You know your daddy ain’t the best of men. A liar and a cheat. Hell, he’s nearly shot every boy who’s dared to step on your doorstep ever since you turned eighteen. Not because he’s not eager to get rid of you, it’s because he doesn’t intend to give another man access to the gold on his land, nor to anything else he owns. 

You wonder if that gold is what drew the visitors in last night. 

You weren’t meant to be awake. The hour was late, moon hangin’ high and pale, its light strained thin through cottoned windows. Still, you sat perched at the top of the stairwell, bare feet tucked beneath your pale nightdress, listening in as two well-dressed gentlemen occupied the parlor across from your daddy. 

You couldn’t see their faces from where you were - only fragments. One had the silkiest hair you’d ever laid eyes on, gathered low at the nape of his neck with a ribbon of worn leather. Fresh-ink dark. His voice slid out, smooth and indulgent, a sinner’s purr that had your heart thumpin’ in your chest. He had a broader frame than the two, shoulders stretching the fabric of his dark as night shirt taut, the cloth shifting with each movement. A practiced man. A smooth talker. You’d never seen your daddy so rapt and willing to listen. 

The other man was leaner, sharp in a way that made your skin prickle, hair white as a winter’s frost, posture lax, legs sprawled wide like his ma never taught him an ounce of manners. You wonder if they existed at all in his eyes. 

You shifted carefully, nudging your nightdress out of the way so you wouldn’t stumble when you stood. The floorboard, damn thing, needed a fixin’, betrayed you away. The sound was hardly more than a sigh - but it was enough for someone with the hearing of a hawk. You caught the gleam in the white-haired man's eyes. No one else seemed to notice. Your daddy didn’t pause, and the dark-haired man never broke the rhythm of his speech. Just a tap on his knee. It would’ve been easy to blame the noise on the house itself - old bones settling, or that wicked wind woryin’ in the eaves. 

But the white-haired man had seen you. 

You watched his mouth tilt, just barely forming into a knowing smile before his gaze slid away, attention folding back into the conversation as if nothin’ had happened at all. You finally released a breath, you never realized you were holdin’. 

They felt familiar, the pair of them. Not in a neighborly way, but in the sense of somethin’ you’d seen once before, like some movie poster or something from a newspaper. Not some outlaws that the folk in town had been whisperin’ about. Yet, no decent man ever smiled like that when they thought no one was watching. 

You decided not to test your luck too much, easing yourself back to your bedroom, careful of those old rickety floorboards. You thought that’d be the last of them, a one-time investment of some sort. 

Yet that one-time visit quickly became weekly visits, visits that got the town talkin’ because your daddy had been awfully sweatin’ this past month. Stressed beyond sin. Drinkin’ and smokin’ more and more before the two gentlemen’s visits. 

You weren’t sure why, but they always came with gifts. Flowers for your mother’s table. Suguru - the dark-haired one- always insisted on bringing you a new thing to wear. A broach for church, a new ribbon, sometimes a piece of jewelry. One time, you almost asked him where he got it from, such an expensive piece of rubies and silver, but the lead on your tongue was telling you not to ask such a thing. Not when his smile seemed so pure, but that gun on his hip said otherwise. Anytime he gave you a new necklace or two, you’d have this feeling to wash the piece because who knows maybe red rubies are actually white diamonds stained with something sinister. You found yourself prayin’ before bed a little harder that night. 

Satoru - the white-haired tease - seemed to favor sweets. 

Anytime he visited, he’d whistle for you, passing along a little bag of candy: sometimes taffy, sometimes a caramel or two, or if you’re lucky, a rare hard candy you’d never had the luxury of gettin’ your hands on before. Always with a note tucked inside: for my little sneak. 

He’d whistle the second he stepped onto the porch. 

“C’mon now, sugarplum,” he’d croon, loungin’ back like he owned your ma’s parlor, one boot - splattered dark along the white leather - propped right atop the nice coffee table your daddy paid a pretty penny for, bought from a man from foreign lands. “You been hidin’ from me all mornin’? Heat gettin’ to ya?”

You’d frown, your gaze settling on the stains along the side of his boot. Could be animal blood, you suppose. You’d heard a gunshot earlier that morning - folks said the coyotes got into the sheep again last night. Still, the teasin’ only deepened your scowl. 

“I ain’t hidin’,” you muttered. “Just don’t like bein’ whistled at like I’m some dog.”

