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godlesshorrors · 1 year

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𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗬 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗕𝗜𝗭𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗢 𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗦? Kevin Sweeney just launched a new series on Godless called Bizarro Tales. And, the first book in this series is… James & the Giant Pulsating Mass of Pissing, Shitting, Screaming, Puking, Burping, Bleeding, Farting, Sweating, Ejaculating, Genetically Modified Mutant Monster Meat! No, we aren’t trying to get a piece of the censorship conversation around Roald Dahl. Kev’s book is 1000% more offensive and disgusting than anything he ever wrote. And… it’s Sweeney. There’s no better way to help celebrate the big 2-year anniversary than with a story by one of the legacy authors who launched his book The Lusty on GODLESS DAY 1! 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗞𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗡 𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗬 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦: 𝗕𝗜𝗭𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗢 𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗦 #𝟭 𝗡𝗢𝗪! https://tinyurl.com/2wps5bh6 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗣 𝗞𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗡 𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗬 𝗡𝗢𝗪! https://godless.com/collections/kevin-sweeney ________________ James & the Giant Pulsating Mass of Pissing, Shitting, Screaming, Puking, Burping, Bleeding, Farting, Sweating, Ejaculating, Genetically Modified Mutant Monster Meat (Bizarro Tales #1) by Kevin Sweeney JAMES & THE GIANT PEACH, only instead of a giant peach it's a genetic abomination, an unholy hulk of agonized flesh that Should Not Be... ...and instead of a small boy sharing a jolly adventure with a group of anthropomorphic insects, there is a mindless killing machine on a nightmare voyage through an ecological Hell with a group of horrifying freaks! Torture in the name of science! A plastic island inhabited by mutant Sea Monkeys! Pollution kaiju! It's another retelling of a beloved children's classic sure to have the original author spinning in his grave! 𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗞𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗡 𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗬 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦: 𝗕𝗜𝗭𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗢 𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗘𝗦 #𝟭 𝗡𝗢𝗪! https://tinyurl.com/2wps5bh6 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗣 𝗞𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗡 𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗬 𝗡𝗢𝗪! https://godless.com/collections/kevin-sweeney ________________ #godless #godlessapp #godlesshorror #godlesshorrrors #horror #horrorbooks #horrorbookstagram #indiehorror #indiebooks #indiehorrorbooks #indiebookstagram #supportindie #godless2023 #ebook #bodyhorror #grossouthorror #disgusting #bizarro #kevinsweeney (at Los Angeles, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpNzPvALjWG/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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michelemovesnyc · 2 years

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𝗟𝘂𝘅𝘂𝗿𝘆 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝘁 𝗥𝗲𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁: 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝗵𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗮𝗻 𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀: 𝗡𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟳𝘁𝗵 - 𝗡𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟯𝘁𝗵, 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟮 24 Contracts Signed in Manhattan at $4 Million & above. Condos outsold co-ops 14-6 and 4 townhouse in the mix 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝟰𝟲𝟰 𝗚𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻𝘄𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 $𝟮𝟵.𝟵𝗺 The home has 9,000 square feet including 5 bedrooms, 6 bathrooms, and 2 powder rooms. It has a 1500 square foot living room, gym, sauna, a large rooftop terrace, and a commercial sized elevator. It is a former 1892 coffee-roasting plant transformed into a single family home by fashion mogul Mickey Drexler. 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝟭𝟭𝟯 𝗘𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝟵𝟬𝘁𝗵 𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 $𝟮𝟳𝗺 The former firehouse with a landscaped garden and a separate carriage house in the back is a 4 story, 25 foot wide house has 5,625 square feet including 4 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms & 2 powder rooms. It also has 3 fireplaces, a 3000 bottle wine cellar, a double height ceiling in the with no elevator. 𝗠𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝗻𝗯𝘆 𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑆𝐸𝐷 𝐴𝑆𝑆𝑂𝐶𝐼𝐴𝑇𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐿 𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑇𝐸 𝐵𝑅𝑂𝐾𝐸𝑅

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svgvru · 8 months

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FORRRRR: 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗞𝗧𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥 '𝟮𝟯 — 𝗛𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗡!

— since there haven't been many halloween centric prompts i went with something my pookie suggested! a.k.a...

✮ FUCKING IN A HAUNTED HOUSE!

— this is going to be multi character and switch,m!reader. depending on the character the reader's dominance or submissiveness might change (just what i feel for the character). the current list is gojo, geto, ijichi, yuuta, and kirara! the top three ill write for! male and female characters from any fandom! you can either fill out the poll below or suggest in my inbox what other characters you'd prefer! if you could also suggest what costumes the men should be in, that would be great too (but there'll be a poll lol). anyways, if you have any questions lmk!

this is the male ver. fem ver.

*you can request more characters, these are just the ones i thought of immediately! go look at the next post!

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prim3dsins · 6 months

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@sinn4rgy asked:

WHO KEEPS TRACK OF THE MULTIPLE ROUNDS THE HERO AND THE PRINCESS GO THROUGH? BECAUSE ITS NOT THE LATTER. SAL STOPPED COUNTING AFTER THE SECOND ORGASM. BACK TO BACK, THE PRINCE IS BROUGHT TOWARDS PLEASURE-- OVER AND OVER. SONIC'S STAMINA IS LIMITLESS, BUT THE SAME DOESN'T APPLY TO THE ROYAL WHO'S ON HER KNEES RIGHT BEFORE HIM. HAIR TUCKED BACK IN A PONYTAIL, THOUGH, IT SEEMED LAZILY DONE. PERHAPS SONIC WAS TO BLAME... EYES PLEADING FOR ANOTHER LOAD. MOUTH SLIGHTLY AGAPE, PANTING HEAVILY. ❝ i know you have more for me, ❞ LIKE A BOX OF CHOCOLATES, HER VOICE WAS SMOOTH, ONE HAND WRAPPED AROUND HIS LENGTH, STROKING. ❝come on, come on❞ THE PRINCE SOUNDS SO NEEDY. -PLS I JUST WANTE THE EXCUSE TO USE THE ICON FOR THIS

And it most certainly isn't Sonic who's keeping track either. Then again, he never really cares to keep track to begin with. However long he and his partner go for is however long they go for. Whether it be once or more. Which, to be fair, could probably be expected from someone who's never had a relationship that went this far before.

But it seems Sally was intent on setting, or beating, a record that wasn't even there to begin with. As the two had been going at it for what could've possibly been hours. If anything, he was impressed with the chipmunk and her ability to last this long when he has infinite stamina to back himself up.

Which is what takes them to here and now. Sonic, sat on the bed, legs spread slightly so Sally could be on her knees between them. His cock in her hand, and her desperate to pull another load out of him for her. Infinite stamina meant he most certainly wasn't spent yet, but that wasn't the issue here.

