#inappropriate ...uh... everything really?

[whatamess]

Just a quick reminder that this is a thing that happened, and it remains one of the most fucking magical things I have ever seen. 

[happi-dreams]

friends … mutuals …….. the jury….. would i be icarus flying too close to the sun to call myself … the number ONE?? special spaceshipper?

[iamsoclone]

I Do It All For You

꒷꒦pairing꒦꒷ serial killer!Gojo x detective fem!reader

꒷꒦cw꒦꒷ NSFW, 18+ MDNI—(oh boy, here we go) modern AU, angst and smut and despair, explicit sexual content, graphic depictions of death and torture, so much blood (it's messy), moral quandaries, mentions of sexual assault, stalking, abduction, drugging, plotting & betrayal, heavy on the dub-con, mind fucking/breaking, choking (out hehe), slapping, knife play, (very) inappropriate use of firearms, dirty talk (threats count as dirty talk right?), 'make it fit' trope (big dick nerd mmm), fingering, face fucking, unprotected piv sex, creampie, sex with a dead body in the room, p0rn with a dose of murderous plot, obsessive and possessive and very yandere nerd gojo, he's a walking red flag and reader is kind of a freak as usual.

꒷꒦summary꒦꒷ the nerd in forensics has always been on your radar. everything about him is too crafted to be genuine. so you've always got your eye on gojo. the same can be said for him, but he’s just watching your back! you have a nasty habit of getting stalked by people who definitely aren't him. but it's mutually beneficial. you don't get murdered by the scorned, ex-con stalkers you've put away, and gojo gets another killer to bleed dry. you really are perfect for each other. but things are going off the rails this time around, and you finally see gojo for what he truly is. maybe you should have stopped looking so hard, but it's too late for maybe now.

꒷꒦a/n꒦꒷ this got out of hand so fast wow, but Dexter and Gojo? i couldn't stop, so now this is fat and absolutely filthy. it's still kinktober tho, right?┃art in the header by @/savoryjump on insta, dividers by @/cafekitsune, @/anitalerina, and @/sister-lucifer ꒷꒦w/c꒦꒷ 17.5k (holy shit, i swear its worth it T_T)

All the usual familiar faces greeted Gojo as he strolled out from the elevator, a box in one hand and a sugary coffee in a to-go cup from the cafe just down the block.

He flashed a smile, crooked and charming and with a few more teeth than typical for him at 8 AM, but he couldn’t help it. Gojo was in a great mood. How could he not be? He not only did the department a huge favor last night, but Tokyo as a whole.

“Good morning, Gojo!” A freshly promoted officer greeted him, wide-eyed and eager. Her uniform pressed, bright blue hair tied back in a neat ponytail, and a folder in hand as she walked through the open glass doors. “The lab had the results ready for that hair sample. I brought it up with me, figured I could save you the trip down!” She held the folder up in one hand with a smile as she kept pace with him.

Gojo glanced her way as he stopped to let a few people grab a pastry from the pastel pink box in his hand. They greeted him with distracted murmurs, eyeing the box for a favorite. 

She was a new face around the department, and Gojo was already a little poor at keeping track of names. It’s one of the few things that made him both feel a little more human, and somehow even more removed from normalcy. It was a flaw, one of many, but in a different way than most of his. He should remember names; being remembered makes people feel a personal connection, like they matter. It disarms them. 

When Gojo smiled at her, he made sure it reached his eyes, coming off warmer and more genuine that way. “That was very thoughtful of you, thank you. But, uh,” He glanced up towards the desks, a few still empty with officers and detectives off duty or having not arrived yet, and gestured to one with the hand holding his coffee. “I’m not the one to do any favors for. That’s who you should probably be grabbing paperwork for.” 

Right on time—no, you'd have been there for at least an hour if he gauged the time by how your desk was littered with folders and a few open boxes. Your head propped up on one hand as your eyes darted up and down from your monitor to a page. Maybe you pulled another all-nighter, you were in different clothes, but they were already rumpled like you’d been in that fitted button-down for a few hours already. Critical and sharp eyes a little tired. But that’s how it always was when you were on the precipice of a break, especially on a case as big as the one he knew you were working on.

“The sergeant?” Officer whats-her-face asked, looking from you to Gojo again. “She didn’t want any help, I already asked.” She said sheepishly, and Gojo’s smile got a little wider.

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” 

You grabbed a mug off your desk and took a sip, eyes glued to the screen for a long moment with the ceramic pressed to your lips. After taking in the same two sentences on the witness statement over and over until they blurred, you blinked, broke from the screen, and locked eyes with Gojo.

As if it's a reflex your body made the very moment you registered his presence; your eyes narrowed and your grip tightened on the mug. You looked him up and down fully, not an ounce of shame or hesitation in your sweeping gaze. You weren’t checking him out though; you were putting him under a microscope.

Like you could see the blood still on his hands, spattered on his face, and dripping from his hair if you looked hard enough. Like maybe he’d finally crack under the weight, and a piece of his mask would fall away if you cut through him with piercing eyes.

It happened every day, at the same time, no matter what, Gojo Satoru walked into your department with an effortless air of confidence surrounding him. There was always a smile on his face, sometimes it was small and seemed a little tired, his eyes distant, like his head was stuck somewhere else. Some days, he walked in like he was a fucking god. Wearing a smug grin like he’d won the ultimate prize in life, his unnaturally bright blue eyes satisfied and easy. 

Always wearing some lame ass button down, untucked like he couldn’t be bothered. Sometimes—like today—he’d grace the collar with a loosely knotted tie. Looking like a university student showing up to their first job interview, an attempt at professionalism that missed the mark and landed somewhere in nerdy frat boy cosplaying a salaryman. His platinum hair pushed back a little, just a few strands falling back down on his forehead like he didn’t use product to hold it. 

He was messy in a way that came off as endearing. Like he was just the nerd in forensics, appearances weren’t important, so he threw whatever on and stopped at the bakery down the block for assorted pastries that definitely were just random, it was chance that he somehow got everyone’s favorite treat every time. 

He really was so likable too, maybe that’s what really pissed you off the most. He was generally nice, helpful, and smart—one of the best in his field. He was funny, and thoughtful, a little goofy, but it balanced out because he was infuriatingly good looking on top of it all. 

You outranked him, but you were tilting your head back to make eye contact when he gave you a briefing at a crime scene. You’ve had to snap yourself out of it and yank your eyes off him when he rolled the sleeves of his shirt up over forearms roped with a little too much muscle for a nerd and flexed long fingers into blue latex gloves.

It was all a little too effortless for him; he was crafted in a way that seemed literal. Like the pieces of him were put together to disarm, to appease, and fit in, and keep people from pulling back a curtain and looking any deeper.

But you clocked it a long time ago. It seemed like overcompensation, and you started digging, especially when you were promoted to sergeant, and that’s when you saw the first crack.

Gojo had a habit of engaging in extracurricular activities. 

A few hair samples here, a blood analysis there, print matching galore, and none of it tied to a case number.

When you confronted him about it, he covered so quickly and perfectly, all you could hear was a hammer cracking down the final nail in his coffin. 

"Blah blah blah, data to support the arguments in a collaboration piece for a geeky magazine, it’s probably not your thing but it’ll be out in a few weeks if you really want to read it. You interested? Seems like it.” 

It was the perfect mix of authenticity and teasing, a perfect explanation delivered with a smirk at the end that twisted the spotlight back onto you instead. Like you’d only be interested in one thing, and it didn’t involve advancements in DNA testing.

You’d crossed your arms, looked down your nose at him, and told him to notify you before putting lab work through without a case number, and if it happened again, you’d write him up for it. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He winked with a mocking salute, like he loved it. Loved the way your nostrils flared at his insubordination and your glare at his smile that feigned innocence on the surface to hide something monstrous and sadistic lurking just beneath. 

You could see it, though, and from then on, you had your eye on him.

Gojo nodded your way, smiling like he wanted your eyes on him, like he enjoyed having your sights set on him, the challenge of being in your crosshairs and getting away with it.

He strolled right up to your desk with a, “Morning, sarge!” You leaned back in your chair, your eyes staying trained on his through his thick prescription lenses, the black frames low on the bridge of his nose. “I think they threw your favorite in again, want something glazed to start the day?” He said slyly as he offered out the box, but he knew you’d decline, you always did.

“No, what I really want is the full report on the head hunter vic from yesterday.” You responded flatly, your mouth set in a hard straight line. Your eyes flicked behind him. “Kasumi, you’re coming with Nanami and I to verify the statement from the witness yesterday, something isn’t right here.” You murmured, gesturing vaguely at your screen.

“Yes ma’am! When do you want to leave?” The blue haired girl immediately jumped to action, coming up beside Gojo to address you. 

“Help Gojo with his paperwork and then we’ll leave, his hands look a little full.” You looked right at him, the words curt and clipped and he grinned right back.

“Awe, thanks sarge, always so thoughtful.” Gojo's head cocked. Your eyes narrowed.

“Mm.”

“Good luck with your witness.” His smile grew by a fraction and your eyes flitted over his frame quickly once, cataloguing every bit of him before he nodded again, and turned to head to his lab. The new officer followed behind, file in hand.

The witness wouldn’t lead anywhere. None of your efforts would ever lead anywhere, not after last night.

The latest victim's head was the last trophy that sick freak would be taking. In a twist of something that Satoru likes to quantify as justice or maybe karmic retribution, but was really just Satoru making things a little more personal for the guy, a cleaver glinted as he pulled it from his kit, and hacked the killers own stuttering head off.

Who’s a fucking trophy now?

But his work is hardly over, it never is. The satisfaction only lasts for so long before hunger comes creeping back in. It all works out though because once again, and all thanks to you and your pretty face that can never keep out of trouble, tonight's the night.

A long moment passed within which you burned holes into Gojo’s back as he wound around the other desks, in absolutely no rush as he chatted around with others setting up for the day. Offering out the box of confections like he was fucking Santa Claus or some shit.

He could feel your eyes glued to him, and it just made him drag it all out more. He couldn’t help but like that you paid so much attention to him, because it just proved that he really was the best at what he did. Having you watching his every move and still getting away with it?

God damn, Gojo was good.

“You’re staring,” Nanami’s murmur yanked your attention off of Gojo as he and Kasumi moved on and headed to the lab set to the rear of the department floor. You glanced sidelong at your partner, his arms crossed, biceps straining at the blue cotton weave of his dress shirt. “It’s not polite.”

You scoffed, “Just keeping tabs on the department. Are you ready to go? Kasumi is coming with once she’s done in the geek hole.” 

“Mhm, do you really think it’s worth it to redo the witness statement?” Nanami cocked his head, and you swiveled your chair a little to face him. “She seemed quite frazzled yesterday. I doubt it’ll be much different now.”

“We have to try,” You sighed, “But even if we just clean it up and get a consistent statement out of her, it’s worth it. Everything has to be perfect to nail this guy, you know that.” The chair squeaked as you leaned forward. “I’m not letting that L’Oréal ad of a defense lawyer fuck this up because of an inconsistency if that hair sample doesn’t pan out.”

“You’re right, but don’t let this consume you. You won’t be any help running on shitty coffee and konbini food instead of sleep.” Nanami raised a brow, his soft hazel eyes studying your face, the rings under your eyes that you know have deepened after an almost full 24 hours at the precinct. “You sacrifice too much on cases like this.”

“We’re so close. DNA and a witness? The perp is getting sloppy; this is our shot to catch up and finally nail the sick fuck.” Nanami visibly tensed, a slight grimace passing over his features. It’s been almost a full year of finding body after body, once beautiful young women violated and left posed with their hands splayed out where their heads used to be, a polaroid of their sleeping faces where the real thing once was. The heads of each never recovered. 

“It can’t happen again. I can’t see another one like that, Kento, it’s just… you know.” You swallowed hard, and your shoulders slumped. Not defeat, you’d never accept that, just… tired. Tired of the same scene and little to nothing to show for it.

“I know.” Nanami said softly. His hands dropped, one went to a pocket of his grey slacks, the other thumbing the edge of a file on your desk. He cleared his throat, and changed the topic. “Are you thinking she lied? The witness.” 

“It’s more likely that she wasn’t thinking straight, but it’s not out of the question. Why though?” You hummed, taking a breath. “I’m not sure.”

“Coercion?”

“From the perp?” Your brow furrowed, and you hummed low again. “Why would he have even left her alive? If she saw identifying features, it’d make more sense to kill her, and he’s definitely not the type to show mercy.”

“Maybe it’s to throw us off,” Nanami countered, pushing your gears to start turning harder. “Lead us on some goose chase with a mismatched description.”

“Like… maybe he’s trying to set someone up?” Your jaw worked, and you stole a glance at the window to the lab. “We’ve never found DNA, and now we find a hair? Shit.”

“You think it’s all just for a setup?”

Your chair screeched back, and you practically leaped from your seat. “What if he’s trying to make a getaway? It’s all way too coincidental.” 

“Kasumi!” You called, storming off towards the lab, gaining a few turned heads. “Hustle up, we’re leaving!” Nanami groaned, slinging his jacket over an arm and following towards the lab. You threw a look over your shoulder at him. “Oh, what? She’s just doddling now, we have shit to do.” 

“You need some sleep, you’re doing that thing again.”

“What are you talking about? What thing?”

“The one where volume control goes out the window.”

The second statement from your witness turned up nothing new, as you had kind of expected, but you noticed something off about her this time around. She was nervous. Her story was straighter this time around, and she cleaned up details about the events, rescinding contradictory bits and pieces until the statement was airtight.

She was treating it almost like an alibi. Like there was something to prove. It just didn’t sit right with you, but she was a witness, not a suspect. Sure, you could have brought her back to the station and set her in an interrogation room and grilled her with Nanami until something came of it, but you had a feeling that nothing would come of it besides a burst of tears and a firm reminder about proper witness treatment from the inspector.

It was the last thing you needed, so you gave a slight bow, and left. Going around in circles with Nanami in the car, Kasumi surprised you a little by chiming in nervously every so often from the back. She was new, inexperienced, but getting fresh and eager eyes on tired information never hurts. 

But again, as expected, nothing new really came of it. Just that the shift from uncertainty about the features on the figure she saw to absolution, seemed suspicious. But then again, the shock of seeing a dead body—a headless one at that—makes much aside from that difficult to remember. Maybe she was just recalling things more clearly now with time given to get thoughts together. 

Maybe you were looking for loose threads to pull where none had come free. But then again, that’s what made you good at your job. And maybe sometimes a little much.

Fuck, you hated this shit sometimes. There really was no winning.

Back at the precinct, Nanami told you he’d deal with the inspector, and to go home. You didn’t have the energy to argue, not much at least. So, you tidied up your desk a little and told him you’d be back after a shower and a catnap, and to make sure the geeks had a match on the hair sample by the time you got back. 

As you grabbed a couple folders to take home for some light reading, your eyes gravitated towards the lab. Window unobscured with the blinds up, you saw Gojo working away at something involving the high-powered microscope. The lights dimmed slightly, and the bluish glow from his monitor cast a hue over his pale, defined features. Platinum hair shone silver, pushed back and held up by his glasses. 

He frowned at whatever he was observing, slim pale brows upturned. He pulled back, biting his lip a little and studying the slide under the microscope like it would give him more information if he scrutinized it with eyes whose blue you swore could only be found on butterflies or flowers or tropical ocean waters. 

Even his appearance was an enigma to you. But the perplexed look made him look kind of normal. Like even the perfect boy-wonder Gojo Satoru could be mystified by something. 