“Couldn’t be no dog,” Satoru murmured, his eyes tracking every inch of you, teeth worrying at his lower lip when he noticed your fists bunch tight in the frill of your dress. “Dogs bark. You darlin’? You’re the purrin’ type. Takes a while to coax you out - more like a cat.”

Suguru only laughed softly, lifting his teacup for a slow sip. Always warm - he never bothered with ice. His fingers toyed with a strip of wood and a knife, carving something careful and precise. Your eyes could never settle on him; he was always too pretty. Yet it seems wherever he was, he was always focused on you, too. Like a wolf stalkin’ prey. 

“Be nice, Toru,” he cooed, his voice gentle in a way that reminded you painfully of your mother’s, back when you’d cry yourself into hysterics, “We’re guests, remember?”

“Ah. You’re right.”

Satoru’s grin stretched wider as he leaned forward, catching a loose strand of your hair between two slender fingers as you sat beside him. His crystalline gaze locked onto yours, voice drawlin’ low. “Forgive me, sugar. It’s just hard to behave when you’re sittin’ there lookin’ like temptation. Almost makes a man wanna settle down in the next town over.” 

When you sat with him in the parlor that late afternoon with the bugs buzzin’ in the fields, you tried not to look at the blood on his boots resting carelessly on your ma’s nice table. A man with no manners whatsoever. 

And your daddy - for all the beast he could be - never once told you to stay away from them. Perhaps he couldn’t because of things you’d never be able to understand. 

You noticed, though. Every time your daddy’s eyes landed on you talkin’ with them, or when Suguru leaned close to tuck a wildflower into your hair, your daddy’s gaze would dart straight to his boot tips, as if the snake embellish was far more interesting than your conversation. His hands would fidget, restless and unsure, fingers flexin’ like he wanted to reach for a gun that wouldn’t do him a lick of good. 

Your ma was no use either. It seemed the moment those men started comin’ around, the doctor began prescribin’ her a tonic - to ease her nerves, your daddy said. All of it started after you heard glass breakin’ between the two of them one night when you should’ve been on your knees prayin’ before bed. 

Now, she just lingers in her rocking chair on the porch, the slow creak of the wood the only sound she makes anymore. Her embroidery lies untouched in her lap, thread gone slack between her fingers. Her eyes were glassy, dulled over, like she was lookin’ clean through the world instead of at it and its wonders of what’s to come. 

You found yourself curlin’ up beside her more and more, the way a child would. Layin’ with your head in her lap, guidin’ her hand back into your hair whenever it slipped away. Sometimes she’d stroke it absentmindedly, fingers movin’ on muscle memory alone. 

After a long while, she speaks. 

“Used to be my daddy’s land,” she murmured, voice thin and distant, like she was talkin’ to someone long gone. “Mama’s before him, too. Every fence post, acre, tree… I know it all by heart.” 

Her fingers stilled in your hair. 

“Funny how easy it is for somethin’ to stop bein’ yours,” she added softly. “All it takes is the right kind of man.” 

You didn’t know if she meant your daddy - or the men who’d come after. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

A few months pass, winter comin’, and your daddy grows more hysterical than usual - frayed thin, like a rope used too long.  

He keeps himself cooped up in his office now, pacing restless grooves into the floorboards and grinding his boots into the rugs you scrubbed clean on a warm Saturday afternoon. All that careful work ruined, fibers darkened and worn. His guns - polished to a dull, obsessive shine - hang heavy on his hips even inside the supposed safety of the house. He checks them often, fingers lingering too long on the grips, like cold steel might make up for everything that’s already slipped out through his hands. 

He doesn’t come to supper anymore. No matter how hard you try. Not even now, when you’re the one cookin’, stretchin’ meals thin since he fired the maids in one sharp, liquor-soaked rage. He’d muttered then about money bleedin’ out, about gold vanishing like smoke, somethin’ about trust bein’ a fool’s currency.

Plate sittin’ cold on the table, untouched. You eat alone more often than not, with the house echoing hollow around you. Once filled with life, now with none other than you and that beast of a man.

You haven’t seen much of your two wolves lately, either, not that you minded. Though the company would be nice. 

Their visits had grown scarce, then vanished altogether. No whistle cuttin’ through the porch air. No flowers laid gentle on the table with rose thorns already trimmed - not even your mother’s grave tucked quietly and unmarked on the edge of the property. Your daddy never put up a headstone, nor a cross. Said stone was expensive and nobody ain’t got the time to carve wood. Said names didn’t matter once the dirt had settled. Only God needed to know where she lay. 