" A- Are you sure? Can you even... Keep going like this? " He didn't want to completely knock her out from lack of energy after all. Just because he could keep going forever doesn't mean she could. In fact, she literally couldn't. So his hesitation was understandable. She was already so full and covered, who knows what more might do?

#𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗘𝗗 𝗗𝗘𝗠𝗢𝗡 [ Sonic | IC ]#𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗣: 𝗣𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 𝗭𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝟭 [ General | Ask Answered ]#sinn4rgy #(sally speedrunning getting pregnant-)

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customledlightsigns · 1 year

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#call of duty#mw2#cod mwii#modern warfare 2#modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare

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blightbrought · 1 year

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@deathsmark: ∗ 4o﹕ sender traces one of receiver’s [ scars / bruises ] . now stab.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 is one he walks with steady footfalls, body and mind forever drifting close to the edge. his psyche, set behind those unearthly eyes, was fractured at the worst of times, and ruthless and callous at the best. it's unsurprising that he remembers naught of the touches upon his own flesh that were anything but cruelty, anything but war and torture and being remade over and over and over again until barely the essence of him remained sealed within a bow. even if valmar and kai both unwittingly feed him imagery of acts and things he knows from a long lost human life, or even a life amongst the god-warriors, these are things that the cruel, shriveled vestiges of his heart and mind cannot process.

it has always been this way.

his hair is down, crown and scarf removed and set aside in favor of the silken fall of snow white tresses, drifting well past his waist and to where humanoid flesh tinted dark and transitioned to carapace. back to zed ( an unwise choice to begin with ), the darkin pays him no mind - clearly not viewing the shadow master as a threat any longer ( and it's up for debate if he ever really did ). he shifts in his spot, hair fluttering enough to reveal the jagged mark that ran down his back - three clawed lines - ones he barely knew existed. and then, in such a terribly human fashion, zed surprises him.

like a started predator, varus's entire body goes taught as his bowstring as calloused fingerpads trace those scars in a way that is so soft, so unintentionally tender - it disgusts him.

the darkin snarls audibly, spinning on a clawed foot so fast it'd be difficult for a human of not-zed's caliber to perceive. his hand snaps forward , clawed digits grasping the offending fingertips in a a vice, and the other palm pressed flush to zed's chest, lethal talons digging, digging, digging - as he bares his teeth where he stand. and yet, a shiver wracks varus's frame - gestalt form so utterly perplexed by a touch born not of violence, his nerves are still processing what had occurred.

❝ you forget yourself. ❞

he hisses the words out like a curse, head bowed so close that the end of those snowy locks trail over zed's shoulder and brush against his neck with near familiar intimacy. nostrils flare, as if scenting something, and a bit of his skittishness quells, if only because stabbing zed on the spot would sully the long con he'd been playing.

❝ if it's a story you seek, i have no memory of those times. ❞ lie or truth, truth or lie? in which life time had he been marred? who had done it? and had it hurt? to leave a mark on a darkin - impossibly so.

#deathsmark #▸ 𝗔 𝗡 𝗦 𝗪 𝗘 𝗥 𝗘 𝗗 || the monster is real.#▸ 𝗩 𝗘 𝗥 𝗦 𝗘 𝟭 || life in hell is mighty cold. ᵐᵃⁱⁿ #my mans is actually just a walking meme

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michelemovesnyc · 2 years

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𝗟𝘂𝘅𝘂𝗿𝘆 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝘁 𝗥𝗲𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁, 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝗵𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗮𝗻 𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀: 𝗢𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟰 - 𝟯𝟬𝘁𝗵 , 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟮 𝟭𝟴 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗦𝗶𝗴𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝗵𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘁 $𝟰 𝗠𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗼𝗻 & 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘃𝗲.𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗼𝘀 𝗼𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗰𝗼-𝗼𝗽𝘀 𝟭𝟮-𝟱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝟭 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝘅 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝟭𝟬𝗔 𝗮𝘁 𝟮𝟱𝟬 𝗪𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 $𝟭𝟮.𝟱𝗺 This condo was listed a month ago, and has 4,105 square feet including 4 bedrooms and 4.5 bathrooms. A kitchen opens onto a corner great room with high ceilings & 7 arched windows overlooking the Hudson river. A master bedroom also faces the river. Amenities include a doorman, fitness center, 61 foot indoor lap pool, and children's playroom, plus a 5,000 square foot roof terrace. 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁 𝟱𝘁𝗵 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝘁 𝟴𝟭𝟳 𝗙𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗵 𝗔𝘃𝗲. 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 $𝟭𝟭,𝟵𝟵𝟱𝗺 Full floor condo overlooks Fifth Avenue and has 3,800 square feet including 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms, an office, staff room, and laundry. It needs complete renovation & is being sold with a set of plans. The building has a doorman and resident manager but no other amenities. 𝗠𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝗻𝗯𝘆. 𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑆𝐸𝐷 𝐴𝑆𝑆𝑂𝐶𝐼𝐴𝑇𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐿 𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑇𝐸 𝐵𝑅𝑂𝐾𝐸𝑅

#𝟭 #𝟮 #coopnyc #RealEstateBrooklyn #nativenewyorker #realestatetribeca #douglaselliman #brooklyn #ilovenewyork #newyorkcity #manhattanbroker #nycbroker #condonyc #condobrooklyn #tribeca #nyc #westchelseareales

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svgvru · 7 months

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𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢'𝗦 𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗛, 𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗛! . . . 𝗦𝗢 𝗔𝗦𝗞 𝗛𝗜𝗠.

say hello to the owner ꒰ blk — 9teen ꒱ of gojo's credit card! ꒰ the rules and use of his card is included! ꒱ it's nearing christmas, so go ahead and send your christmas lists in the mail! currently there's so special "event toys" going on, but you can send in ideas!

today's favorite ꒰ mall ꒱ santa is . . . CHOSO KAMO!

last winter "old mall billboard" future winter ⤷

#𝗠𝗔𝗜𝗡 𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗕𝗢𝗔𝗥𝗗! ꒰ 𝟭/𝟮 ꒱ ⋆｡°✩#𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗛-𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗠𝗘: NOV + DECEMBER #PINNED POST #blog theme #blog navigation #navigation #rules #blog rules #about the blog owner #about the blogger #anime x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #anime x male reader #x male reader #top male reader #dom male reader