You're hard on him. Maybe, just maybe, sometimes a little too hard. Sure, he was a weirdo, and he set off the feeling in your gut that only screamed at you when you were in the vicinity of something dangerous. But he'd never done anything solidly wrong. Just gave you glimpses of things that could glint at something more sinister, but you never saw that.

You've been looking for something, chasing something, that you had no hard proof existed. Maybe all that darkness you felt emanating from him, hanging around him like a cloud, maybe it was all just like… depression, or something. You’d been there before, hiding behind a mask to keep up appearances. Hell, you were feeling something similar now. 

The bodies lately, the sobbing families, mothers who had to be told they'd outlive their daughters. Daughters who had whole, beautiful lives ahead of them, stolen by some psychopath who collected pretty faces framed by dark hair.

You'd been doing that a lot lately. Second-guessing yourself and your instincts. There had been too many cases like this one, where it just went on for too long. Some of them solved, the killers brought down and served up on a silver scale to the judicial system to lay down proper punishment. Something you felt could be harsher based on the horrors you've witnessed, but didn't contest because what else could you do? You'd done your job.

Some of them though, they haunted you. The killing stopped, the MO never picked up again, and it was like the killers just… vanished. You were grateful for that at least, but it meant they moved on. Got away with it, and were maybe even in another prefecture to play boogeyman there.

Your gut was usually bang on, but you've been wrong before. Maybe, just maybe, could you be wrong about Gojo?

The man in the lab rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, pinching the bridge of his nose before pulling his glasses back down to sit there, and looking up through the window. 

You didn't look away; you met his immense blue gaze head-on just as you always did.

He smiled with a few too many teeth, waved once, and winked at you. Long pale lashes brushing a high cheekbone in a single flick that set your teeth on edge. It screamed, ‘I know something you don't.’

Nah.

There was something seriously wrong with this motherfucker.

The files dropped to your desk with a soft thud, and you marched toward the lab. 

Gojo traded out the scrap of fabric under his microscope for a clear, flat slide with a print, and tucked the scrap in a drawer. He hit two keys on his computer, the monitor switched quickly to the DLC database, the page set to a window waiting for scanned print information to be input. Just in time for you to fling the door open without knocking.

“Hey, sarge. How'd it go with that witness?” Gojo asked as you stood in the doorway, crossing your arms under your chest. Practically squishing your tits together and shoving them in his face. Cleavage peeked from the buttons undone on your shirt, but Gojo was a perfect gentleman and kept his eyes on yours.

You ignored his question and asked your own instead. Your eyes narrowed and already unimpressed as you looked him over, sitting hands in his lap. “Did you pull any matches from that hair sample?” 

“It'll be hard, I know, but try to contain yourself.” Gojo grinned, turning slightly to snatch up a folder off a pile beside his monitor. “I not only got a match, but the guy is a real piece of work too.” You swiped it right out of his hand as he turned back to you, frowning as you flipped the front open to look for yourself. “Got sentenced to fifteen years on two counts of aggravated assault, rape, and abduction. The girls survived, but they matched the descriptions for the head hunter victims. Guess he escalated things once he got out of prison.”

“Served seven years and out on good behavior, my fucking ass.” You murmured, eyes darting around as you flipped through. Gojo hummed in agreement. “Fuck me, he matches the witness description too.”

“Oh? Well, let's hope he's still in town.” Gojo chirped, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward a little. Reading through the file, you were distracted and Gojo let his eyes glide over you fully once. Slow, appreciative. 

God, you looked fucking great. Smart and sharp as a tack. That shirt hugged your tits perfectly, and he knew the moment you turned to walk out the door, he'd get a great view of your ass. Lips pushed together in concentration as you studied the pages, he wondered not for the first time what they'd look like in an ‘o’ with a moan spilling out. Your service weapon holstered at your hip made you deadly on top of it all.

Truly the perfect little package. Gojo almost felt guilty for deceiving you so much. But he didn’t. 

What you didn't need to know, was that the piece of shit rapist he just handed to you, had absolutely nothing to do with all those headless girls.

But he was going to take the fall for it regardless. It all just kind of fell into his lap. Why not get attention off the real killer currently in nine pieces at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, get another scumbag thrown back in jail, and land you win with a huge case finally closed? 

The witness was easy to convince, planting the DNA was a joke, he had early and backstage access to the scene, and bam! The perfect crime committed once again.

He was practically a fucking hero.

Well, maybe that's a stretch. Vigilante? Lame.

He was fucking good at this. That's what he was.

“How long have you had this ready?” You set a hard look on Gojo and he hummed.

“Maybe… an hour?” 

“Why am I just now seeing it?” You snapped, shutting the file and crossing your arms once again. “I've been right there for fifteen minutes.”

Gojo’s jaw set, barely a clench. 

That was one thing you were. You were so fucking ungrateful. But you were oblivious to all he did for you, so he couldn't be upset. 

Maybe one day you'd see, but that day wasn't here yet. You weren't quite ready to accept whatever Gojo was. 

Definitely not, actually.

“Sorry, sarge. I've been kinda busy in here.” Gojo shrugged, and you outright glared.

“With what? What could possibly be more important than a suspect on this case?”

“Um… the five other homicides on my plate?” Gojo said slowly, as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet. Knowing full well he was just pushing buttons now.

You scoffed. “Check your priorities, because you're wrong about that, Gojo.” Your arms dropped, and you put a hand on his desk, leaning into his space and boring your eyes into his. “If we're too late and this fucker gets away because of your time management skills, I'll make sure that goes in the report, got it?” 

You wouldn’t be too late. He wasn’t going to get away because he wan’t even running. He had no idea what was coming for him. But Gojo feigned being sheepish and apologetic because he guessed that in your eyes, he fucked up.

“Sorry, sarge, it won't happen again.” 

Your eyes took a slow trip down and back up over him, looking for something but not finding it, so you removed yourself from his personal space. Not that he minded you there. “Better not.”

“I'll just give you a call next time.” He drawled, a lazy smirk on his lips as he slung an arm over the back of his chair.

“Mm, please do.” It looked like it killed you to say those words, so you added a light, "That's what the damn thing is for after all.” 

“You’re so right.” Gojo crossed a leg over the other, and cocked his head. “I’ll be sure it gets put to good use.”

You didn’t say anything else, just took the folder, turned on a heel, and gave Gojo a great view of your ass as you marched out, leaving the door open. He sighed, pulling out the fabric from the drawer he’d stuffed it in to resume his side work. 

God damn, you were so much work. But he always lived for a challenge. And he could take the backtalk and the pressure you loved to put him under when you served him up guys like Zenin Naoya almost like a sacrifice, he’d take anything you threw at him.

It was absolutely perfect. You put the Zenin guy away for a few years on some assault charges, and a grudge was born. No, something deeper than a grudge, like a personal vendetta. Something strong enough that he’d want to make you pay for ‘ruining his life.’ 

Fucking unacceptable. That the piece of shit would ever think he had the right or even could come close to you, take you for himself, hurt you. Gojo already had some… mildly violent tendencies, and something about the thought of another person, another man putting his hands on you just made the red he saw even bloodier.

He’d never get the opportunity to get close to you. Not with Gojo around, he would always make sure of that. The Zenin worm would be in bags at the bottom of the Pacific before the sun rose. 

Gojo glanced up through the window. You were talking with Nanami, flipping through the file as he looked from you to the turning pages.

Nanami was… fine. He was a good guy, he looked out for you—not that you’d ever need anyone but Gojo for that. He wasn’t a cop, he couldn’t be your partner out in the field or anything, so Nanami was probably the best of all the options you had. He just didn’t like the way Nanami looked at you sometimes. A little too lingering. A little more than just friendly affection in his eyes.

It was fine though. Nanami could be your partner in the field; he could help you with cases in the traditional sense—he was definitely that kind of guy anyway—but he could never do everything that Gojo did for you. 

Nobody could ever do what Gojo did for you. 

The neighborhood was near empty, typical for—Gojo pulled the sleeve on his shirt back enough to check his watch—10 PM. Cars lined the sides of the street, all your neighbors were home and settling in for the night, but not you, though. You’d likely be out at the precinct all night again thanks to the suspect you picked up earlier. 

How perfect was that timing? Almost like someone planned it all. 

A familiar car pulled up, and Gojo watched as it parked a few spots up from him. Gojo had everything ready for tonight. He had all he needed confirmed to finally act, and you’d be gone all night. 

It was perfect. A nice night for this, too. Cool enough that it wasn't too hot with a beanie covering his distinct and immediately recognizable hair. Left his glasses at home in favor of contacts in case of a brawl because he could never be too prepared.

Naoya would wait around for a bit, but being the impatient little fuck he was, he’d get bored once he realized you wouldn't be home and head to his usual spot; an izakaya a few minutes away, and get obliterated. 

Tonight was the night, and everything was perfect. 

Gojo couldn't help but smile a little as he took a long sip of an iced matcha latte, letting the sweetness of extra vanilla syrup roll over his tongue, savoring it. He usually would save a sweet treat for afterwards, but he just had to get a little something for the stakeout.

The driver door on the Zenin creeps car opened, and out stepped the worm himself, glancing around as he tucked something in the waistband of his pants behind him. Gojo’s smile dropped instantly.

What the fuck was he doing?

The door shut, and Naoya made his way up the street towards your house. A scowl pulled Gojo’s mouth down, and he jammed the drink back in a cupholder. He gripped the wheel to keep his hands occupied and off the door handle. The creep was about to break in. He was going to wait for you inside your house.

The thought made Gojo’s skin crawl; it made him yearn and itch to go knock the ugly fucker out right then and there before he had a chance to get into your space, to touch your belongings. But Gojo reminded himself with a breath that you’d be gone tonight. That it would be fine, and Naoya would get bored of waiting quickly and give up once he realized it was pointless to hang around. He would just come back another night. 

Too bad he wouldn’t get another night.

It was fine. Seeing Naoya stalk around the side of your house and disappear from view, it kind of made him want to grab the hunting knife from his kit and slit the wormy fuck groin to sternum and gut him like the animal he was, but Gojo took another long and cooling sip from the iced sugary drink and reminded himself that it was fine. 

It was the perfect night. He had it all planned down to a tee; one little setback wouldn't put the whole thing off course. 

Gojo sat for an hour in his car, and Naoya stayed put in your house. He was more annoyed than seething at that point; he really wanted to hurry this up. It was the second night in a row he’d been out hunting, and he was running on fumes and sucrose and the warm, metallic stain he could still feel as it spattered his lips. 

As he was about to check his watch again, headlights beamed in his side mirror. His eyes went to them immediately, knowing it was likely just a passerby using the residential area as a shortcut or—

He jerked upright in his seat.

What the fuck were you doing here?

This was wrong. You weren’t supposed to be here. Why the fuck weren’t you still at the precinct? It was barely past 11 PM. If you were going home to change, he knew that wouldn’t happen until the early hours of the morning. So what the hell were you doing?

He didn't have time to analyze the why. You pulled into the spot right in front of your gate, and your car shut off. You were about to step right into the trap Naoya had set in your house. He had to do something, and fast. You couldn’t see him here, though, how the fuck was he supposed to do this?

God, you were so much fucking work. And of course, you couldn’t just make things a little easier by doing what you always did and just stay at the precinct all night. Tonight of all the fucking nights.

Did you want to die or something? Sometimes he wondered.

Gojo reached back and grabbed the small zippered case from under the backseat, and watched you walk up to your front door. He waited until you shut it behind you before you threw his own door open.

It had taken a lot of convincing, but with the suspect in an interrogation room and holding fast on total innocence and refusing to budge despite having him practically dead to rights, Nanami finally told you to leave. You could come back and join the action again after a brief rest and a shower. He assured you that he’d call if anything happened, but that you’d likely be walking into the exact same situation after a few hours away. 

Nothing would happen while you were gone. It would be fine. You kept repeating it as you kicked off your shoes and flicked on the light in your hall, dropping your keys on the small table by the door. 

The kitchen light flicked on and cast the area in a warm glow. You’d get a bite to eat, shower, try your best to sleep for a few hours, then head back. Your fridge didn’t offer much aside from a box of takeout from a couple of nights ago, so you grabbed it and threw it in the microwave. 

While it was heating, you made your way down the hall to your bedroom. A few photos of your family lined the walls, your academy graduation photo, the one with—

You halted midstep. The photo with Nanami, the both of you in uniform, his hand on your shoulder as you wore the sergeant's shield for the first time with a small, proud smile, was crooked. 

Maybe there was a minor earthquake in the area?

None of the other photos were off, but you drew it up to the hook potentially being loose, and straightened it, continuing down the hall and unbuttoning your shirt. 

In your room, you placed your service weapon on your dresser and changed out of your work attire quickly. Slipping on a black and white Tokyo Metro Police Department shirt, a few sizes too big and softened from years of washing and wearing. 

Your pants were off and around your ankles when you heard a creak in the hallway. Your head snapped up instantly, and you kicked off your pants, creeping out to check the dim hall.

Tip-toeing along the hardwood in an oversized t-shirt and panties, you felt almost like a horror movie damsel. It felt strangely eerie, and you thought for a moment about running back to your room to grab your service weapon, but before you could—

A figure stepped out. Dressed all in black, hair covered by a hood pulled up, face obscured by shadow, the person stood in your way at the end of the hall. Their hand moved, and you noticed the glint of light reflecting off metal. A gun.

Sure, you were a cop, a detective, but you weren’t impervious to fear. And that was exactly what ripped through you as the intruder took a quick step forward. Then another.

“What the f—stop!” You stepped back, almost stumbling over your own feet as you backed towards your room, towards where your gun was, and away from the intruder moving towards you. “I said stop! Right where you—” 

Your words halted completely as your eyes found another figure behind the first. This one was moving faster though. 

Fuck. There were two of them in your house. You had to get your gun, and fast. You started to turn around as the second intruder caught up to the first and—

In an instant, the second person brought a hand up to the first's neck, and they both came to a halt. 

“Gotcha,”

The first intruder crumpled to the ground like a doll, and you stood in shock for a moment, staring at the man on the floor with your mouth hanging open. 

What the fuck just happened?

Your head snapped up, back to the intruder still left standing. It all happened so fast, but as you looked a little harder at the second intruder, you felt your brain short-circuiting. You… recognized him. Well, you recognized the bit of hair that was uncovered by his hat.

Pure, abject horror crept in as he held his hands up, and stepped towards you.

“Oh my fucking god.” You took a step back. You didn’t have your phone, you didn't have your gun. All you had was the short distance between you and Gojo, who was in your fucking house for some reason.

“Okay, okay, I know this looks kind of bad, but that—”

“What are you doing here?!” You cut him off, still moving backward as he kept taking tentative, almost delicate steps toward you. Like he was approaching a wounded animal with its teeth bared.

He scoffed, shoulders dropping a little. “You could say thank you. That guy was gonna kill you, you know that, right?” The light from behind reflected off of something in his hand. The same hand he’d brought the intruder down with. 

It was a fucking needle.

“Thank you? For what, breaking into my house? What are you even doing… here?” A realization settled in, and you barely breathed the word out. You almost couldn’t believe it. He said nothing, just cocked his head at you, like you were finally catching up to him.

Your eyes darted back and to the side. You could make a dash for it. Your room was right there, along with your gun and your phone. Gojo followed your eyes, and you both stood in silence, neither making the first move. 

“Sarge, let's just—” 

You lurched for your room. Launching into a sprint and pushing off the door frame to dart inside. Heavy, fast footsteps ran after you. Your fingers grazed the dresser, your gun was in reach, but a hand twisted into your shirt, and yanked you back. 