No sweets slipped into your palm. Not even a careless grin. No folded note you’d later feed to the fire watchin’ the ink curl and blacken into nothin’. 

You tell yourself it must mean they’ve finished the work they were hired for. That the land is secure now. That whatever bargain your daddy struck - however crooked it may have been - has been settled and closed. 

But late at night, when the house creaks and sighs like it’s rememberin’ better days, you hear him mutterin’ behind his office door. Words whispered sharp and brittle - owed, soon, can’t - each one cracking under the weight of panic. 

And still the house feels watched. 

Like somethin’ patient is lingerin’ just beyond the fence line, breath slow and steady, waitin’ for a man to realize he’s out of gold and only got flesh left to offer. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

The bank came by in the early spring, when the ground was still soft, and the air smelled like thawed earth and old promises. That if you survive the winter, you can somehow pay off your debts before the law gets you. The man spoke politely, but firmly, his hat held tight in his hands as he explained your daddy was overdue on his credit. Said papers had been filed. Said a sheriff from the next town over would be stoppin’ by soon enough to collect what was owed - one way or another. 

You tried talkin’ to your daddy after. 

You pressed your forehead to the office door, the wood warm from the fire with the sound of pacing on the other side, and you whispered like it were prayer. “Daddy.. What’s goin’ on?” 

What came back wasn’t an answer. More like a bark from a dog. “Get.” 

The word cracked through and straight to your chest. You didn’t ask again. 

You stopped showin’ your face at church after that. You weren’t goin’ to walk there either after Daddy sold the horses. You knew - even with the tough hide you’d grown over the past year - you wouldn’t survive the looks, the murmured scripture, the quiet cruelty sharpened behind their tight smiles and frilly fans. You could already hear their words, feel them like welts before they landed. 

They’d say your daddy bled himself dry. That he hired unlawful men and mistook wolves for guards. Let them drain the land down to bone and dust. 

They’d whisper that your daddy was the reason your ma lay in the ground without a stone. Whatever broke her started long before that tonic ever touched her lips. 

And maybe, alone in the quiet, with nothin’ but the creak of the house and your own breath for company, you wondered if they were right. 

They didn’t come like wolves that night. 

They came like men collectin’ a debt long overdue. 

Suguru stood easy in the lamplight, posture relaxed, hands folded loose as if this were a cordial visit instead of a reckoning. His voice carried smooth and measured, silk-soft but edged sharp beneath the polish. “Now, now,” he murmured, tone mild as warm tea. “There’s no need for all that noise. We’re only here to settle things.” 

Your daddy stalked the length of the room, boots grinding against the scuffed floorboards, breath coming hard and uneven. His fingers twitched near the holsters at his hips, knuckles pale, eyes wild and bloodshot. 

“You think I don’t know what you are?” he snapped, spittle flying. “You ain’t law. Ain’t got no badge. Ain’t got no right to be standin’ in my house -” 

Suguru hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head just so, dark hair slipping loose over his shoulder. A fox considering a trap already sprung. 

“Law’s a funny thing,” he said softly. “It listens closely to money. Guns do some persuadin’, sure - but money…” His smile curved, slow and knowing. Already winning the game. “Money does most of the biddin’ around here.” 

His gaze drifted then, unhurried and thorough. Over the stripped shelves. The overturned drawers. The safe yawning open, empty as a mouth with teeth pulled clean. 

Something like sympathy flickered across his serene face. As if practiced. 

“Looks like you’re in a bit of trouble,” Suguru added gently, almost kindly.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

You awoke - just like the first night they came - just this time to shouts and hollers tearing through the house. 

“You ain’t no sheriff!” Your daddy screeched, glass shattering on the floor, the sharp crash echoing loud enough to rattle the walls. You figured it was the last of his liquor, flung empty and desperate. 

You stayed in bed, frozen beneath the quilt, breath trapped in your chest as your hands fumbled for the letter opener tucked inside your bedside drawer. Anything for a lick of protection. You held still like a child waitin’ for a storm to pass.

Another voice slipped through the walls - far too calm and amused for anything good to come of it. 

“Oh, but I am now,” came the lazy drawl. Satoru’s voice, thick with smugness, a grin folded right into the syllables. “Sheriff of that sweet little town downriver. Ain’t it funny how quick folks’ll hand you a badge when you clear out a few problems for ‘em?”