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cerisereids · 5 days

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𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 (𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲)- 𝗮.𝗵. [𝗽𝘁.𝟭]

wc- 3.9k

pairing- aaron hotchner x fem!rossi!reader

summary- down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

warnings- sfw, age gap (27-mid 40s), i'm spreading the italian american agenda w rossi!reader, reader lowkey has daddy issues but they're working on it, alcohol use, i picture this as s6 aaron, penelope is the bestiest bestie

a/n- divider from @reveriesources!!! and the literal biggest thank you on planet earth to @basketonthedoorstepofthefbi for being the best and helping me sm w this!!!

your bag hits the ground with a dejected thud. the nippy air of a virginia winter bites at your cheeks and nose as your neck cranes upward, absorbing the mansion standing before you. you haven't been back here since you were 17, and 10 years later, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up just from looking at it. a sneaking feeling creeps up your spine like a spider, you can't help but feel as if the house is staring back at you, mocking you. a sigh escapes your pursed lips, and you wipe your hands over your face before mustering your strength to pick your bag back up.

the rest of your old life has been stuffed into every spare inch of your car, waiting to break free from the confines of the compact vehicle. you're too scared to touch any other bag than the one in your white knuckle grasp. once you unload, unpack, your retreat back to your father's house becomes real. you're not ready to accept that quite yet.

you take a deep breath, slowly inching closer and closer to the porch steps. as you climb them, the light tap of your jimmy choo sneakers against the cobblestone transports you back in time: you're 16, you're sneaking in at 3 am, you don't have a care in the world, you're naïeve.

as you enter the house, you feel like a ghost of your old self, watching the scene from above. you're struck with disbelief as the same mix of vanilla and sandalwood floats through your nostrils. you gasp, glassy eyed as a flood of emotions washes over you like a tsunami. the sight of your father's living room, untouched over the past ten years- save for a new couch and some artwork- it wrings your heart out like an old dish rag. you wipe at the corner of your eye as you pull your phone out, dialing your father's number.

“principessa!” he bellows over the line, your eyes once again filling with tears at the sound of your childhood nickname, “are you settled in?”

“hi dad,” the corner of your mouth turns up at the sound of his voice, guilt preventing a full smile from forming, “yeah,” you rasp out, wiping a single tear from your cheek, “yeah. yep. i just got here, haven't unpacked yet though.”

“don't worry about that, principessa,” the pet name flows off his tongue so easily, it's hard to believe you went years without talking, “we're almost done with this case, when i'm home i'll help you move your things in. you still want your old room?”

“uh-yeah. yeah, that works. thanks papà,” you smile weakly, even though he can't see it.

he breathes out a chuckle of disbelief on the other end of the line, you haven't uttered a lick of italian in years, “alright, principessa. sleep well tonight, we should be home sometime tonight,” his voice is soft, quiet, so you know he's still at the local police station of wherever usa.

you both grow quiet, tension crackling over the line, “ok, i will. try not to work too hard,” you attempt to make a joke, but your breathlessness makes you feel like your mother 20 years prior, receiving one of your father's infamous 'it'll just be a few more days,’ phone call.

“i'll see you when i get back, okay?” is how he responds before you hang up, and you're left in the lonely, familiar silence of the house you grew up in.

as you take in the sights of your childhood, your bag falls from your shoulder once more, this time clattering against the rich mahogany floor. it falls open just slightly when it lands, and from your peripheral, you see it. the very reason you're here in the first place. you lean down to pick it up, a paperback book wobbly in your hands. your book.

you flip through the pages, your years in new york flashing like a montage in your mind. your first day at nyu, parties with fair-weather friends you naïvely trusted, graduating- ready to take on the world with your ideas and stories. you wanted so badly to fill the shadow your father unknowingly cast upon you.

you remember the pressure after graduation, nearly backbreaking. your post-grad years spent schmoozing publishers on rooftops, turning a blind eye to the deceit thickening the air. you remember the years spent hunched over your laptop in coffee shops all over the city, confessions from the deepest corners of your heart spilling onto the page.

most importantly, you remember the sting deep in your chest as you watched the news that morning. your best friend, on national television, with a new york times #1 bestseller. you remember how your face burned in fiery fury as her slender fingers curled around the book like claws. your book. the very one you're holding in your hands.

the sharp ring of the doorbell pierces through your daydream, and you glide over to the front door. you check the peephole before opening, a habit instilled in you by your father, and open it accordingly.

“hello?” you ask the very colorful blonde woman standing before you.

“hi!” she chirps, manicured nails clacking against the stiffness of her bag as hooks it around her shoulder, extending her hand for you to shake, “i'm penelope garcia. i work with your dad!”

you nod, now understandingly, as you shake her hand and smile, “hi penelope, my dad has told me lots about you, it's nice to meet you,” the niceties roll off your tongue smoothly, a rare silver lining of your time in new york, “how can i help you?” you inquire, leaning against the door frame.

“well, they are almost done with the case, they caught the bad guy and now they just have to do some paperwork. that means they don't need me anymore, so your dad asked me to check on you!” she explains, quickly patting the tips of her fingers together in an excited cheer, “please tell me if there's anything you need, if you need help with unloading your car..” she explains, listing off each action item by counting on her fingers.

“oh! well, that's very nice of you, penelope,” you study her for a moment, unsure if you feel comfortable putting this poor woman out like that. she doesn't seem to mind, though, and you're absolutely exhausted. the pile of bags stacked door to door in your car looms over you dauntingly, you suppose it wouldn't hurt to have some help. she seems fun, too, especially for an fbi agent.

finally, you move to the side to let her in, “come on in and set your stuff down, lemme grab my keys and we can start with my car, thanks!” you call your thanks over your shoulder as you pad over to the side table by the door, fishing your keys out of the bowl.

many stuffed suitcases and empty beer bottles later, you and penelope sit giggling on the floor of your childhood bedroom. it turned out that, like her and your dad, you and penelope worked incredibly well together. you were able to work out an incredibly efficient unloading system, one which involved gossiping about anything and everything while you aimlessly carried bags up the spiral staircase.

over the span of three, sweaty hours, you and penelope- who you've now tipsily dubbed 'penny', unpacked your car, as well as your lives. your stories of new york mixed with her anecdotes of the job- many including your father- eventually led you to the fridge in his garage. your eyes lit up when you spotted the 12 pack of peroni nastros. jackpot.

“i had no idea your dad even drank beer,” penelope states, her alcohol induced state causing her to find this face a lot more shocking than it really is, as she intensely studies the fifth bottle of peroni to pass her fingertips.

“he normally doesn't,” you laugh in drunken disbelief, tipping the bottle to your lips, the fizz tickling your throat, “makes sense that the one beer he would have is a peroni,” you roll your eyes gently, not that you're complaining.