You swung around, hand flattened to hit him in the throat, but he ducked out of the way. Catching your arm and pulling you around so your back was to his chest. 

You made a fist with your free hand and slammed him in the balls with it. 

“Ngh, fuck,” He gasped and groaned and hunched behind you, grip softening on your arm, and you tried to wrench free. But Gojo was bigger than you, and apparently, he was stronger too because his hand tightened fast and a thick bicep came up around your neck, pressing hard into your windpipe. 

You fought for air, and got none as he squeezed tight and pulled you up, leaving your toes barely brushing the ground.

“Always so fucking difficult,” He rasped into your ear, breath hot as his lips brushed the shell. You clawed at his arms, scratching the fabric of his shirt, and he hissed, his arm around your neck was near crushing. “I could kill you right now, so stop fighting or I will.”

Oxygen was running out, your head was getting light and airy, but that sent a hard shiver through you.

You were right. You had been right the whole time. 

Gojo was a fucking psycho. 

And now he was going to kill you.

What you didn’t know was that Gojo was bluffing. He definitely could kill you, but he wouldn’t. And definitely not like that, with your face turned away from his. 

This was unreal, though. He knew it was bad, that he’d fucked up by letting you see his face, letting you see him at all. But you hadn’t really given him a choice; it was all because you’d come home early, so he may as well live in the moment and revel in feeling your body flush against his. His arms wrapped tight around you in a moment he’d only imagined for a long time, and here it finally was. 

“Sorry, Sarge, I didn’t want to do this.” It was a half-truth murmured in your ear as he felt you struggle and fight against him. Kicking and punching and scratching weakly until the last bit of air ran out, and your body slowly went limp as you lost consciousness in his arms. 

Gojo loosened his arm around your neck and turned your face to him. The blood vessels around your eyes had burst, and little purple specks, almost like freckles decorated the skin. It was kind of cute. You even had a little furrow to your brow, he figured that was kind of a permanent thing for you. 

“What the fuck am I gonna do with you?” He shifted an arm under your knees, and lifted you fully into his arms. Your head fell back, lips parting, and he looked over your sleeping, half-naked form as he strode back into the hall. Zenin Naoya was still in a pathetic pile on the floor.

“What a fucking mess.” Gojo grumbled, stepping over the creep in his way. 

He was right. This was a fucking mess.

The ground beneath your feet was cold, like stone or cement. Your head throbbed, and as you pried your eyes open, the vision they took in was blurred. 

You shifted, and found your arms were bound when you tried to pull them up to rub your face. It woke you the fuck up instantly, and you jerked upright. Blinking furiously to clear your eyes, your breaths started to come in shorter as you looked around yourself. You were sitting in a chair, hands tied behind the back of it. Your feet were unbound, still bare from the waist down.

Where the fuck were you?

What the fuck was going on?

“Good morning.” A familiar voice sing songed from across whatever room you were in, and your head snapped up to Gojo. You opened your mouth to speak, but barely rasped out what before you choked on it and coughed instead.

“Ah, yeah,” He chuckled, looking almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his head. “I was kind of hoping to use the M-99, but you didn’t give me much of a choice. Sorry.” 

You lurched forward, and your wrists stung as hard plastic bit into the skin. The room around you was sterile, plastic covered every inch of the floor and walls, and soft yellowish light shone from behind the sheeting. There was a table between you and Gojo, and something was atop it.

A man.

You cleared your throat and swallowed a few times. The movement was difficult, like an impossible lump was there to block your esophagus, but you forced it down and looked Gojo in the eye again. 

His hands splayed out, palms flat on the table between you and leaning over the figure with a coy smirk. 

“What… the fuck… have you done?” You rasped out, almost choking on the words again.

“What have I done?” He echoed, cocking his head at you. “Well, for one, I saved you from this guy.” He gestured to the man on the table. He seemed to be asleep still, not moving as Gojo waved a massive hunting knife over his laid out body. “The least you could do is say thanks.” 

“Thank you?” You cried incredulously, pulling hard at the restraint around your wrists. You wrenched and fought as panic started to creep in. “You fucking psycho! You choked me out! HELP! HELP ME!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, as loud and as hard as you could with your windpipe still suffering the aftereffects of being closed off.

“Go ahead, scream your head off!” Gojo yelled back, “Nobody can hear you.” 

“Oh my god, I fucking knew it, fuck I knew it. You’re insane,” Your head hung, pulling at the ties around your wrists as you murmured more to yourself, “fuck he’s crazy.” 

It's not like you wanted to be right, but you did feel a slight twinge of satisfaction being validated. You weren’t crazy, you saw it, and you were right.

“Why did you come ba—”

“Are you going to kill me?” You cut Gojo off, and he stared open-mouthed for a long moment, contemplating. Hesitating. “Oh my god! Fuckfuckfuck, okay, you don’t have to do this, we can—”

“Just relax, I'm not going to kill you.” He waved the knife in his hand around, dismissing your panic with an annoyed eye roll. “I don’t kill innocent people, but I can't really say the same for this guy.” 

“What?” 

“Do you recognize him? You should.” Gojo took the man's head in his hand and turned his face to you. Dyed blond hair and dark brows, upturned eyes shut, sharp features and a few piercings on his left ear.

“Is that… Zenin Naoya?” 

Gojo smiled and let Naoya’s head drop back to the table. He was covered in a layer of plastic just like the room around you. Gojo strode around the table towards you, and you slumped back in the chair as he approached you, hunting knife still in hand. He crouched beside you and gestured to the wall of plastic to your right by Naoya’s feet.

“See those?” You followed the tip of his knife; there were a few photos of women, their faces bright and smiling. They all looked familiar; you’d definitely seen all of them at some point. “They were found in ditches on the outskirts of Tokyo, their heads all bashed in. Same murder weapon used in all three unsolved cases.”

Of course, they looked familiar; their faces had been up on the board in the briefing room for months. Their cases eventually grew cold, and the precinct had moved on with no leads.

“The only physical evidence we ever had was a fabric scrap found a few meters from the last body, barely even a few threads, and it never led anywhere. But,” Gojo whipped the knife back around, pointing it directly at Naoya with a wicked and satisfied grin on his face. “I found a shirt that matched it in a safe, in his apartment.” 

“Why… why not hand over the evidence?” You felt you already knew the answer to the question, but you asked it anyway.

Gojo gave you a flat look in return. “There's a few reasons for that, a couple of which you definitely already know.” He straightened up, standing tall over you. He put a hand on the back of the chair and leaned in close. “First, I didn’t obtain the shirt… legally, as you’d say. The evidence would be thrown out immediately, but you know that.” 

The tip of the huge knife pointed in your direction, Gojo dropped his head closer to yours, and your breath caught in your sore throat. “Second, Naoya has held a bit of contempt for you for a while now, guess he didn’t appreciate you putting him away on rape charges a few years ago. He’s been following you, and he was gonna act tonight if I didn’t stop him first—so you’re welcome for that.” 

“And third,” Gojo sucked his teeth, pulling the knife away and backing out of your space, towards the table behind him. “If I handed him over to the department, I wouldn’t get to kill him. Duh.” His icy blue eyes rolled like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

With a hard swallow, your mouth opened and out poured years of hostage negotiation training. “You-you’re right, but you don’t have to do this, Gojo. It’s not too late, if you just let-let me go, I’ll take Zenin in and I’ll make sure he goes away for a long time. We can do this the right way.”

“Come on, Sarge,” Gojo tipped his head to the side, amusement playing on his handsome features, glasses nowhere to be found and hair falling across his forehead. He looked so different than usual, almost sympathetic. 

“We both know that's a lie. Even if Naoya went away, it wouldn’t be for near long enough.” He twirled the knife in his hand, still looking at you as it spun in his fingers. “Sometimes, the world just needs to be cleansed of its filth.”

You opened your mouth to try again, but Gojo cut you off. “Just stop, the cop talk-down doesn’t work when the subject knows all the tricks.”

Fuck. 

You took Gojo in in full. He had on a butcher's apron over a black, long-sleeved compression shirt. Black latex gloves covered his hands. There was another table covered in plastic with a black mat atop it, and an assortment of blades gleamed, tucked neatly in each slot.

He was going to kill Naoya. With you right there.

“This isn't the first time, is it?” You asked on a breath, almost a whisper, but Gojo heard, and he shook his head with a smile.

“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out, but I didn’t have much of a choice.” He sighed, walking back in your direction. A gloved hand came up, and your breath caught as he brushed your cheek. You jerked your head away, but he caught your chin and forced you to face him again. So close you could see each pale eyelash as his gaze flitted around your face.

“You shouldn’t have come home. If you’d just stayed at the precinct like you were supposed to, none of this would’ve happened. Too late for woulda, coulda, shoulda now though, right?”

A shiver shook through you. Incredulity twisted your features, and Gojo pouted. “Oh come on, don’t look at me like that.” 

You swallowed hard. “Like what?”

“Like I'm some kind of monster or something.” His head tilted, lip jutting out still. “I’m just doing what you and the rest of the department can’t. I’m on your side here, really.” 

“Are you looking for acknowledgement? A thank you or something?” 

He shrugged, “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

“You broke into my house and choked me out, you’re a fucking psychopath.” You spat out, glaring.

“After you punched me in the dick,” Gojo scoffed, “and I didn’t really have a choice there because you were definitely going to shoot me.”

“No shit! You broke into my house!”

“I’m not going in circles with you on this. I was there for a reason, and it’s because you can’t watch your own back for shit.” He let you go and walked back to the table where Naoya was somehow still passed out cold. 

Your head was swimming, still fuzzy from the oxygen deprivation and the impossible scene you found yourself tied up in, literally. 

There was no exit you could see, and Gojo had said no one would hear you scream. 

You were kind of fucked. All you could do was watch as Gojo pinched something close to Naoya’s face, and the man strapped to the table jolted awake with a gasp.

“What the f—”

“Shut up,” Gojo cut Naoya off, gripping his cheeks hard and bringing his face close. “You’ve been very bad, haven’t you?” Gojo practically purred in Naoya’s face. He took up the knife again and pointed it at the three photos on the wall, forcing Naoya to follow the tip of the blade. “Emiri Saito, Chieko Yamada, and Narume Kojima, look at them. You had the balls to take something from all of those girls, so have some fucking respect and look at them.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you?” Naoya managed to get out with his face squished in Gojo's hand. “You’ve got it wrong, I-I’ve never seen any of them before!”

Gojo snorted, “You’re such a bullshitter, Naoya. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that nobody is buying that.”

Naoya seemed to register the words, and he looked around frantically, his eyes finding you quickly. 

“You,” He hissed, “You fucking bitch, you did this, didn’t you? Set me up again, you fucking cunt!”

Before you could refute or object, Gojo slapped Naoya hard. He grabbed him by the throat, squeezing tight enough to cut off air, and snarled in his face. “Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t even talk to her you fucking scum.”

Your already hammering heart kind of… skipped? 

Gojo tore his eyes off Naoya and met your gaze. The blue in his irises was brighter somehow, wide and wild and almost crazed, and your thighs squeezed together under the weight of it all. He chuckled, bearing a smile that flashed a few pearly teeth and fit with the look in his eye.

He was kind of right; what he was about to do wasn’t right, but he was doing what you couldn’t. If Naoya really was what Gojo said—a killer, taking the lives of innocent young girls after he’d violated them, maybe he kind of deserved whatever Gojo was about to do. 

You should have been more scared than you were. But you weren’t.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

“Did you like that?” Gojo asked, his voice low and rough.

Maybe.

“You’re fucking crazy.” 

It wasn’t a no, and Gojo took note of that. He saw the shift in your posture, your knees as they pressed together. 

Such a bad liar. 

He clapped his hands, looking almost giddy as he took a breath. “How exciting, I've never had an audience before. I’ll be sure to make this entertaining.” 

Entertaining was one way to put it; Gojo put on a fucking show alright.

Gojo had spent a few years in med school before joining the forensics unit at TMPD, and he was sure to flex the skills he learned on Naoya. 

He went through a few packets of smelling salts, pushing Naoya practically to the brink of death, passing out a few times before bringing him back to consciousness.

It was messier than usual. Naoya was missing a few fingers; the few he still had were mangled. Shallow stab wounds littered his torso, only where the knife would miss vital organs. Deeper cuts severed tendons and ligaments, rendering Naoya immobile even without the plastic strapping him to the table. 

The eyeball just popped right out with the optic nerve still intact; he pulled until it snapped. Naoya screamed and screamed like a little bitch and passed out again. He was still out cold, and Gojo had yet to wake him up again.

The blood was glorious. They were both covered; it dripped from Gojo’s hair, down his face, and back onto Naoya in a cycle of sorts, then to the floor to pool with the rest. 

Naoya wouldn’t last much longer; it was time to finish this. Gojo tore his eyes off Naoya to look at you. 

He thought you might have been sickened by it all, and you definitely looked like you might literally be sick a couple of times, but you held out. You looked away a few times and winced when you heard a bone crunch and a pathetic cry choke out.

“How should I do it? Stab to the heart, slit his throat, sever the carotid artery and let him bleed out slowly? Ooh, I could cut his head off, but I did that with that last one.”

“Why would you do all of this?” You asked, your voice sounded weak and small. It didn’t even sound like you, and his smile fell.

“Because Naoya deserves to suffer. You know what happened to those girls,” He gestured to the photos with the bloodied knife, and his expression went cold. “He would’ve done the same to you, and I couldn’t let that happen.” Just the thought of it made him want to drive the knife home right then, but he held out. He’d need to wake Naoya up first.

“Don’t you see? All of this,” He gestured around himself, down at Naoya still out cold. “It’s all because of you, to keep you safe from scum like him.”

“What happened to this being about your fucked up sense of justice for those girls? Don’t pin this on me.” You snapped, and Gojo’s smile returned. 

That's more like it.

“I’m not blaming you. Naoya would’ve ended up here regardless of whether he went after you or not. But he did, and I’m feeling quite passionate because of it.” 

Your eyes widened a fraction, like you were just now realizing the extent of things. The things he would do for you, like you hadn’t just witnessed it all.

Gojo cracked a fresh pack of salts and held it to Naoya’s face. “Wake up, asshole, we’re not done yet.” The man startled and whimpered as consciousness returned, and he felt the full extent of his wounds all over again.

“What do you think, sweetheart? Should I put him out of his misery?” Gojo cocked his head, and Naoya glanced at you with one remaining eye. 

He started to gurgle, “Fuck y—” The words cut off abruptly as the blade in Gojo’s hand carved through his throat with a roar.

“I told you not to fucking talk to her!” Fresh crimson spattered his face from the slit gaping wide on Naoya’s neck. 

Gojo looked like a fallen angel, something horrifically biblical and cast from heaven as he heaved ragged breaths. Rage twisted his face, his eyes wide and the whites and blues burned bright against the deep, bloody red that splattered the rest of his face.

He groaned a low, “Fuck.” And ran a hand through his hair, streaking the stark white strands a bright red. He looked up from Naoya’s lifeless body to you, and your breath caught. 

Still holding the knife and covered in Zenin Naoya's warm blood, Gojo stepped around the table and walked to you. You shook from the cold and something deep in your gut, like fear, swallowing hard as your head tilted back to look at Gojo.

He grabbed the back of the chair and tipped you backward. Your bare feet left the ground as Gojo loomed over you, his face close enough that you felt the heat of his breath on your lips, saw the individual specks of blood that decorated his face like freckles.

“I’d do anything, fucking anything for you. You understand that now, right?” 