You could hear him move then.

The sound of his boots - always light on his feet - crossing broken glass. Unhurried. Confident.

“They even asked kindly to help out this shithole of a town,” he went on lightly. “Seems there’s been a bit of an issue between you and the bank.”

A pause, you could hear the teasin’ lilt behind his voice, that cocky grin of his burned into your mind. Somethin’ you think a little too often, sometimes unholy things. 

“’Course, they didn’t ask too many questions about how we went about fixin’ things,” he added lightly. “Guess givin’ the people peace over a mongrel like you is reason enough to want you dead.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” your daddy choked out.

You heard him scrambling, boots skiddin’ uselessly across spilled liquor and broken glass, breath hitchin’ sharp and wet like he couldn’t quite pull enough air into his lungs. A gun clicked, loud and naked in the space, the sound trembling with the same panic that cracked his voice.

“My daughter,” he blurted, tryin’ to save his skin. “Yeah? You took an interest, didn’t you? You both did?”

That was when you slid from your bed. Almost like a cue that things are about to get bad. If your daddy was savin’ his skin. You should be, too. 

Bare feet met the cold floor, slow and careful, every step calculated as you crept toward the door. Your fingers clenched tight around the letter opener, its thin blade biting into your palm, useless but comforting all the same. The house groaned softly around you, old wood complaining under the weight of what was about to happen.

A low whistle cut through the hall.

Not playful like Satoru’s. A sharper sound. You knew without seeing him that it belonged to Suguru.

“Sellin’ off your daughter?” Suguru said softly, voice smooth as oil, touched with something almost like amusement. “When you haven’t even paid us for all that work we did for ya?”

You pressed closer to the door, heart batterin’ your ribs like an untamed stallion, fingers clenched white around the letter opener. The house felt too small, walls closing in, the air thick with the coppery tang of fear.

“We slaughtered every man in those mines,” Suguru went on calmly, like he was recitin’ figures from a ledger. “You think that’s easy on the mind?”

A beat passed. You wonder if your daddy was a stammerin’ mess and you just couldn’t hear it. Beggin’ and pleadin’ like a sinner in church. 

The only thing that broke the silence was Satoru with a long and dramatic sigh, like a bored child denied a treat from the general store down the road.

“Aw, c’mon,” he whined lightly, voice sing-song and wrong in the middle of all that panic. “Can’t we just kill him already?” You could hear him shift his weight, boots scraping lazy circles through broken glass. “We were gonna take the girl anyway.”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of that. There was a wet, choking sound from your daddy, something between a sob and a prayer gone unanswered.

Suguru didn’t answer right away.

You imagined him standing there in the lamplight, considering it, head tilted, expression thoughtful, as if Satoru had just asked a reasonable question instead of sealin’ a man’s fate to be hung.

“…Toru,” Suguru murmured at last, gentle but firm. “Don’t be rude.”

The pause stretched. Suffocating.

“But,” he added smoothly, “you’re not wrong.”

The words settled heavy in the air, pressin’ down on your chest until your breath came thin and sharp, each inhale scraped raw against your ribs.

You had choices. Not real ones, only the kind that are ugly and desperate when the world has already made up its mind for your fate. 

You could run.

Bare feet slapping against warped floorboards, the skirt of your nightgown gathered tight in shaking fists as you bolted into the night. The spring air would bite cruel and wet, the last of the frost still meaning business, stiffenin’ your joints and burnin’ your lungs as you fled toward town. You could pray your legs were faster than theirs. Pray the dark loved you enough to hide you.

You could stay quiet. Melt back into the house’s narrow bones, wedge yourself into some forgotten corner and hope the men who’d stalked mines and slaughtered towns somehow overlooked a trembling girl and her ragged breath.

You could beg. Fall to your knees and offer tears where gold had failed. Hope mercy lived somewhere behind sharp smiles and even sharper eyes.

You could even fight - rush them with the letter opener clenched white-knuckled in your fist, blade flashing, desperate and small. Save your daddy. But the thought soured before it could settle.

You knew, deep and certain, that he’d sell you again in a heartbeat if it bought him one more breath. One more chance to crawl free.

The house groaned softly around you, old wood sighing as it had already accepted what was coming.

So you ran.