“he talks about you a lot,” she remarks sweetly, her eyes glossy from the alcohol but still loving all the same, “he's very proud of you, an-and i don't know what happened to drive you all the way back here from the big apple-” she adjusts so she's kneeling in front of you, a hand placed on each shoulder, piercing you with an intense gaze, “but your father is proud of you. and i mean it!” she sticks a finger up, wide eyed, “jus'becus' allm-mywords are slurring together...i-it doesn't mean i'm a liar!” she hiccups out, and you ponder her words.

“he talks "bout me?” you beam at her, the sweet warmth of validation pooling in your stomach.

“all. the. time! with the cheesiest grin on his face, too. shows the team pictures all the time,” she downs the rest of her beer and goes to grab her sixth, the last bottle of the pack waiting for you, condensation wetting the cardboard box it sits in.

“oh god!” you throw your hands up to cover your face, "that's so embarrassing!" you squeal, pressing your fingertips into your heated cheeks.

“no! no, not at all!” penelope says, brows furrowed with such genuine concern it makes you giggle slightly, “we love seeing it. plus, it helps us all out that you're friggin gorgeous!” she shakes your shoulder as she says it.

“oh my gosh penny, stop!” your cheeks flame even hotter.

“no! it's true! you should hear what derek says about you when rossi isn't around!” she jokes, “spencer, too. he's not nearly as flirtatious as my derek but it is impossible for him to be subtle, especially when it comes to beautiful women,” she rolls her eyes playfully and you cackle.

“oh my god, that's insane,” you gasp out, nearly folded in half on the floor from embarrassment, hands once again masking your face, “boys never liked me growing up. i would sit here, in this very room, crying my eyes out over it. thank god for puberty,” you joke, a gentle smile painting your lips. you shock yourself with the vulnerable anecdote, you're not sure you've thought about that in years. something soft settles in your stomach, coating that old wound, and it's not the beer.

“cheers to that!” penelope raises her beer bottle to you, and you clink yours against it before you both take a swig.

“do you have a picture of the team? it's been a minute since my dad sent me one,” you sit up now, crisscross on the floor, both hands fidgeting with the beer bottle in your lap.

“yeah! one sec...” she trails off as she searches her camera roll, “ah!” she exclaims before turning her phone towards you.

you take a moment to absorb the photo, to take it all in. it seems to be the conterence room, or so you infer by the boxes of files scattered across the expansive table. it's dark out through the windows, and they all look exhausted as they wrap into each other, tired smiles shining bright anyway. you zoom in on your father first, a smile spreading over your lips. he's developed that same lazy eye in his right eye that all the older men have in your expansive italian family. guilt cinches your heart as you recall how much time has passed, how long you've gone without visiting.

“who are the guys that think i'm hot?” you murmur out the side of your mouth, giving her a side eye that makes her cackle.

your eyes widen once she points them out, “damn...” is all you can say, your alcohol induced haze causing you to gawk at the, admittedly, incredibly attractive men on your father's team.

“i know, right?” penelope laughs, “derek is mine though, sorry!” her voice rings out her fake apology and you laugh, recalling a story or two from your dad about them.

“he is all yours, my love,” you smile at her, “who's everybody else? i need to put names to faces here,” you settle in next to her, now both of you leaning against your bed, still in the same spot 10 years later.

“oh! so this is jj,” she drawls, pointing to a blonde woman, “and emily...and that's hotch, he's the big boss man, very serious fellow,” she explains using a faux seriousness and it makes you giggle again,

“and of course you know your dad, and our two lover boys over there,” she points out derek and spencer again with an eye roll. you laugh, but your eyes linger on hotch. he stood tall and strong in the middle of his team, not a strand of dark hair out of place, clad in an extremely well-fitting suit and a tired, but proud, smile. he's gorgeous. you can't help but wonder what he thinks when your dad shows them your photos, now completely uninterested in derek and spencer. “and meeee!” she holds her arms out in grandeur, snapping you out of your daze.

“the best member!” you point at her accusingly as you say it, raising your beer to your lips and finishing it off before grabbing the last bottle.

“i know!” she jokes, and you just can't seem to stop laughing.

“that's a sweet picture, you guys seem like you're close,” you remark gently as you lay back on the ground again, legs curling in penelope's lap. the fact that your dad has been well taken care of all this time sways your guilt just slightly.

"we are, your dad is a great agent, 'n an incredibly valued member of our team," she blinks at you, "are you close?" she asks gently, testing the waters.

"um, more so now than ever, i guess," you laugh, "he divorced my mom when i was really young, so i didn't hear from him much growing up," penelope's mouth crooks to the side as you speak,

"he reached out when i was in high school, though, and he had this room remodeled so i could stay here. i hated being here, though. i was so mad at him," you roll your eyes, "i was the poorest little rich girl there ever was," you inwardly cringe at your past petulance as you take another sip of your beer. that is a scar alcohol is going to heal, just for tonight.

"hey, you were young! you were angry!" she shouts, already advocating on your behalf even though you've only known her about three hours,

"i'm sure he understood, don't be so hard on yourself, sunshine" she nudged your leg with her hand and you smile.

"i think you might be right, penny," you sit up again, taking another sip of beer "i took off for new york the second i graduated, i wasn't even 18 yet," you shake your head, your gaze planted on your legs laid flat in front of you.

"did you go to school out there?" she inquires.

"mmhm," you hum, emptying the last drop of beer, "studied english and creative writing at nyu, didn't really call him that much my first few years out there," you admit regrettably, "we talked more the older i got, though. i started to miss him, so i came here," it wasn't a lie, it just wasn't necessarily the entire truth. you knew penelope could tell, too, you know better than to lie to an agent, you lived at your dad's in high school for god's sake.

"well, at the end of the day, love saves us all, honestly," she drawls out, and you remember how drunk the two of you are. it snaps you out of your daddy-issues-somberness, and you double over in laughter.

"maybe we should try and sober up," you gasp out, the two of you bursting into another round of giggles, "come on," you whisper, like you're two teenagers trying not to get caught at a sleepover,

"let's get some toast and some water and some motrin," you hiss, wide eyed, like you just had the best idea on the planet.

you scramble over one another on your way to the steps, and penelope is so concerned about the frequency of your giggles.

"what's so funny?!" penelope asks as you two descend the stairs. it didn't take long on your journey for you to start laughing again, at nothing in particular, just your sheer, utter, drunkenness.

"i don't know!" you whisper back over your shoulder. taking your gaze off the steps proves to be a mistake as you miss one of them, nearly plummeting down the wooden staircase. penelope slings her forearms underneath yours, saving you from certain spiral-shaped doom.