Your mouth opened to respond, but no words could make it up and out of your throat because warm lips wet with fresh blood pressed hard to yours. 

You didn’t move. You couldn't move. 

You had been trained to deal with hostage situations and knew what to do in theory if you were ever in one yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for something like this. 

What the fuck were you supposed to do when your captor kissed you?

Probably not kiss them back. Right?

Blame it on adrenaline, the numbness of watching someone be tortured and killed, and maybe a few brain cells dying thanks to the headlock Gojo himself had you in a few hours ago, but his mouth on yours didn’t feel terrible. 

It felt kind of… good?

Gojo was a psychopath. A confirmed killer. As a cop, you should have been thinking of any way to get out and get him detained, bring him to justice.

But as a captive, and the object of his twisted, fucked up affection…

I’d do anything for you.

Your lips parted, and you kissed him back.

What the fuck else could you do here, really? You really hated it, but you’d always found him attractive. Even being covered in blood and holding a knife didn’t detract from that.

In a perverse way, it was kind of flattering. Horrifying, of course, but maybe you’d been desensitized to all this shit from so many years of investigating brutal murders, seeing the bodies yourself, because what Gojo had done right before your eyes didn’t make you as sick as it should have.

He was right. Naoya was scum. And now he was gone, and Gojo did it for you. It was wrong and illegal, so fucking illegal, but he’d done what you and the law couldn’t. Served up justice with a blade, and now Zenin Naoya would never hurt another girl again, and that was certain.

Fuck. You should really stretch before doing mental gymnastics. Maybe you could blame it on Stockholm syndrome, too.

The taste of pennies and something sweet like vanilla hit your tongue as it met Gojo’s. A slick, gloved hand gripped your thigh, the knife pressed flat to your skin under his wide palm. It was still warm, too.

Gojo almost couldn't believe it. It was impulsive, the high of a fresh kill left him up in the clouds, and there you were, tied up and half naked and wide-eyed, and he just did it. Kissed you without expecting anything in return because he couldn’t stop himself.

But you were kissing him back. 

He’d shown you the deepest, darkest part of him and expected disgust in return. Not… this.

Maybe you were more fucked up than he thought. 

You still trembled a little, but you didn’t pull away as his hand glided up on your thigh, streaking blood on your skin. Blood he spilled for you. 

Gojo pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, to see the blood smeared on your lips. “You liked it, didn’t you, sweetheart?” You shook your head, but you were squirming in your seat. “Don’t even try to fucking lie to me.”

“What are you going to do to me, Gojo?” It came out breathless, pitched, and almost desperate, like you were thinking of all the things he could do to you, that you couldn’t stop him from doing.

He laughed and tilted his head a little, “What do you want me to do to you, sergeant?” 

“I-I don’t…” You trailed off, your eyes flitting away for a moment. Gojo dropped his head, and your nose brushed his. He pulled his hand from your leg, and the tip of the knife caught the hem of your shirt.

“Tell me when to stop, I might.” He smirked, and slowly lifted the blade in hand, pulling your shirt up with it. You looked panicked as your shirt went up over your panties, cute and black with a pretty lace trim. But you said nothing, just breathing hard and fast with eyes impossibly wide as he exposed more of your stomach.

What were you doing? You should say it, say stop and hope to god that Gojo would. But you didn’t. You said nothing as the tip of that huge knife dragged lightly over your sternum, up between your breasts, staring silently at Gojo as his eyes lowered.

Cold air hit your breasts, your nipples pebbled with the cotton barrier removed, and you finally spoke. 

“Let me go.” You whispered, but it wasn’t stop, and Gojo looked you in the eye again.

“You know I can’t do that.” The knife halted close to your neck, the blade pressed to your skin just under the collar of your shirt. “Tell me what you really want, and don’t lie this time.”

You stayed silent, lips pressed together almost as hard as your thighs were. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? Your body was committing the ultimate betrayal; heat was pooling low in your gut despite how you shivered against the cold. It had been a while since you’d had time for a relationship or even just a hookup, and Gojo had just lit up something that demanded satisfaction after being long ignored.

Why now? 

Was your own sex drive going to be the thing that got you killed?

Gojo let the back of the chair go, and the feet slammed to the floor with a bang that made your teeth clack. He flipped the knife around fast, and the blade tore through your shirt with a loud rip. 

You inhaled a sharp gasp, and Gojo chucked quietly. “Oops, I slipped.” 

He was always like that. A teasing little shit, and it always irked you, and the irritation broke you from the silence you’d been holding. “Are you a fucking animal? Why not just take it off?!” 

Gojo seemed a little taken aback by the outburst; you were too actually. But he recovered quickly and scoffed, lifting a pale brow. “Well, you didn’t tell me to take it off. Don’t get pissy because you’re too chicken shit to say what you want.” 

The knife dragged down your stomach, leaving a thin red trail in its wake. Stopping only once he reached the waistband of your panties, the tip hooked in and caught the lace. 

“Should I cut these off too? Or will you use words like a big girl?” 

“Fuck you.” 

Gojo gripped your face with his free hand, and he sneered. “Watch it. I like you, but don’t push your luck here.” He was close enough again that his lips brushed yours as he whispered the next words that sent a fresh jolt of lightning up your spine. “You’ve seen what I do when I’m pissed off, so be careful, sweetheart.”

He kissed you again, still holding your face in place as his tongue pushed into your mouth. It must have stolen rational thinking from you, because you kissed him back again instead of biting his tongue like you probably should have.

Gojo’s hand left your face, but you didn’t take the opportunity to turn away. No, for some reason, you angled your head, leaning into it more and more. It felt too good for the situation you were in, but maybe that was what made it impossible to pull away from. The electricity that sparked with each flick of his tongue against yours, the danger that lurked in his lips, so pretty and warm and nice sliding against yours with little chu’s.

Something cold and hard pressed to your temple, and clicked. Gojo smiled against your mouth. You knew the sound well, and your eyes flew open with a gasp, breaking the kiss.

“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you, or I’ll pull the trigger and do it anyway.”

“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You whimpered, and only received the cold steel of the barrel of your own gun pushing into your temple harder, and a manic grin in return.

“A lot, you should’ve realized that by now. Say what you want, don’t think I won't do it.”

He was still covered in the blood of a man he’d brutally killed right in front of you; you had no doubt he’d pull the trigger.

Fear filled your wide eyes, glassy with unspilled tears you were holding back. It looked so good on you. He wanted you to shake and cry and beg almost as much as he wanted you to admit the truth. 

Gojo usually just dealt with the body and grabbed a sweet treat after dispatching a killer, but he had the feeling you’d taste better than any dessert. 

Your eyes darted from his, to the gun in your periphery, wide and panicked. Your chest rose and fell fast. You were struggling, trembling, and overwhelmed by the shift and thinking your life hung by a thread, easily severed by one little twitch of his finger.

He wouldn’t do it like that, though. Not with a bullet to your head, that was so impersonal, and not his style.

You hated this feeling. Fearing for your life and for some reason still not pulling away from the person threatening it. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before; your skin burned hot despite the cold with your shirt bisected and hanging open. The gusset of your panties was slick and sticky, and you kept your legs squeezed shut to keep it hidden.

Had you ever thought about Gojo like that before? Maybe …yes. 

Were you thinking about his hands on your body, what his cock was like, and what it would feel like if he fucked you right now? That was a shameful maybe. 

Would you ever admit that without your life on the line? Probably not.

But it was. Gojo literally had a gun to your head. You had to say it, right?

You took a deep, shaky breath and swallowed. “You’re fucking crazy, Gojo. But I-I want you.”

Something like surprise flickered in his eyes, almost like he hadn’t expected you to actually say it. But you didn’t get a moment to analyze it. Gojo slammed his lips to yours. It was bruising and desperate, and the barrel dropped from your temple, dragging cool steel down the side of your face, down your neck to press up under your jaw.

You probably would have done it anyway, but he forced your chin up and your head to tilt, deepening the kiss you could already barely breathe around.

The knife at your hip moved, and you heard another rip.

You groaned into Gojo’s mouth and pulled back a little. “What the fuck, I said—”

“I felt like it.” He murmured, cutting you off and putting his lips back on yours. The knife clattered on the ground, and Gojo’s fingers curled into the waistband of your panties and yanked. They tore like fucking paper and left you exposed.

He pulled the gun away from your jaw and used both hands to pull your legs apart. You didn’t fight it. Your mind was melted and spinning, and you didn’t even try to close your legs when two fingers glided along your slit. Gojo swallowed the moan that spilled from your lips, then pulled his tongue from your mouth and broke the kiss. A lewd, pinkish string of saliva still connected your wet lips to his.

“Were you this wet when you denied liking getting to watch me kill Naoya? Bet you were, a liar and a slut.” He tsk’d and slid two thick fingers still wrapped in slickened latex, into your cunt, watching closely as your face contorted. 

Your brows turned up, lips parting a little as a quiet “Ohh,” escaped. 

Fear looked good on you, but that was the face Gojo had been dying to see. The one you made as he fucked you nice and slow on his hand. Savoring the sounds that spilled from your lips every time he pushed in deep and the way you gripped around him when he curled his fingers. 

Gojo kept going until he finally hit a spot and pressed up, and you gasped, legs trying to clamp shut around his hand. He didn’t bother forcing them back open; he just put the muzzle of the gun under your chin again, and your eyes went wide. He didn’t miss the way your cunt twitched and pulsed with your own gun put to your head.

“Ah, keep them open.” You obeyed, legs falling open again. You bit your lip and let your chin be pushed up when he nudged with the muzzle. Gojo pressed his cheek to yours, letting his lips brush your ear as he spoke. “I've never seen you like this, so obedient. I didn't even think you could go thirty seconds without barking at me like a bitch.”

Your vision unfocused, and your eyes almost rolled as Gojo pulled his hand back, and pushed back inside with a third thick digit. The muzzle pushed your head up again, and you felt Gojo’s teeth on the side of your face as he smiled.

“You like this though, don't you? Like being held on the firing end of your own loaded service weapon with the safety off?” 

A whimper left your mouth, and you barely registered the feeling of steel dragging down your chest over Gojo nipping at your ear. Your mind was splintering a little more with every thrust of three fingers into your cunt that seemed to get faster. 

So suddenly, you almost choked on the spit pooling in your mouth. Gojo's hand pulled away, and cold metal pushed into you instead. Your legs closed on instinct, and Gojo’s now free hand pulled them open again. 

“Tch, if I want to fuck you with this thing, I will.” His tongue traced the shell of your ear. The cold muzzle glided through your folds easily with the slick still drooling from your hole. “Would you like that? Would you scream and cry and shake and come all over it like a slut?” 

The cold, thick barrel barely pushed inside. It felt perverse. The metal felt wrong, unforgiving and alien, and so fucking wrong. 

Dehumanizing, you felt like something was being stripped from you with each centimeter of your own service weapon that your cunt was forced to stretch around. Tears that had been held back up until that point broke free and spilled over. 

Your own body was betraying you again. Your rational mind knew you should object, knew that you should have tried to stop all of this before it got out of hand. 

But you didn’t. And now you were getting fucked with your own gun by a killer still coated in the blood of his latest kill, the one he did for you, and it felt wrong but not bad, and that fact splintered the rest of your mind. 

You were supposed to be able to deal with situations like this, ones where your life was on the line and it was you and your experienced mind versus whatever crazy had decided to take you on.

But Gojo was different. He wasn't just another crazy. He was smart and calculating and psychotic. He'd planned for this, all while you should have seen it coming, but didn't. 

You knew there was something wrong with him, but you never saw him coming. And now, you were trembling, biting your lip hard to keep a pathetic noise in your throat as the last few centimeters of cold steel were shoved inside you. 

The tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, burning from shame at the way your hips shifted around with the barrel stilled inside you. 

“I've never seen you cry before,” Gojo marveled as he looked you over. “You're even prettier than I had imagined.” You hated the way you leaned into his palm as he cupped your face and brushed a thumb through the wet tracks. 

His voice was sweet like saccharine honey and at complete odds with how he pulled the barrel out halfway and pushed back in. “Be good and make lots of noise when I make you come, sweetheart. I've been dying to hear what you sound like.” 

You could feel every cold ridge and edge of the barrel as it dragged slowly in and out, so deep that the trigger guard pushed into your clit and made you jolt. It felt purposeful, like Gojo wanted you to feel every little bit of it, wanted you to sit and squirm and take it as he fucked you with the most deadly inanimate object a person could encounter.

Your face was something Gojo had never even imagined. Better than anything his own mind could've created. Contorted in pleasure and fighting it hard. Cheeks flushed a deep red, lashes wet and clumped together as more tears spilled. Like you hated that you liked it, maybe even loved the way it felt. 

He was torn. Watching you twitch and jerk and fight your own body from doing what it really wanted was beautiful, and he didn't want to stop until you couldn't hold it back any longer. He didn't want to stop until you broke by his hand and gushed around the cold steel barrel.

But on the other hand, he wanted to feel it himself. He doubted you'd object, you'd probably welcome the replacement of cold metal—that was probably still shockingly cold compared to how hot your cunt was—with his dick. 

But the desire to watch you fall apart and shatter first outweighed the need to stick his dick in you. Just barely.

Your lip trembled, your eyes were far off somewhere else and glassy, darting around the room behind Gojo. They landed on something and went round, your breath caught, and you hiccuped. You looked at Gojo again, fear and pleading in your blown pupils.

“P-please,” Your voice cracked on the word. He had never seen or heard you like that, never thought you even could beg or whine like that.

He brushed your cheek again with a thumb, wiping the fresh wetness that fell. “Please what, sweetheart?” He never stopped the movement of his hand, still savoring the way he could feel your cunt gripping the barrel. 

You whimpered, “Please, fuck, I-I can't—I can't… fuck,” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, biting down on your quivering lip. You were writhing, chest heaving, and he finally realized that…

You were about to come, and you hated it. 

“You can, just stop fighting it.” He pulled your lip from between your teeth with his thumb.

He tore his eyes off your mouth, still stained red, looking like you’d been wearing lipstick before he came and fucked it up. 

“Give in to me, I promise you'll feel so fucking good. I'll make sure of it.” Gojo’s lips brushed yours, not a kiss, not yet. He had to hear you say it. Say yes and let go, let him make you see stars and forget how fucking wrong what you were doing was, and just give in to how right it felt. 

You were right there, dangling on the precipice of breaking. Your eyes glazed, lashed fluttering as you held his gaze and whispered his name. 

“Gojo, please.” The sound of you begging, pleading him. Uttering his name like some kind of broken prayer that could save you from what was happening, what was about to happen. 

It was so unbelievably easy, you made it so easy. Just dripping slick arousal and the barrel slid through your cunt. It was a mess. You were a mess, and the sounds of your pussy squelching and sucking the barrel back inside were obscene.

Your jaw dropped a little more but no sound came out, and Gojo sent the command into your open mouth. “Do it,” 

Your body tensed, he felt it. Your eyes started to roll, losing focus and your legs shook. You were still fighting it. 

“I’d do anything for you, I'd fucking kill for you, so come for me.” Gojo gripped the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. Your glassy eyes were on his, the look that bore through him was there but it was like you were finally seeing behind the curtain. His lips were on yours as he poured the words he’d held back for years right into your mouth. 

“Just give in, let me break you. I’ll be yours forever."

Legs shaking, your hips lifted. Spine arching into a bow, chest pushed up and your head dropped back into his hand. Looking like a fucking angel in a tattered black t-shirt as you finally let go. A pretty moan spilled right into Gojo’s mouth as the tether holding restraint snapped, and you broke.