You didn’t care that you were still in your nightdress, thin cotton clingin’ uselessly to your skin as it snagged and tore against brush and fence wire. You didn’t care that the cold bit straight through you, numbin’ your legs even as they burned, muscles screaming with every frantic step.

You didn’t care about the gunshot that cracked the night wide open behind you - too loud, too close - nor the sound that followed it: bright, childlike laughter, sharp and delighted, chasin’ after you through the dark. Boots struck the dirt hard and sure behind you, unhurried, like they knew you’d tire long before they would.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and blinding, streakin’ your vision until the world smeared into shadows and silver moonlight. Your breath tore ragged from your chest, each inhale shallow and panicked, throat achin’ like it might close up entirely. You stumbled more than once, heart a hammerin’ so violently you swore they’d hear the wretched sound poundin’ in your ears.

You didn’t care if wolves or coyotes were out tonight, teeth gleaming somewhere beyond the fence line, hunger sharp enough to rip you apart. You’d grown up on stories - whispered warnings about girls who were alone with no protection, about what happened when they were caught by men worse than beasts.

You weren’t goin’ to be another one of those stories. Not to be another cautionary tale at church. Not another girl laid in the dirt without a marker to say she’d ever been here at all.

You ran and ran until your foot caught on a fallen branch, and you hit the ground hard, cheek scraping against bark, blood already trickling warm down your knee. You scrambled, breath hiccupping in your chest, draggin’ yourself through leaves and rot until you found it: a hollowed-out tree, just wide enough to crawl into.

You curled tight, knees pressed to your chest, the letter opener shaking uselessly in your hand. Blood streaked across the white of your nightdress. An unforgivin’ color. Adrenaline spiked too high for you to even consider the pain. Your feet throbbed. Frost crept up your spine like ghost fingers from those stories you’d share at the bonfire. 

And still, you heard them coming. Satoru’s voice rang out first = sing-song, giddy, off.

“Just like a cat, Sugu!” he cackled. “Dogs’ll come runnin’ to a whistle, but this one? She’s got claws.” A pause, boots crunching closer. “We’ll have to get her a bell.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, chest heaving, hot tears streaming past your fingers. Every breath you took was laced with pine and blood and terror.

Suguru didn’t laugh at that. You could picture him hummin’ at the thought. Like he could pick you out a nice ribbon in town just for a soft bell to lay against your throat. You only heard his soft whistle, a tune of sorts. A lullaby for prey. Not hunting. Just waitin’ to see if his trap worked.

“Play nice, Toru,” Suguru’s voice slipped through the trees, unhurried, almost affectionate. “She just lost her daddy. She’s gonna need a couple of strong men to take care of her now, hm?”

You shoved yourself deeper into the hollow, splinters biting into your back. Your hand slipped in blood. Your lungs ached. Tears wouldn’t stop streamin’.

“Boo!”

Satoru exploded into view like a firework, crouched just inches from your face, his grin feral, unhinged, too wide for his face. Eyes glitterin’ with wild delight, pupils blown wide, frosty hair disheveled from the run, cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

“There you are,” he panted, breath hot in the cold air, fog curling from his lips. “God, you run so cute. Sugar, sugar, sugar - look at you! All scratched up and sobbin’. Good thing we’re here to patch ya up!”

He reached for you, fingers blood-slick and shakin’ from all the excitement. You’d never seen a man so joyful until he grabbed your ruined knee. You cried out, sharp and pained, as he dug his blunt nails into the open wound, thumb pressing into torn skin like he meant to keep you there by the bone.

“Oh, sugarplum,” he cooed, and that grin didn’t waver. “Don’t cry like that. You’ll make me worse.”

His other hand slid up, knuckles brushing your face, smearing a tear across your cheek. His eyes didn’t blink - just drank you in, tremblin’ with the high of having found you.

“You look so pretty when you’re scared.”

Satoru dragged you from your hiding place like it was nothing, hauling you out into the cold dirt and pinning you there beneath him. He loomed over you, all long limbs and feverish energy, his knee wedged firm between your thighs to keep you still. His sky‑blue eyes drank you in, bright and blown wide, alight with the manic thrill of finally having you right where he wanted.

Suguru’s voice followed, low and indulgent, drifting in like a cruel comfort.

“Sorry about him,” he cooed gently, “He’s been waitin’. And waitin’. Took a long time to get here to you.”

Bile burned up the back of your throat.

