful grin fades into something more focused, less boyfriend and more clinical and doctor like.
“Wait. Baby,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. “Are you okay?”
You shake your head weakly.
“Tummy hurts,” you whisper.
He blinks. Once. Twice.
“Where?”
You whimper and gesture vaguely to your lower abdomen.
Immediately, he’s brushing the covers back, not harsh or dramatic, just careful, gentle fingers pushing your shirt up as he scoots closer, settling on his knees beside you. You can feel the warmth of his palm hover just above your skin, his expression focused now, all that boyish teasing gone.
“Is it sharp? Crampy? Nauseating?”
You squint at him.
“Don’t use your doctor voice on me.”
“It’s not a voice, it’s a diagnostic tone,” he says with a straight face, though his lips twitch like he’s holding back a grin. “I’m trying to help, baby.”
His palm presses lightly against your belly. His hands are big, always have been, but now they seem extra warm, fingers splayed wide as he palpates carefully, feeling for any tenderness. He’s quiet while he works, eyes carefully scanning your face as if waiting for you to flinch.
His hair is still dripping, one strand sliding down his cheekbone before he absently flicks it away. His lashes are thick and clumped from the shower, and his cerulean eyes - always so stupidly pretty - are narrowed with gentle concern.
“You feel a little warm,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss your forehead. Then again, to check. Then again, just because he wants to.
“You have a thermometer in the bathroom,” you mumble.
He hums. “Yeah, but my lips are more sensitive. Doctor’s secret.”
You don’t have the energy to fight him on that one.
His hand rubs slow, soothing circles into your belly now, just above your navel.
“You been stressed?” he asks softly, like he already knows the answer. “Suguru said you didn’t eat much dinner last night. And you’ve been chewing your lip again.”
“I have not,” you lie, your lip instantly throbbing in betrayal.
He raises an eyebrow. “You want me to call him in?”
“Noooo.”
“Okay, okay. Just me then,” he says gently, leaning over to nuzzle into your hair. “Just me and my genius medical brain.”
You curl into him as he settles beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, his skin still warm and faintly damp against your back.
“I’ll keep an eye on you for now,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But if it gets worse, I am calling Suguru. And he’s better at the whole bedside stuff, y'know, bullying you into drinking water.”
You groan. “So scary.”
“I know,” he coos, mock-sympathetic as you bury your face into his chest and he exhales, relief softening his posture.
You must’ve drifted off at some point. Somewhere between the soothing rub of Satoru’s hand on your belly and his murmured reassurances into your hair, sleep swept over you with ease. Your tummy still aches a little, but your body finally gives in, tucked safely in Satoru’s arms.
He stays there for a while.
Longer than he probably should, considering Suguru’s downstairs in the kitchen preparing breakfast for three. But he can’t bring himself to move, not when your breathing’s finally evened out, not when your lashes are fanned soft against your cheeks and your fingers are curled loosely in the fabric of bedsheets.
Eventually, though, duty (and the smell of food) calls.
Satoru slips out from under the blanket like a pro, moving slow and careful, even as your hand twitches in protest. He presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls the covers back over your shoulders.
“Doctor’s orders,” he whispers, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Rest. I’ll bring you some toast.”
Downstairs, the clatter of cookware and the faint scent of fried garlic and something sweet fill the kitchen. Suguru’s at the stove, hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing pajamas and an apron. There’s a crease of concentration between his brows as he stirs something in a pan, back turned when Satoru walks in.
“You took your sweet time,” Suguru mutters without looking up. “I was afraid you both got lost." Glancing over his broad shoulder, his voice grows more quiet, "where’s my baby?”
Satoru drops himself onto a bar stool, half naked now thanks to the sweatpants he put on. “Sleeping. Tummy ache.”
Suguru turns, brows immediately furrowing. “What kind of tummy ache?”
“Just a little queasy. Said everything smelled weird, didn’t wanna eat. Was too embarrassed to tell either of us because God forbid she use the fact that she’s dating two medical professionals for her own benefit.”
Suguru sighs through his nose, annoyance already melting into quiet concern. “You check for fever? Tenderness?”
“Yeah. Little warm. No acute pain though. Probably just stress. Or something she ate.”
He nods, turning back to the stove, but you can see it in the set of his shoulders - he’s chewing on it.
“I could’ve made her ginger tea,” he murmurs.
“You still can,” Satoru says, voice gentler now. “I just didn’t wanna wake her. She looked so tired, Suguru.”
There’s a quiet moment. The eggs hiss in the pan. The scent of miso and jasmine rice hangs in the air like a comfort blanket.
“…She didn’t want me?” Suguru asks softly, almost to himself. Violet eyes narrowing down at the eggs. Jealousy hidden in his tone.
Satoru watches him for a second. Then stands.
He walks up behind Suguru and presses his chest to his back, arms wrapping around his waist as he leans down to rest his chin on his shoulder.
“She wanted both of us,” Satoru murmurs into his ear. “But sometimes people don’t know how to ask for help when they feel small.”
Suguru’s hands slow on the spatula.
“…I’ll bring her tea,” he says, voice low. “And the toast you promised.”
“And a kiss,” Satoru adds with a grin.
Suguru climbs the stairs with a tray balanced in one hand - tea steeping, toast buttered lightly, a few cut-up slices of pear arranged on the side like he’s hoping something will tempt your stomach back to life.
He pushes the bedroom door open slowly with his hip.
You’re still curled in the sheets, hair mussed and lashes fluttering as you start to stir. The soft clink of ceramic must’ve pulled you from the edges of sleep, because you shift with a tiny groan, blinking blearily up at the silhouette in the doorway.
“…Toru?” you mumble, voice rough and sweet with sleep.
Suguru almost halts, a bit more frusterated, because why didn't you call him? Why didn't you need him? He’s better at this kind of thing, don't you know?
“…No, angel. Just me,” he says quietly, stepping in. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Your eyes widen a bit when you realize who it is, and you look momentarily sheepish. Guilty, even.
“Oh…” you whisper. “He said he wouldn’t tell you.”
Suguru sets the tray on the nightstand and sits beside you, brows drawing in with something too tender to be disappointment, but too honest to be nothing.
“He didn’t tell me,” he says gently. “I asked.”
You fidget with the corner of the blanket. Not quite meeting his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just… I didn’t want to worry you.”
His expression softens completely at that, pain and adoration warring in his chest. He cups your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing under your chin just to get you to look at him.
“Worrying about you is part of the job, baby,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to hide when you’re not feeling good. Not from me.”
You swallow, lips wobbling. Tears threatening. Why does he always make it so hard. “But you made breakfast, and you’re always taking care of everyone, and I know you'd ask those embarrassing questions, like if I - ”
Suguru cuts you off by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.
“I want to take care of you,” he whispers, voice thick with feeling. “That’s not a burden, it’s a privilege.”
You sniffle, eyes glossy. “I feel gross. I was gonna throw up earlier.”
He brushes a hand down your side. “And I’d hold your hair back if you did.”
You crumple.
“Don’t make that your romantic line,” you mumble into his chest, and he chuckles softly.
He coaxes you up just enough to sip some tea, holding the cup for you like you’re delicate and precious. Which, to him, you are. You settle into his side as you drink, and he rests his chin on top of your head.
“…Next time,” he says, after a quiet moment, “call for me first. Okay?”
You nod, a little guilty. “Okay.”
He presses another kiss to your crown, arms wrapping around you like he’s keeping all your little broken pieces from spilling out.
“Good girl.”
The next time you wake, the light filtering through the blinds is tinged warm and golden, the kind of hazy evening glow that makes everything feel soft around the edges. You blink slowly, body still heavy, and shift beneath the comforter with a groggy little sigh.
Something’s tucked into your arms.
Not the pillow you remember falling asleep. Your fingers curl instinctively around plush fur and a tiny satin ribbon.
It’s a stuffed animal. A fat, round calico cat with sparkly eyes and a ridiculously oversized head. It smells faintly of Satoru, his cologne and the faint clinical scent of the hospital.
Your heart squeezes a little in your chest.
There’s a folded note pinned between its tiny paws.
“Stopped by on my break. Pedialyte’s in the fridge. Sugu will be back soon.
- Toru <3”
You read it twice. Smile once.
The ache in your belly is still there, but somehow… duller now. Softer around the edges. Easier to sit with when you’re wrapped up in blankets, a stuffed cat in your arms, and the quiet knowledge that your boys thought of you, even between patients, even while juggling god knows what in their day.
The apartment is still. Peaceful.
Somewhere in the fridge, there's a bottle of blue Pedialyte with your name on it. And in another hour or so, Suguru will be home too - probably with soup, and a forehead kiss, and a quiet grumble about how they both should’ve stayed home with you.
You pull the stuffed cat closer to your chest and close your eyes again.
Maybe it’s not so bad to admit you have a tummy ache. Not when it means being spoiled so much by them.
Synopsis: In hopes of paying off your debt, you start working for two dangerous men. Soon, you realize they want more than money.
Word count: 9.2k
(Warnings: dark content, sexual coercion, dubcon, noncon, oral sex, piv sex, threesomes, gun, blood, violence) Ageless blogs will be blocked. Minors DNI
In this job, you quickly learned that it's better to just keep your head down.
Do what you were called for and leave. Do nothing but sit on your computer and look at numbers. Stepping out of your makeshift boundaries led to nothing but trouble.
It worked perfectly like that for the first few weeks you were brought here. The other workers never bothered you, and it took you a moment to realize they were in the same boat as you were: owing a debt. You wouldn’t quite say things were peaceful; every so often, one of Geto’s men would hurl someone through a table, but things were manageable.
And then Gojo came back.
You hadn’t met Gojo, yet. He was overseas on a business trip when Geto brought you in. You hadn’t met him, but you’d heard enough to make you want to stay away from him. Ijichi had told you enough stories to make you want to sink into the floor altogether. You just had until the end of the year until your debt was paid. It was the beginning of September, right now. Surely, you could avoid him until then, right?
“Ah, you’re the one Suguru was talking about.”
It was your fault. It was entirely your fault. Ijichi had begged you to stay after work for a bit longer and desperate to pay the debt off, you had agreed. No one else was supposed to be in the office besides you and him.
But Gojo didn’t follow other people’s rules. It'd take you a while before you fully understand that.
You could do nothing but stand there, wobbling in your heels as Gojo loomed over you. His sunglasses were tilted, cresting over his nose as he scrutinized you. You clutched the laptop closer to your chest, as though it’d save you somehow.
Gojo didn’t look dangerous. If you had seen him on the street, you would have assumed he was a model. Tall, long hands, pretty features. Gojo doesn’t look dangerous. Gojo is dangerous. He doesn’t need the gun (casually on his side, right in your line of sight) to prove it.
You say nothing. You don’t know what to say. So far, you’ve only dealt with Geto. Geto with his fake smiles and soft words of thinly veiled threats. As intimidating as Geto was, you felt safe enough with him to answer his questions. Speak when spoken to.
Gojo was uncharted territory. Should you speak? Should you greet him? Should you get on your hands and knees? Gojo was new. You had to deal with something new, alone.
You opt to stay silent, hoping that’s the best move. It’s not. Above you, Gojo’s clicking his tongue. He leans down, stooping his head low to get a better view of your face. You stare at him until it gets too much and you’re turning away. He likes that even less, grabbing you by the chin so you’re facing him again.
“You mute or somethin’?” He asks, tilting your head like he’s assessing you.
“No,” you finally murmur. It was a question, correct? He won’t get mad if you answer his questions.
He doesn’t seem mad. But he doesn’t seem happy, either. If anything, he looks a little disappointed.
“I really don’t get it,” he’s talking, but it’s more like he’s saying his thoughts out loud, “Suguru would not shut up about you. Thought I was gonna see something more exciting. You’re so...”
He trails off as though even describing you would be a waste. The thought that Geto speaks about you to his partners scares you, but you’re wise enough not to pry. Instead, you wait. Waiting often works. You’ve been cornered by Geto’s men (before they knew he was the one who brought you), most just want to intimidate you, they get a kick out of fear. When you give them what they want, they usually leave you alone.
Gojo doesn’t leave, even when you’re sure your horror is printed on your face. Obvious to even the blind. Instead, he leans back, eyes trailing down your outfit. Despite how most of the stuff done here was off the record, Geto still prioritized a professional workplace. You were expected to put on a clean blouse and skirt every day.
You yelp when Gojo tugs on the fabric of your skirt, bunching the material on your thighs. Forgetting where you are, who you’re with, you grab his wrist.
“Don’t be like that,” Gojo chides as though you were being the unreasonable one, “I just wanna look. Seriously, what was that guy going on and on about—”
“Satoru.”
Geto’s voice stops the both of you. He’s leaning against the wall, watching the two of you with a less than impressed look. You’re relieved when he’s more focused on Gojo than you.
“Sugu!” Gojo cheers, a complete 180 from his past demeanor. He lets you go and you sink against the wall in relief. “I’m home!”
“I can see that,” Geto retorts, but there’s an odd fondness laced in his tone that you’d never heard before.
The kiss they shared was violent. Tongue and teeth and messy. Gojo reached up, scrunching Geto’s hair, dragging him closer. Respectfully, you glanced away. You don’t yet leave. You know better than that, especially now that Geto is here.
“How many times have I told you to stop harassing our employees?” Geto sighs, once he’s pulled away. His tone is filled with exasperation, as though he were talking to a child.
“I didn’t do anythin’,” Gojo responds. When you finally turn back, Geto is shaking his head.
He smiles at you.
“Apologies, my dear,” he states, “you can leave. Remember to tell Ijichi you’re going.”
You eagerly nod before scurrying away. You can hear Gojo scoff, another murmur from Geto. You couldn’t care less what they’re saying, more than happy to grab your things, bid Ijichi goodbye, and leave.
Keep your head down, and don’t ever bother with what they are doing.
⟡
Technically, you weren’t in debt, your father was.
He had close ties to the underground. You weren’t sure of the details, you were so young when your mother left with you in tow. She was always stingy with the details, but she never failed to remind you that your father was a stupid man who worked with dangerous ones. She passed away right after you graduated from college. You’d mourned her.
Now, a part of you felt grateful she passed just before she saw your life fall apart.
They came in the middle of April. You remember that day purely because of the flower blossoms littering the sidewalk, the first sign of blooming spring.
There were three other men besides Geto that day, and you hadn’t known his name back then—just the man with long, pretty hair. They were all waiting for you, loitering right beside your home. When you hesitated, slowed to a stop, the man with long hair smiled at you. Geto calls your name. When you don’t respond, his smile widened.
“That is who you are, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” you nervously said, “sorry, but—but who are you all?”
He introduces himself. The other three don’t bother. You don’t yet realize that they’re only henchmen, mere puppets for Geto.
“Apologies, but this is a rather sensitive subject. Can we talk someplace private?”
You don’t want to let these men into your home, but his soft words and intimidating company coax you into agreeing. You lead them up the steps, praying to God that you were wrong about this—whoever they were. When you unlock the door, only Geto follows you. The rest wait outside. You don’t know if that’s better or worse.
He seats himself right on the sofa. It’s your apartment, and yet his mere presence makes you feel like he’s the owner. You loiter next to the door, twiddling your thumbs.
“Would you like tea?”
He tilts his head. “Aren’t you a polite one?”
It was more for you than for him—scurrying to the kitchen, away from his searing purple eyes. It’s a reprieve to start the burner, pour water into the pot. You take as much time as you can, but eventually, you have to come out.
Geto says nothing when you place the cups down. He takes it, humming at the taste. You don’t touch your cup.
His tone is soft. His words aren’t.
Your father did far worse than work with dangerous men. He’d stolen from them. He was already dealt with, his punishment had sent him careening off the Earth far sooner than your mother. Still, the topic of the missing money was still there.
Something that had fallen onto you, his next of kin.
You were already crying once Geto finished. Your body is wracked with sobs. You can barely suck in a breath.
“Please—please,” you’re already saying, “he—we—I swear we never received any sort of money from him.”
He takes your hand within his own, curling his fingers around them. Coming from anyone else, it would have been a nice gesture.
“I’m aware,” Geto comforts, “we know you haven’t been in contact with your father for more than a decade.”
His fingers are warm. They trace your cheek as he gently wipes away your tears.
“But in this line of business, family matters, no matter how estranged, my Dear.”
You look at him through your tears. He’s beautiful. Long black hair. If you touched it, you bet it would feel like silk within your fingers.
It’s his eyes that truly suck you in. Purple. It’s a rare eye color, you’ve never seen someone with purple eyes until now. They resemble amethyst, unpolished, but still just as beautiful.
“My partner would have much less...humane ways of dealing with this situation,” Geto continues, “but I think you could be far more useful warm rather than cold, do you agree?” You shrivel in your spot, already having an inkling to what he’s saying. It’s not like you haven’t already figured out where this was going. You’ve heard the stories of what dangerous men do to those who’ve wronged them—to the vulnerable girls who accidentally trip and fall into their trap, forced to work in brothels and debase themselves all for the sake of keeping them rich.
He laughs right then. It’s rich, deep, startling you out of your misery.
"Come now, it's the 21st century."
Geto smiles. Fake. Unsafe.
"Women are worth far more than just their bodies."
It turns out that even the Yakuza had paperwork.