Wrong. It was wrong how disgustingly good it felt. The heat that coiled and tightened and wrapped through your entire body finally freed, you heard the sounds that came from your own mouth and almost couldn’t believe it. Guttural and unrestrained, your wrists stinging as sharp plastic bit into your skin and drew blood with every shift and pull. 

Gojo kissed you again and you let him in without a fight. Still tasting of warm metal, like sucking on coins after being held in hand. It was filthy. Tasting the blood of one man while you were kissing another. Your walls pulsed and gripped around the barrel as Gojo fucked you through the mind melting orgasm, pulling your hair and holding your head back to him as you saw stars and felt them bursting through you.

The last waves shuddered through and you twitched as he pulled the barrel out and left you empty. Breaking from your mouth with another filthy string of saliva tying you together.

He bought the slick coated barrel up to his face, holding it upside down, pinky resting on the trigger. Safety off, hammer cocked. One slip of that finger, and you’d have been bleeding out. 

It shouldn't have been so hot. You shouldn’t have shivered at the sight of Gojo, blood streaked in his hair and spattered on his face, sticking his tongue out to lick the full length of the barrel. Pale lashes fluttered, moaning as he tasted you on the steel. 

“I’d love to let you hold it while I suck this thing clean,” Gojo waved your gun and winked, “But I get the feeling you’d pull the trigger if I did.” His tongue glided up the barrel again and flicked over the muzzle.

You swallowed hard, and countered with, “Take the bullets out then.”

He seemed to contemplate it, head tipping to the side as he tapped the muzzle to his lips. “Hmm, but I’d have to cut those straps.”

“Is that a bad thing? I could touch you, don’t you want me to?” You bit your lip, angling your head a little with the doe-iest eyes you could summon. Gojo’s jaw clenched, gaze growing heavy under thick, pale lashes. It only lasted a moment before he licked his teeth and a wicked smile spread in its stead.

“Think you’re smart? Sorry, sweetheart, that won’t work.”

“I want to touch you, Gojo.” You pouted, it wasn't a complete lie. 

“Satoru,” He corrected, gently but firmly. “We’re past formalities now, don’t you think?” 

You pulled forward, as far as you could with your arms behind the chair, bringing your face closer to him. “Let me touch you, Satoru.”

Fuck. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

So pretty, and catching onto the fact that you could ask just about anything of him and he’d do it. You looked like a trap, like the moment he took the bait, steel would clamp around his hand. 

Gojo knew restraint, he could wait and be patient and bide time. But he had limits. That bait was you, squirming around barely covered by that bisected shirt, thighs glistening and slick. Eyes wide and pleading and fucking needy. Looking at him like you needed him.

“You’re not getting the gun, loaded or not.” Gojo straightened, stepping around the chair to stand behind you. He grabbed your chin, tilting your head back to look up at him. “Try anything, and my finger might slip.” 

Acknowledgement came in a slow nod, lip caught between your teeth. Gojo lowered his face to yours, pulling your lip free with his thumb. “Very good, remember that, sweetheart. I’d hate to do it, but I won't hesitate to snuff you out.”

Gojo kept the gun in hand as he snapped the bloodied zip tie around your wrists, breaking the plastic at its weak point and your shoulders sagged as your arms were freed. He straightened again and watched you closely as you rubbed your wrists. 

You were free, you could run right now. Instinct made you itch to leap to your feet and dash for the closest exit. 

Too bad you had no idea where that was, and Gojo would catch you before you could figure that out for yourself. 

Looking around, you saw the knife near your feet. If you lunged for it, you’d get a bullet to the head. 

Gojo could see the gears turning in your head. But you were fucked here. Even if you got out you'd be running into practically the middle of nowhere being on the far outskirts of Tokyo. 

He pulled the tie on the butchers apron free and tossed it aside, moving to stand in front of you again. You lifted your eyes to his, hands in your lap and idle.

“Stand up,” 

You definitely weren’t running anywhere, your legs still trembled a little as you rose to your feet. You took a tentative step forward, bringing yourself close enough to feel the heat of Gojo's body through the clingy black shirt. Eyes trained on his, you reached out with one hand to glide over his wide chest, and down.

A sigh left his pretty, full lips as your fingers curled into the waistband of his dark pants. His shirt had ridden up a little and you could see the lines that curved along his hips and dove down, your fingers brushed through a trail of soft hair, bright white just like the mess of it on his head. He tensed when you touched him, biceps flexing, but he didn’t stop you. 

Silently, you lowered to the ground. Your knees hit the hard ground and plastic crinkled quietly. The only other sound was heavy breathing as both hands moved to pop the button on his pants open.

Gojo took your chin in his gloved hand and lifted your face up to him. “Is this what you want?”

Your lip caught again and you hummed. “Mhm,”

Gojo pulled it free again, and slipped his thumb past your teeth, into your mouth to press down on your tongue. “No biting.” He winked. You nodded, opening the closure on his pants. The knife was just to the left of your leg, it was in reach, but the second you moved you’d get a bullet to the head. 

Distract him.

That’s all it was. The saliva pooling in your mouth, the slick dripping down your thighs. You ignored that. Ignored how wet you were getting and how heat coursed through you as you pulled his boxers low and freed his cock.

Of course it was pretty too. Pale with a little curve, blushing tip beading pre-cum from the slit. Long and thick enough that you could just wrap your hand around the base because of course he’d have a big dick too. 

It was always the fucking nerds.

Gojo jolted a little and a pitched noise like a whine caught in his throat as your hand twisted up the length of his cock, and your thumb brushed his tip. Spreading the pre-cum that just kept leaking.

His thumb left your mouth, gliding over your lips, wetting them with your own spit.

“Want me to be gentle, sweetheart? Or should I fuck your face?” He asked, breathless and cheeks already flushing pink under the spatters of crimson.

You shook your head, pumping his cock slowly. “I don’t want gentle, Satoru.” 

He slapped you. Hard. Your head snapped to the side and you choked on a gasp as your cheek started to sting.

You said it. So he was going to deliver. 

His hand tingled from the impact and his cock throbbed as he watched you recover from shock. Taking your chin in hand again, he gripped hard and turned you back to face him.

Your body was as masochistic as Gojo was sadistic and your cunt drooled, the heat on your cheek from the slap was everywhere else too. 

He did it again, palm flat as it connected to the same cheek just as hard and your head snapped to the side with a little less force. Like you’d prepared for it that time. Your jaw clenched but it didn’t stop the whimper from coming out. Your thighs shook and rubbed together, sliding easily with the slick that smeared. 

Gojo almost did it again when you lifted your face to him all on your own. But the look you gave him made him falter a little. Brows turned up, lips glossy and parted, bright red deepening on your cheek, and your eyes. Fuck. The need in your eyes almost brought him to his knees. Tears gathered and ready to spill, about to fucking cry all over again. 

He wanted those tears to fall when you choked on his cock.

“What a slut.” He crooned as your lip trembled, “Remember, sweetheart. Bite me, and I’ll put one between your eyes and keep going till I come.” 

Looking horribly angelic with a smile that was pure and sweet, Gojo spewed vile filth that made your heart kick at your ribcage, and your core flood with heat.

Wrong. There was something seriously wrong with you. Because you nodded and, and opened your mouth wide.

His fingers thread into your hair, holding tight but he didn't pull or guide you, just held as you licked the drip of pre-cum off the tip of his cock. Tasting salt and sweetness on your tongue. He sucked a sharp breath in through clenched teeth as your lips closed around him. 

The sounds he made were pretty and pornographic and matched the look on his face as your lips stretched around the thickness and he hit the back of your throat. Pulling back, your tongue traced a prominent vein along the underside and he moaned again. Pale brows knit together, the baby blue of his irises rendered to a thin ring with the wide black of blown out pupils. 

You couldn’t help but think he looked so pretty like that. With his lip caught in his teeth, blood streaked his brilliantly white hair pink, pieces of it fell into his face, across his eyes and framing his face.

I’d do anything for you.

I’ll put one between your eyes and keep going till I come.

It was a shame he was such a nut.

Your eyes went wide and you choked as he tightened the hand in your hair and thrust into your mouth, shoving almost all the way in. He groaned deep in his throat and his cock pulsed in yours. Tears pricked your eyes and fell as you blinked. 

The hand in your hair held your head in place as he started to fuck your throat. Your eyes rolled, hand dropping away to your side as control was taken from you. “Like that, huh? Fuck, you’re so filthy. Such a—mnnh—such a slut.” 

It went right to your aching cunt, pulsing around nothing. Throbbing with Gojo’s cock hitting deep in your throat, forcing you wide open to him as he held your head and fucked your face. Drool dripped down your chin, so much it trailed down your neck in lewd streaks.

Your mind was splintering again as your nose buried in the soft, fluffy hair. Lashes fluttering as your eyes rolled and you gagged. 

“Ohh my fucking god,” Gojo moaned loud, his head flew back and your objective snapped back into place. You moved, reaching to your left and your fingers closed around the handle of the huge hunting knife.

Gojo’s grip tightened, your scalp stung. 

The tip of the knife barely pushed into his side before steel pressed to your temple again.

“Gotcha,”

Fuck. 

The blade pricked and cut into his side, the tip of it broke skin and was pushing in between his ribs. You gave him a weak glare, throat tight and still choking on his cock with the muzzle of your gun to your temple.

He was close already, balls tight and abs clenched to hold himself back. But that sight alone pushed him right over the edge. 

He grunted a “Fuck,” and his hips stuttered. Your eyes went wide and you blinked furiously as his cock kicked in your mouth, and he spilled hot cum down your throat. “Don’t—ngh—don’t fucking look at me like—ugh—like that,” He muttered through clenched teeth, shoulders drooping and panting.

“Think you’re sneaky, huh?” He asked, catching his breath as he pulled your face away. You gasped for air and coughed when his cock pulled from your throat. Holding the knife that cut into his ribs. He held the gun to your head as you recovered. “Saw that one coming the second you got on your knees, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck… you,” You choked out with a glare.

Gojo gripped your arm and hauled you up to your feet. The knife pulled from its spot between his ribs and moved to his throat quickly, blade pressed to a critical vein. The muzzle of the gun went under your chin. 

He held your naked body to his, his face amused as he asked, “So, what now?” 

You searched his face, lips puffy and glossed with spit. Your cheek still bright red from the slaps. 

You lurched forward, and kissed Gojo, lips pressing to his hard.

It caught him a bit off guard, but he got his shit together quick and wrapped an arm around your waist. Your head tipped and your arm went over his shoulder, fingers threading up through his hair. The other still holding the blade to his neck. 

The muzzle of your gun stayed pressed to your temple as Gojo walked you backwards until you hit a wall covered in plastic. Your mouths clashed, short breaths hot and mingling together as your tongues tangled and slid together. 

He pinned you to the wall with his body, hard chest pressed to yours. 

Gojo lifted his face away and pulled the latex glove off his free hand with his teeth, tossing it to the floor. His mouth found yours again and he gripped and squeezed along your body. Your spine arched, pushing your breast into his bare hand as he pinched and rolled your nipple. 

You moaned into his mouth. His hips pushed forward, to you. Cock already hard again and pressed to your stomach. 

Wrong. So, so wrong. How badly you wanted it. How twisted and dangerous and fucking hot it was with a gun to your head and a blade to his throat. 

Maybe you were a nut too.

Gojo slid his hand down to your thigh, lifting your leg to the side. You pushed up on your toes to get yourself a little closer to his height.

“Say it,” He murmured to you. 

You were aching, doing everything but begging for it at that point. 

“Fuck me,” It was a whisper of a plea into Gojo’s mouth and it made him smile. That you’d finally admit it, admit that you wanted him. For real this time. The cards were all out in the open, no sneaky blade was about to stab into his vitals because it was already at his throat. 

“Anything you want,” He glanced between you, “Give me a hand, sweetheart. Mine are a little full,” He tapped the muzzle to your temple lightly with a smirk.

The hand in his hair dropped, gliding over his broad shoulder. Down his chest, you felt every line and dip and defined muscle of his abs. Your eyes lowered to follow to trail down, and you gripped his cock. He took a sharp breath, eyes trained on your face as you bit your lip and slid the tip of his cock through your folds. 

Long fingers dug into your thigh, gripping hard as you lined him up to your drooling hole. The heat of your cunt was driving him fucking crazy, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. 

You looked up again, lip in your teeth, and he drove his hips up. 

Your face contorted, nose scrunching as your pussy struggled to take the thick intrusion. The blade at his throat trembled as you cried out, clenching around Gojo’s cock as he pushed halfway in and stilled. 

Fuck. You were so fucking tight.

He’d imagined something like this before, but nothing, not the vision his head fed him to pump his cock to, no other person, nothing could ever come close to being buried in you.

Gasping for air, gripping his shoulder and bunching the fabric of his shirt in your fist as you trembled on his cock. Stilled halfway in, every little twitch and pulse of your cunt made his breath come short. 

“Fuck…” You whimpered as his lips touched yours again. “Gojo, I can’t—”

“Satoru,” He reminded, “I’m literally inside you, sweetheart.” He groaned and pushed into you deeper, “You can take it all, right? Make it fit like a good girl, yeah?” 

You whined, shaking on tip toes. “Don’t fucking call me that,” 

“Want me to call you a slut instead?” He grinned, breathing hard and pulling out to shove back in deeper. “What if I called you mine?”

You shut him up with another kiss. He licked into your mouth like a claim, branding you with his hot tongue and his cock buried so deep it felt like he was in your guts already. The stretch burned and took your breath, pain and adrenaline made it melt into pleasure that you craved more of.

Fucking into you steadily, you felt every vein that dragged through your walls. The angle had him push into a sweet spot on every thrust into you. 

Moans and heavy breathing and obscene squelching echoed off the plastic as he fucked you up against the wall, holding you open to him with the muzzle still pressed to your head.

“You’re mine, you understand that now, right?” Gojo murmured to you, “You’ve always belonged to me, now I'm just taking what’s mine.”

He nipped your lip, dragging his mouth over yours as he pinned you to the wall and bottomed out with one hard thrust. “Say it.”

Fucked. That’s what you were. So unbelievably fucked.

You looked him in the eye as you breathed the words out. 

“I’m yours,” 

It didn’t feel like a lie. It felt like you belonged to him. Gojo killed for you, why didn’t that scare you more? Make you want to run from him and the claim he’d seemed to set on you long before this.

The gun dropped from your head and clattered to the ground. You had leverage now, he was giving up control and power and you could do it, tell him to stop and use this to get out.

But you didn’t.

You dropped the knife, threw your arms around his neck, let him pick you up with both hands, and kissed him.

Gojo carried you across the room and set you down on the table that held Zenin Naoya’s lifeless body. He broke the kiss, still buried inside you, and turned your head to face the corpse. You shut your eyes against the sight of it.

Gojo’s lips brushed your jaw as he spoke, his voice was raw and low. “Look. He’ll never hurt another girl again, and it’s because of you. Because I’d do anything for you.” Gojo turned you to look at him again. “I belong to you, too. Every fucked up part of me is yours.” 

He looked as raw as he sounded. Eyes wide and vulnerable like he was bearing his soul to you, and you nodded. You didn’t agree with the method, but you understood.

Too many times you’d felt you weren’t enough, like you were failing the people you swore to serve and protect. Gojo had done the same, and he was doing it in a way that made certain the monsters that roamed free would never harm again.

You were always into the vigilante thing, you guessed. It was pretty hot. Maybe Gojo would wear spandex and a mask too.