Suguru’s presence settled closer, not touching, not needing to. His shadow stretched long and deliberate over you, causing you to fold into yourself more. Like prey. 

All you could shake out between hiccupin’ sobs was a string of, “Please let me go,” and “I won’t say nothin’.”

“You ought to think about what comes after,” he said gently, voice low and patient, like how your ma would be when you were throwin’ an awful tantrum. “A young woman found alone. Nightdress torn. No father left to speak for her.” His violet eyes traced the ruined hem of cotton, the scraped skin, the trembling in your hands. “Two men with her.”

Men carried weight. Finality.

“Towns don’t care for truth,” Suguru continued softly. “They care for stories. And stories rot quicker than bodies.” A pause, almost tender, you watched his silky hair in the night shake with his head as he pondered what could come of you if they let you go. “No dowry. No family. No man lining up to marry what folks already believe has been spoiled.”

The forest felt closer then, branches crowding, shadows thickening, the air gone damp and cold as if the night itself were closing ranks.

“Best case,” he went on, mild as a sermon, “you’d be passed from place to place on pity alone. Worst case…” He let the silence finish it. “There are houses for girls who don’t belong anywhere else. Places you’ll have to pay without money. Awful places.”

Your breath shook, whether it be from the cold or the way Satoru straddled you, sittin’ right on your torso, barely putting his weight down but enough for you to struggle. 

Satoru shifted above you, restless energy finally finding its shap. Hands searching, finding place on your cheek or under your nightdress. Thumbs brushing over your hardened buds in awe, you could see the drool on his soft pink lips as he drew himself to you. He really was a man with no manners. His touch wasn’t hurried. It was hungry. Lovesick. As if he’d waited his whole life to feel you breathe beneath his palms.

“That’s why I fixed it,” Satoru added on quickly, almost breathless. “Took care of the law part. Nobody gets to decide things about you anymore.” His voice wobbled with something like relief, eyes shining too bright in the dark. “I couldn’t stand the thought of them touchin’ you. Talkin’ about you like you were already gone.”

He leaned closer, forehead nearly brushing yours, devotion cracking through his grin. All you could stare at was how his blue eyes seemed to have matched the moonlight glow tonight. “We’re keepin’ you safe,” he insisted softly. “That’s what sheriffs do. That’s what I do.Suguru will handle the church, and I’ll handle the law.”

Suguru smiled then, his hand moving to pet your hair like your mother would, blunt nails against the scalp, slow movements like calming a frightened animal.

 “We’re the only ones who love you enough to stay,” he murmured. “The world isn’t kind to girls left alone.”

The woods stood silent around you. No lantern light. No roads. No witnesses. Just dark trees, damp earth, and the distant, lonely sound of something howling far off.

Satoru’s mouth brushed close to your ear, his voice dropping sweet and thrilled into the quiet.

“It’s okay to holler,” he whispered. “Nothin’ but us and the wolves out here. We’ll make sure you’re still honorable for your weddin’ day.”

Could you even tell the difference anymore? Between the man and the beasts outside? 

Leavin' you prayin' while Satoru’s mouth sucked against your neck and something hard pressed against your bare thigh. The sound of an unbuckle near your head where Suguru sat. Dread lay thick in your stomach. Nothin' but hope that this was all just a dreadful dream. That you were still in the summer heat, curled next to your ma. 

Would've been better to be eaten by the wolves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You didn’t get to see Dabi much, and when you did, his attention was always elsewhere. He seemed like your little dates and hangouts were taking up his time, like he had better things to do. 

While scrolling on your phone, you get an ad for a new perfume that says, “Your boyfriend won’t be able to resist!” It was a pheromone perfume, something you had never heard of before. It said it smelt like musk, honey, and cinnamon, which all sounded like good scents to you. You placed your order as quickly as you saw the ad, and waited several days for it to arrive. 

When you had the perfume in hand, you sprayed a bit and it smelt sweet and warm. It didn’t make you feel anything like the ad said, but it smelt good nonetheless. You sprayed a bit on your neck and chest as you were getting ready for your date with Dabi. You planned a movie night at your place, and he should be arriving any minute. 

There was a loud bang at your door, and you raced downstairs to invite him in. 

“Hi Dabi!” you say enthusiastically as you practically drag him inside. 

“Someone’s excited to see me.” he says, throwing off his shoes and letting them go anywhere. He leans down to meet you and gives you a kiss. Almost immediately, he can sense something different about you, although he didn’t know what. 