"oh my god!" you squeal and you both burst into another fit of giggles. you regain your balance before finally getting down into the kitchen.

popping two slices of bread in your dad's way-too intricate toaster, you move about the expansive kitchen to the fridge, grabbing butter and then some knives to spread it with. once you close the refrigerator, you're greeted by two men in the dimly lit kitchen, go-bags hanging from their shoulders.

"oh my god!" you scream at the top of your lungs, the items in your hands immediately slip from your grasp, clattering to the floor.

"what!!!" penelope comes running in from the living room, draped in your father's microfiber linen blanket. she turns a brighter light on to reveal your father standing with another man in the kitchen, quirked eyebrows mirroring each other almost exactly.

“oh, my god, you guys!” she exclaims, hand over her heart as you drop to pick up what you've spilled, “you cannot just do that!” she scolds them, before taking the bags from each man as she inquires your father about the end of the case.

your eyes linger on the taller man standing next to your father as he chats to penelope. it's hotch. the man in the photo. the man in the photo. you can tell it was a long case, with the way his tie and suit jacket are folded neatly over his forearm, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. his brown hair is slightly messy up top, like he'd been running his fingers through it. he's even more beautiful in person. your heart picks up its pace, giddiness swarming throughout your stomach like butterflies. then, the reality of the situation hits you like a freight train. why is he here? now? while you're this drunk and sweaty? a loose cardigan is draped over an old tank top, sweatpants hanging low on your hips.

you turn towards the kitchen counter, gaze turned downward, though you could feel his eyes burning a hole through the side of your face. you make a weak attempt to spruce yourself up, dusting away the flyaways falling from your bun and quickly applying some tinted lip balm. you sneak a peek at him, drawing your gaze to the side just slightly, before looking back up fully.

he's already looking at you when you turn to face him, his deep, brown eyes sparkling in the low light of the kitchen. the contact makes your heart drop into your stomach, twisting and turning your insides like you've been on a rollercoaster. his playful gaze, the small uptick of his lip in the most tantalizing smirk, they tell you he knows exactly what you were doing. fucking profilers.

“principessa!” your father gushes once penelope releases him from her metaphorical clutches. you reluctantly rip your eyes away from the man across from you and flash your father a demure smile.

he strides across the kitchen, past hotch, with his arms outstretched. you mirror him meekly, having lost every last bit of confidence in front of this newfound audience.

“hello, papà,” you murmur quietly into his shoulder, relaxing just slightly in his hold. it's been a long time since you'd hugged your father, you didn't realize how much you'd missed it.

“my, my...” he trails off, holding your face in his hands, “is it possible you've gotten more beautiful since i last saw you?” he punctuates his question with a loud kiss on the forehead, followed by one on each cheek. it was how he greeted you every time he saw you, something his nonna passed to his mamma, who then passed it to him, which he has now passed to you.

“i get it from my mamma!” you chirp, walking back over to the golden brown bread popped up in the toaster.

“you're very funny,” he waves a finger at you while you all let out small bouts of laughter, “did you girls enjoy yourselves tonight?” he smirks at you and penelope, still quite intoxicated.

“you have amazing beer,” you point the butter knife in your father's direction as you say it, and you receive yet another round of laughs. your eyes snap toward the quiet, high pitched chuckle coming from your right. the smile immediately falls from your face when you lock eyes with him, not of disdain, but of the sheer, gut wrenching pull you feel towards him. it almost aches.

“oh! let me not forget...this is aaron hotchner, he's our unit chief,” your father claps the back of the tall brunette beside him, who then reaches his hand out for you to shake.

“hi,” he says gently, with a smile to match, “you can call me aaron,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, but direct all the same. you catch the way his obscenely large hand dwarfs yours, and you have to stop yourself from gulping akin to a cartoon character. if he'd held onto you any longer, hearts probably would've formed in your eyes.

“hi, aaron, it's nice to meet you,” you coo, your sweet, gentle gaze poring into his wide, dark eyes.

“you as well,” a ghost of a smile paints his lips as he sticks his hands in his pockets, “we've heard so much about you at the unit, it's nice to finally meet you,” there's a glint in his eye as he scans over your face, letting his gaze drop ever so slightly to your neck. he corrects himself soon after, his eyes snapping back to yours before they could go any lower.

“likewise,” you smirk, that one look igniting a flame low in your belly. you silently revel in the tiniest hint of red grazing his neck, just for a moment, but that moment is cut short before you can tease him any further.

“so, what brings you here so late at night, sir?” penelope reenters the room with your father in tow, and you hadn't even noticed they left the room.

“oh! i-um i need to borrow a globe from david,” penelope and your father both raise a brow to the way he fumbles over his words, and you hide a shit eating grin by taking a bite of your toast.

“a globe?” you inquire, passing penelope's toast to her, which invokes a happy squeal from the blonde.

“for my son,” he quickly explains, gaze falling to the floor as he backs away just slightly, “he needs it for a school project. shall we?” he hastily exits the room, your father following suspiciously in tow.

“what was that?” penelope whispers through bread crumbs, her eyes wide.

“i have no idea!” you hiss back, “but that was something, right?”

she nods, eyes wide, “i don't think i've ever heard the word 'um' leave his lips before tonight!”

“oh my god,” you groan, plopping your head in your hands.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x rossi!reader #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotchner smut

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vasted · 9 days

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repost three favorite pictures of yours, put a quote under them and tag people.

It was as I gazed at the majestic city below me that I felt a lurch in my stomach, like I was falling, and I pitched forward into the barrier, bruising my arm and sending an agonising echo of my broken bone shooting up my body. I braced myself on my hands and knees, trying to overcome the sudden swimming nausea in my head. Finally, I managed to centre my vision enough to look up and there he was. There was an icy breeze that high up, but he seemed not to notice as his loose, thin shirt billowed around that sprawling white scar. He stared at me, and I felt again like I was falling right through the floor. I tried to speak, say anything, but my breath seemed caught in my chest. The worst part, though, was his expression. He looked bored. — Stephen Walker giving a statement about Michael Crew

tagged by @verflcht & @shadowpunk

tagging everyone 'cause I have no idea who has done it already

#ignore the length of my quote ✨️#𝗲𝗽𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗱𝗲 𝟭 » 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗠 #𝗲𝗽𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗱𝗲 𝟮 » 𝗘𝗫 𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗥𝗔

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prim3dsins · 6 months

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}AND SEXY TENSION TOO!{

@scumbag-the-devil asked: [ ACCIDENTAL BRUSH ] for… Amy

[ ACCIDENTAL BRUSH ] * my muse touches your muse ( somewhere intimate ) on accident.