The thought made you laugh a little and you cupped his face with both hands. “You’re a fucking psycho. Take your shirt off, this feels unfair.”

Gojo grinned, wide and wicked and so pretty it wasn’t fair. “I’m crazy for you, sweetheart. Anything you want.” He pulled the tight black shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. 

That wasn’t fair. 

You always thought it weird that a nerd holed up in a lab all day would be so jacked, and now you understood why. You eyed him without shame, just as you always did. Lingering on his broad chest, gaze sliding down the ripples of his abs. There was a bloody cut on his oblique from where the knife had dug in.

Oops.

“Fuck me,” He was still buried inside you, but you said it anyways. And Gojo obliged.

He spread your legs open with both hands, and held tight as he thrust hard into you. He split you open on his cock, panting into your mouth and staring with lidded eyes into yours as he slammed in balls deep. 

Your head flew back and a guttural sound came from deep in your chest. The pace he set was brutal, like he’d held something back before and it was snapped free now. A sound like a growl rumbled in his throat, teeth raking down your jaw, over your throat and he latched on to the skin. 

He sucked and bit and bullied into you. Pushing your legs wider as he angled his hips up to push into a spot that made your head spin. Stars glittered across your vision and your nails dug into skin as you gripped his shoulders. 

The pain didn’t bother him one bit. He reveled in it, savoring the sting of your nails breaking skin. He bit harder and moaned against your throat. The table rocked with every hard thrust. 

He never wanted it to end, your cunt gripped and pulsed around his cock, greedy as fuck and sucking him in. Wet and loud and hot, what heaven might feel like. Your pussy was better, and he’d never even get to see the gates to compare.

Gojo rocked into you, sliding in deep and whining around your throat as the tip of his cock ground against your cervix. You cried out, cunt fluttering around him. Your legs shaking in his grip, spine bowing to push your chest up to him.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

He wanted to ruin you, break you just to put you back together and do it all over again. 

Heat coiled through you, wrapping through your insides like a white hot wire that burned anything it touched. Every drag of his thick cock through your walls sparked more and you clawed at Gojo’s shoulders, keening as you clung to him.

You were so lost in everything you didn’t even notice his hand move until his thumb pressed to your clit and your eyes rolled.

“Oh my god, f-fuck!” Your body locked up, shuddering as he toyed your clit, pressing mean circles on the sensitive bud.

Your cunt gripped tight, like you were trying to slow him, but Gojo was relentless, never slowing even as his abs clenched. He pressed his forehead to yours, both slick with sweat.

“Let go, come for me sweetheart, I want to feel it.” 

Another shudder wracked through you, and the wire snapped free. Your jaw dropped in a silent cry, your cunt pulsed and gushed around Gojo’s cock. Warm slick flooded and dripped as he hammered into you. Thumb wet and slipping as you twitched with every messy circle he kept rubbing, drawing out your orgasm until his balls tightened.

“Gonna come in you. You’re mine so I’m fuckin’ fill you up.” It wasn’t even a question, you wanted it just as bad as he did. As if you’d go through all of that just for him to fucking pull out.

He threw his head back and moaned. A pretty sound, almost as pretty as the sight, the column of his throat exposed. He gripped the plush of your thigh hard, buried to hilt in your still twitching cunt, and the ache in his cock finally released.

You felt the kick deep as he shuddered, hips stuttering as he spilled. Spurts of hot cum coated your walls. He didn’t stop, head falling forward again and whining as he fucked it all deeper into you. You keened and jerked on every short, sloppy thrust. Sweat dripped down your neck and your body felt beyond spent. 

Finally Gojo stilled, both of you caught your breath a little before he kissed you again. Softer, less urgent with the tension released. He pulled back and murmured against your mouth, cupping your face and brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Don’t be mad when you wake up.” 

Something pricked your neck and you jerked back, eyes going wide. “What the fu…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before the syringe of M-99 he pulled from his back pocket worked its magic and you passed out. He caught you with an arm around your waist and lowered you to the table. He pulled out of your cunt and watched as his cum poured from your pussy. Pretty and used and dripping milky cum. 

What a fucking sight. Everything about you was so pretty. But he didn't quite trust you not to stab him in the back and run the moment you got the chance, not yet.

You’d be just as pretty when you woke up again tied up, even if you were in a blind rage when you did. 

He always did kind of like when you yelled at him.

꒷꒦a/n꒦꒷ if you made it thru all of this and haven't already, please go check out TMD by Innka on ao3, her work is incredible and seared into my brain and got me through this one (TMD is unfinished but still brilliant and worth the read). huge ty to my soulmate and beta reader @sadtrash69 for making this legible omg T_T

[michaelsbm]

one step too slow ❥

era: post-triumph tour

contents: jealous!michael x fem!reader, nervous!michael, the jackson brothers are present, pool party, everyone stealing you from michael every two seconds, fluff, tiny bit angst, more than friends but less than lovers trope (?), not proofread, ect ect

w/a: i’m sorry i didn’t post this yesterday, but im here now !! but since i didn’t post this yesterday ive had time to work on this all day and make it longer than usual 👀. i hope you enjoy even tho no one asked for this lol

the sun blazed over the jackson family backyard, making the water in the pool sparkle like glass. music blasted from boombox near the patio while laughter bounced through the air. the smell of barbecue and chlorine mixed together perfectly, creating the kind of summer day people remembered forever. michael leaned back in his chair beneath a large umbrella, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he watched his brothers argue over who cheated during volleyball. nearby, jermaine was laughing loudly while tossing a beach ball toward tito. everything felt loud, warm, and chaotic, then you walked outside. michael nearly choked on his lemonade.

you wore a beautiful deep blue swimsuit that shimmered under the sunlight, paired with a thin white cover-up that barely stayed tied around your waist. it wasn’t inappropriate, but it definitely turned heads. the swimsuit hugged your figure perfectly, and when the breeze caught your hair, michael swore his heart skipped an entire beat. “lord have mercy,” jermaine muttered seductively beside him. michael instantly frowned. “can you not?” he mumbled. jermaine only grinned wider. “what? I got eyes.” you smiled brightly at everyone as you stepped onto the patio. “hey!” several Jackson brothers greeted you at once. “there she is!” “you finally made it!” “about time!” michael stood up immediately, almost tripping over the leg of his chair in the process. you noticed and smiled warmly at him first, that alone made his chest feel lighter. “hey michael!!” “h-hi,” he stammered, suddenly very aware of how sweaty his palms were. “you look really- i mean… uh… nice.” your cheeks grew hotter slightly. “thank you.” before michael could say another word, jermaine casually slung an arm around your shoulders. “come help me settle an argument,” he said. “tell tito his volleyball serve looks ridiculous.” michael watched helplessly as jermaine guided you away, his shoulders immediately sank. marlon snorted from nearby. “man, you gotta move faster than that.” michael glared at him. “i was talking to her.” “barely.” the afternoon continued like that.

every single time michael managed to gather enough courage to approach you, one of his brothers somehow appeared out of nowhere. when he tried sitting beside you near the pool, jackie challenged you to a race across the water. when michael offered to grab you a drink, randy beat him to it first. when he finally worked up the nerve to ask if you wanted to dance to the music playing outside, jermaine swooped in dramatically with a bow and stole you away before michael could even finish his sentence. the worst part? you seemed to genuinely enjoy yourself. you laughed at their jokes, splashed around in the pool with them, and smiled so brightly that michael couldn’t even blame his brothers for liking you. everybody liked you. that was the problem.

at some point, everyone migrated into the pool to cool off from the heat. water splashed everywhere while music echoed. jermaine suddenly clapped his hands loudly. “chicken fight!” immediately, the brothers started pairing off and arguing over teams. “oh, we are absolutely destroying y’all,” tito announced confidently. “in your dreams,” jackie shot back. michael stood waist-deep in the water, watching you laugh while pushing wet hair out of your face. sunlight reflected against droplets on your skin, and for a second he completely tuned out the chaos around him. he wanted to ask you. the thought hit him instantly. ‘get on my shoulders.’ he imagined saying. the idea alone made his stomach flip nervously. he imagined your hands on his head for balance, your laugh close to his ears while you both tried knocking the others over. for once, michael acted quickly. “well maybe me and-” “yo, you’re with me,” jermaine interrupted smoothly, swimming directly toward you before michael could even finish. your eyes widened in surprise as jermaine bent slightly in the water. “c’mon,” he grinned. “we gotta win this thing.” “oh my god,” you laughed. “you’re very confident.” “because I’m the best jackson.” “that is absolutely not true,” several brothers yelled at once. michael stood frozen. jermaine had beaten him to it. again. you climbed carefully onto jermaines shoulders while everyone cheered dramatically. michael tried not to stare too long, but he couldn’t help noticing how naturally comfortable you looked laughing with his brother. “you good up there?” Jermaine asked. “yeah!” you said, gripping his shoulders lightly. meanwhile, michael got paired with randy, who immediately noticed his mood. “you okay?” michael forced a shrug. “fine.” “you got that kicked puppy look again.” “i do not.” “you absolutely do.” before michael could argue further, the game started.

the pool erupted into chaos. everyone splashed wildly while trying to shove each other over. you laughed loudly as you attempted pushing Jackie backward while jermaine held onto your legs for support. michael couldn’t help smiling a little hearing your laugh. then jermaine spun suddenly, nearly throwing you off balance. you squealed and grabbed onto his curls to steady yourself. michaels smile vanished instantly. “careful!” he shouted before he could stop himself. you looked over at him, surprised. “i’m okay!” jermaine smirked knowingly at michael from across the pool. michael wanted to drown him. a few minutes later, jermaine finally got taken down by tito and both of you crashed dramatically into the water. you resurfaced laughing breathlessly. “that was cheating!” “no mercy in this pool!” tito yelled. michael swam over almost immediately. “you alright?” he asked softly. you smiled at him. “you ask that every five minutes.” “because y’all play too rough,” he muttered. your expression softened slightly at the concern in his voice. for a brief moment, it finally felt like you and michael had your own little space away from everyone else. then marlon splashed michael directly in the face. “quit flirting and help us!” the moment shattered instantly.

michael sat quietly at the edge of the pool later on, dipping his fingers into the water while watching jermaine make you laugh again. a familiar ache settled in his chest. maybe you liked jermaine better, or jackie, or honestly any of them. michael knew his brothers were confident, smooth, outgoing. they could flirt effortlessly without overthinking every word. meanwhile, he felt awkward every time you looked directly at him for too long. “mike?” he blinked and looked up. you stood nearby holding two popsicles, your sunglasses resting atop your head. “you disappeared,” you said softly. “oh… uh… just relaxing.” you frowned slightly before sitting beside him. for a second, michaels heart lifted. then tito cannonballed into the pool directly in front of you both, soaking the patio with water. you squealed in surprise before laughing loudly. “okay, that was personal!” you shouted. “come get revenge!” tito yelled. you looked back at michael apologetically. “i’ll be right back.” michael forced a smile. “sure.” and once again, you were gone. his chest tightened. he hated how childish he felt. it wasn’t your fault his brothers were naturally charming. It wasn’t your fault he got insecure so easily. but every time he watched someone else make you smile, that little voice in his head grew louder. you don’t really want him around. the party slowly shifted into evening. orange sunlight stretched across the backyard while music played softer now, calmer.

most of the family remained outside by the grill, but michael slipped quietly into the house. the kitchen was cool and quiet compared to the noise outside. he opened the refrigerator and grabbed the orange juice carton, pouring himself a glass slowly while staring blankly at the counter. he felt stupid for being upset, but he couldn’t help it. he liked you so much it physically hurt sometimes. “you okay?” michael nearly jumped. he turned to see you standing in the kitchen doorway, concern written all over your face. “oh, yeah. I’m fine.” “you sure?” he nodded too quickly. “mhm.” you walked closer anyway. “i’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying.” michael looked down at his glass. you leaned gently against the counter beside him. up close, he could smell sunscreen and chlorine lingering on your skin. “you’ve been quiet all afternoon,” you said softly. “did I do something wrong?” his eyes widened instantly. “no! no, never.” “then what is it?” michael hesitated. part of him wanted to brush it off completely. another part of him was tired of swallowing his feelings. he sighed quietly. “i just…” he paused, struggling for the right words. “i feel like every time i try to spend time with you, somebody pulls you away.” your expression softened immediately. “oh.” michael gave a weak laugh. “sounds dumb when i say it out loud.” “it doesn’t.” he shrugged awkwardly. “my brothers are better at this stuff than me.” “at what stuff?” “talking. flirting. being… confident.” you stared at him in disbelief for a moment. “michael, are you serious?” he looked embarrassed instantly. “well… yeah.” “you think your brothers are more charming than you?” “i mean…” he gestured vaguely. “look at them.” you crossed your arms. “I have been.”michaels stomach dropped slightly.

then you smiled instantly. “and I still spent the whole day trying to get your attention.” he blinked. “what?” “you kept running away from me.” “i did not-” “you absolutely did,” you interrupted with a laugh. “every time one of your brothers dragged me somewhere, you disappeared afterward.” michael opened his mouth, then closed it again. okay, maybe you had a point. you stepped closer. “michael, I don’t care about jermaine flirting with me, or anybody else.” his heartbeat quickened. “i care about you.” the room suddenly felt very still. michael stared at you like he wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “you mean that?” “of course I do.” a shy smile slowly spread across his face, soft and genuine. “you really had me thinking all day,” he admitted quietly. “i thought maybe you liked one of them better.” you laughed softly. “not even close.” michael looked down bashfully, his curls falling slightly into his eyes. “you looked really beautiful today,” he admitted suddenly. your cheeks warmed. “that swimsuit almost killed me.” you burst into laughter, covering your face. “michael!” “i’m serious!” he said, laughing too now. “i couldn’t even think straight.” “we all knew you were acting strange, but couldn’t point out why.” “i know.” “jermaine definitely noticed too.” michael groaned loudly. “please don’t tell me he said something.” “he asked if you were jealous.” michael nearly dropped his glass. “oh my god.” you laughed harder at his horrified expression.

“he was teasing you.” “he never stops teasing me.” “well…” you smiled warmly. “i thought it was kind of cute.” michael stared at you quietly for a second before shaking his head with a soft smile. “you make me nervous.” “good nervous?” “the worst kind,” he teased. you gently nudged his shoulder. for a moment, neither of you spoke. the noise from outside felt distant now, muffled behind the walls of the kitchen. michael finally looked at you fully. “you know,” he said softly, “i don’t think i’ve ever wanted someone’s attention this badly before.” the honesty in his voice made your heart ache a little.“you have it now, been had it.” you whispered. his expression softened completely. aithout thinking much about it, you opened your arms slightly. michael instantly stepped forward. the hug felt warm and safe, his arms wrapping around you tightly while yours circled his waist. he buried his face briefly near your shoulder, laughing softly under his breath. “i feel ridiculous,” he murmured. “you’re adorable.” he groaned dramatically again. “that’s worse.” you smiled against his shoulder. outside, someone yelled michaels name followed by loud laughter. “MIKE! YOU HIDING IN THERE?” jermaine called. michael rolled his eyes immediately while still hugging you. “i’m gonna kill him.” “you love him.” “unfortunately.” you both laughed quietly. then, michael pulled back just enough to look at you again. “you wanna go back outside?” he asked. “only if you promise not to disappear again.” he smiled shyly. “deal.” as you both walked back toward the backyard together, michaels hand brushed against yours. this time, instead of pulling away nervously, he intertwined his fingers with yours. and when jermaine spotted it from across the patio and shouted dramatically in annoyance, michael didn’t even care.