It was a menial deskjob, on the surface, at least. If you don’t think too hard about who you’re working for, it could be a regular office. It’s not like any of the work you are provided with is illegal, but you doubt you’d put it down on your resume.
Your education had saved you. Ironic that it was your father who instilled your desire to learn.
If you don’t think too hard about it, your new ‘job’ wasn’t horrible. As notorious as they were, your new employers weren’t downright cruel. You still got paid. You had a contract. Things could honestly be a whole lot worse.
It was still very hard to get used to, especially in the beginning.
Something you learned very quickly was that the men around here did not like it when women had an attitude. You were far too meek to have one, but the other few women who worked with you became your teachers, showing you exactly what the men would do if you didn’t stay in line. You were more than happy to listen, and even then, your eagerness to learn didn’t help. In order for the lesson to truly sink in, you needed trial and error.
You stepped out of line exactly once. And then you never did it again.
It had been an accident. You’d forgotten that Geto had an important meeting that day. You knocked on his door, shuffling some documents in your hand. It was muscle memory to just go in because he’s never said anything but come in before.
They’d all stared at you, eyes lingering up and down your body. One of them grins. Immediately, you look at Geto. Horrified. Ready to grovel at his feet if need be.
His eyes flashed dangerously. Purple turned into sharp magenta knives. Geto tilted his head.
“Come here, dear.”
You take one step. Another. Then another. The way they look at you makes your stomach twist and sink but Geto only looks at you expectantly. When you linger at his side, his lips quirk.
His grip on your waist is gentle as he guides you into his lap. Your cheeks burn, but you don’t dare move, not even when the men start laughing at the free show. Geto only curls a hand on your waist, keeping you in place as he leans back again.
“Continue, gentlemen.”
The rest of the meeting continues with you on Geto’s lap. You don’t look at any of them, hands balled into fists at your sides. You feel naked. The air within the room is stifling. You refuse to look anywhere else but the floor.
The conversation goes back to business. Despite the compromising situation, he put you in, Geto’s hands don’t wander. He's content to keep his fingers on your waist until the room filters out and everyone leaves.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Geto.” You murmur, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
He doesn’t answer, at least not to that. He just sighs, sinking into his seat. Still, Geto doesn’t let you get up. Not yet. He waits until you’re looking at him, still smiling that fake smile.
This had been a punishment. The next time you made a mistake, you doubt you’d be let off so easily.
“Learn quickly, my dear.”
You nod. You apologize again. When Geto finally lets you go, you are quick to stumble away, pushing your way out the door. Purple eyes follow you out. You don’t think they stop looking until you’re out of the room, curled into your desk, steadying your heartbeat.
You stepped out of line exactly once. You never did it again.
Despite being under Geto, technically, Ijichi is your direct superior. You thanked the Gods for it. Ijichi was the only person here you were certain didn’t have blood on his hands. He was in a similar situation as you were; stuck working off a debt that he didn’t owe. You two bonded on your shared misery. He was the one reprieve you had in your new life.
Unfortunately, now that Gojo was back, Ijichi was far busier. It gave you little time with him. You suppose you were always welcome to join them, but considering your first encounter with Gojo, you’d much rather not.
It’s not like you hadn’t had similar encounters before Gojo's arrival. In the very beginning, one of Geto’s men tried something remarkably similar. You can still remember his hand on your hip, his other hand slowly unbuttoning your shirt while other men stood to the side laughing.
It hadn’t lasted long.
You didn’t realize he was shot until he was already on the ground, twitching in pure agony. He screamed and cried louder than you had. Blood was already dripping to the floor.
Geto had already tucked away the gun, striding away as though nothing happened. He didn’t say anything, the incident was never mentioned. Even to you, his statement rang loud and clear.
You were off-limits.
Clearly, Gojo didn’t care about the unspoken rule.
So far, Ijichi hasn’t acknowledged him. If anything, your superior is hunched behind his computer, typing away, rarely taking his eyes off-screen. You admired his concentration, but it was hard for you to follow suit, considering that Gojo had taken a seat right next to you.
His stare is impossible to ignore. You can feel it even as you desperately try to focus on the screen in front of you. As if he can tell you’re intimidated by his mere presence, he leans over, shoulder pressing against your own. You could practically hear the grin in his voice.
“Watcha’ workin’ on?” He asks as though he can’t already see.
Still, you falter. “Um—”
“Um’” he repeats, “that’s all you’ve been sayin’. Hey, Ijichi—” The man in question jolts up, eyes already panicked.
“Your assistant always this jumpy, or is your personality just that infectious?”
“Sir, uh—” Ijichi starts before getting cut off by a tsk.
“See? Again,” Gojo sighs, “I see why you two get along so well.”
You and Ijichi exchange glances, unsure what to do. When Gojo says nothing more, you decide it’s okay to resume work again, typing away.
Childhood friends, Ijichi told you back when you were still morbidly curious. Gojo had come from a lineage of powerful businessmen. Geto had more or less worked his way up. They became partners somewhere along that time.
It’s hard to imagine them as friends or as anything more. They’re so different. Geto is so controlled, measured with every response he takes. Gojo is more like dynamite, ready to go off at any moment.
You suppose the only similarity is how unreadable they are. To this day, you can’t tell whether Gojo dislikes you or not. Every action you take seems only to disappoint him, yet he constantly hovers around you.
It takes another minute for you to be on the keyboard before Gojo decides he doesn’t like you working peacefully. The chair creaks under his weight as he shifts closer. His head rests against your shoulder. With his new position, you can feel his breath on your collarbone as an arm casually wraps around your shoulders. You don’t dare react, but you send Ijichi a panicked look. He looks sympathetic, but he doesn’t move to help you. You can’t find it in yourself to fault him for his inactions.
“You never answered me, by the way.” He murmurs, quiet enough that only you can hear.
You respond as diligently as you can, making sure you use as few word fillers as possible. It’s clear Gojo doesn’t like that. Or rather, he doesn’t like the nervousness your voice exudes but you doubt you could fix it, especially with his presence around.
“Sounds boring.” Gojo interrupts your rambles. “You don’t do anything else more entertaining?”
“No, sir,” you reply, “I’m only in charge of paperwork.”
Despite the other co-workers you have, you are still an anomaly. Everyone here has had an experience holding a gun—even Ijichi. It’s clear Geto ‘hiring’ you was a change in pattern, something you would always be grateful for. If he hadn't, you wouldn’t want to know what was in store for you.
That’s probably why Gojo was so curious about you. However, considering how close they were, you were now wondering why Geto hadn’t explained it.
“How long have you been working here—hey,look at me when you’re talking.”
You turn, and for the first time, you willingly face Gojo Satoru. His sunglasses are tilted down, and you can see his eyes now. They are blue, so painfully blue, like an ocean, curled up tightly within his eyes. Glittering tanzanite stares back at you—beautiful gemstones that glisten beneath the fluorescent light.
Gojo tilts his head, and you remember that he asked you a question.
“Three weeks, Sir.”
He doesn’t seem all that pleased with your answer. You wonder if you should have lied instead. He’s embarrassingly close, and the position he’s forced you into doesn’t help.
“That quick, huh?” Gojo murmurs, and he sounds a little impressed, “how many times have you and Suguru fucked?”
You gape at him, horrified at even the insinuation. It takes a while for you to even find your voice.
“I—we’ve never. Never.”
Gojo narrows his eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me. C’mon, I'm just curious.”
It feels even worse that Gojo's question isn't even unreasonable. Geto has always treated you differently. Softer. Kinder, if you wanted to be charitable. It isn't a stretch to assume you've been doing favors for the man, in this line of work, it must be a normal occurrence. Yet, you haven't. Apart from that one blunder weeks ago, Geto has never touched you inappropriately.
Still, you shake your head rapidly, feeling heat flush in your cheeks. Being cornered and interrogated like this is humiliating, especially in front of everyone. Ijichi is nice enough to look away while you’re being humiliated, but you know he’s listening. You know everyone’s listening.
Thankfully, Geto intervenes.
“You.” A sigh of exasperation. “Get off.”
Gojo rolls his eyes, but you almost cry in relief when he pushes away and stands up.
“We were bonding,” Gojo argues, though, like everything he says, it sounds like a tease.
Geto’s murmuring something else, and it’s clear that this interaction between them is normal. It's almost a repetition of what happened last time. Both times, you’d been the commonality.
Gojo leaves eventually, shooed away by his partner. The office finally grows quiet when the white-haired man disappears to God knows where. You feel like you can breathe again, but Geto still has not left.
When you look, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, and you’re strangely reminded of a stressed mother. Finally, he lets out a breath, opening his eyes and staring down at you.
“I apologize for his behavior, my dear,” he says. There’s a hand on your shoulder, mirroring the touch Gojo gave you.
“He’s excitable, like a dog.” You don’t think that part was for you, though you don’t think you could ever even fathom comparing the terrifying anomaly that is Gojo to a mutt. You don’t respond. Geto squeezes your shoulder.
“Come to me if Satoru goes too far. I always take care of my people, don't I?”
He doesn’t leave until you give a nod. His hand finally retracts, allowing you to sink into your seat. You watch him until his figure disappears from view.
“I’m taking a break,” you say, not even a minute later.
Ijichi gives a nod as you push yourself up away from the computer. You spend your break the way you usually do: tucked inside the bathroom, trying to wonder how your life turned out this way.
⟡
Sometimes, you accompany Geto on his trips.
You don’t want to, but it’s not like you can reject his ‘requests.’ It’s part of the job, whether or not you can refuse is up to Geto’s whims.
The trips aren’t too bad. Most of the time, it’s a meeting with other dangerous men. You mainly just sit in a corner, peering down at the ground, trying your best not to be noticed. It works, most of the time. The few perks of this new life is how seldom the people of the underground want to associate with you, especially when you're with Geto. His presence is everywhere, a blanket of protection bestowed only to you. These days, you feel safe even when walking home alone at night.
The trips aren't too bad, but Gojo's insistence on tagging along changed even that.
You should be sitting up front. There's a perfectly vacate passenger seat, right beside Ijichi, the least dangerous man in the vehicle. Gojo had practically dragged you into the car with him, holding you hostage. Geto slid into the seat beside you, effectively trapping you between the two men.
Despite your attempts to keep your body to yourself, every other minute, your thighs brush against theirs. It's a miserable affair, but neither comment on your breach of personal space. They're both too invested in their own little worlds. Geto peers peacefully out the window, enjoying the city life pass by. Gojo is glued to his phone, tapping away every so often.
It's tempting to sneak a peek at them in their natural states, relaxed, unbothered. You don't stare for too long.
Every so often, their worlds will collide. Geto will point out a cat. Gojo would reach over you, showing Geto something funny on his phone. Unfortunately, Gojo catches your lingering eyes.
"Wanna see?" He doesn't bother to hear your response, shoving his phone in your face.
It's a cat video, of all things. You almost wanted to laugh at how normal it is, but you're too intimidated to do anything but give a strained smile, more designed to please. You expected something darker. More blood. More screams. On the screen, the orange kitten lightly bats at a ball of yarn.
"Got a cat?" Gojo asks, tucking away his phone.
"No, Mr. Gojo."
He tsks, but before your blood can freeze, he says, "I told you: It's Satoru."
He's been insistent about it these past few days: Satoru. Satoru. Call me Satoru, as though you'd even dare. Beside you, Geto rumbles out his disapproval.
"Don't be childish, Satoru." He chides.
The car rolls to a stop eventually. The relief in your lungs expands. Ijichi gets out first, followed by Geto. Before you can move, a hand grabs you by the chin, halting your movements.
"You're not leaving this car until you say it, pretty thing," Gojo tells you. "C'mon. Sa-to-ru."
Behind you, Geto sighs, but he doesn't move to stop him. Right, Geto promised he'd step in only when Gojo goes too far. Clearly, this is within his bounds.
You wilt under the hardened tanzanite.
"Satoru." You mutter.
Satisfied, Gojo releases his hold on you, hopping out the car, humming a happy tune.
Geto holds his hand out to you. You'd be an idiot not to take it.
"Bear with him today, dear," he tells you when you step out in the pavement, "he's in a mood."
Amythyst sears into you. You can only nod.
Even then, Geto doesn't release you. He gently maneuvers your arm until your elbow is interlocked with his. He takes his time, walking into the building, mindful of your heels. Ijichi and Gojo are already ahead. Gojo takes a look behind him, spots the two of you, scoffs, but doesn't do much more.
It's another thing you don't know how to feel about. The two have always instigated less than friendly gestures toward you. Yet, neither of the two have expressed any kind of jealousy. You know they are clearly lovers, yet the way they allow their significant other to behave with you makes you feel a bit nauseous.
Most likely, they see you as a pet. Not even a threat to their relationship. It makes sense. In their eyes, you're probably a scared gazelle in the middle of a lion's den. Cute. Something to play with.
There's another theory in your head that you're pushing away.
You follow the same procedure you've always followed. You stay still and silent, like a doll, right beside Geto. Strange men come up to him, greeting him with smug smiles. They barely give you a glance. That's good. It means they know you're one of Geto's.
Gojo being there changes the dynamic. He's more serious, in this setting. You sit right next to Geto's side, listening as Gojo talks. They both do that a lot. Talking. Negotiating. Scheming. You're a bit disappointed in yourself at how easy it is to let the words swirl around until there's nothing left to understand. It's easy to ignore them now. The horrors they partake in. The horrors you are indirectly part of.
Are you allowed to be innocent now that you work under these people? You've never pulled the trigger yourself, but is that an excuse? Morally speaking, you're the same as the men you are terrified of.
How laughable. You came to that conclusion right when they were discussing the price of narcotics.
Sometime later, you find yourself alone, roaming down an unfamiliar hall. It's foolish to be out without Geto or Gojo or even Ijichi, but Geto had an errand he wanted you to run. Now that it was complete, you needed to return back to him.
Except, you had no clue where he was.
You were lost. You should have known this would happen. Why didn't you pay more attention to where you were going? This wasn't any old building. Dangerous men lurked around, even the weaker ones carried guns and weapons.
It was only a matter of time before one of them caught you.
"Hey. You."
You were considered one of Geto's, but without him in sight, you were nothing. You knew that. It's why you cower immediately.
"I'm busy," you speak quickly, "My boss, Mr. Geto, he's—"
His hand is rough and scared and filthy on your skin. You are basically thrown against the wall, cornered against this stranger. He smiles. His teeth are yellowed and filled with tarter and plaque.
"C'mon, there's no need to rush. 'Just wanna have some fun. How much?" Disgust rolls off your tongue, but you don't have the courage to reveal it.
"I'm not like that," you mutter, "I'm not for sale."
But, aren't you? You've sold yourself to Geto, haven't you? Underneath his thumb, his whims. What makes you so much different from a hooker?
"Sure." And then there's a shift in his eyes. His face scrunches up, like he's just tasted something sour.
"Hold on...you're—you're that bastard's kid, aren't you?"
He says your last name, the name your father gave you with so much spite that you nearly flinch. In that moment, you realized that your father had messed with a lot more people than just Geto.
"Yeah yeah, you're a spitting fucking image!" He gripes you harsher. "Your daddy fucked me over while you're sitting over here nice and pretty? What the fuck?"
He's dead. He's dead and you hadn't spoken to him in over a decade, but his ghost still wants to punish you for being his kin. And this man is his executioner.
You're expecting something violent. Something that hurt more than his hand's squeezing your bicep. Perhaps he was, perhaps he would. Unfortunately, for him, Gojo interupted his plans.
You didn't even know that it was him, at first, on the floor, on top of the man. Gojo, despite his hungry smile, eager eyes, was always so angelic. He isn't supposed to be using his hands. He isn't supposed to inflict violence, not by himself.
He's punching him. The man isn't a man anymore, reduced to a mere punching back. Gojo doesn't stop until he breaks skin. He doesn't stop until you can hear a distinct crack.
Satoru doesn't stop until Suguru tells him to.
"Don't kill him." Geto warns. "It'd breach the agreement."
You can feel his presence, always silent, never revealing himself until he wants to be known. So unlike Gojo, who is hungry for even a second of attention. More than happy to spill blood over it.
Gojo grits his teeth, as though he's debating to even listen. He stands up eventually, chest heaving. His knuckles are caked in blood. It's not his. His glasses are off. His eyes are blown wide open like he's just hit the greatest high of his life. Geto calmly hands him a clean towel. You don’t want to know how many times this situation has repeated.
"Who gives a shit." Gojo bites out, his eyes , trailing to you, and you flinch away. He looks like a wild animal, growling and spitting. You don’t want to be next on his plate. Geto steps in front of you, barricading you from his sight.
The man on the ground had recovered enough to pathetically crawl away. It such a stark change to how he was just a few minutes ago, when he was lording over you, drunk off of his power.
Gojo steps on his calf. The broken thing gives a strangled scream. It only makes Gojo’s manic grin wider.
"Let him go. You made your point," Geto says, "calm down."
Firey blue eyes. Bright and violent. You don’t know how Suguru is able to withstand the intensity. Even you’re wilting when it’s not even directed towards you.
"Calm down?” Satoru asks. “You want me to calm down? Did you see what that bastard was gonna do to our—"
"Satoru." You've never heard Geto use this tone before. "Not here. Not now."
A silent battle warred between them. Tanzanite bore into amethyst. Which gem would rupture first, splinter into defeat?