If she were to be honest, Amy probably shouldn't have been distracted from her jog to stop and literally smell the roses. But the flower cart she'd passed by was just too cute to ignore! She just had to go over and inspect the flowers, might be worth buying some on her way back to her house!

Of course, during her time inspecting, she'd bent forward and stuck out her ass right into broad daylight. She spends so much time in her nice and flowy dresses that she forgets just how little gym shorts leave to the imagination.

She then remembered just how tight those shorts could be the moment she felt someone's hand brush against her ass. The pink hedgehog quickly jolted upright, completely taken by surprise, looking over her shoulder as she did. Only to see a green hedgehog. One she remembers.

The memories of her involuntarily being pantiless came back to mind instantly. The things she'd let him do while she was under that spell. It made her blush and look away hesitantly, trying to be as casual as she could while doing it.

" H- Hi again uh... Scourge, was it? I uh... What are you doing here..? "

#𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗦 𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗖𝗔𝗞𝗘! [ Amy | IC ]#𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗣: 𝗣𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗 𝗭𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝟭 [ General | Ask Answered ]#scumbag-the-devil

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zarameraki · 5 months

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♡₊˚🔪・₊✧ 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝘁. 𝟭₊˚🔪・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 obsessed at the first glance 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 masturbation (toji time) 𖥔 "she's mine even if she doesn't know it yet" 𖥔 age gap 𖥔 he's downright depraved for you

: ̗̀➛ word count: 3.7k

: ̗̀➛ notes: happy new year, mamas! and happy belated birthday to my baby daddy. y'all have no idea how fun it is to write toji fics. i've got a hundred already lined up. i'm going to make this a full series but for now here is part one of what's about to come (haha get it? oh god. i need help)

The first time Toji laid his eyes on you was the morning after he’d finished yet another one of his assassination cases.

There you were, seated on a picnic mat, a serene oasis in the bustling sea of activity. The wind danced through your hair, and you were engrossed in a book, your legs tucked comfortably beneath you. The music in your headphones created a private sanctuary, shielding you from the cacophony of playful children, picnicking families, and the vibrant hum of the city's summer.

Toji found himself rooted to the spot.

Oblivious to the annoyed cyclists and the world rushing past him, he stood there, captivated. It was as though he had stumbled upon a deity crafted solely for him.

You briefly raised your gaze, taking a momentary break from the confines of the small text.

Toji couldn't believe his luck as he found himself mesmerized by the tantalizing sight before him. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, a telltale bulge in his sweatpants betrayed the mark you had on him. There you were, blissfully unaware, sipping from a water bottle that seemed almost rehearsed.

His fixation deepened as he observed every nuance of your movements—the curve of your mouth, the delicate way your throat accommodated the liquid, and the small hands that gripped the oversized bottle. He imagined his cock instead and flinched from the way his dick twitched. The simple act of you licking your lower lip and unbuttoning the top buttons of your dress shirt to fan yourself from the heat sent shivers down his spine.

You just had to start tying your hair up.

Taking a deep breath, Toji briskly walked towards a nearby public restroom and locked himself in one of the vacant stalls.

His back pressed against the wall as he lowered his sweatpants and pulled his thick, trembling cock out, pre-cum trickling from the tip. He lowered his eyes and visualized you on your knees, grabbing his cock and circling your small, pink tongue around his tip. His head cruised back as you swallowed his length to the back of your warm throat, gagging, gasping, choking, bobbing your head back and forth. His fingers tightly held onto your tender scalp, fucking himself into your pretty, little mouth until your nose was crushed against his pelvis. He heard you begging, pleading, scratching at his hips to give you a breather, but Toji relentlessly fed you his cock, over and over and over—

Spurts of release erupted and splattered onto the stall's wall, with droplets dripping onto the floor. Toji opened his eyes only to find the space where your apparition was supposed to linger now empty. His hand was sticky and hot, smudged in the mess he’d made envisioning you. You. It was you who had provoked this intense response, causing him to reach a climax faster than ever before.

As Toji cleaned himself up, he couldn't ignore the unabashed stares from the onlookers, men who had clearly overheard him masturbating. Ignoring the judgmental gazes, he focused on formulating a plan to claim you, even if you fought or opposed it; he was convinced that, in time, you would surrender.

In his mind, you were already his.

Toji lingered for the next few hours on that park bench, focused on you. His eyes traced every move you made, absorbed in that stupid book of yours, oblivious to the frisbees and kites dancing above you. His gaze burned into the teenage boys engaged in soccer behind you, fuming as they carelessly neared you with the ball. Especially the one you beamed at after he half-heartedly apologized to you.

Fuck, that smile of yours was irreplaceable.

As you packed your mat into the duffle bag and rose, turning to dust your ass off from any debris sticking to it, Toji's thoughts took a blunt turn. Sleep was an impossibility now.

Following discreetly as you strolled down the path, immersed in the rhythm of your ear-throbbing music, Toji couldn't help but dissect every inch of you. Your clothes, undoubtedly high-end and branded, spoke volumes. The price tag on your headphones alone easily flirted with seven hundred dollars, if not more. It was clear—you came from a life of comfort, perhaps a spoiled heir or held a proud position in some grand corporation. You were proving to be a challenging prize, a fish that refused to be easily caught.

You decided to take a pit stop at a vegan café where they charged an arm and a leg for a tiny cup of espresso.

Patiently, Toji lingered outside, cigarette dangling from his lips, the ember casting shadows on his sharp features. Peering through the glass, he caught glimpses of your animated conversation with a male barista. Though, the bastard's eyes were shamelessly speaking to your cleavage.

Toji hadn’t killed anyone for fun in a while; maybe the lanky fucker was going to start a new streak.

As you emerged, holding your iced coffee and muffin like some divine offering, he noticed the scribbles on the napkin. Ah, the barista's number, huh? The son-of-a-bitch just signed his own death warrant.

With a flick of your wrist, you crumpled the napkin and tossed it into the trash, conveniently placed right next to him.

Your eyes locked.

The cigarette in Toji's mouth hung suspended in a moment that seemed to stretch forever. Your gaze shot up as you took in the powerful physique of the man, the scar tracing its path on his left lip, and the black, sleek strands of hair framing those perilous, obsidian-green eyes. He was more than just attractive; he was a magnetic force, and you could feel the tingling of anxiety dancing on your skin. Too bad your family had always drummed into you the importance of polished over rugged.

Despite the internal turmoil, you turned on your heel and continued walking, nonchalantly sipping on your cold coffee to ease the tension building within you. There was an undeniable urge to steal one last glance at him, an itch in your brain pushing you to do so. With feigned composure, you added an extra sway to your hips, aware that his eyes were still on you.