[sanguineterrain]

Actually quite obsessed with the idea of Jason getting dosed with sex pollen but he has so much going on and represses anything to do with desire or arousal on the daily that he doesn't think anything's wrong.

It happens on patrol and he's hard all the way back to his apartment but whatever, that happens sometimes. If he ignores it, it'll go away. Alright, so his erection doesn't flag when he goes to bed and it's there when he wakes up, but so what? He probably had a dream about you (to his utter shame—he shouldn't think of you that way). Jason jacks off in the shower to take the edge off and shoves his cock into a protective cup so he can work. Easy maintenance. His skin is feverish but Gotham waits for no one, so Jason drinks some DayQuil and gets a move on.

And yeah, it's really annoying and sorta painful to immediately harden and to stay hard throughout the day but whatever!!! Jason never seems to catch a break!!! He has to pause in the middle of the day because he's leaking so much pre-cum and he doesn't want to make a visible mess. So Jason hangs out braced against the tile in a bathroom stall with his pants down, hand on his cock while it gushes, relentless. He feels like a fucking creep but this stuff happens. Just part of being a guy in his twenties, amiright? Yeah, okay, but he really has a lot of work to do, so...

It seems to calm down enough for Jason to get back to work for the day. He tucks himself back in. He's not soft and he hasn't been soft since yesterday afternoon, but it's fine. This is not the first time he's been inappropriately hard. A month ago, he met you for lunch, and at the end, you kissed Jason's cheek and gave him the sweetest grin. He doesn't know why his body reacted the way that it did. Jason cussed at his dick the whole way home, grateful that you missed his unfortunate response.

If he ignores it, it'll go away. That's how Jason usually deals with desire. He gets it. He's young, has excellent blood circulation, and his body is relatively new. A particularly crunchy fall leaf could get him hard. It's just that everything about him is big and warm and demands attention when it gets like this, but Jason is superb at compartmentalizing. Not to worry! He has plans to see you tonight. Hopefully it'll go away by then.

Oh, but it doesn't. At all. And Jason will absolutely not risk poking into your back by accident. He's not a fucking perv, thanks. His body is just going through some kind of second puberty or something. Whatever. Jason calls you and tells you with great remorse that he has to cancel. He says he's sick. You're disappointed but understanding, sweetly telling him you hope he feels better. He really wanted to see you, but oh well. If Jason doesn't see you face-to-face, he can always check up on you through your building's security cameras.

Jason gets home and it's not long before there's a knock. It's you! Shit. You've brought soup, because you're so fucking lovely. Jason will answer the door but you can't stay, nope, not when he's like this. He opens the door and you frown immediately. You exclaim how sick he looks, how sweat has gathered around his neck. Poor thing, you say, like Jason is deserving of such concern. You reach one hand to feel his forehead, and Jason's so excited about you touching him, he forgets himself.

And uh, yeah. Jason cums. It's not a loud, obnoxious thing but he feels it and it's a lot. He nearly keels over, mouth open in relief and agitation. A tiny groan escapes him. His fever seems to triple. You tilt your head, saying his name questioningly. Jason feels unbelievably unfocused and hot. All he can think about is you touching him. Which, y'know, fair. Jason thinks about you a lot. But this is probably not normal. Probably.

He wracks his brain for answers and oh. Hm. Maybe that weird plant that spit pollen at him last night wasn't harmless.

(Part 2)

[carto0ncritter]

Jax is a terrible transfem representation. There, I said it. Just to be clear, if you relate to Jax and find joy or comfort in her story, more power to you 👍 I don't want to take that feeling away from you. Now...

Let's address the elephant in the room first. Femininity doesn't equal womanhood. A bow, a cute "girly" room, a "feminine" color scheme (purple and pinkish-red), liking dresses and wearing an eyeliner (god I hate the maid dress sm but I'll talk abt that later, but I've just noticed how it has a heart-shaped pattern on the chest area so... heart = girl?) and the final scene between Jax and Pomni having a pink hue to it are just not it, Goose.

Being a woman has to do with how you feel on the inside, not how feminine you are. I hate that Jax is flattened into either this "girly cutie pie" or a hottie by the fanbase now that we know she's trans, when she's a frickin mess of a character, full of self-blame and self-hatred that doesn't only have to do with her gender identity

I don't think it's illogical to say Jax had mommy and daddy issues even before she discovered her gender identity. When it comes to how Jax feels about Kaufmo and Ribbit's abstraction... well, I'd rather have her feel immense guilt because she genuinely cared for them both despite everything (I want Jax to be more than her transness and selfishness!), than for THIS to be her train of thought: "My friends are dead because I'm a girl! I couldn't accept it then, and I can't accept it now! It was all my fault because I'M A GIRL! Me being a girl is not only the main thing "wrong" with me, but also the root cause of all my problems!"

Transition wouldn't have fixed Jax because what she really needed to get better were self-acceptance, self-forgiveness and self-love. That's why I want to put the whole cast in Jax's mind in my rewrite. She needed them all to become whole, even briefly, before death

I want Jax to be a complex, fucked up woman with real depth and a capacity for change that she never took, not a hypersexualized, hyperfeminine trans girl. A woman is a woman regardless of her appearance, voice or interests because she knows deep down she is one! Jax's problems were deep and internal, yeah, but imo, her main issue was her belief that every part of her (including her mistakes) was wrong and unloveable. Jax spent the entire show fragmented instead of whole, meanwhile the others managed to overcome their issues. That's why I think it would be a good idea to have Pomni, Ragatha, Gangle, Zooble and Kinger all try to help Jax one last time so she can finally accept and forgive herself

And as we can see from Goose's confirmation post, Jax would have still kept thinking inappropriate things had she transitioned i dont think it's even possible to have your avatar permanently altered and your voice changed in the circus but ok ("I think my 2 friends who I've mistreated in canon are destined to fuck each others' brains out"). Not to mention her design is hyperfeminine and doesn't fit TADC's vibe. That's not Jax. She looks like Octavia from Helluva Boss

The fact that Glitch is profiting off of a trans character being deeply uncomfortable with wearing a sexualized, hyper-feminine maid dress out in public (that was only meant to humiliate them and be the creator's kink) to the point they seemed like they were close to abstracting is uh... certainly a choice. And not a good one. If Jax was just an average Joe with toxic masculinity, I still wouldn't like it, but Jax being a trans woman makes this whole thing even worse

Why do these two scenes have to parallel???

When I first watched Episode 7, I didn't even notice the trans flag colors in Jax's eyes, and when I eventually did, I just assumed it was an Easter Egg that Gooseworx put in there because she's trans

The same goes for the "chicken fetus in an egg" line. I genuinely thought Goose used that specific wording not because Jax himself was trans but because Goose thought to herself: "Yeah, I wanna showcase that Jax is more than a jerk and the funny guy, but I'll use this trans term because I'm trans myself and this is gonna be a fun Easter Egg haha"

I mean, if feeling like a girl was apparently always the biggest aspect of Jax's character, why be so vague about it? Most people aren't familiar with "the egg" referring to closeted trans people or trans people in denial! It feels like Goose just wrote this show for herself and didn't stop to think that hey, maybe my audience won't pick up on this stuff unless I'm more explicit about it, especially since there are a lot of kids in the TADC fandom

And of course, there's Jax's head being shaped like an egg and us only seeing the "yolk" underneath in ep 8

Goose, you've gotta get it into your head that many people are unfamiliar with what any of this stuff even means. That includes boymoding

No, Jax isn't fucking lovely, she's a terrible, selfish and cowardly person, and the audience shouldn't be gaslit that she was ever lovely despite her trauma. Not to mention Jax literally called herself a terrible person like a few lines before that. And if the montage was meant to say "Jax could have been lovely if only she had gotten to live openly as a woman," uh... nope. Jax needed to sort so many internal things out first. Transition doesn't magically fix things

"Isn't She Lovely?" is a song that a Black man sang to his Black daughter when she was born. Using the cover of a non-black man and putting it in the context of a "rebirth as a woman" (which in canon changes nothing abt Jax or Leeroy, neither are explicitly revealed to be trans after it) scene doesn't sit right with me, especially since the finale aired on Juneteenth and Gooseworx is racist, just like some of the VA's. I will never forget the "NEGA" situation where Michael and Ashley laughed for a long ass time because someone posted a pic of a black shirt during a livestream with the word "NEGA" written on it in white letters

I hate that we never get to hear Jax talk about what she actually likes and dislikes. Does she genuinely love guns (according to ep 6) and safaris (according to ep 5)? If fans REALLY wanna remember Jax fondly, why does it have to be JUST as "the trans girl"? Why don't we learn a single thing about Jax aside from her being trans, which was confirmed on Bluesky??? This girl never tells us anything about her interests or... anything, really. We just get a tone-deaf TikTok montage and KABOOM! she's gone. Reduced to atoms. Okay, Goose. Go off.

[totallynotashieldagent]

Arranged marriage Zuko is quite literally the only thing keeping me going right now😭😭 you write it so well, and I'm so glad that it's not moving so fast. Like there's so much build up and those sweet tender moments. And ugh, her being kidnapped and him literally losing his mind😩 chef's kiss! Do you have any others you're working on? Can I request one? I know that they've had some shy kisses here and there, but I always imagine them as like little pecks here and there. Could you write about them getting a little hot and heavy? Carried away, maybe in an inappropriate place like the gardens or hallway, and they get caught by someone. Maybe this makes them kinda pull away from each other, a little embarrassed and avoidant before they talk about it and everything is okay again?

heellllloooo thankyou so so much!! you're soooo sweet!!! <333 and no- i don't have any other arranged marriage zuko that i'm working on- this story has turned purely into a prompt based fic haha

and also- i LOVE a good slow burn. i'm not a fan of insta love at all unless very very specific circumstance!

and thank you for the prompt!!

Things had progressed very well. Soft little shy kisses. Holding hands. Slowly but surely, you and Zuko were beginning to find a rhythm to yourselves.

They were still rare, however. Just small little pecks on cheeks, corners of mouth, back of your hand. Just enough to keep the momentum of I'm here- I see you- I like you.

But recently, you both had been gravitating towards each other more. Seeking out one another's company more. After meetings, during meals- Maybe that's why you were so excited when Zuko had told you that the Eastern Garden had been redone for spring and he wished for you to be the first to walk through it with him.

So, here you were. Guards sent away, no servants in sight- Just you and him, taking a gentle stroll through the hedge maze, walking towards the center, which had the new garden in it.

His hand kept brushing against yours as you walked shoulder to shoulder.

"You- Uh- You said you personally oversaw everything?" You asked softly.

Zuko nodded. "I wanted it to feel alive. The Fire Lords of before... they preferred symmetry over softness. Function over beauty. I wanted it to reflect the new changes that I've brought- That you've helped me find." His voice softened at the last bit.

Your skin felt warm at his words. You smiled and looked down, following his steps quietly. You didn't even realize when he'd led you to the center. He just took your hand in his and pulled you lightly.

You looked up and your eyes widened. This was unlike anything you'd seen before. "Zuko-" You gasped, walking ahead, taking in the gorgeous sight. "This is beautiful."

"Really?" He smiled and you beamed at him, nodding. "Good- Because- Because it's for you. It won't be referred to as the Eastern Garden. It'll be named after you."

"Wh-What? Really?" You asked, and he nodded. "Than- Thank you." You stepped closer and leaned to press a kiss to his cheek but he moved at the last second and you ended up kissing his lips.

For the moment, neither of you moved- The air felt thicker. You couldn't say who moved first but suddenly, his mouth was against yours again. But it wasn't an innocent peck. It was much more than that. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his body pressed against yours as you felt one arm wrap around your waist and the other at the back of your neck, pulling you in.

He kissed you like it meant something. Like he'd been drowning and you were the first breath he'd taken.

"Zuko-" You gasped for air, but he didn't pull away. His mouth dragging down to your neck, wet, open mouth kisses, gentle nips- "Oh- Oh Spirits-"

He mumbled apologies but didn't move away. His hand snaked under the your multiple robes, touching your thigh and you felt electricity run through your spine. You arched towards him and he whined-

Both of you were lost in the moment until you heard something fall.

Jumping to seperate yourselves- you saw a servant, his watering can on the grass as he stood in fear and shame.

"Leave-" Zuko's eyes almost glowed.

The servant scrambled away but the spell had been broken. You breathed heavily, fixing the rogue on your mouth.

"I- I should- I-" You stuttered and very quickly left. Zuko was left standing, wondering how things could flip so suddenly.

The days that followed were awkward at best. The gossip had spread like wildfire. All the staff was fully aware of how inappropriate the Lord and Lady had been in the gardens but with the jokes of how the Nation might be getting heirs soon.

That made you both even more awkward and avoidant of one another.

Everything came to a head about two weeks later. Zuko, once again, came to the bedchambers very late, hoping that you'd already be asleep. But to his surprise, you were wide awake and Iroh was there too. In his bedchambers as you both played a game of PaiSho.

"Ah! Nephew-" Iroh smiled. "You shouldn't come to bed so late. Your wife had to wait so long that she indulged an old man for PaiSho."

You laughed, eyes crinkling. "Oh please- I'm winning!"

"You are not-" Iroh shot back and you dissolved into a fit of giggles.

The sound made Zuko realize how terribly he missed you. Iroh took his leave and suddenly, the large, lavish room felt too small.

Both of you silently got ready to sleep. The bed was massive anyway- So you simply took your sides and stayed there.

Zuko stared at the ceiling, as you stared at the far window, laying on your side.

"You- Uh- You must be a very good player to beat Uncle." He said carefully.

"I'm not that good. I know he lets me win sometimes." You turned over to face Zuko.

"He does that." He smiled and then silence wrapped around you both again.

Your hand fidgeted in the sheets, and you both stole glances at one another. Zuko was the first to break as he sat up straight suddenly.

"We need to talk." The words rushed out of him. You slowly sat up and nodded for him to continue. "About- About what happened in-" He didn't have the courage to say what happened. "I would- I suppose I should apologize-" You stared at him in shock. "I shouldn't have touched you without asking-"

"Are you saying that it was a mistake?" You swallowed hard.

"What?! No!!" He waved his hands in panic. "I- You ran away afterwards-"

"Well, being caught by a servant was mortifying-" You looked away.

"True." He agreed. "So- So it wasn't me?" You shook your head. "Oh-" He paused. "Then maybe I should apologise for avoiding you?" He said nervously, making you smile. "For what it's worth... I did enjoy that- Uh- Moment."

"I did too." You said shyly.

Your words made Zuko more confident and he scooted closer. "Really?" He whispered and you nodded, not meeting his gaze. He tentatively reached out to you, his index finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "Then... may I do it again?" His voice was barely audible.

You didn't trust your voice at all. You swallowed hard then nodded once.

That was all the permission he needed.

.

.

.

First Meeting

The Night After The Ceremony

Something Gently Shifts

First Kiss

Jealous Zuko

Daily Life With Zuko

Reader is kidnapped by the Denied

[crazy0t]

The Five Times Buggy Attempted to Confess his Love and the One Time You Put Him Out of his Misery (plus a bonus at the end)

WC: 3k

Pairing: OPLA! Buggy x Reader

Tags: fluff, friends(?) to lovers, mutual pining, pirate shenanigans buggy can’t communicate his feelings, inappropriate use of devil fruit powers (implied), implied smut, no use of y/n

A/N: I literally never write fanfics but this dumb clown wormed his way into my heart and I fear this is what was produced. i have no idea how to add page breaks or anything fancy so sprry. enjoy.