“How was your day?” you ask. 

“It was definitely somethin’,” he replies. You were hoping he would add on, maybe give you some details or maybe notice your new smell, but he was just as cold as always. Your smile faded a bit, maybe it doesn’t work like the ad said. The two of you head into the living room where there’s tons of snacks laid out on the coffee table. You had a few choices of movies, and Dabi picked the horror one to watch. 

It was hard for Dabi to focus on the movie, not that he often came over for the activities you two did regardless. But it was a different feeling. Rather than his usual boredom, he kept getting the urge to fuck you. Don’t get him wrong, he always made sure to do that before he left, but his body was being impatient today. 

“Dabi, you okay?” you ask. He didn’t even realize his leg was bouncing since his mind was racing with thoughts of you underneath him in bed, crying his- 

“Dabi?” You batted your lashes, hiding a cynical smirk. Maybe the perfume was working after all. 

“Yeah, sorry doll. Long day,” he says, trying to evade the truth. 

“Do you need anything?” 

“Yeah, c’mere.” Dabi replied, opening up his arms to you. You jumped right in and tucked yourself between his chest and arm, being warmed by the heat he produced. He squeezes you tightly, almost a little too tightly just to bring you closer so he can smell you. 

“What’do you got on? It’s suffocating.” 

“Oh, I got this new perfume! Do you like it?” You ask. 

“It’s not bad,” he blankly replies. Truth be told, Dabi was obsessed with the smell. It was better than anything he ever smelt before and it was becoming insufferable to just continue sitting here and doing nothing. A bulge was growing in his pants, and it didn’t go unnoticed by you. You sneakily brought your hand over and started palming him slowly, just a tease. 

“C’mon, baby, don’t tease me like that..” he grunted. His hips jolted into your hand, desperate for more pleasure. You slipped your hand under his waistband and took hold of his dick, giving it small pumps. Dabi was looking down at you, thinking of how badly he wanted to ruin you and make you cry for him. Growing impatient and ever more horny, he huffed and stood up to take his pants off quickly. Dabi then pinned you to the couch, holding your hands above your head and craning his head down into the crook of yours to get another whiff of your perfume. 

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy, doll..” he groans, grinding his hips into yours. You giggled and matched his movement. 

He couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Dabi trailed one down your chest and burned your shirt off, exposing your tits for him to squeeze and kiss. You wanted to touch him back and make him feel good, but his other hand kept yours pinned down thoroughly, making sure you couldn’t escape. 

Fuck, so pretty under me like this, so helpless.” 

“Just for you~”

“Good girl, all f’me,” he replied, “let’s take these off, they’re just getting in the way..” he burned your pants and underwear off next, leaving you completely exposed to him. You squirmed because of the cold air, but that was quickly replaced with the heat of his hands down by your cunt. Dabi teased you a bit, rubbing your clit in small, circular motions. He was soaking up all the pretty noises you made for him, and he could feel you getting wetter by the second.  He took his 2 fingers plunged them into your pussy and stretched you out, scissoring and pumping them to warm you up. You whined and bucked your hips at the feeling, muttering Dabi’s name over and over. 

“What, you feel that good just from my fingers? We can’t have that..” He released your hands and lined his dick up with your hole before plunging in, taking no time to ease you into it. 

“Ah, fuck!” you screamed, eyes shutting tightly. Dabi caged you in, leaning over you with a heavy demeanor and a look of lust in his eyes. He was feral, hips speeding up as if he was humping you like a dog, not too worried about your pleasure since he could only focus on his raging hard on. “Slow down, Dabi, it’s too much!” You beg. You hug him, nails scratching up and down his back, leaving pretty red trail marks. 

“You feel too good, doll, fuck you’re so tight, keep squuezin’ around me like that, shit,” he said. Dabi’s face was latched onto your neck as he left dark hickies to remind people that you were his. You bucked your hips to match his pace, the only sounds heard in the room were slapping and moaning, the movie on the tv long forgotten. 

“Dabi, I can’t, I’m gunna cum!”

“Cum for me, doll, cum all around my cock, c’mon..” he groans. His thrusting doesn’t slow even as you’re coming down from your high, and you get overstimulated. 

“Dabi please, It’s too much, I can’t take it!” You’re shaking and twitching, cunt overstimulated by the constant pounding of his dick in that sweet spot. 

“Just hold on a little longer, baby, I know you can do it.” he tells you.