Eventually, Gojo looks away, cursing. He glares down at you, as though he were blaming your weakness of all things. In a way, he’s not wrong to.
"I'll wait outside."
And then he's gone, striding down the corridor. Geto watches him go, before glancing down at you.
"Did he hurt you?" He asks.
You're not supposed to lie to him. You nod.
Geto pulls on your sleeves until he can see the imprints. Light bruising, nothing too horrible. You'll survive. Geto looks less than pleased. He glances down at the remnants of the man, the imprints of blood on the floor. You pitied the person who'd have to clean it up.
"I apologize, dear." He sighs. "I should have kept an eye on you."
He stares at the blood some more. Then, he smiles.
"Perhaps, it's better if I just let things run its course, this time."
You blink at him. He ignores your silent question. Instead, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, gently leading you outside. The car is already running. This time, Geto silently ushers you into the passenger seat. You take it immediately. Gojo hadn't taken his eyes off of you. You're grateful for any barrier.
This time, the car ride was silent. You don't relish in it. If anything, it just feels like the calm before the storm.
⟡
Soon, what Geto was talking about became apparent.
The man who had nearly been killed by Gojo had talked. You don't know what your father did to these men, perhaps you never will, but they didn't let you forget his crimes. If they couldn't get to him, then clearly, his kid was the next best option. You know it was them. It would be no one else.
Someone broke into your apartment one weekend. Everything was ruined. The TV was shattered and broken. Your mattress was tossed onto the floor. Every plate, cup, and bowl was smashed onto the floor. They took nothing, but they broke everything.
You hadn't been home that night. Ijichi needed more work from you. If you had, if you had come home that night, alone, locked the door, slept in that bed, then what would have—
Geto finds you on the stairs of your apartment, curled into a ball. You watch with bloodshot eyes as he observes the damage, clicking his tongue. He doesn't look particularly shocked.
You do nothing when you feel his hand on your shoulder, brushing against the sleeves, a feign of sympathy. You don't even care to ask how he came even though you never called him. Geto has a keen sense for you.
"It'll get worse." His voice comes. Soft, and sure.
Yeah, you knew that. You'd been naive, following after Geto with wide eyes. You thought that if he was untouchable, then so were you.
He speaks about an enemy group, people with debts with your father, just as he did. Of course, he knows who did this to you. You’d be more surprised if he didn’t.
You don’t care. His words go in one ear and out the other. The reasons don’t matter. Your home is still destroyed. It’s no longer yours.
"They got my phone, too," you mention to your discarded cell phone. "My emails, messages."
You're trapped, with nowhere else to turn. All the doors are shut and bolted, and only one remains open.
You turn to the devil.
"Can you...help?"
The angler fish uses its darkened habitat to its advantage. Hundreds of miles beneath the water's surface, it produces its own light as an olfactory bulb. It's an excellent predator, swinging its bio lantern around in the dark sea, the only light around for miles.
Geto tilts his head, a smile on perfect pink lips.
"You want my protection? It's a steep price, darling."
You feel like an empty well, forced to give and give until you're all dried up. Who could be so greedy? Who could be so willing to take?
"I've given you everything." It's barely a whisper. "What else do I have left to offer?"
He doesn't say anything to that, not at first. Geto kneels in front of you, a slender hand lifting your head up by the chin. Fingers trail down to your neck. Not choking, just holding. His thumb lightly presses into your throat.
"Not everything," Suguru says quietly.
He's right. You hadn't given him everything. So far, you have always been one of Geto's people. You were Geto's employee. You were indebted to him, but you weren't conquered by him.
Not yet.
He's kneeling in front of you, holding your soul in his hands and demanding for your heart. In a way, you find it a bit funny. You just don’t have the will to laugh anymore.
He's smiling again when he can tell you're finally starting to understand. "We couldn't have been that subtle, were we? Satoru never failed to express, at the very least."
No, they never tried to hide it. Even in the beginning, when you first met Suguru, you saw the hunger. You just tried to ignore it. You tried to keep your head in the sand, hoping it would pass. It makes you wonder if you had just agreed on that very night, led him into your bed, and bared it, would things have been different?
"I can leave. We can pretend this never happened," he coos, "it's all up to you, sweetheart."
He's making it seem like you had a choice. In a way, you did. You're choosing between two monsters. A known and an unknown. It takes longer than you'd like to figure out which one scares you more.
You take the bait. The angler fish siezes its prey.
"One night?" You're trying not to beg but it's coming out anyway. "Just—just one night?"
Geto leans forward, pressing a kiss on your forehead. It’s not an answer.
⟡
Despite the many months you've worked with him, you've never been to his home before.
It's not a house. A villa maybe. The property stretches itself stretches for miles. Filthy rich. Bleeding gold.
Geto—
("Suguru," he corrected you in the car, "considering this isn't really business, anymore.")
—had ushered you throw a double-door entrance. You couldn't even admire the architecture. Not when Gojo was already standing there. His eyes were hidden away, tucked underneath his glasses, but you still felt his stare. And all too wide smile stretched on his lips. He greeted Suguru with a kiss. For the first time, you looked down at their hands.
Matching rings.
You felt sick.
'It's all up to you, sweetheart' Suguru's voice rings through your head all through a dinner that's really nothing but a flimsy padding for the rest of the night. Food was served, wine was poured, all in a bid to ease you into it. As of right now, it's still your 'choice'. You know, without a doubt, if you backed out now, they'd let you go without a fuss. Suguru or Satoru themselves might drive you home. You'd crawl into bed without a scratch.
But you don't. You stare at your plate, picking at it when they ask questions. Satoru's in such a good mood he offers to feed you.
It's mostly because it doesn't feel real yet. You feel like you're watching yourself go through the movements. Eat. Speak when spoken to. Smile when prompted. Empty.
You only come back when you're standing in their room, and the door locks with a click.
The window blinds are drawn, but there's no light to seep in. The moon is already out. You wonder how many hours you've already spent here.
You take another step towards the bed. Then, you turn around.
Satoru and Suguru stare right back. You feel their heavy gazes immediately, flicking your eyes down to your feet, playing with your sleeves.
Satoru laughs, perceiving the terror as shyness, or maybe he doesn't care. He steps forward first.
"Don't be like that." He lightly chastises you, tucking one arm around your waist. "We'll be nice. Promise, baby. We're gonna be so so good for you."
He finds your lips, then. Satoru kisses like the sun, all fire and passion. Sinking into you, wanting to melt. It's impossible to turn away and ignore his presence. He gropes at your chest, your waist, trying to feel all of you at once. When he finally lets go, you feel dizzy.
Suguru's kisses ground you, makes remember where you are, who you're with. He's like the Earth you're crashing back into from your high. You hurdle through the atmosphere as his hands grasp at your throat. He never squeezes, but it's more than enough to sober you.
"You smell so nice, baby," Satoru says from his place at your neck. You flinch when teeth sink into your sink, but you don't complain.
"That's creepy, Satoru." Suguru chastizes him.
Serpentine eyes stare into yours. You don’t get the chance to hide before you feel his breath on your cheek. Suguru tugs at the hem of your dress.
“Take this off.” He whispers into your skin. “And get on the bed for us, sweetheart.”
This is the lesser monster. It’s a mantra you repeat in your head as you pliantly nod, hesitantly gripping the fabric of your dress. It’s horrifically easy to take it off and let it drop by your feet. You can’t bear to look at them anymore.
The soft duvet sinks under your weight. It looks expensive. Silky pillows. On either side is a nightstand covered with trinkets and personal items. You spot one of Suguru’s shirts on the floor, and it takes you a second to realize this is their room, not an impersonal guest room they use to fuck the less fortunate.
They stop paying attention to you. Satoru moans loudly into Suguru’s mouth. Suguru fiddles with the buttons on Satoru’s shirt, close to ripping it off entirely. Satoru palms at the tent in his pants as he unbuckles his pants. Suguru loosens his tie. They’re so violent with each other. Dread soaks through your palms, and you curl even further within yourself. You prayed this was all they wanted from you—someone to just watch, someone less interactive.
It’s not. When they pull away, their lips are swollen. Satoru leers at you, licking at his busted lip. You can’t seem to cry anymore.
They’re both half-naked. You can see the tattoos spread on Suguru’s hand, crawling up to his shoulder. Another peeks just behind Satoru’s neck. You only get a glimpse before he’s on top of you, eager for a continuation.
“Shit, you’re so soft.” He hisses as he squeezes your bra-covered breast. It doesn’t stay on for long. You wince when his fingers trace over your sensitive tits.
Your hands squeeze into fists, because you choose this, choose them. Satoru’s more than happy to sink into your breasts. His warm tongue swirls around a nipple before fully taking it in his mouth.
“Like a baby,” Suguru says. Satoru scoffs, tossing him an impressed look.
“Shut up.” Satoru releases your breast with a wet-sounding pop. They’ll be marks there tomorrow.
His fingers trail down your breasts, your ribs, your stomach. They linger on the band of your panties.
You can’t help it. It’s instinct.
He freezes when your fingers snap around his wrist. There’s no strength behind your grip, he pauses more out of surprise than anything.
His eyes, filled with hardened tanzanite, shoot up to yours. You think, if they’d be anyone else’s, you would have envied them.
He doesn’t say anything. Neither does Suguru. The silence is crushing.
“Sorry.” You feel pathetic apologizing, but it’s outweighed by the fear. “I—I’m sorry. I was just—”
“It’s okay, dear,” Suguru coos. “Satoru just scared you, hm? He’s such an idiot, isn’t he?” He violently smacks Satoru on the head. You flinch at the sound. Satoru just whines, rubbing at his temple.
“Mean.” Satoru childishly says, but he’s slower now, rolling down the hem of your panties.
Suguru is quick to distract you. He’s busy with his own bottoms before he’s taking you by the chin.
His cock is already leaking precum. He’s big, and you don’t think you’ll be able to do want he wants. Suguru smiles down at you, he doesn’t need to say anything. You’re swallowing down your self-hatred before opening your mouth.
You take him in just when Satoru buries his face between your thighs. The two of you have very different reacts. Satoru just hums, finding your clit to lick. You gasp, your legs jolting as you accidentally take Suguru even deeper.
He’s nice enough to let you go at your own pace. There’s a hand on your head, petting you, easing you through the process. Even then, your mouth is stretched uncomfortably wide. Tears prick at your eyes. Suguru’s face gets blurry. You don’t think you want to look anymore.
Below you, Satoru is enjoying his meal. He’s slobbering on your pussy, eating you out like it’s his last meal. His hot tongue finds his way into your sopping hole. You squeeze your eyes, a muffled whine comes from your mouth. The only loss of control Suguru shows was how he ever-so-slightly gripped your head.
By then, you’re unintentionally squeezing Satoru’s head in between your thighs. It’s so much. Pleasure tingles up your spine as Satoru continues to worship your pussy. His nose grinds into your clit and, for a moment, you’re wondering how he’s even breathing.
Suguru’s close. You can feel it every time his balls slap your chin. He’s speaking now, words stilted and heavy. It’s the only hint you get that he’s only holding his control by his teeth. That thought scares you. At any moment he’d snap, choking you with his cock, let you suffocate while he fills your dying mouth with his cum.
“Good,” he’s hissing out, “so good—good for me. C’mon, baby, take it.”
Satoru’s hand squeezes your ass, urging you to arch off the bed. You come like that, pressing your thighs around Satoru’s head, moaning around Suguru’s dick.
Suguru barely gives a grunt before something salty fills your mouth. You have to swallow it down. It burns your throat.
The air tastes sweet by the time Suguru’s cock leaves your mouth. You’re sucking in deep breaths, breasts heaving. Incidentally, you hadn’t suffocated Satoru. He’s kissing his way up your body. A trickle of Suguru’s cum had escaped your lips. His tongue presses against your chin before he pushes it back into your mouth. You can taste your tangy essence on his lips.
“Gotta’ swallow it all,” Satoru says with a teasing lilt, “he gets mad when it’s wasted.”
You can only nod. He gives you another wet kiss before he pulls away.
They switch places, Suguru moving over until he’s between your thighs. His large cock lays on your cunt. He’s still hard, his cock twitches when he angles his hips down, letting the head run over your leaking slit.
“The only reason he's going first is ‘cuz he’s been pining for you for months.” Satoru murmurs into your ear. Strangely enough, Suguru doesn’t comment. Your brain can’t work fast enough to comprehend what that means.
You hold your breath just as he presses himself inside. You’re almost grateful Satoru took the time to prepare you. His salivia, and your stretched walls make it easier for Suguru to bury his length inside you.
It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You hiss. Satoru feels enough sympathy to coo at you, kissing your neck, trying to distract you from the pain. It doesn't help, not even when Suguru presses light circles into your clit, easing his way through.
Suguru’s giving a harsh laugh when he’s fully seated inside, his hips meeting yours.
“Feel good, hm?” Satoru goads, reaching up to nibble on Suguru’s ear.
“Shit, so tight—fuck.”
Your hips twitch and you’re clenching down on him. Suguru doubles over, gritting his teeth.
“Oh, darling.” Scarred hands grasp your neck. “I’m going to ruin you, aren’t I?”
Your bottom lip wobbles. He’s eyeing you like a piece of meat. A gazelle in the lion’s den. To them, to men like them, you suppose you’re nothing more.
“Suguru.” You whisper because your voice is failing you. “You-you promised you’d be nice.”
Silence. And he’s laughing so hard his shoulders shake. They both are.
“We did promise that, didn’t we?” Suguru glances at Satoru. “Next time, then.”
He pulls his cock out of you slowly, dragging his head through your cunt. He’s so slow and deliberate that you think it’d feel better if he just went ahead and fucked you already.
And he was, technically. His hips rolled back into you, his cock disappearing inside your wet pussy with each thrust. It’s so much that you’re willingly arching your back, trying to do anything to alleviate the intensity.
Beside you, Satoru is pulling out his cock, his eyes never leaving the lewd sight of Suguru fucking himself into you.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he’s cursing under his breath, fisting his cocl in one hand, “so fuckin’ hot.”
Suguru growls, grabbing Satoru’s stiff cock, crudely pumping his hand up and down. His movement are getting more erratic losing his pace, his patience. You’re at your end too, almost crying when someone squeezes your sensitive tits.
“How does it feel, darling?” Suguru asks with a ragged breath. His eyes are blown, you don’t even think he’s looking at you, anymore.
When you don't give an answer fast enough, Suguru snaps his hips punishingly in response. You give a sharp wail.
“I said.” Suguru hisses through his teeth. “Tell me how it feels.”
You can barely suck in a breath. You’re losing oxygen too fast.
But you’ll die if he keeps doing this.
“Good.” You tell the truth. “It—it feels good, Suguru.”
He grins, serpentine. You’ve lost a game you didn’t even know you were playing. His fingers descend on your clit.
“That’s my perfect darling.”
You sob when your walls clench around his cock, milking him dry. Your orgasm triggers his own. He curses, and something is spilled into your used cunt. Out the corner of your eye, Suguru and Satoru are kissing, going together like rabid dogs. Satoru shudders, and then all three of you are a panting mess.
You take in deep breaths, barely caring when Suguru lets out an exhausted laugh, collapsing into your chest. He licks at your sweaty skin. You just sink your head further into the pillows
It was over. It was finally over.
“You got it everywhere.” Suguru suddenly says, disgusted. He wipes Satoru’s cum off your stomach.
Satoru just snorts.
“I didn’t have a hole to dump it all in.” He snarks back. “Twice, by the way. So selfish, Sugu.”
“Quit whining.” Suguru groans. “You have your chance now, don’t you?”
What? Exhaustion blinks away.
Suguru stays by your side. Gojo is the one moving, rising from the blankets. He places his hands on either side of your hips, spreading your legs.
Geto catches your panic, easily catching you before you can even do anything. He hushes you while Satoru settles himself between your thighs, his cock pressing right at your slit.
“The night’s still young, dear.” He sounds almost sympathetic. “Be good for just a bit longer.”
By the time they’re finally done with you, it’d been hours. You can’t count how many positions they put you in, how many times your holes were filled by their cocks or their fingers or their mouths. You’re barely coherent by the time Suguru is tucking you under the soft duvet.
You feel sore and used and dirty. His soft words, filled with praises, just make you feel worse. Despite how exhausted you feel, you’re just waiting until they finally get bored of seeing your body and kick you out.
You’ll call a cab home. You’ll cry yourself to sleep. You’ll be okay.
They’re taking a while to get to that part. They’re mumbling soft words too each other, it sounds too intimate to be something you should be overhearing. Satoru’s at your back, hands curling around your waist, another brushing Suguru’s mussed hair. You can feel his soft breath at the nape of your neck.
Suguru’s eyes are on you. Amethyst watches you intently.
"Satoru,” he finally says, “go uphold our end of the deal."
Gojo groans, annoyed. He snuggles closer to you. "Why me? You go do it."
An adoring smile crinkles on Suguru’s lips. It makes him look younger.
"Because I don't trust you alone with this one for the night. Go."
“Ass.”
He sighs, but Gojo sits up, letting the covers shift off his naked body.
"Stay right here for me, baby, 'kay?" He leans over, pressing a delicate kiss on your hairline. Despite everything that happened tonight, this was the most intimate thing he'd done to you. It's too...loving.
When Satoru leaves, you wait for a few moments. Suguru had yet to tell you to go. It probably meant that he didn’t want to waste his breath dismissing you. You take the hint, rising from the bed.