Buggy the Clown was a man of many talents—charisma, showmanship, theft, excessive violence, making an entrance.

But when it came to love?

He was a complete and utter disaster.

It wasn’t his fault, really. He’d never been good at genuine feelings. Lust? Sure. Flirting? Duh. Grand speeches about his own magnificence? Born for it.

But actual love? The kind that turned his stomach into a goddamn circus whenever you smiled? That was horrifying.

The two of you had circled each other since childhood, going through all the phases that two children raised on pirate ships find themselves in. It had taken years for Buggy to finally convince you to join his crew. Well, years and his crippling inability to budget the ships expenses. When he showed you the Big Top’s finances (which were nothing more than a stack of random papers that made PERFECT sense to him), you had literally laughed out loud. Despite this, Buggy saw the familiar gleam of a challenge in your eyes and knew you were hooked. Almost as hooked as he was to make you laugh like that again.

Now here he was, months later with a file cabinet on his ship, and no closer wooing you than when he started. Buggy had tried to flirt, but you were either too oblivious to notice his affection or you didn’t care. And Buggy had to believe it was the first option.

So, naturally, he needed to make it obvious. He need to put on a show of his love for you. He needed to confess.

Attempt #1: The Dramatic (Windy) Declaration

Buggy had planned it perfectly. They were docked at a simple pirate town, so he had given the crew the night off, under the guise of keeping morale up. Buggy knew that you would stay back, usually preferring to soak in the rare quiet of the normally loud ship.

After a very manly, normal amount of primping in the mirror, Buggy left his cabin to find you. He instantly found you alone on deck, the ocean stretching out before you, the stars shining just right. The moonlight reflected off your skin, casting a soft glow around your face. The floorboards creaked as Buggy approached, turning your head and gracing him with your brilliant smile.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Bugs” you said. “Normally you’d be out partying with your crew.”

Buggy had frozen at the sight of your smile, and still seemed incapable of expressing a single coherent thought. Any confidence he had walking out was slowly melting away. His brain quickly trying to recall the speech he had practiced earlier that day. Your brow furrowed slightly as you said, “Not that I don’t want you here. In fact-“

Buggy abruptly cut you off as he struck his best dashing pirate pose, cape billowing. "I have something very important to tell you."

Your eyes stayed glued to him, bright with curiosity. "What is it?"

And that’s when the wind betrayed him.

A particularly strong gust swept in over the shore, yanking his hat straight off his head and sending it onto the sand. The tide quickly swallowed the hat and floated it into the gentle waves of the harbor.

Buggy let out a horrified squawk, immediately abandoning all dignity as he scrambled toward the edge of the ship. "MY HAT!"

You blinked. "Uh… do you need me to—"

"NO, I’M FINE!" he barked, face burning. "FORGET IT! FORGET EVERYTHING!"

And with that, he stomped away, leaving you utterly baffled.

If Buggy had bothered to look out his window, he would have seen you shimmering down a rope and fishing his hat out of the water. It smelled a little like salt and seaweed, but hey,  it was still perfectly good.

Attempt #2: The Grand (Cursed) Gesture 

Fine. Words weren’t working. Maybe a gift would do the trick. You liked shiny things. That’s why you were so good at managing money in the first place. You had tried to teach him and Shanks how to save and budget for nicer items as kids, not that either boy had ever listened.

So, after their latest raid, Buggy picked out a very expensive, very rare, definitely-not-cursed necklace. …Okay, maybe it was a little cursed. It was a silver chain with a single purple gemstone wrapped in swirling dark metal. The gemstone seemed to pulse with an unknown energy, as if trying to escape the confines of the sparkling prison. The longer you looked at it, the harder it was to look away. Buggy thought that quality was like your eyes. And it was pretty.

"Here," Buggy said, thrusting the necklace at you with all the grace of a man handing over a bomb. "For you."

You frowned, holding your ear closer to the jewelry. "Is it supposed to be whispering?"

Buggy paled. "Whispering sweet nothings, just like I—"

The necklace let out an unholy shriek.

Buggy screamed.

You screamed.

The necklace levitated.

You immediately picked up a nearby bucket and trapped the thrashing necklace underneath. It seemed the jostle the bucket like a cornered animal as you sat on top of it, considering the best way to keep it contained. At least it had stopped screaming.

There was a long, painful silence.

Buggy cleared his throat. "So, uh… did you like it?"

You just stared up at him with an incredulous look. "Maybe try again. Without the haunted accessories."

You later retrieved the necklace from under the bucket and took it to a very old, very shady woman with way too many candles and got it properly un-cursed. It was actually very pretty.

Attempt #3: The Unfortunate (Drunken) Almost-Confession

Buggy didn’t mean to get drunk. But the crew had been celebrating, and he’d had one too many drinks, and you’d been sitting there looking like that, and before he knew it, he was leaning into your space with a stupid grin.

"You know…" he slurred. "You’re real pretty."

You raised an eyebrow. "You’re real drunk."

Buggy waved a hand dismissively. "Tha’s just my charm."

You rolled your eyes. "Uh-huh."

"No, really, I like you." His head detached and hovered close to yours, eyes lidded. "I wanna—wanna tell you stuff. Important stuff."

You smirked. "Okay. Tell me."

Buggy opened his mouth.

And then promptly passed out in your lap. Head nearly drooping to the floor.

He woke up the next morning with the worst hangover of his life, his head sitting in a soft pillow of old costumes, and a vague, horrible memory of something mortifying. Your smirk at breakfast did not help the sinking nausea in his stomach.

Attempt #4: The Love Letter (Disaster)

Fine. If he couldn’t say it, he’d write it. A love letter. Romantic. Foolproof.

Buggy poured his soul onto paper, writing and rewriting until it was perfect. His hand scribbled frantically on the paper as he paced around his room, performing his thoughts like an opening soliloquy to a show. Buggy was so enamored with his own turn of phrase, that he forgot to sign his name and your name on the letter. Then, with a proud smirk, he slid it under your door.

…Or so he thought. Buggy was walking down the hall to your room when he was summoned to the main deck of the ship. In a rush, he shoved the letter under the door, ready to rip the head off the crew member who was giving their captain orders.

The next morning, at breakfast, Cabaji casually pulled out the letter. “Turns out I have a secret admirer. Shall I read my note aloud?”

Buggy’s eyes widened and his hand froze mid-lift to his mouth, but was thankfully overlooked by the sound of cheers from the crew, encouraging Cabaji to read the note.

Cabaji cleared his throat, dramatically unfolding the letter. "From the moment I met you, you’ve been in my head—"

Buggy lunged across the table. "NO, NO, NO—"

"—like a damn curse, but somehow, the only one I’d never want to break—"

Buggy exploded.

Quite literally. His arms and legs detached in sheer mortification and scattered across the room, his head landing in an empty apple crate in the open pantry.

You, meanwhile, calmly took the letter from Cabaji’s hands, instantly recognizing the messy looping letters. "I think I’ll keep this."

Buggy, unable to fully hear or see the rest of the conversation, laid face-down on the pantry and groaned in defeat.

Attempt #5: The (Nose) Kiss 

Buggy had had enough. He was just going to do it.

So, after a late night on deck, alone with you under the moonlight, he took a deep breath, grabbed your hands, and declared, "I’m in love with you!"

You blinked. "You are?"

"Yes!" he said. "And I— I wanna kiss you!"

Your lips parted slightly, and Buggy, emboldened by his own stupidity and the fact that you hadn’t run away in disgust, leaned in.

And then—

His nose bumped into yours.

Your heads tilted the same way.

Buggy tried to adjust.

You tried to adjust.

The nose got in the way.

Every time.

Buggy turned bright red. "Are you— are you dodging me?!"

You stifled a laugh. "No, but—"

Buggy let out a strangled noise and immediately yanked himself away, face burning. "You know what?! FORGET IT!"

And then he stormed off. Again.

The Final Confession (Or: You Save Him From His Own Stupidity)

Buggy was sulking in his quarters, face buried in his arms, contemplating faking his own death.

You barged in without knocking. "Alright, we need to talk."

“How did you get in here? I locked the door behind me.”

“You gave me a key a month ago after I complained out how sticky everything in your room was. You said ‘if you care so much take a key and clean it up yourself’. And I said ‘fine’. And then you said ‘you’ll get to see all the ways I can make my room sticky.’ And I’ve been wiping down your bedroom surfaces once a week ever since.”

Now that you reenacted the conversation, Buggy did seem to notice that his papers were sticking less to his desk. The revelation was swiftly forgotten as he processed the terrible pickup line he had attempted that day. Not his best work, but he couldn’t make it seem like he DIDN’T want you in his room. Buggy groaned. "Go away."

"No."

You stomped over and plopped yourself in front of him. "You’ve been acting weird for weeks."

Buggy let out a dramatic groan. "Oh, gee, I wonder WHY."

You just smiled and placed three things in front of him.

His hat.

The un-cursed necklace.

His letter.

Buggy froze.

"I thought these might look better in your hands than at the bottom of the ocean," you said casually.

His throat went dry.

"You… kept these?"

You rolled your eyes. "Of course I did."

Buggy swallowed hard. "Why?"

You took a step closer. "Because I love you, too, dumbass."

Buggy made a choked sound. "Y-You do?"

Instead of answering, you leaned in and, just to mess with him, pressed a kiss to the tip of his bright red nose. His brain flatlined. You smirked. "And now your cheeks match your nose."

Buggy sputtered. "I—You—THAT’S NOT FAIR!"

You laughed, cupping his face in your hands. "You gonna run away again?"

Buggy swallowed hard. "N-No?"

You kissed him properly this time. And for once, Buggy the Clown was completely, blissfully silent. When you pulled back, he stared at you, dazed. You just smirked back at him. “There is one question I’ve been dying to ask.”

“Anything.”

A faint color tinged your cheeks as you asked, “Does everything detach?”

Buggy’s grin widened. “Why don’t I show you, baby?”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him again.

Bonus Attempt #6: The Overcorrection

Buggy woke to a soft body wrapped around his arm and gentle breathing in his ear. Rolling over, he saw the sun streaming in through the porthole, illuminating your sleeping frame, making your bare back glow in the early morning light. The morning after your confession should have been perfect. 

But it wasn’t.

Buggy had woken up before you, which in itself was rare (he definitely did not have your scheduled memorized, that would be crazy). He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything from the night before. The kiss, your words, the mind-blowing sex, the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t just some walking disaster in clown makeup, the sex.

Then it hit him.

“Oh no.”

Because now that he had you?

He could lose you.

Buggy shot upright in bed, immediately spiraling.

“What if I mess this up? What if I say something stupid? What if I do something stupid?” he muttered, pacing. “No, no, no, I have to be better. I have to be the perfect boyfriend. The BEST boyfriend. The most incredible, charming, irresistible -”

“Buggy.”

He froze. You were still lying in bed, one arm draped over your eyes, voice thick with sleep. “Who are you talking to?”

“…Myself.”

“Yeah, I figured. Why are you yelling at yourself at sunrise?”

Buggy puffed up, immediately switching into performance mode. “I am NOT yelling! I am strategizing. There’s a difference.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You’re pacing in circles and whisper-shouting. That’s not strategizing, that’s a breakdown.”

“I do NOT have breakdowns!” he snapped.

You sat up slowly, watching him with that same amused expression that always made his brain short-circuit. “Alright. Then what’s the plan, Captain?”

Buggy straightened, smoothing his coat like he was about to address an audience.

“The plan,” he declared, “is for me to be the perfect partner.”

You blinked. “…Oh no.”

“Oh YES,” Buggy insisted, pointing dramatically. “From this moment forward, I will be attentive, romantic, thoughtful, and-”

“You’re going to overdo it.”

“I am going to EXCEL.”

He started immediately that morning. Within the next hour, you had been handed three different breakfasts (all slightly burnt, because Buggy refused help), your chair had been pulled out so aggressively it nearly toppled backward, he had attempted to compliment you five times and insulted you twice by accident.

“You look— I mean, not that you don’t always look— not that you usually—” He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You look GOOD. Just—GOOD.”

You snorted. “Wow. Swept right off my feet.”

“I am TRYING!” he snapped.

“I can see that.”

By midday, the crew had noticed.

“Captain’s acting weird,” someone whispered.

“Captain’s always weird.”

“Yeah, but this is… different weird.”

Cabaji leaned over to you while Buggy loudly argued with a chair that wouldn’t “sit correctly.”

“So,” he said casually, “how long do you think this phase will last?”

You watched Buggy dramatically reposition the chair for the fifth time. “…I give it until sunset.”

By sunset, Buggy was unraveling.

He had tried so hard to be perfect that he’d tied himself into knots, almost literally. Every word felt rehearsed, every movement forced. He kept glancing at you like he was waiting for you to suddenly realize you’d made a terrible mistake. Finally, you grabbed his sleeve and dragged him away from the crew.

“Okay,” you said, crossing your arms. “That’s enough.”

Buggy stiffened. “Enough… being amazing?”

“Enough being weird.”

“I am NOT -”

“Buggy.”

He stopped.

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “What are you doing?”

He hesitated, then looked away, unusually quiet. “…Trying not to screw this up.”

That made your expression soften immediately. “By turning into someone else?”

“I’m not -”

“You are,” you cut in gently. “You’re acting like you think I’ll only stay if you’re… perfect.”

Buggy’s hands clenched at his sides. “Well, yeah,” he muttered. 

There it was. Not the loud, dramatic captain. Just him. You sighed, stepping even closer. “I didn’t fall for ‘perfect.’”

Buggy huffed. “Yeah, well, lucky you, because I am FAR from -”

“I fell for you,” you said. He stopped. “The loud, dramatic, overconfident jester who loses arguments with furniture and gives me cursed jewelry.”

“That was ONE TIME,” he protested weakly.

“Five attempts, though.”

“FOUR,” he snapped. “The hat incident does not count!”

“It absolutely counts.” There was a pause. The tension melted, just a little. You smiled at him, softer now. “You don’t have to perform for me.”

Buggy stared at you like you’d just said something completely incomprehensible. “…But performing is my whole thing.”

“I know,” you said. “And I like that about you.”

“…You do?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Just not when you’re using it to hide.”

That hit harder than anything else you’d said. Buggy exhaled slowly, some of the stiffness leaving his shoulders. “…So what, I just… act normal?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to do that?”

“Rude.”

You took his hand. Not dramatically. Not for a show.Just… naturally. Buggy went very still. He had had you in bed less than 24 hours ago and this was the intimacy that made him blush.

“There,” you said. “Start with that.”

He looked down at your joined hands like it was the most confusing thing in the world.

“…That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“No grand speech? No fireworks? No dramatic music swelling in the background?”

You leaned in slightly, smirking. “Do you hear any music?”

Buggy paused. “…No.”

“Exactly.”

For once, Buggy didn’t try to fill the silence. He just stood there with you, hand in hand, the ocean stretching out behind you, the ship gently rocking beneath your feet. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a performance.

“…Huh,” he muttered.

You glanced at him. “What?”

“…This is kinda nice.”

You smiled. “Yeah. It is.”

A beat passed. Then Buggy cleared his throat, grin slowly creeping back. “…So,” he said, leaning closer, “now that I’m being a great partner—”

You groaned. “Don’t start.”

“—I think it’s only fair I revisit an earlier topic.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That already sounds like a bad idea.”

His grin widened. “The detachment question.”

You immediately covered his mouth with your hand. “No, I think you answered me well enough last night.”

“Mmph—”

“No.”

“MMPH—”

“Absolutely not.”