Toji’s eyes were glued to your ass. Was he breathing? Nope. He was sure he’d busted his cover just then. You had checked him out for thirty whole seconds, the opportunity to speak suspended in the air, only to be pulled apart and crumble at his feet.

But he didn’t care.

He shadowed your every move, navigating through busy intersections, seamlessly blending into the teeming masses, keeping up with only the sway of your swinging ponytail and your ass. Fuck, he loved your ass. He wanted to spank it red, bruise the flesh for teasing you.

Finally, you stepped into the most luxurious hotel in the city.

Toji wondered if you were a local or a visitor from abroad. If he had to purchase a plane ticket to tail you back to your residence, he'd gladly do it. It was insane how unknowingly you had him trapped, wrapped around your perfectly manicured finger.

The lobby was nothing short of fucking fancy.

The place was decked out with marble floors that shone so much he could almost see his reflection. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling with a zillion crystals.

The furniture was all plush and comfortable, like sinking into a cloud. Big, ornate couches and chairs scattered around, all in rich, deep colors.

In the middle was a fancy concierge desk with people in sharp suits and friendly smiles ready to help out. He caught a whiff of some subtle, expensive scent in the air—not too overpowering, just enough to make him feel like he was out of place.

There was a low hum of activity—people chatting, the clinking of glasses from the bar nearby, maybe some soft piano music in the background. He couldn't help but feel a bit important just standing there like he'd stepped into a world where everything was a little more polished and refined.

He was in hell.

"Dad!" you exclaimed, striding towards your father amidst a crowd of his guards and members of the family hotel enterprise board.

"Darling!" Your father embraced you briefly, then caught a whiff of something unusual around you. "Were you smoking?"

Shit.

That attractive stranger from before had been smoking and the scent must’ve stuck to your clothes.

"I bumped into a friend who was," you lied, acknowledging your father's associates with a nod. Your current appearance didn't exactly match the polished image your mother presented to the press, but it was a facet appreciated by some online fans. As the heiress to the family hotel, however, you understood the importance of maintaining grace.

Even on your days-off.

"How was your meeting?" you asked.

"Same old, same old. Nothing for you to worry about," he replied dismissively.

"I mean, shouldn't I be involved? I'm almost twenty-one. It might be time for me to learn the ropes of managing—"

"I'm still around, aren't I?" Your father pushed your arm, causing you to stagger slightly. "Why don't you go freshen up now? We have a family dinner tonight." Family dinners, in this case, were elaborate affairs with your father and mother's vast social circles, almost a societal event. Unfortunately, everything was hosted at the hotel, making you feel like you were in a gilded cage.

"Sure, Dad."

He planted a quick kiss on your cheek and walked past you.

You stared at his retreating figure and the group of men you would eventually be working with, all of them vanishing through the hotel's automatic doors until the lights surrounding you became a blur. Your fingers touched your wet eyes, the back of your shaky hand wiping at your cheeks.

Despite the hurt, your training to act classy in public kicked in. You rolled back your shoulders, attempted a smile, and walked toward the elevators leading to your personal suite.

Observing the unfolding scenario from a discreet vantage point nearby, Toji, with arms and ankles casually crossed, wore a devilish smirk at how effortlessly the situation had played into his hands.

His room was on the twelfth floor.

It served as a temporary base for the two nights he had planned to stay. Plenty of time, in his calculation, to claim you as his own. He walked the fine line between confidence and cockiness, especially when dealing with a woman of your caliber. If he were to leave empty-handed, Toji carried a darkness within that would annihilate those you loved, a merciless flood of destruction until you had no choice but to turn to him. His sights were set on you, beginning with your pretentious father.

Yes, Toji had researched each and every single human associated with you.

Your father was a titan in the hospitality game and built an empire that stretched across the map. His hotels sprouted like mushrooms, and his wealth skyrocketed faster than you could say "check-in." He portrayed himself as the picture-perfect family man, but lurking in the shadows were dealings that'd make you think twice about tagging him with the 'daddy dear' label. During one of his many interviews, he let slip a desire for a son. When the inevitable talk of you inheriting the hotels surfaced, he'd chuckle, saying, "We'll see about that."

Toji absentmindedly toyed with his pocket knife, thinking of ways he’d cut your father’s tongue and shove it down his throat.

Then there's your mom, the classic trophy wife. No accomplishments to her name, just born into a world of idle gossip and social climbing. Since you were in diapers, she's been molding you into the picture-perfect daughter for the public eye. Nannies raised you, and she only paid attention when it came to playing matchmaker, setting you up with aristocratic jerks.

Toji might spare your mother only because she was an airhead being puppeteered by your father’s gimmicks.

You, on the contrary, were as perfect as one could get. Top of your class all through elementary to high school, currently enrolled in a business Ivy program at a prestigious university, president of the student union, and an active team player in clubs as absurd as juggling.

Your carefully crafted social media presence had Toji rolling his eyes. An avid reader who probably devoured Shakespeare in between saving the world and a lover of sunsets because nothing said depth like a passion for the fading light. Your commitment to wildlife, starting a charity for animals in captivity that was funded strictly by your family's friends. He bet the lions and tigers sent you thank-you cards.

Toji forcefully closed his laptop, took a deep breath, and sank into his mattress, gripping the roots of his hair.

He knew he wanted you. He wanted to touch you, to be inside of you, to break you and put you together again. The image of you being pushed by your father played in his mind, making his heart threaten to burst from his chest.

Despite the depraved thoughts, Toji was genuinely curious about you. The real you. The person seeking love in the same way you offered it to others. He wanted to fuck you but also take great care of you. He wanted to make you cry, but only when you were underneath him, begging for more. He’d kill himself if he hurt you otherwise. He questioned if a dormant monster within you waiting to be awakened by his own.

There had to be.

And he would be the one to root it out.

Toji pulled himself together, took a quick shower, and threw on the best outfit he had found in his cramped closet within his even more cramped apartment while packing. Living in close quarters didn't bother him; after all, his income came from a rather unconventional source—he was a professional assassin, taking out targets for clients that ranged from politicians to drug dealers. Penthouses and sports cars weren't his style, even if he could afford them; he preferred the simple life, spending most of his earnings on one thing he enjoyed the most: gambling on horse racing.

Knowing that you'd be at the bar, Toji decided to do a bit of reconnaissance. He hacked into the private security servers of the hotel, observing your movements from the corridor to the public areas. He saw you leaving your room in a stunning maroon gown, hair elegantly pinned up, and lips painted a vibrant red. His dick jerked in his trousers.