His fingers snap around you wrist just as your feet touch the floor.
“Where are you going?” His voice doesn’t sound accusatory, but you flinch anyway.
A wobbly smile makes its way across your face, you hope it comes across as submissive. Weren’t you done? The deal was made, that meant you could leave now, right?
"I—I need to go home?" Suguru gives a doting smile, as though you said something adoringly naive. He barely pulls on your hand, gently leading you back under the covers.
You follow because the gun glints by the nightstand.
“Is that the best idea right now, dear?” He asks, “Who knows if those men have come back? I’d hate to see them find their target, wouldn’t you?”
He draws you into his chest. Your head is tucked underneath his chin.
“And besides, Satoru will be disappointed if you left without saying goodbye. It’d be horrible to deal with one of his tantrums so late at night.”
He buries his face into your hair, inhaling your scent.
“Why don’t you leave in the morning? I’ll be sure to drive you back myself. By then, I’m sure Satoru will have made the proper arrangements. Don’t tell him I told you this, but—” Suguru drops his voice as though he’s scared someone might overhear”—he tends to be more efficient when you’re in the picture.”
You don’t know what he means by that, and you don’t think you want to know. Still, you lift your head, finding the courage to stare at him.
His eyes are such a beautiful color. Glittering purple in the moonlight. You’d stare at them all night if you could.
(Warnings: yandere, kidnapping, Blood, implied stalking…uhhh general enslavement of the human race)
Maybe Nolan actually let Viltrumite!Mark have somewhat of a normal childhood before he took him to be raised on Viltrum.
He had a normal suburban house, he had his loving mother, and he also had you—his childhood friend.
You two were inseparable. Peas in a pod. Summers were spent inside each other’s houses, playing video games. Bike rides through the woods. Skipping rocks across the lake.
You were there when he broke his leg and had to be rushed to the hospital, the first one to sign his cast. You were there when his first tooth fell out. You were there for it all.
You two couldn’t have been more than seven years old, huddled together in a crappy pillow fort, when he told you he loved you.
“Will you marry me?” He asked, large brown eyes glittering and full of childish hope.
You only giggled, hiding your smile behind your face. “Silly.” You told him. “We can’t get married. We’re only kids!”
“When we’re older,” He declares, undeterred. “Will you marry me, then?”
You nod. His smile is the brightest thing you’d ever seen. The ‘ring’ was barely more than a knotted dandelion. You still let him put it on your finger, giggling all the while.
And then, just like that, he was gone.
Everything of his was gone. One day, Mark was there, imagining his future with you underneath a pillow fort. The next, his house was a destroyed mess and him and his family were nowhere to be found.
(Only later did you find out that Mrs. Grayson’s body was found in the rubble. Your parents didn’t want you to know until you were older)
You were distraught for months. Your parents tried to explain, but even to your child-brain it was clear that even they didn’t know where Mark went.
You keep the ring even after it wilts, until its nothing more than a dried twig on your nightstand.
Years pass and you think about Mark less and less. School starts to get harder. You find new friends. Your life gets more complicated than it was at seven years old. Slowly, bits and pieces of his memory start fading in the background. You can’t remember what his favorite video game was anymore. You can hardly remember his voice. If his picture wasn’t in the photo album’s your mother cherished, you might have even forgotten his face entirely.
Life goes on.
Until the invasion.
It still doesn’t feel…real. Millions upon millions are dead. Billions more are enslaved. Your hands are covered in blood of your own parents by the time you’re hauled off to face the leader of the invaders.
You almost can’t believe your eyes.
Older, taller, but those same brown eyes.
”Mark?”
His eyes soften.
“You remember me.” He smiles. “I’m so glad.”
He wears the same white uniform as the ones who tore apart your house, gutted your parents, and dragged you here did. That would mean he’s one of them, but he couldn’t be. The little boy you once knew…would never do something like this.
”Were they gentle with you?” He asks, his voice so soft it almost makes your heart break. His touch is featherlight, barely caressing his cheek. “I told them to be careful. You were always so…breakable back when we were younger. Just as you are now.”
You flinch away from his touch. The grand room you were thrown into didn’t fit the destruction that raged outside. Earth was reduced to nothing more than rubble in just a few days. Yet here, you could see gold and luxurious red carpet. This room felt like it was built for a king.
“Mark.” You breathe, still not sure if the thing towering above you was your friend or something dressed in his skin. You weren’t sure which option was worse. “What did you do? What…what are you doing?”
He doesn’t like that question. You can see it when his smile tugs down ever so slightly. He stands up, leaving you a crumpled mess on the floor.
He tells you things that don’t make sense. He tells you how it’s the duty of the Viltrumites to ensure the unity of the uiniverse. He tells you about how his father was sent to make Earth join the Viltum Empire. He tells you how many planets he and the other Viltrumites have saved, how Earth will be the next one.
It’s all complete insanity. This can’t be the boy you once knew. No, that boy was gone, buried in the rubble, along with his mother.
“And you’ll be there, by my side.” He tells you at last, kneeling down before you. “Do you remember that promise I made you back when we were younger?”
You stare. He continues.
“I never forgot it. Or you,” he says, words dripping with honesty, “When I was strong enough to make the flight here, I’d often come to watch you live your life. You don’t understand how painful it was: watching you live without me, never looking up at the sky. But now, we can be together. Just like we promised.”
He speaks like he did something noble. Like he was patient, quietly waiting for his prize.
You supposed, for a being like him, you were nothing more than spoils of war.
“I still haven’t asked you properly, have I?” He murmurs, looking over your still figure.
“Will you marry me?”
Maybe in another universe, if he wasn’t wearing that white-suit, if he had gotten his powers later in life, if his father hadn’t taken him away so young, if his mother was still alive, you might have said yes.
In this universe, where your parents are dead, where your friends are massacred, where everyone you know is either a corpse or enslaved, where you’re staring at a monster…
”You’re a fucking psychopath.”
He hums, not angry—like he expected this outcome.
He takes your hand in his own. When you try to pull away, his fingers barely give.
“You’re upset.” He says, more to himself than to you. “That’s understandable. I can be patient.”
WARNINGS: obsessive behaviors, coercion, depictions of anxiety, threats, weapons (blade and firearm), invasion of privacy, power imbalance, forced intimacy, mentions of past relationship problems. YANDERE/DARK CONTENT AHEAD, PROCEED WITH CAUTION. 2.5k words.
ALSO CONTAINS: mention of tokyo being the setting, some corporate terms that might've been switched up.
“If you get a minute call me back, I'm so lonely and you're the only one that knows me”
You once again woke up from a barrage of phone calls. It was the sixth this week, probably somewhere in the hundreds since the past few months, and the cutesy ringtone you carefully picked and recorded from a game was starting to sound more and more irritating. Unfortunately, you reckon that this will still occur tomorrow, completing the week’s seven days.
Ever since you broke up with Gojo Satoru, he hasn't stopped calling you.
From his old burner phones, new sim cards and even the phone booth down the road, all are used in an attempt to contact you. You've changed your numbers countless times, but for some reason, he always manages to find your new ones.
So you've settled for just manually blocking each and every new number of his, despite the pounding in your chest everytime you receive these calls. Knowing Gojo’s immense wealth, he's probably capable of buying new numbers and landlines everytime, so you have to just make-do of this situation.
If you were to tell yourself that this is how your relationship would end up, your past self would've laughed at your face.
There was a time where you're genuinely head over heels for Satoru, with his boyish grins and loving personality, he was basically the man of your dreams. He likes the same things as you do, geeked out over Digimon on your chats and is overall a sweetheart that's easy to sink into conversation with. One thing was that he's also the heir to a big corporation, something that younger you was in awe of.
Back then, the hopeless romantic soul in you did not believe that economic class affected how a person loves. You were just in love right? Doesn't matter what your background is.
But then disagreements arose. You were harshly reminded that rich people do not have the same worries as the lower class. It started small, with questions about your career choices and comments about your apartment. It became invasive next, with nudges of dropping your job and just marrying him to even buying out your old apartment complex in an attempt to make you live with him.
Something small in you wanted to just actually drop everything and run to him, but there was a nagging uneasiness that you felt way more. You tried explaining to him that you liked feeling productive, that you still have your childhood dreams to do, and that you'd prefer your relationship with the current pace it has, but the man just laughed and said ‘stupid, just let me take care of you.’
You left then, because you didn't like how it sounded, how fast and how suffocating his love feels — and how he showed you that dreaming is for the less fortunate because otherwise money would've made it real already.
★
You blocked his number again.
But Satoru just laughs, drops the phone, then presses the heels of his designer leather shoes down the screen until it cracks and gets crushed under pressure. He then looks down at the sorry state of what used to be a phone, brows furrowed like a god whose anger was incited by the thing.
The love of his life keeps pushing away his attempts of reconciliation so he hopes that the room around him would understand the chaos he'll bring, that was called for, he thinks.
You were his only love. When Satoru first met you in college, he was enamored. You are a breath of fresh air to be with, laughing at his weird side and letting him unwind his more hidden interests to you. You never chastised him for being a complete nerd over niche media or attending too many conventions, in fact you even joined along. You're the light of his boring life and he craves that shine so much.
By the time you were graduating, he was already planning your marriage and life, but then you suddenly left and he's been in shambles ever since.
His blue eyes land on a piece of paper that was brought to him two hours ago. An average startup company, nothing too special.
He has a very funny and special idea though.
★
A jarring announcement was raised on your workplace group chat when you looked at it during your breakfast.
Your company is going to have a merger with the biggest entertainment conglomerate in the country. At first you rubbed your eyes in disbelief because there is no way a startup like your workplace can simply shimmy its way to the big leagues that fast.
But to your horror, you realize just why a big name is so eager to form a deal with yours — it was the same one owned by the Gojo family, of course it's head being Satoru now.
How in the world did he know where you went after you resigned at your old job? But then again you realize that he even knows your new phone numbers so you just groaned loudly. You loathe this day coming, especially when the next announcement was about the official meeting between the two companies.
It’s impossible for him to not be there, and it’s not like he’ll miss the chance of seeing you again over anything else.
★
You were fiddling with your nails so much that you might just uproot it from your skin.
Gojo-fucking-Satoru is currently in front of a projector screen, explaining details of an investment he plans on doing.
Investment or whatever, you think, because you're having a hard time focusing now.
Not when his eyes are so laser-focused on you.
So you excuse yourself, a small ‘sorry, my vision is not doing great because of a headache’ to the secretary beside you, who understandably smiles and lets you go so easily.
You hunched down and beelined to the door. After you closed it, you breathed out a long sigh, tears threatening to fall. You continued to walk to the restrooms, where you finally sob into one of the cubicles.
Breathe in, breathe out.
You stayed in there for a few minutes, breathing in and out and plugging your earphones in to calm your senses. You didn't know why you felt so scared seeing him, you're not even sure if he's actually looking at you.
But then that was answered when you heard a fairly loud knock at your cubicle.
“You in there, sweetheart?”
You breath hitches and you let out an almost croaking sound, which makes the knocking even stronger. He actually cut that meeting out and went after you, god.
He cancelled an entire meeting over you, just to chase after you and who knows what else. The millions worth of this investment is just a tool for him to insert himself back to your life. Your eyes water when you hear the door of the restroom close.
“Go away.”
“What's wrong first, the secretary told me you're having vision problems.”
Oh god, he sounded like he did back then, when you were so blissfully unaware of his tendencies, when everything about the two of you are still in a rose-colored tint.
“Satoru, do you seriously not have any idea what's wrong right now?”
You don't get a response from that for a while.
“Lovely, please, can we talk? You keep blocking me. I can explain.”
“Explain what? That you've been terrorizing your poor ex who clearly has cut off things with you, please don't even start.”
“I can't lose you, please”
You open your cubicle, just as he was about to reach out to you, you storm towards the door, unlocking it without sparing him a glance, with the same force you close it to his face.
How unfortunate for you, because Gojo Satoru is too high up in his skyscrapers and too deep down in his obsession to ever see you from eye to eye. To him, he cannot lose you, and that's what only matters.
For Gojo Satoru is not used to losing what's his.
★
One minute you could be on your way home from work, then another minute the shareholder of your company is chasing you down the barren streets of Tokyo with an odachi at hand.
If you were to be very specific, the CEO that invested in your company four days ago who's also your ex-boyfriend is seemingly marching your way with a peculiar odachi blade in his hand
Compared to normal odachi, the blade of this one is pitch black, with red and blue intertwining dragons embossed in a shiny finish. It looks like something out of an anime you both loved watching and if you're not literally running for your life, you might've paused and stared at the way lights of neon signages reflect on them.
Honestly, it fits the Gojo Satoru you've known, for he is not one to settle for common things. It needs his own touch, it needs to be his alone because Gojo Satoru does not share his world with anyone.
And unfortunately for you, like that odachi — he has decided that you belong only to him, and like the colors in that blade, he will make sure that everyone who looks at you will know of the fact.
“Oh come on now, not even a hug for your dearest boyfriend?”
The man approaching you finally speaks, there's a playful tone in his voice, as if he's not currently holding a weapon and striding your way with it.
“Shut the hell up Gojo, we're over for like who knows how long now! You don't… you don't get to just come at me with a weapon and expect to be back together!” You did your best to retort at his words, but the shakiness of your voice betrays you.
“Aww, but I never agreed to that! You need the opinion of both parties to make that decision. Also it's Satoru for you, remember?” Gojo laughs, you look back at him and see his hand that carries the blade suddenly raises and you flinch.
Keep running, keep running, keep running.
“You hurt my feelings darling, I thought we had something big but you seemed to avoid me everytime, have you moved on that fast? Was everything we shared just nothing to you?” There was a sad tone to the way he speaks, if you knew better, you'd probably believe him.
But this is Gojo Satoru and you're not taking any chances at being caught back in his web.
“Just- just go away please… we're done already. Please, please just go away.” You cannot stop your emotions from getting out. All you wanted was to go home and go on with your life, but this man had decided to ruin all that just for his own whims.
“I can't.”
Your blood runs cold at his declaration. You tried running faster, but unfortunately you're against the Gojo Satoru. A loud bang ruptured in the quiet night, and in your horror, you realize it's from a firearm, possibly a sniper.
“We promised forever.”
Gojo Satoru needs to have his own touch to things, so the maniac he is, hired snipers to scare you. It dawns on you, that only a powerful man like him can pull off something like this.
To someone like you, no less.
Stunned with the sudden sound, it gave much leeway for Satoru to catch up to you. He hugs you from behind, kissing the crown of your head while swaying both your bodies. His breaths are becoming more labored each time, as his hand — the one with the blade, slightly raises to your neck.
“We promised forever, so we'll go forever. You know I don't go back on my promises. We had so much planned and you just fucking left, you can't just do that, you cant, you can't, you can't…” Satoru sputters as he clings to you. You might be going crazy with all that's happening, but you think he's on the verge of crying.
Your mind is going blank. You have no clue how to get out of a situation where your deranged and powerful ex-boyfriend is relentlessly clinging to you while threatening you with weapons.
You don't know where things are headed, so on a last ditch effort, you whispered words that you're not sure you meant.
“Gojo… since nothing is getting through that head of yours and you're so hell-bent on threatening me like this… why not just do it? Do it, kill me, hide my body in a ditch somewhere and maybe you might be able to move on.”
You are so scared, so so scared. What could a man who's less than sane could do with those words?
Your fear increased tenfold when you felt him increase his grip on you. The hug he has you on is now painful, like he's trying to squeeze you until you spill your guts out.
And then you feel tears on your shoulder.
Tears…?
“No… nonono what went wrong? How can you say that? Is dying better than going back to me… you don't even call me Satoru anymore! Don't you love me?” He was now mindlessly prattling on. There were tears in his eyes that are now staring at you blown wide open.
“Ahh I can't kill you, I can't. I love you, I love you so much,” he said as turned his head to your ears, kissing and biting at your earlobes in between breaths. Suddenly he whispered again, “but I can kill for you.”
Your heart drops and you feel goosebumps on your skin. No way, no way he would do that right?
But then again, you knew all too well what kind of man you're involved with.
Satoru suddenly bursts out laughing, the sudden change in emotion makes you flinch. It's the kind that lasts what felt like so long, he was heaving by the time he was done.
“I only wanted them for the surprise factor, but I guess I can use them in other ways. So… darling since you're acting so stubborn, I’m gonna have to up the stakes here, each time you say no or disagree I’ll have one of my men shoot a passerby.”
Fuck.
“So, let me bring you to the car, go back to our home and we'll talk, yeah?”
You stand there, frozen. Gojo can kill, he will kill. He's untouchable by the system and he probably owns this entire area, CCTVs included. Your quiet response has Satoru in a smile, he drags your body back to a sports car he probably bought just for this occasion, the blade still painfully close to your neck.
For all his barbaric ways earlier, he actually brings you down to the plush seats gently. You also thought that maybe there's a driver and you'll feel less alone with the blue-eyed monster but to your disappointment, he sat down at the driver’s seat.
When the door closes, instead of starting the car, Satoru suddenly lunges at you, trapping your body. His teary eyes bore into you, his entire body trembling.
“I didn't like that darling, I can't stand the thought of losing you, you're mine. Whatever the problem is we'll fix it, I'll be good, I swear! And if you say you don't love me anymore…” His lips connect with yours, the kiss is rough, almost manic. You're losing your breath when he finally stops then continues,
“We'll fix that too, okay?”
[seraph's notes]: can you guys tell i like writing chasing and yearning scenes, i hope you can tell because there will be more=
jk u didn't hear that from me... or did you?
want more? check out the [database.] for other content!
Yandere Batfam pining over Bruce's reluctant darling—why are you so frightened? is it because Tim is cyberstalking you?
cw(s): trauma and trauma responses (Batfam), family dysfunction, and stalking
Yandere Batfam aren't subtle about their obsessive nature. They are already aware that you are cautious around them and have tried to leave several times, so what is the point in hiding it? Every unhealthy behavior of theirs stems from their trauma and vigilante status. They hope if they are more open about it, then you'll have more of a willingness to stay with them.
Vulnerability isn't exactly a word in any of their vocabularies.
So they are reaching out and showing you their true selves. You were going to figure it out eventually, and it would have only made you more skittish.
Come on. They aren't that bad.
Yandere Batfam just has a few unique quirks. They take away any semblance of privacy you had. Whether it be stalking in the flesh or on the internet. Both a set of cameras and eyes are always trained on you.
They see it as a way to appease both of your anxious natures. They get to know you're safe. They get to learn more about you so they can better please you. You get—them.
You never have to worry about anything ever again!
Yandere Batfam makes sure to give both you and Bruce time 'alone'. They hate that word, especially Damien. What do you mean by alone time? It's asinine. You have managed all their attention and affection poorly thus far! Giving you more time away from them all is only going to decrease your ability to love them all. Which Damien is fine with, as long as your ability to love him doesn't wane even a point of a percentage.
With that in mind, they all know you were Bruce's first. If you aren't comfortable with him, then how are you going to be comfortable with the rest of them?
So they give you that illusion of you simply dating Bruce. He works on wooing you. He tries to.
He doesn't know how to react when you suddenly shut down from his advances. When you pull away from his touch, all he can feel is hurt. A type of hurt that exceeds any he has ever felt. It's like multiple knives twisting into his heart while his soul is crying out in anguish.
He still tries. He gives you your space and little by little breaks down those walls of yours. In return, you end up doing the same with him. He doesn't even realize how much he loves you until you're absent from his presence, even if only for a mere moment.
Yandere Batfam end up learning how hard it is to share. Bruce is the head of the family, so it feels natural to allow him the largest sum of your time. However, how do they split the rest of it? How much time is too much time with you? Who goes first? (Damien insists it should be Dick and then him.)
They could always ask you, but you seem hesitant enough when just asked base-level questions about yourself.
So it's often a hot topic between all of them. If you are closer to one family member than another, the other's are instantly jealous and try to copy the tactics of that member. They'll even go as far as to abuse their power in the familial hierarchy to give themselves a disadvantage.
(Jason really doesn't give a single fuck about schedules. So you'll most likely see the most of him second to Bruce. He is mostly silent in the time he spends with you. He's just content to be in your presence, even if it is farther away than he would like.)
Yandere Batfam aren't going to strip you of your freedoms, yet. You're like a fawn just learning to walk. They can't have you running. You'll get yourself hurt. You can't protect yourself.
Bruce just wants you to love him like you did when you first met him. He's still that same man, albeit a bit more stalkerish. His family is still the same bunch of loving idiots, just more obsessive.
So please join them before their patience runs dry. If you push yourself too far away, then they suddenly won't care if you have any reluctance towards them or their methods.
Self aware Tim is going to hack into another universe's earth internet just to pester us about fandom and game theories and unwittingly kink shame (praise?) us. God save us all if he finds the secret Tumblr blogs. An online stalker that you can't block or find or reach.
— Silly Reader
Kink praising is his kink !
After all, you're his everything. Why would he shame you for who you are? Why would you shame yourself?
Sorry, is he being too nosey again? It isn't his fault per say. He's cut his patrols just a little and now he has some extra time to (stalk) talk with you! He just wants to know everything.
He's a curious guy. And he loves pleasing his partners! He's really the perfect choice. He promises.
Now what do you prefer in a partner?
I mean, the both of you can get over the whole 'he's not real in your universe' thing, together. Obviously he is real. He's (stalking-obsessed, no, shit .ᐟ) interested in you. He has hacked through multidimensional wavelengths for you.
Why can't you just give him a little bit more? He's given you everything. He has been your entertainment. Now it's time for you to be his... but like in a cutesy romcom way! You do like those... don't you? (He's totally not noting that down for later.)
And Tumblr.com. It's his new favorite website because you are on it!
Who says he didn't hack into this account and respond to this ask just for you? Guess you'll never know. And a little birdie definitely will not !!! tell you.
*ahem* Excuse me queen, I thi k you dropped something: 👑
Hi! ^^ I seek your permission to ask for a request. How would the lost boys react to a female vampire s/o that has a lot of fruit bat traits and qualities? They don't drink blood, they drink from like (mainly) apples and other fruits. Sometimes she would hang upside dowm with them on the bar but she would normally be her or nest most of the time or some small spot she found the cave walls and sleep there. Lol how would deal with her like asking them to bring apples to the cave or how would they react to her secretly stashing in her apples in random small cave walls? :3
Gracias ♡♡ Bye! :D
OH MY GOD this is so cute. And I literally just saw vampire bat/fruit bat GFs art the other day ahhhhh
At first, they don’t believe you. Like, how could you NOT survive on blood??? Fruit??????? What’s that??????????
It’s blood, junk food, or NOTHIN
But then when you show them that you can transform into something (kinda) similar to how they look when they vamp out, they’re super curious
What kind of fruits do you like?
(Apples, bananas, avocados, nectar/honey, etc)
…do they also like those fruits?
(They do not)
Well, can you still drink blood..?
(No, not really, and the though kind of grosses you out tbh)
…well then what CAN you do?
You can fly, just like them. Even further, actually, because your stamina is incredible.
You can roost upside down, just like them, although you enjoy making your own little area off to the side.
You can see great in the dark, and you have just as keen a sense of smell as them…maybe even better, actually, because you can actually sniff out fruit stands while they’re more focused on the scent of blood.
After you move into the cave with them, you find that you enjoy their company. Fruit bats are very social, and you’re no exception! Even if you don’t sleep all snuggled up with them during the day, there’s plenty of time to snuggle at night
There’s also plenty of time to fill the cave with flowers that you enjoy taking care of
David has no idea where you keep getting more plants but he keeps waking up surrounded by MORE AND MORE
the cave isn’t really the ideal spot for gardening, though, since most of it doesn’t receive much sun, so you can’t just grow your own food
Buuuuut you can definitely ask the boys to help you find fruit!
Paul would love it, because it would be like a game for him to bring back as much as possible
Marko would get competitive with him
Dwayne would just enjoy helping you out and taking care of you 😌
David would scoff and complain and pretend he’s ABOVE gathering fruit when he SHOULD be ripping humans apart, but he secretly enjoys taking care of you, too
When he notices the way you keep stashing apples in nooks and crannies all over the cave, though, he starts wondering if they SHOULD just make you go get your own so you have less of a surplus because Jesus Christ that’s a lot of fruit
He thinks it’s super cute though and would never tell you to quit
A completed series about what happens when you fall into the lost boys universe after going to see it on Halloween night during a full moon...
Warnings: Major character death (described), ptsd/trauma, suicidal ideation, canon-typical violence/harassment, description of child violence, cursing, etc
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27
SUMMARY: You tried to run away from your kidnapper lover but your attempt failed and now you have to face the consequences of your actions. Problem is, how will your beloved yandere react to it and what are the punishments that lie ahead for you?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: We had the Volturi guards and now, we'll have the Cullens! I guess, I'm in my active writing era for tumblr, so don't be surprised if I end up posting a whole lot more. It can be about Twilight or even other fandoms. I'll definitely be posting more for Miguel O'Hara too. Also, I was supposed to post this later on but it got put on queue and I didn't know how to put it out of the list, so I apologize if it seems a little rushed.
MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.
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EDWARD CULLEN aka THE MIND READER
He's a mind reader. That is the only thing you need to know about him to know that it's useless to even try to escape because Edward is already reading your mind to see the potential plans of your escape. He'll do everything to ensure you won't escape and if you managed to find a single hint that could bring your hopes up to do so, he'll immediately eliminate it by fixing the problem. If you had somehow— no one knows precisely how —managed to find an escape, then just know that he'll find you soon enough. Not even just because of his abilities as a vampire since he can easily track down your scent with them, but also because well— he can read your mind. Edward will know where you desperately want to go to and he'll know about the decisions that you'll make as you try to escape. So, good luck but it's practically impossible, unless you managed to outsmart him by thinking of some sort of distraction. But yeah, it's almost impossible because he's constantly reading your mind! Very nosy indeed for a vampire but even worse as a yandere vampire.
CARLISLE CULLEN aka THE DOCTOR
He would be disappointed. Carlisle isn't the type to get angry at people, but he would get disappointed in you when you try to run away because he thought you knew better than to do that. Honestly, out of everyone in the family, Carlisle is the yandere who gives the most freedom to his darling partner. Carlisle gives a lot of trust to you but after your attempt escape, which was most likely ruined because of another family member, he will definitely be keeping a closer eye on you. Carlisle will either give you a scolding after your escape or he will be quite silent while checking if you got any injuries while being outside. The latter is actually scarier than the first because it's unusual for Carlisle to be giving you the silent treatment and it would mean that he would be more cautious and give you less freedom from then on. However, instead of immediately locking you up in the house after your attempt escape, Carlisle will show you all the reasons to keep you in the house. It could be by showing you the wounds and deaths caused by a rogue vampire or even just by bringing you to the hospital to show you the potential wounds you could get by being outside.
ALICE CULLEN aka THE PSYCHIC
Same situation as Edward. She's a psychic. Alice can easily check through her gift when you feel even the slightest want to go against her. She'll immediately fix the problem and spend more time with you and be much more attentive too. However, if you decide to rebel against her far too many times, she might just let you attempt an escape. Under her watchful eye, of course, since she doesn't want anything to happen to her precious darling but Alice is sure she can make an accident or two happen around you or maybe worsen your day with some horrible mannered humans to get you thinking that going outside and rebelling against her isn't worth it. She'll be faking her worries when you finally decide to come back home to her and she'll fuss all over your health. Alice might hide it from you but she is strategic and quite smart, especially when it concerne you. Your attempt had also given Alice a chance to guilt trip you into being her personal dress up doll. Not that you already weren't before, but things are certainly much smoother if you follow her order like a sweet darling right?
ROSALIE HALE-CULLEN aka THE BEAUTY
Rosalie would be scoffing at your attempt. She's definitely annoyed and angry at you, but she is also blaming herself for it. Rosalie should have known you would try to escape and she probably had a feeling on that as well, yet she still decided to trust her darling. You could say that she considered it as a test to see your loyalty to her, one in which you had failed horribly. After she has finally calmed down from her anger, which could take a few days, she will return to you with a sweet smile and continue treating you as her precious jewel like she usually does. Now, you can ignore her attempts to win you back over with her charms and even insult her for it, but do remember that Rosalie could be the sweetest person in the world towards her darling, constantly spoiling you with affection and cherishing you with her gentle words. Her actions causes you to be awfully conflicted about your want to escape because why would you want to get away from someone who loves you more than anything in the world? Your doubts could be added if you had terrible partners in the past.
JASPER HALE-CULLEN aka THE SOLDIER
Jasper will definitely be hurt. I mean, which yandere wouldn't feel hurt at some point if their darling tries to escape? But out of everyone, Jasper is the one who shows it the most. He's trying so hard to adjust for his darling on everything. He had made renovations to his home, specifically to accomodate to your taste and comfort. He had to endure more trainings to keep his blood thirst under control because he doesn't want to hurt you, and so much more. Jasper doesn't expect you to return anything, not even your affections since he understands he needs to earn it, but you attempting to escape is almost like you were dismissing all of his efforts in one go or even worse, you didn't give a shit about them in the first place and that was what probably hurted him the most. Jasper will probably get stricter with you after that. He had tried to be fair and tried to respect your space before and to be quite honest, he is the yandere who gives the most freedom to you after Carlisle. His only rule was for you to not leave him. But you had to break the rule and now, you'll pay for the consequences.
ESME CULLEN aka THE LOVER
Esme has the same reaction as Jasper. She's hurt but she is also confused as well. Esme is really patient and she understands that you needed time and space to adjust living in her house, your new and sudden home that was completely foreign to you, and she's trying hard to get you adjusted and be as comfortable as possible. Like Jasper, she's doing everything she can for your comfort but unlike Jasper, she expects your acceptance in return. It's not as if she is expecting it in a cruel type of way with the mindset that she's doing something for you, so you should do something for her. No, Esme is nothing like that. However, Esme made sure she was doing everything right and she expected for your relationship with her to go more smoothly, not for you to suddenly escape. Your failed escape made her think she did something wrong, but she's confused because she had done everything right so far. Esme never forced you to return your affections, she wanted to slowly earn it, which is why after your failed escape, she had a talk with you and asked you why you tried to leave. Esme knows that she's flawed but she wants to improve herself and do everything she can to fix the problem but in no world would she ever let you go.
EMMETT CULLEN aka THE JOKER
Emmett is silent. He was so fucking silent that it actually scared you more than if he got angry at you and he had never gotten angry at you either but it's probably much better than the silent treatment you're getting. No teasings or even some bad jokes. Heck, not even his cheesy pick up lines. Emmett still takes care of you and spend time with you during his silent treatment though. He still cooks meals for you and cuddles with you while watching a horror movie, which is actually his favourite activity to do with you, but he still didn't say a single word. And it was starting to get to you as well. You had no one else besides Emmett in the house, sometimes his "siblings" would visit, but they don't talk much with you and you were beginning to slowly grow insane from the lack of conversations. It didn't matter how long it took but after some time, you broke down and begged for Emmett to speak to you because if the silent treatment continued on, you were sure you would go completely insane. Emmett was surprised when you begged him but he was pleased as well. He was silent all this time in order to make him more tolerable to you, but Emmett also knew that he would eventually break you and hoped it would be enough to get you to want to talk to him.
Based on Christine by Stephen King
After your boyfriend's death, you're eager to sell his vintage Mustang. The car reminds you far too much of him and worse than that, it feels oddly alive. The only problem? Your dead boyfriend isn't ready to let go.
Tags: Male Yanderes x Fem Reader, Horror, Character Death, 12k words
Taglist: @mel-vaz
When your boyfriend died, you and Christine were the only witnesses.
All through his funeral, you kept thinking of ways to get rid of her. You were being paranoid and you knew it - she couldn't speak even if she wanted to. But having her around put you on edge, made you grit your teeth until your jaw ached.
After the wake, you approached your boyfriend's parents and asked if you could have her. They were pale and shaken, reeling from the suddeness of death just as much as from grief. His father nodded like a sleep walker, his voice older than his years.
"He would have wanted you to have her. She's yours."
His mother squeezed your shoulder. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear. Whatever his faults, my boy loved you. I know that."
You managed a smile, managed to thank them through the tears that were suddenly falling. But your mind was on Christine. Always on Christine.
You were the last to leave the funeral parlour. You tried to tell yourself it was a coincidence, but deep down you knew the truth. You were scared. Scared of Christine, scared of your too quiet townhouse, scared of the dreams that would come when you closed your eyes.
It was early evening and the streetlights were coming on in the narrow tree lined avenue outside the funeral parlour. When you stepped out, goosebumps crawled across your arms.
She was waiting for you.
Christine. Your boyfriend's 1969 Mustang, cherry red and entirely rebuilt.
She was directly under a streetlight and her paint gleamed. The light reflected off her windshield so you couldn't see inside, but for a second it seemed like someone was already sitting behind the wheel.
You squeezed your eyes shut. When you opened them, the shadow driver was gone.
Christine. For most of your relationship, you loved her just as much as your boyfriend did. She was a labour of love and you felt it every time you sat in her passenger seat.
But things were different now.
You walked towards her cautiously. It was ridiculous to be scared of a car, but you were.
When you opened the driver side door, you almost expected to see your boyfriend. Despite the funeral, the wake, the late morning call to please come and identify a body down at the morgue, you still expected to see him. Light green eyes looking up at you, half smile that was half teasing and half lecherous.
The seats were empty.
You slid behind the wheel, your breathing shaky. You almost never drove Christine. Not that your boyfriend didn't offer. It was just that you liked riding passenger - liked looking over and seeing your man with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, liked seeing the muscles flex in his forearm when he steered.
The car still smelled like him. That was the first thing you noticed. Despite being impounded for a week while the cops did forensics, despite the valet scrubbing and steaming the seats to get the blood out, it still smelled like him.
You rested your head against the steering wheel, closed your eyes and sobbed for the first time since the night you killed your boyfriend.
When you put Christine up for sale, the calls started coming in almost immediately. It wasn't surprising - she was in incredible shape, she ran like a dream, and her white leather upholstery was original.
At first, you thought you'd be able to sell her before the month was up. The buyers would look under the hood and whistle in admiration.
But something always changed when they took her for a test drive. You couldn't understand it - she would drive perfectly but by the time you got home, the buyers were almost always frowning at you, or worse - not looking at you at all.
No matter how fanatic they were at first, no one wanted Christine.