He spotted you alone at the bar, enjoying a cyan-colored drink. The smooth expanse of your back in that revealing dress nearly made him come in his pants right there and then.

Cracking his neck muscles, Toji walked up to the bartender, positioning himself about two meters away from where you sat. He pulled out a cigarette and flicked the silver lighter, flaming the end of the dart. Drawing in the first drag, he exhaled a plume of smoke. “I’ll take a whiskey.”

Giving you a casual once-over, Toji noticed you tracing circles on the table, lips in a pout, and eyes blinking languidly.

“Rough day?” he asked, settling into the seat beside you.

“You have no idea—” You looked sideways and met the dark green eyes of the attractive stranger. Your nails were now idle on the table, and you sat up straight. A breath caught in your chest, and you greeted him with a simple "Hi."

“Hi.” He pulled out the cigarette to take a sip, lips pulling in to savor the sharp taste of his whiskey. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, sweetheart.”

Your chest skipped a beat at the unexpected nickname. "I-I— Are you stalking me or something?"

“Stalking is a strong word, doll. I prefer 'casual observation.'”

“So you’re stalking me?”

The stranger chuckled, and your knees quivered from the husky, rough sound. “You're a vision, sure,” he said, his voice a slight victim to the smoking, “but I’m too much of a gentleman to do such a thing.”

You observed his clothes closely. He was dressed in a sleek black formal ensemble with impeccably shiny Oxfords. However, his hair was neatly combed down instead of styled up, and you caught the silver hoop adorning his left ear. The idea of him being sent by your mother or being the son of one of your father's friends quickly crossed your mind, but you ruled out the possibility. Maybe him being outside that café and being here was a complete coincidence.

“The name’s Toji.” He extended his hand for a shake. You glanced at the faded scars on the back of his hands. And when you hesitantly slipped your hand through his, the roughness of his palm rubbed against your softer one. “Ever washed a dish in your life, sweetheart?”

A shake of your head was all the admission he needed.

"Yeah, figured as much." Toji turned your hand, his thumb tracing a journey along its unblemished terrain.

You quickly took back your hand and placed it on your lap. “I’m sure you know my name.”

Toji tilted his head. “Am I supposed to?”

You blinked. In a world where your family name echoed through the corridors of the hotel, his genuine ignorance was a rarity. "I'm Y/N.”

"Y/N," he echoed, your name a lazy caress on your skin. Above the rim of his nearly empty glass, he regarded you with a watchful gaze. “The fuck is that, anyway? Windex?”

You raised your drink. “It’s a mocktail. I have a family dinner in an hour so I can’t drink. My father says it’ll impede my ability to talk. I can’t mess anything up.”

He half-rolled his eyes. “You like Coke?”

“Like, the soda?”

"What else, sweetheart?" He swiped a finger under his nose, throwing in a wink. "Unless that's your thing."

“No.” Your cheeks heated. “I like diet Coke, I suppose.”

Toji locked eyes with you and signaled the bartender. "Vodka diet coke for the lady."

"What?" You started to object, but Toji's hand clasped around your forearm, freezing you. “Remove your hand right now.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin playing on his lips. If he weren't so irritatingly charming, you might have considered introducing your mocktail to his face with a quick call to security as a chaser. “Just don’t want you to die knowing you never tried vodka.” His cheeks hollowed as he inhaled, exhaling wisps of smoke that danced in captivating swirls. “Ever smoked?”

You shook your head, a coy resistance to his vices obvious on your face. "It's detrimental to your health, you know. Consistent smoking can fast-track your journey to an early death. If you're aiming for more than thirty candles on your birthday cake, I'd advise a little moderation."

A sardonic chuckle escaped him. “Well, fuck.” He inspected the dart in his hand as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Guess I missed the invitation for my funeral five years ago.”

He’s old.

“Too old for you, sweetheart?” He dipped his head conspiratorially, locking eyes with you. "Hope you're not collecting a set of daddy issues like souvenirs."

You shot him sidelong glances, a subtle shake of your head. "I happen to like my dad, thank you very much."

“You’re welcome.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small puff of a laugh at his response.

He shot you a grin, his scar stealing a moment of your attention before the vodka diet Coke presented itself. “You still in school?”

You nodded. “University.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Keeps me distracted.”

“From?”

Your hand swept through the ambience of the hotel's bar, and Toji followed your motion, absorbing the surroundings. “I don’t know if my name rang a bell at all, but I’m to inherit this place.”

“Didn’t.” Toji raised his glass, gesturing his chin at the vodka diet coke in front of you. “Let’s drink to it.”

“I told you I can’t. I’m also lightweight. Besides, I don’t want it on my tab. My father keeps a check—”

“My father this, my father that.” Toji sighed, taking your drink and snagging a straw from a nearby container. He placed it near your lips. “Your father might have set the stage, but he can't dictate the play. Take a sip. If you hate it, fuck it. That work for you, sweetheart?"

You frowned at the subtle pressure venting from him. A fleeting swipe of your tongue traced your lower lip, drawing Toji's gaze to the subtle curve. His intense scrutiny left you feeling strangely singled out, a rare occurrence in a world where every tidbit of your life laid at the fingertips of anyone with an internet connection. Your secrets were a vault locked tight, shared with no one but yourself. Indulging in personal interests took a back seat to your responsibilities, and you strictly stuck to a scripted persona to protect your family's reputation. Even something as mundane as sipping on a vodka diet Coke.

Toji set the drink on the table, slipping a generous tip to the bartender. His financial status seemed modest, likely someone comfortably positioned enough to book a room in your hotel. “Listen, sweetheart, I don’t often give out advice ‘cuz frankly, I'm not exactly an expert on your generation.” He took a final drag of his cigarette, extinguished it under his foot, and nonchalantly dropped the remains into your drink. “But, you might want to dust off that brilliant little brain of yours sooner rather than later. Mind passing me a pen, buddy?”

The tender handed him a sharpie instead, and Toji scribbled out something on a napkin.

“Are you leaving?” you asked, feeling somewhat disappointed in yourself. You wanted him to ask you more questions. You wanted to know more about him.

“Afraid so, doll.” He folded the napkin, both of you surreptitiously scanning the surroundings before he handed it over. A smirk played on his lips, causing you to rethink the urgency with which you accepted it. “Your old man taught you lots of lessons, but seems like 'Stranger Danger' wasn't part of his curriculum, huh?”

“He doesn’t completely control me.”

Toji smirked, tapping the folded napkin. “Well, we're about to test that theory."

He left you perched on the barstool, and the moment he vanished, you unfolded the napkin, heart pounding.

ROOM 1231.

Sooner or later.