You dropped the price and then dropped it again, but still no takers. The car spent all winter in the garage. You'd turn her on to idle every few days, clean off any dust and check that the mice weren't nibbling at the wiring, but you never stuck around for long.
It hurt to leave her locked away - your boyfriend poured so much of himself into her - but it hurt even worse to drive her. Whenever you were behind the wheel, you could feel the gaping emptiness of the passenger seat, could still see the bloodstains.
It was on the first warm day of spring when someone finally bought her.
Colt Guilder called you when you were just about ready to give up on selling her. You were literally about to take down the ad when your phone rang. The voice on the other end was deep, with a slight southern drawl that immediately reminded you of your boyfriend.
"Can I come and take a look today? I wouldn't want to impose ma'am, but I'm in a hurry to see her before anyone else gets a chance to buy her."
Her. Even the older buyers didn't really call cars 'her' anymore.
"Sure. You can come by this afternoon."
You were sitting on the porch steps when he pulled up, a jug of iced tea and your novel abandoned next to you. He stepped out of his Jeep, a tall man in blue jeans and boots, and you felt your heart lurch. Something deep inside you told you that this was the man who would finally take her off your hands.
He smiled at you as he approached and for a second you wanted to warn him away. Wanted to tell him the truth about Christine.
"Howdy ma'am. I'm real happy you agreed to meet me so last minute."
You smiled at him and shook his hand and bit back the truth. Oh, how you would come to hate that decision.
When he pulled up, Colt wasn't expecting the Mustang's owner to be a pretty little thing in a sundress. He was a gentleman, his mama raised him right, but even he had trouble keeping his eyes on your face and not letting them wander lower.
His hand swallowed yours when he shook it and it was hard not to notice the softness of your skin. Whoever rebuilt the Mustang, it wasn't you. You had the hands of a lady, not a mechanic.
"The car is out back. Keys are waiting for you. She's been serviced pretty regularly and my... my boyfriend built her up himself."
You started for the garage and he fell into step behind you. You were so much shorter than him - it was kind of cute to see your head bobbing in front of him. Like a pixie in a sundress.
"How come your man ain't the one to sell it?"
He wasn't surprised you had a boyfriend. Hell, he'd have tried his luck if he could. No doubt other men had the same idea.
"He... he passed away a few moths ago."
He cringed. Nice going, Colt. Bringing up painful memories only three sentences into conversation. Must be a world record.
"I'm so sorry ma'am. I had no idea."
You shrugged. "It's fine."
He was about to say something else when Christine came into view. Her grille was a newly buffed silver and her deep red paint caught the spring sun.
He gave a low whistle. "Pictures don't do her justice."
You smiled at that, but edged out of the car's direct line of sight. Neither of you consciously noticed it, but you approached the car like you would an animal. Slightly from the side so it couldn't charge at you.
"Mind if I take a look under the hood?"
"Be my guest."
He popped the hood and let out another low whistle. Without even looking past the surface level stuff, it was clear your boyfriend knew how to build an engine. The Mustang looked almost new.
"How long did this take?"
You leaned against the garage door and crossed your arms.
"A long time. He bought her a few months after we started dating. She was gonna be scrapped - looked like a total rust bucket."
He raised his eyebrows. If that was true, the body restoration alone must have cost a fortune. Did you realise how valuable a vintage ride like this was worth?
"Y'know, just from looking under the hood, I can tell you could get at least three times as much as you're asking."
If his uncle heard him sabotaging himself like that, he'd have given Colt a whack on the head. Truth was, he wanted the car. Wanted her so bad he would have taken out three separate loans to afford her.
But he wasn't a monster. It wasn't fair to buy something so fine from a girl who might not understand its true worth.
You raised your brows, more surprised at his honesty than at his statement.
"I know she's worth more. But I'm in a hurry to get rid of her. And well..."
You looked away. "People find the car a bit strange."
It was his turn to be surprised. He couldn't see any red flags in her upkeep or her paintwork. Maybe it was a deeper issue.
You pushed yourself away from the wall and nodded at the door.
"Keys are waiting for you. Take her for a drive and decide for yourself."
The interior was just as well taken care of as he expected - a tough job when the upholstery was mostly white. The keys had a tag attached with a name engraved in metal.
"Christine?"
"It's what we call her. It was a joke at first but the name sort of stuck."
You slid into the passenger seat and tugged your seat belt across your chest. He glanced at you out the corner of his eye and -
'Silly thing, doesn't she know better than to get into a car with a stranger twice her size?'
He shook his head, like that could dislodge the idea. He wasn't that sort of man, wasn't some kind predator with a mind full of filth.
'It would be so easy. You're so much bigger than her, so much stronger. You want her. Why not just take what you want?'
Where the hell was this coming from? He might have a guilty thought every once in a while, but he was always quick to squash it down. It wasn't like him to think something so...forceful about a girl.
He turned the key and the engine roared to life. And it really was a roar. V8 engine growling so loud he could feel the vibration through the steering wheel.
Oh baby, he was sold on her right then and there. The devil himself couldn't have outbid him. What little boy didn't dream of a car like this? Didn't spend his childhood looking through magazines and brawling over matchbox versions?
The clutch was smooth as butter as he cruised down your driveway and turned onto the main road.
God, he wanted to gun it. Floor the gas and find out for himself just how powerful old school muscle was.
He looked over at you, about to ask if you knew exactly what your boyfriend did to the engine. You were looking out at the passing trees, your hair stirring in the slight breeze from his open window.
'She looks like she belongs here, with you.'
It was another foreign thought, something he wouldn't expect of himself. But it was true. The Mustang would have felt empty without you - in your sundress and white sneakers, you completed the picture. Your boyfriend must have rebuilt the car just for you, as a way to keep you next to him. Colt wasn't sure why he thought that, but somehow he knew it was true. Whoever your man was, he put so much of himself into this car that Colt almost felt like he was right next to the guy.
You turned to him, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress.
"What do you think?"
"She runs sweet as apple pie."
You felt your heart stutter. Your boyfriend used to say the exact same thing.
"You alright there sweetheart? You look a little pale."
"Sorry. Just a little car sick."
Car sick was right - you were sick to hell of this damn car and the way it played with your emotions.
"C'mon, I know a diner just off the highway. We can stop for some fresh air and a bite to eat. You'll feel better in no time."
You didn't have time to protest before he switched lanes and turned onto the highway.
The diner he took you to really was just off the highway, a retro looking spot railed off from a steep cliff.
"How did you know about this place?"
He shrugged. "I must have heard about it from someone."
Strange. Colt didn't think he'd ever seen the place before, much less heard about it. But when you looked at him with that slight hint of panic, that sudden fear, somehow he knew this was the place to bring you.
He climbed out and opened your door for you before you had a chance to do it yourself.
"You know this place?" he asked.
If anything, you looked even paler than before. "Yeah. My boyfriend and I used to come up here pretty often."
He frowned, annoyed at himself for somehow making this even worse. "We can go somewhere else if you want."
"No!" You took a deep breath. "No, this is fine. I just need a moment away from the car, that's all."
He led you to a picnic table near the edge of the cliff. Far below you, the main road clung to the cliffside and disappeared into the trees.
"You just sit pretty and I'll grab us some chow."
You smiled up at him. "Thanks Colt. Really. I know this is probably eating into your day."
He waved it away. "Trust me, this is a much better way to spend the weekend than what I had planned."
It was true. He'd wanted to see the car and somehow that turned into lunch with a pretty girl at a table with one hell of a view. Maybe Christine had some good luck about her. Maybe all of this was just meant to be.
When he stepped into the diner, he was greeted by jukebox country music and the smell of good, strong coffee. He didn't bother to look at the menu. Somehow, he knew exactly what to order.
"I'll have a banana spilt, some fries and a toasted sandwich." He smiled at the elderly waitress. "Please and thank you Agnes."
"Sure thing sugar."
He frowned. How the hell did he know the waitress's name?
Must have seen her name tag, right? That made sense. Must have been a half second, subconscious glance.
When she handed him his change, he dropped his eyes to her lapel. No name tag. No label. Not even a necklace with her initials on it.
It was a warm spring day but he still shivered. Something strange was going on.
No, don't be ridiculous. Agnes was a common name, a vintage diner kind of name. That was probably why he said it. His mind must have just made a lucky guess. There's no way he could know her name when he didn't even know about the diner until he pulled up.
Unless... it wasn't him that knew her name. Maybe it was someone else, something else speaking through him.
"C'mon Colt, don't be an idiot," he muttered to himself.
"You say something sugar?"
He jerked his head to the side, his heart lurching. Just the waitress, just Agnes, looking at him with raised brows.
"No ma'am. Just thinking out loud."
"Alrighty then. Here's your order. Be careful not to spill the chocolate sauce. It's hell to clean up."
"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am. Have a good day."
He was stupidly happy to step out of the restaurant. The place must have been getting to him. Why else was he suddenly so superstitious?
"You doing okay Colt?" you asked.
He grinned at you. "Just dandy sweetheart. I got you a banana split and some French fries."
"Oh! That's perfect, thank you."
See? Nothing strange at all. He had a sweet ride and a sweeter girl waiting for him. Why worry about some weird diner?
He sat down across from you and unwrapped his sandwich. Behind you, Christine looked at him with a shining chrome smile.
"Listen, you can get a whole lot more for a car that fine. But if you're willing to let her go for the price in the ad, I'll buy her today," he said.
You froze, a fry halfway to your mouth. He really wanted her? He wasn't coming up with some lame excuse or hurrying off with a mumbled apology?
"Done," you said, a bit too quickly.
You were finally getting rid of Christine. No more nightmares, no more tip toeing around the garage like you were scared she might notice you, no more unwanted memories every time you laid eyes on her.
You were burying your past like it should have been buried on the day of your boyfriend's funeral.
He offered you his hand and you shook it, a genuine smile on your face.
"She's all yours." And thank God for that.
Colt drove you home and followed you into the house to collect the car registration papers.
You frowned at your empty desk drawer. You could have sworn you left the documents right here...
You popped your head into the living room where Colt was waiting.
"Give me a second. I think I left them upstairs."
"Sure. I'm in no hurry."
He wandered around your living room while you were gone, too keyed up to sit still. It was a neat, modern room with art on the walls. The big bay windows opened onto the front yard and the driveway where Christine sat waiting for him.
Part of him still couldn't believe it. She really was his dream car. The sort of ride all his work buddies would be green with envy over.
He leaned against the windowsil and then quickly looked down when his hand brushed something metallic.
Picture frames, the small kind that usually sat on a desk. He picked one up, the frame cool against his skin. It was a picture of you and someone he guessed to be your boyfriend. Both of you were in formal wear - you in a deep red evening gown and him in a tailored tux. Christine was parked in the background, her red a compliment to your dress.
Your boyfriend was handsome in a rough cut sort of way, his hair swept back and a tattoo just peeking out of his shirt. He was looking directly at the camera while you looked up at him, his arm curled tightly around your waist.
Colt frowned. There was something about the man's expression... a kind of possessive meanness. He seemed the type of guy to start a fight and then finish it no matter what, a real tough customer.
And the way he held you... some might call it loving but Colt found it more proprietary than anything else.
'Mine. My girl, no matter what. Try and take her from me and I'll show you a world of hurt.'
Colt put the picture down with a frown and scanned the others. Out hiking on the mountains, at the beach, holding a huge bouquet while he kissed you. A perfect couple except... except for the way he looked at you. Sweet, yes. But somehow dangerous, in the way rattlesnakes and cougars were. Fine if they weren't disturbed, but tread on their territory and there'd be hell to pay.
He moved away when he heard you coming down the stairs. You were a little flushed, a little out of breath, but you grinned at him and waved a stack of papers.
"Finally found them! Just need to sign the change of ownership forms and she's all yours."
He watched you as you searched for a pen, your sundress swishing 'round your thighs. He didn't like your boyfriend - dead or not, he seemed like one mean bastard - but seeing you so happy, so flushed with life and hope and joy, Colt found he could almost understand the other man. If you were his girl, he'd hold you just as tight.
You finally found a pen and he scribbled his signature on the dotted line.
"Well, seems like you're the proud new owner of a 1969 Ford Mustang. Congratulations."
He carefully took the papers from you, his fingers brushing yours. "Real good doing business with you sweetheart."
You lead him out to the car, going through the list of things he'd need to do to properly register the car as his. Real cute of you, to think he didn't know it all already.
He slid into the driver's seat and when he touched the wheel, he felt that same sense of power. And under it, a strange feeling of being not quiet alone in the car.
You stood outside his window, running through a catalogue of spares and repairs that he might want to check out. If he had to guess, you seemed nervous.
He leaned back and smiled at you. "It's alright y/n. I ain't changing my mind. Deals done, remember?"
It was the first time using your name and it sent a small bolt of electricity jolting through him.
'Her name is mighty sweet, ain't it? Meant to be said oh so softly, meant to be savoured.'
You looked at him like you felt it too, your cheeks just a little warmer than before.
Oh Lord, what sort of bastard was he? Feeling this way about you when your boyfriend was in the ground for scarcely half a year? You were probably still mourning, still nursing your broken heart. He should be a gentleman and leave you alone, shouldn't take advantage of your vulnerability. He should be a good man.
'You'd be an idiot to let her go.'
The thought streaked through his mind. It almost didn't feel like his own idea. Wherever the thought came from, it wasn't wrong. He really would be an idiot to not ask you out when he had a chance. He got lucky with the car - prize piece like this would have been snatched up in a matter of hours. If he didn't ask you out, if he didn't push his luck for the second time, the same thing might happen with you.
"How 'bout I take you out to dinner later this week? As a thank you."
You looked unsure, your eyes jumping down to the car keys like you were expecting an objection.
"Please? I know Christine must mean a lot to you. I'd feel a whole lot better taking her off your hands if I could thank you properly."
You bit your lower lip and he found his eyes drawn to the sight of it. Please say yes please say-
"Yes, I think I'd like that. But no later than eight, okay?"
YES! He rubbed a palm across his jaw to hide his smile.
"I'll bring you home early, promise."
"I'll hold you to that, cowboy."
Oh god, he wanted to melt when you called him that. It was so silly - big guy like him getting butterflies over a sort-of kind-of date.
'Atta boy. You ain't gonna regret it.'
He was too distracted watching you walk away to realise the thought wasn't his own.
That night, you slept without dreaming. For the first time since your boyfriend's death, you didn't see his face when you closed your eyes.
You woke up the next morning expecting to be relieved. Christine was gone, wasn't that exactly what you wanted?
Yes, but...but what happens next? You weren't an idiot nor were you unduly superstitious, but Christine didn't feel like a normal car. Maybe that's what happens after a violent death - things change, the blood seeps through the fabric and poisons the aura, or the energy, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it.
You made yourself breakfast but couldn't eat more than a few bites.
Okay, try and be logical. It was probably just your guilt playing tricks on you. You loved Christine and you loved your boyfriend, so it was only natural that you'd feel terrible about selling her. That's all. Blood and death can't change the nature of an inanimate object, no matter how violent or grisly it might have been.
Right. Just your guilty conscience. No need to work yourself up.
Across town, Colt slept through his alarm. He was dreaming, a sweet little fantasy of cruising down the highway on a brilliant summer day. You were next to him, your sundress even shorter than before, smiling at him and running your hand up his thigh.
You were his girl. His and his alone. He could feel the certainty of it in every part of him. You loved him, you stood by him, you did everything you could to support him, you were his.
Christine purred through her gears and he pushed the gas a little more, eager to get home. He would show you exactly how much he appreciated you - inch by inch and kiss by kiss.
"I love you darlin'. I need you to know that," he said. His voice didn't sound like his own. It was raspier, with an edge of meanness that not even love could soften.
You looked at him, smiling all soft and sweet. "I know. I've always known."
Colt jerked awake, smiling and shivering at the same time. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, disoriented and feeling like a stranger in his own body.
"One hell of a dream," he muttered.
'Not a dream cowboy. A memory from someone long dead.'
He ignored the thought, his mind already focused on the day ahead. He'd driven Christine home yesterday, but left his Jeep parked outside your house. He could either get one of his buddies pick it up or take a taxi over and get it himself.
Was it even a choice? He wanted to see you again. If he had to pay an ungodly amount for an Uber, he would.
Should he call you before showing up at your door? What would be a good time to see you? He didn't want to show up too late and catch you in a rush to leave.
'She'll be awake by now. But she'll only leave for work after twelve.'
How did he know that? Did you mention it yesterday?
He climbed out of bed and half stumbled to the bathroom. As the steam clouded up the mirror, he thought of his dream. And what might have happened if he'd stayed asleep longer. Maybe your hand would wander further up his thigh, and then...
He lathered up his fist and took hold of himself. He was already hard from just the thought of you. Your sundress looked so damn flimsy. He could probably yank it off you with just one hand.
He groaned, his forehead pressed against the tile. Picturing your hand dwarfed by his when you shook on the sale; how soft your skin was, how good it would feel if you touched him just like this.
'Fucking yourself like a dog at the thought of her.'
He agreed. You really were turning him into a dog.
You were sitting in your living room, trying and failing to read your novel, when he knocked on your front window. You struggled to smooth down your hair while you scrambled for the door.
"Hi Colt! Came to pick up your Jeep?"
He was wearing blue jeans again today, with a tight wife beater that showed off arms thick with muscle.
"Yes ma'am. Thought I'd stop by and see if you needed anything."
That made you smile. How often does someone go out of their way to check up on a stranger?
"I don't think so. But I've got some fresh orange juice and donuts, if you'd like to come in."
He smiled at you and for a second his gaze dipped down past your chin. "There's nothing I'd like better."
He took up a lot of space at your kitchen table, but you found it comforting. The room felt too big without your boyfriend to fill it.
You flipped open the box of donuts and he picked out the mint chocolate one.
"Never really liked the mint ones," he told you, "But I've got an awful craving for one right now."
"Oh I never liked them much either. It was my boyfriend who was the die-hard mint fan."
He looked away from you, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It must be hard for you. Losing him so suddenly."
"It was. It is. Everyone keeps telling me it gets easier, but it hasn't. Up until last night, I dreamt about him everynight."
"Dreamt of him?" he asked you suddenly, his eyes intense.
"Yep. Every single night. It was like I was reliving my memories again and again."
He looked a bit perturbed at your statement, but you put it down to him feeling awkward about the conversation. Death is never a fun or casual topic.
"So how's Christine treating you?"
"Like a dream. I was thinking of taking her down the coast next weekend. All open road and sea air." He paused, seeming to weigh something up in his mind. "Why don't you join me? The morning after I take you out to dinner. We can pack a picnic and have lunch at the cape."
"That sounds incredible." You looked down at your hands, slightly uneasy but not sure why. Your boyfriend spoke about doing that once. A mini road trip with the windows down and the sea breeze in your hair.
It's not that strange that Colt had the same idea, right? Everyone knew the coast road was a long, quiet stretch. Perfect for putting Christine to the test.
"You're gonna love it," he said. "I'll even make my world famous tiramisu."
You raised a brow. "You know how to make tiramisu?" Big guy like him didn't really seem the patisserie type. Did he have a cute apron with bows on it too?
He pointed his donut at you, blue eyes twinkling. "Not just any tiramisu. World famous."
You snorted out a laugh and for the first time in months, you kitchen felt like a happy place.
He dreamt about you again that night. Christine was parked in a dark corner on the edge of a cliffside hiking trail. He could hear waves crashing far below. It was nighttime, with the full moon outlining your face in silver and shadow.
He was in the driver's seat and you were straddling his lap. You were wearing a sweater and a cute pleated skirt that seemed oh so short with the way you leaned over him.
"You've been ignoring me," you accused him. You were pouting in an adorably petulant way. He looked at your lips - red and slightly swollen - and knew that he'd just been kissing you.
"I haven't been ignorin' you sugar. I've just been busy."
He spoke with that same raspy voice that somehow wasn't his.
"Too busy to say hello or drop by for dinner?"
You shifted in his lap and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning. Oh, you damn tease.
"I'm filthy and tired after work sweetheart. You wouldn't want me."
You frowned, going from slightly annoyed to full blown angry.
"I always want you, you idiot. I'm not scared of a few stains. I like it when you come home smelling like the workshop. I like it when you're dirty from work." You tugged at his collar. "I like you. Why don't you get that?"
'Because you're too good for me.' He almost said it. It was on the tip of his tongue and it was only some dull instinct that kept him quiet. How couldn't you see it? You were everything he wasn't. You were educated and kind and selfless. He was just some bastard from the wrong side of the tracks.
He wanted to impress you. He wanted to be worthy of you. Fixing up the Mustang was just the start of it. He didn't care that it took him all summer and pretty much all of his pay cheque to do. He wanted a ride that he would be proud to pick you up in.
And it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing ever felt like enough.
He looked away from you and stayed silent.
You sighed and brought your palms up to his cheeks, gently turned his face back to yours. "I like you. I'm dating you. I want to spend time with you, no matter how grouchy you are. Okay?"
He should be a gentleman and let you go, shouldn't take advantage of your kindness. He should be a good man.
"Okay," he said and leaned forward to kiss you.
He wasn't a good man. He wasn't a gentleman. He was going to hold onto you for as long as he could.
Colt woke up with a snarl, slamming his fist on his alarm so hard the clock face cracked.
"I didn't want it to end, goddammit."
He rubbed his hand over his face. The dream felt so real. He could feel the late fall chill, could smell your shampoo and taste your cherry lip gloss. He wanted to go right back to sleep and fall back into that wonderful fantasy.
He scowled and threw the covers off. Dreams could wait, work couldn't.
All through the day he was snappish and irritable. One of the apprentices messed up an order and he snarled at them to stop being so fucking useless and fix it. His coworkers shot each other looks behind his back. He was behaving entirely out of character but both him and his buddies were helpless to stop it. It was only when he got home at the end of his shift that he realised why.
He wanted to dream about you again.
There wasn't any guarantee that he would. Dreams weren't exactly scheduled network programming. But somehow he knew it would happen.
He ended up going to bed before eight, a world record for someone who usually only considered sleeping when it was well past midnight.
He was right. He did dream of you.
You were in a bikini this time, lounging on a lawn chair in the backyard. You had sunglasses on and there was a slight sheen of baby oil on your skin. Your phone was on shuffle and pop music was blaring from the speakers.
You weren't expecting him and he kept his steps real quiet as he approached you. He kept expecting you to hear him and shoot up, and he was slightly annoyed when you didn't. What if he was a serial killer or some sick pervert, sneaking up on you while you were so vulnerable? Did you have no spatial awareness?
He made it all the way to the back of your chair and you were still totally oblivious. There was a magazine and a glass of ice tea on a small table next to you. You were softly humming along to the music.
He took a minute to just admire you. Your body stretched out and entirely at his mercy. His girl, his gorgeous girl.
He leaned down until his lips were right next to your ear.
"Hey there sugar. You miss me?"
You shot up with a shriek, your sunglasses flying. You whirled on him, grabbing your magazine like thirty pages of glossy Cosmo was going to help you fight off an attacker.
Your eyes narrowed when you recognised him and you smacked his chest, hard.
"You asshole! You gave me a heart attack!"
He couldn't help but smirk at the sight of you so riled up.
"You're lucky it was me and not someone else. Not everyone has such noble intentions."
"Yeah right. Was it your noble intention to scare the living daylights out of me?"
He held up his palms in a placating gesture. "Just teachin' you a lesson sweetheart. I was standing there for a good few minutes and you didn't notice a damn thing."
He cast a critical eye across your backyard. "I reckon some high wooden fencing would do the trick. 'Bout seven feet high, sunken flowerbeds on either side like trenches to make it even harder to get a leg up."
"I don't want a fence."
He ignored you, already mentally calculating how much lumber he'd need. "A nice light coloured wood. Pine maybe. Will match your house much better."
You sat back down, the fight draining out of you as your adrenaline dissipated. "What are you doing here? Did you get off work early?"
He narrowed his eyes but you didn't seem to notice. "Why? Don't want me around?"
That shocked you enough that you twisted around in your chair to look at him.
"Of course I want you around! Don't ever imply otherwise. This is a lovely surprise." You paused. "Near heart attack aside of course."
It was funny how easily you could calm him down. One sentence was all it took to get him smiling again. He leaned forward and hooked one finger under the strap of your bikini top.
"I haven't seen this one before. New?"
You blushed and looked down. "Mm-hmm."
"It's cute. But..."
You glanced up at him, suddenly self conscious. "But what?"
He grinned wolfishly. "But...you would look so much better without it."
He tugged at the bow holding your top up. The strings unravelled and fell down your back. The bra cups started to slip down too, and his eyes were glued to their steady fall.
He was going to teach you a whole 'nother lesson about wearing such a skimpy outfit where anyone could see you. Show you exactly what sick, twisted bastards would do to your body. Teach you a lesson you won't forget, so maybe, just maybe... you'd learn to be more cautious around men like him.
Colt woke up with a hunger like death. His cock so hard it was actually throbbing. He didn't feel well rested, despite having slept more than he had in two weeks.
It played over and over again in his mind. The strings unravelling, your bikini top sliding off... Always stopping right at the good part, the part he most wanted to see.
He got ready for the day with a savage efficiency. Bolting back his protein shake without even tasting it. He didn't realise it, but he'd started counting down the days until he could see you again. Just two more days. Two more nights of dreams and then you'd be there in the flesh and he could finally - finally what? He shook his head to clear away the dirty thoughts that were crowding him.
He was being a real bastard. Thinking about you, dreaming about you, when he had no right to. You hadn't shown any romantic or physical interest in him. You were clearly still grieving your man. He needed to get himself under control - what you needed in your life was a friend, not another man to obsess over you.
He forced himself to take a cold shower. Forced himself to avoid thinking about you. And to especially avoid thinking about the you from his dream.
'Good luck with that buddy. I used to be so tired I was falling asleep on my feet and I still couldn't get her out of my head.'
Work was thankfully busy that day and he threw himself into it with every feverish ounce of energy he had. Whenever his thoughts wandered towards you, he would find something else to do. He didn't eat anything at all and he didn't even notice getting hungry. He took on an extra shift and finished long after the sun went down, his muscles a hurting mess and his head not much better.
Christine was the last car left in the parking lot, sitting under a streetlight like she was waiting for him. He found his steps unintentionally getting slower the closer he came to her.
In the dark and lonely emptiness of the parking lot, she didn't feel like a normal car. If anything, she seemed to be watching him. Her headlights like eyes and her grille a silvery gash of a smile.
If he had to guess, he'd say the car was almost unhappy with him.
"Because I'm thinking about her?" He asked as he climbed behind the wheel. Immediately, he felt stupid and superstitious for talking out loud.
'Because you aren't thinking about her.'
He'd driven Christine to work the last few days despite not wanting to cause unnecessary wear and tear. Being in the car, driving it, was still a thrill.
Not tonight though.
He felt on edge, wanting to get out as soon as possible. She purred to life with the same thrumming power as always but his throat was tight with a nervousness he couldn't explain.
The inside of the car was suffocatingly quiet. He turned on the radio and old school rock 'n roll poured out.
'Just the sort of thing her boyfriend used to listen to,' he thought to himself. And then he laughed a stuttering, barking sort of laugh because there was no logical way he could have known that.
'Take it easy big guy. You and I are just gonna cruise. That's all.'
A nice cruise. Yeah, that sounded good. Calm his nerves, get rid of the nameless dread that was building all day. He relaxed into his seat, the streetlights crawling past in a hypnotic line of bright and dark.
He didn't notice when the radio dial moved on its own and the station changed from rock 'n roll to country. The singer sounded awfully familiar. His voice a kind of husky rasp. He was singing about his girl, his pretty woman, and he was singing about the grave and he was singing about the dark that waited.
'Oh,' he thought to himself dully, 'That's the voice I keep hearing in my dreams.'
When he finally reached home, it was two in the morning and the petrol gauge showed an empty tank. He'd somehow driven enough to eat through a full tank of gas. A drive that should have taken twenty minutes took five hours.
He got out of the car on legs that felt numb and cold. He couldn't remember driving. He couldn't remember the strange music or the even stranger passenger that rode with him. In his mind, there existed the clear cut memory of leaving work and climbing into Christine. Then there was nothing but a long, grey blankness that was tinged with a muted terror.
He collapsed into bed still in his work clothes. By morning, his mind would have stitched over all those things too terrible to contemplate. He would wake up feeling groggy and confused, and probably put it down to the strain of a long day.
Colt slept after driving with the dead and didn't dream.
On the day before your date, he found an engagement ring under the passenger side carpet.
He had no reason to look there, no reason to pull the carpet up by its seams. But he did it anyway and his reward was a silver and diamond band with blood dried in the crevices. There was an engraving on the inside and he had to take it out into the sun to try and read it.
'Mine. Forever and always.'
He shivered despite standing in the bright midmorming sun. Most rings would say 'yours' instead of 'mine.' He had no doubt that the change was entirely intentional. Your boyfriend was staking his claim on you - not just with the ring but with the intention behind it.
He looked at the brownish red stains and knew in his heart they were blood. Your boyfriend's blood.
Colt didn't know how the man died, but looking at the ring, he felt sure that it was bloody and far from natural. How would a blood stained ring end up in Christine? If the guy had been in accident sure. But the car was in perfect condition. The ring shouldn't have been there.
Unless he was murdered. Soaked in blood and tossed around during the struggle, the ring probably got pushed under the seam of the carpet. It was a sealed off spot and even a forensics team might miss something that small.
It was an outlandish and macabre theory to be basing entirely off one mysterious engagement ring. If he stopped to think about it, he would no doubt be able to poke a dozen separate holes into his theory.
Somehow, he knew it was true. The same way he suddenly knew Christine wasn't just an ordinary car and that his dreams about you were far from natural.
He felt a queer prickling all across his nape. He wasn't the type to scare easily, but this... This frightened him. He didn't feel alone anymore. He felt like if he looked up at the rear view mirror, he'd see someone in the back seat. No, not just someone. He'd see the dead man who owned the car before him.
He'd see the man who wanted to marry you.
He sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to let it out slowly. He wasn't a superstitious man. He didn't let fancies of ghosts and ghouls affect him. But even he couldn't deny the way he felt. His gut was telling him something was terribly, terribly wrong.
He climbed out of Christine like a man scared of waking a sleeping bear. He didn't even bother to grab the keys.
He couldn't explain any of it. Not the dreams, not the thoughts that felt like someone else, not the prickling certainty that a man died right where he'd been sitting.
He got into his his Jeep and pulled out of the driveway, his eyes on Christine the entire time. Like she'd somehow roar to life and slam into him.
He didn't know where he was driving to until he parked. A bar across town, a real rough spot that on most days even he wouldn't want to stop at. But today wasn't like most days.
The place was dark and the folk sitting around weren't exactly the friendly sort. He settled at the bar and ordered a tequila without really thinking about it.
Funny. He used to hate tequila.
It went down like fire, and he shuddered. He wanted to laugh. What else was a mam supposed to drink when the world didn't make a lick of sense anymore?
"Give me another one." His voice was raspier somehow. Even though that never happened when he drank vodka or whiskey.
There were mirrored shelves opposite him and he caught sight of his eyes. A pale green. He tossed back his second shot and tried to tell himself it was just a trick of the light.
He wasn't sure who to talk to. Not the Sheriff's Office. Yeah officer, there was a man murdered in my car and now I can't stop dreaming about his girlfriend didn't exactly scream unimpeachable sobriety.
And not the pastor either. Father, I'm being haunted by filthy thoughts and I'm not sure if they're my own. He doubted the old man at his mother's church was qualified to deal with that sort of thing.
But he couldn't keep quiet either. He had to tell someone about it. If they called him crazy at least it was an acknowledgement. At least it was better than being dead drunk and being scared of his own eyes in the mirror.
Who could possibly know anything about it? Oh. Of course.
He fumbled his phone out of his pocket and almost threw it across the room when it wouldn't turn on. He charged it every night, goddammit.
"There a pay phone somewhere 'round here?" he asked the bartender.
The man jerked his face at the side door that lead to the back parking lot. Colt stumbled out - swaying on his feet far worse than two drinks should warrant.
It was late afternoon. He shaded his eyes and tried looked at the sun like it was deliberately lying to him. He arrived at midday and he couldn't have been in there for more than twenty minutes. How the hell was it this late?
'Time moves differently when you're dead cowboy. You should know that by now.'
The payphone was in the shadow of the bar and he shivered when he stepped out of the sun. Wrong. It was all wrong and he didn't know how to fix it. Why was the voice still in his head when Christine was all the way across town? Why did he still feel life he wasn't quiet alone?
It was only when he had the receiver up against his ear that he realised he didn't know your number. Shit.
He leaned his forearm against the payphone and rested his forehead against it. Could he maybe get a taxi and show up at your house? He scoffed. Yeah, that would go well. Showing up dead drunk just to say he knew you liked short skirts in fall and that he dreamed of pulling off your bikini top. He'd be lucky if you only mildly tazed him.
Fuck. Okay. Home again. Sleep it off. Charge his phone. Call you in the morning and try not to sound too crazy. He could manage that.
He called the taxi company listed in the phone book. Half wondering if they were still in operation. When it finally connected, the call was thick with static.
"Yeah?" The man's voice was raspy and standoffish.
"Can I get a cab at Ronnie's on Westside?"
The man laughed. "Oh you must be a real tough customer to be drinking there. Didn't think you'd have the balls cowboy."
Colt wanted to cuss him out. What kind of fucker answers the phone and insults you less than two sentences in? He squeezed the receiver until he felt he could control his voice.
"Yeah. I'm a real mean guy. So can I get my cab or not?"
"Oh, I'll send you a ride alright." There was a mocking tilt to his voice. "Best fucking ride you'll ever take. Just sit pretty. You'll know when it's for you."
The skin on the back of his neck crawled. He hung up without another word.
The streetlights were coming on and the gold of sunset was giving way to the awful in-between greyness of twilight. He waited for his ride.
You came home to find flowers on your doorstep. A bouquet of white roses. You froze. There was only one man who sent you flowers and he was cold and dead for the better part of a year.
You picked the card up by the edge and flicked it open.
Hope you didn't forget our date. See you soon dollface.
-Colt
Oh. You laughed, ridiculously relieved. Of course.
Dinner tomorrow night with the cowboy. You took the roses inside and hunted around for a vase. Was it actually a date? He'd said it was a thank you dinner, but it wouldn't hurt to dress up a little. Do your makeup a bit fancy, maybe wear your new heels. It'd been months since you'd gone out, had a nice dinner with a friend. This could be good for you. Just one more step back into normalcy.
The clouds were starting to gather and as evening came on, they broke with a shudder of thunder.
You curled up on your couch, all the lights on. It was going to be a bad storm. The first really awful one in almost half a year. You tried not to, but it got you thinking about that night. The night your boyfriend proposed to you. The night you killed him.
You closed your eyes and tried not to see it, but the memories followed you even past the darkness. You couldn't run from them for long.
It was cold outside, rain drumming on Christine's roof. Sharp, constant. Your boyfriend was in the driver's seat, buckling his belt. A lazy, satisfied smirk on his face.
You liked it when he looked at you like that. Satisfied. Mellow. It never lasted long, but in the few minutes after fucking you, he would agree to just about anything.
"I'm drunk on you baby," he'd said once. "Heads all woozy. Would do anything for you. Fucking anything."
Christine's windows were all fogged up, and you traced little hearts on the glass. To be honest, you felt a little drunk on him too. Heart still pounding, head reeling. Cunt still fluttering and full. He was so good at reading you, at fucking you just how you needed it. No man before him could make you come so hard, or do it so easy.
"I got something to ask you, baby."
You turned to him, hand reaching out for his and pulling it into your lap.
"Yes?"
He rubbed a thumb across your knuckles. He wasn't looking at your face, just down at your interlinked hands.
"You're my girl, yeah?"
"Obviously. I love you."
"And you ain't going to leave me?"
"Never."
He sighed. Managed to raise his eyes to meet yours. You weren't used to seeing him nervous. Usually he'd just bull doze his way through a conversation, not stopping until he got what he wanted. This was...new. It made a whole new crop of butterflies start up in your stomach.
"Will you marry me?"
You froze. What? Where was this coming from? You loved him. You cared about him. But marriage? That was such a big step. Such a grown up thing.
"I've got money put away. And Christine. I can put a deposit down on a house by the end of the month. Can pay for a nice wedding too. All white and frilly, like you want."
"I..."
"You don't got to worry 'bout your student loans neither. We can pay 'em off a whole lot faster if we're together. You can even go back to school if you want. Get that second degree you're always talking about."
"I...can't."
You pulled your hands away from his. Looked away from him.
"I love you. I really do. But it's too...much. We're too young. I... I just don't want to rush into things and make a mistake."
He was quiet. Awfully, dangerously quiet. His hand was still in your lap and you could feel when he clenched it into a fist.
"Is there another man?"
"What?"
You whirled to face him, suddenly angry. How could he even suggest...
"I haven't touched another man since the day you asked me out."
He wasn't smiling anymore. His green eyes were narrowed, mean.
"Who are you fucking? Which bastard is it? Huh?"
"No one! There's no one else. I just don't want to get married and make a -"
"Mistake? You think I'm a fucking mistake?"
You flinched. His voice was even louder in the closeness of the car. It made your ears throb.
His fist uncurled and he grabbed your hand, hard. Yanked you towards him so your upper body was sprawled across the gear shift.
"Was it a mistake to fuck me? A mistake to say you loved me?"
"No! That's not what I-"
He cut you off with a hand around your throat.
"You want to leave me. That it? You're going to fucking leave me?"
You pulled at his fingers with your free hand but it was useless. His grip was getting tighter the angrier he got. Your head felt all swollen, your nose and throat burning.
"Please just -"
"No! No fucking please. No changing your mind at the last minute. You ain't gonna be my girl? Ain't gonna be my wife?"
He pulled you towards his face, his lips barely brushing yours.
"If you won't be mine, then you'll just have to fucking die. It's me or no one else, baby. I told you that, all those months ago."
You scrambled for some way to get loose, but you were in an awkward position and he had all the leverage.
"I fucking warned you. I told you that if you dated me you couldn't ever leave. I knew I was going to fall in love with you. Hell, I was half in love before you even said hello. I tried. But you just didn't listen, did you?"
Your hand brushed something cold and metallic in the centre console. His switch blade. He usually kept it in his back pocket to help with work. Oh, and he kept it sharp. You grabbed it, more on instinct than anything else.
Your head was pounding and your heartbeat was pulsing in your ears. But the rain was somehow worse. Falling so loud you thought you'd never get the sound out of your head.
You tried to plead with him again, reason, beg, whatever it took. But when you tried to speak he just closed his fist even tighter and your words died in your throat with a shudder.
Oh god, he was really going to do it. He's eyes were wild, mad with something beyond reason. He'd seen reason in the rearview mirror about a hundred miles ago and now he was headed straight down the highway of fucking insanity.
How? How could the man you loved be choking the breath out of you?
Because he loves you. Because he'd rather see you dead than lose you. Because you were too damn blind with love to notice how dangerous he is.
White starbursts bloomed across your vision. Little fireworks to celebrate your brain dying.
You stabbed him.
You didn't fully mean to. You were half mad with fear, half dead in his grip. Not sure what you were doing until you felt the blood.
The switchblade sunk straight into his neck.
You didn't even pull it out. Just left it there and scrambled back when his grip on you loosened, your chest heaving. You throat and eyes and nose all felt swollen. Your lungs burned like fire.
He reached up and touched his neck. Looked down at his fingers like he couldn't believe the blood was his.
You might have tried to save him then. Might have come to your senses and called the ambulance, might have stripped off your shirt and tried to stop the bleeding.
But a knife in his throat apparently wasn't enough to stop him. He looked at you and there wasn't anything rational left in him. He reached for you again, hands curled like claws. He was dying and all he wanted to do was take you with him.
You screamed. So loud that it made your own ears ring.
You grabbed the knife and pulled. You didn't realise it was acting like a stopper until his blood splashed on you. Hot, stinking of metal. It sprayed across your face, got into your mouth and nose, soaked the whole front of your shirt.
You scrambled for the door handle and fell backwards out of the Mustang. Landed on your ass and pushed yourself away.
He was halfway over the passenger seat by then, hands still reaching, mouth pulled into an ugly snarl.
You kicked the door shut.
It slammed with a bang and mercifully blocked him from view. Your turned onto your knees, pushed yourself to your feet and ran.
The rain was coming down so fast that it stung your skin. You didn't rightly know where you were going. Only that it was away.
You still don't know how you made it home. You were a twenty minute drive away and it was too dark to see more than three feet in front of you. Must have been luck. Must have been fate.
When you got home, you were shaking so hard you couldn't even open the door for a good five minutes.
You stripped off your clothes right there on the doorstep and threw them in the trash. Switch blade too. You don't know how you managed to hold onto it during that wild, reckless run.
You took a long shower. Sat under the hot water with your knees curled to your chest. Too scared to cry.
At some point, the better part of your brain must have taken over. You vaguely remember burning the bloodstained clothes. Remember taking a drive and throwing the bleached switchblade out the window.
And when the call came a few days later, to please come down and identify a body, you were calm enough to not give yourself away.
If it was anyone else, maybe the cops would have tried harder. But your boyfriend was a rough man from the rough side of town. They gave you looks of sympathy but shook their heads behind your back.
Guy like him had it coming.
When it was all said and done, you and Christine were the only ones who knew the truth.
Colt waited all evening for a cab that never came. And when the storm started, he was annoyed enough to consider driving home on his own. He'd only had two shots. And that was a few hours ago. He'd be fine. Folk got away with worse all the time.
He left the bar with his jacket over his head and his eyes darting down the road. The rain was sheeting and he had to scramble to make it to his Jeep without getting totally soaked.
Wet and hungry and still a little drunk, Christine didn't seem like quite so big an issue. He was just jumping at ghosts. Tequila got his thoughts all twisted up, that's all.
Driving was miserable. Even with his headlights on bright and his wipers cranked all the way up, he was having real trouble seeing the road. The yellow line was the only thing he could properly rely on.
When the headlights showed up behind him, it took him a while to notice them getting closer.
"Guy's got a death wish, driving so fast in this weather."
The driver behind him was gaining quickly. Colt expected them to try and overtake, but they didn't. Just got closer and closer. A car's length away. And then half. And then almost kissing his bumper.
"Why is this dude so up my ass?"
He hit the gas, but the guy behind him didn't care. Just picked up and kept coming. Revved it a little and Colt could hear the engine even through the rain. Some kind of muscle car. A loud, growling thing.
Almost like a...Mustang.
His whole back suddenly felt icy. It couldn't be. Christine was back home, keys still in the ignition. Even if someone did steal her, why the fuck would they track him down? Must be another muscle car, with some ego tripping asshole behind the wheel.
He told himself all that and more, but his foot pressed harder on the gas.
And still the Mustang kept coming.
The speedometer crept upwards. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty.
Too fast for the narrow roads, and sure as hell too fast for a rainy night like this one.
A curve was coming up soon, the road ringed off with guard rails. He could see the reflectors glinting orange at him. Shit.
He took it wide, drifting into the opposite lane. He could feel his tires slipping a little and he hit the breaks just enough to steady the Jeep.
The Mustang didn't have any trouble with the curve. Stayed in its lane and gained a little more speed, so that when they were straight again, its hood was in line with his trunk.
Good. Maybe now the fucker would finally overtake him.
He couldn't see the car clearly. The headlights were bouncing right off his side mirrors. He couldn't even make out the silhouette of the driver.
Screech.
The Mustang's hood scraped against the side of his Jeep. The whole car lurched to the side, tires slipping.
"Fuck!"
Colt gunned it again, trying to out race the mad man. But whoever was behind him had no intention of letting that happen. They kept pace with him, blocking him from getting back in his lane.
Lightning flashed and Colt looked in the mirror just in time to see the car properly.
The thunder was loud enough to drown out his scream.
The car trying to run him off the road was none other than the 1969 cherry red Mustang that should have been sitting in his yard. Maybe he could have accepted it as a coincidence. Someone else had the exact same car as him and just happened to be driving like an asshole. Maybe he could have accepted that.
But the car didn't have a driver.
He saw it clear as day. The lightning glared straight through all the windows and there wasn't a single person in that car.
Impossible. This can't be real. There's no fucking way.
He could almost hear the laugh.
'Do I got you scared cowboy?'
Colt didn't have time to answer. The road was merging into the cliffside, and the wall of rock kept him trapped. There were lights coming straight at him, the blaring of a horn as whoever it was tried to warn him.
He slammed hard on the brakes. Christine shot ahead and at the last second he managed to edge back into his lane. The headlights roared past, the huge semi exhaling a spray of water and smoke.
It would have flattened him, even in his Jeep.
Christine's tail lights were a pair of glaring red eyes in the rain, until suddenly they weren't. Gone.
Colt slowed the Jeep, parked on the shoulder.
The rain was drumming on the roof and his hands were shaking. He got out of the car, water soaking through his shirt almost immediately.
The paint on the back door was scratched off in huge swathes. The metal was dented.
He climbed back behind the wheel, mind teetering on the edge of something past sanity. The world wasn't sane anymore. Nothing was.
He heard the growl of the Mustang through the rain. No headlights this time, just the whine of tires on slick tar.
Where?! Where was she?!
Christine slammed into the Jeep head on. All Colt saw was her red face and silver smile in the glare of his headlights before his whole world was filled with the grinding of steel on steel. His head slammed backwards, the whole car shuddering.
The airbags came on, blinding him.
Christine didn't stop after hitting him. He yanked the hand break up but she kept pushing forward, edging his car closer and closer to the edge. He felt it when the guard rail scratched against his bumper.
An ugly scream of metal, but the rails held. Christine didn't seem to like that. She pulled back, her tires shrieking as she got ready to slam forward again.
Colt jumped just before she hit the Jeep. His seat belt was almost the death of him. It wouldn't release and he couldn't see the catch in the dark. He must have had at least one lucky star though, because the door wasn't too mangled and he managed to kick it open just in time.
He landed hard, on his hands and knees.
Metal shrieked. Christine slammed into the Jeep hard enough to send it through the rails. He turned just in time to see his car go tilting off the road and down into the dark.
For a second, he thought he might have made it. Maybe she didn't notice him. Maybe it was all over.
Christine pulled back and her headlights washed over him, still on his hands and knees. One of the lights was hanging loose from the crash, making her look lopsided. The rain was still coming down hard and the droplets were gold in the light between them.
She revved.
Colt scrambled to his feet and ran straight for the guard rail. He jumped.
It wasn't a sheer drop. It was instead a steep slope, thick with shale and slippery with water. His knees buckled under him and he ended up on his back, half rolling and half sliding down the embankment. His palms were bleeding and as he fell, the gravel lodged itself in his open skin.
He couldn't see where he was headed. Could only try and and protect his head and brace for impact.
His slide ended with a boulder. He slammed into it his ribs first. Heard a crack before all the air was knocked straight out of him.
He could see the headlights way up above him, cutting through the rain.
At least she can't follow me down here.
True. Christine couldn't follow him.
But that's when Colt saw him. The driver. Coming to stand in front of the headlights, the silhouette of a man.
The silhouette stepped through the gash in the railing left by the Jeep and dropped out of the light.
Colt knew he should run. He could hear the shale slipping as the other man came down. Controlled. Measured. Nothing like his own tumble.
But he couldn't move. Everything hurt. Breathing sent sharp spikes of pain all across his chest.
"Well, well cowboy. Look at you."
The voice was low and raspy, mean. He knew that voice. Had been hearing it in his head and in his dreams and was fool enough to think it was his own.
His eyes were getting used to the dark. He could just about see the stranger. Tall, wearing jeans and a leather jacket. There was dirt thick on his boots, in the folds of his clothes. Not the black shale of the slope, but a reddish clay.
Kind of like in the cemetery.
No, he realised as the stranger squated down in front of him. Exactly like the cemetery. It was grave dirt he was seeing.
He was looking at a dead man.
The stranger might have been handsome once, but now one cheek was filled with holes. Ugly, clustered together things that showed his teeth. His other cheek was a mass of white. Worms, tiny little worms wriggling in and out of his face.
Colt wanted to scream. And vomit. And then scream some more.
There was a dark hole in the stranger's neck and when he moved it oozed a sticky, thick kind of blood.
"You know why I'm here?"
Colt didn't really notice it at first, but his voice was different. Thicker somehow. Like his vocal cords were packed full of dirt and blood.
Colt coughed and his whole chest hurt so bad he thought he was dying. Something was definitely broken. He'd be lucky if there wasn't internal bleeding too.
"Let me guess. Came to punish me for my sins?"
The dead man laughed.
"Not yours, no. Don't give much of a damn about you. I'm here to get what's mine."
The pieces were clicking together in his head.
"Your girl."
"My girl," your boyfriend agreed.
He reached for him, the nails on his hand either blue or totally ripped off. His skin filled with holes that showed pale white tendons and ugly pink flesh.
That was when the adrenaline really kicked in. Colt shoved at the man with one hand and pushed himself up with the other. It was like touching a carcass at the butcher. Cold. Limp. Just a piece of meat. No human should ever have to feel a body in that state.
He made it to his knees before the bastard hit back. Your boyfriend kicked straight at his jaw and Colt's head flew backward, smashed into the rock behind him. He dropped back down like a stone.
"Why you gotta be so fucking difficult, hmm?"
Colt was too out of it to pull away. The man reached for him and the skin of his hand was crawling with bugs. He grabbed his collar and dragged him up.
"Just gonna go to sleep for a little while cowboy. Maybe you'll wake up. Maybe you won't. Either way, I've waited too fucking long to let this chance go."
The corpse kissed him. Or more accurately, pressed his open lips against his and breathed.
His lips were cold and stiff and utterly beyond human. The taste was rancid. Worse than the worst thing he'd ever had. Metallic like blood, sweet like rotted meat.
Colt fainted.
The rain drummed down. Christine sat on the roadside and waited, her hood and paintwork back to normal. In bed, you tossed and turned in the hands of a nightmare.
The thing that was Colt Guilder opened its eyes.
It was your phone that woke you up. Your ringtone blasting even through your dreams.
You fumbled for it, eyes squinted against the brightness.
"Hello?"
The call was thick with static. Still, you recognised the voice. Would know it even from beyond the grave.
If Homelander found out you got all hot and bothered just from him TALKING to you, he'd never leave you alone. You can kiss peaceful days of working for Vought goodbye! ;D
Homelander finding out his voice reduces you to a puddle of goo would mean…
sneaking up behind you to ask what you're working on. his favorite is when your hair is pulled up so that he can see the goosebumps he gives you on your neck.
no more emails. he insists that all of your correspondences be via phonecall. he especially enjoys watching you through the walls, squirming at his voice in your ear when you think he can't see you.
elevator rides become so much more fun. nothing delights him more than the way your pulse jumps when you see his gloved hand catch the elevator door just before it closes. he loves engaging you in small talk here, where it's closed in, intimate. he's talking about the weather in a causal, honied voice while your heart is racing. it's music to his ears.
he loves gossiping with you. he overhears all the juiciest stories, after all. his favorite method is ambushing you in an empty hall, leaning against the wall to block your path, looming over you with that thousand watt smile of his. he leans close to purr right in your ear all about the scandalous gossip on floor 63. he relishes in the way you flush when he tells you that the manager of operations is fucking his secretary.
you might think the torment would come to an end after he asks you out, and the two of you begin dating... but you're wrong. that was him being tame. once you're officially his? that's when the truly exquisite torture begins.
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