#but yes...

but he is oh so tired, and you're able to notice something is off immediately. his wings are tightly drawn to his back, his shoulders tense as he walks through the front door of your shared space. his brow is pinched ever-so-slightly but the façade stays in place, and the way he greets you as if nothing is wrong makes your chest feel heavy.

of course, you'll try to pry it out of him. but it's about as useful as trying to light a fire with a pack of wet matches. he doesn't budge, instead tells you he's fine and not to worry about it. yet you continue to press the situation, because he rarely ever takes the time to open up or decompress; always moving so fast that he can barely keep up with himself.

and something clicks then. he raises his head - his gaze moving sharply from where it was once trained on the dinner plate in front of him to yours across the table. his pupils are reduced to thin slits - focused on where you're seated and holding you there, and the feathers of his wings are ruffled - standing on end.

you aren't expecting him to stand so abruptly, the dining room chair scraping across the floor in protest. he breathes in slow, deep; and his voice is low when he speaks, lined clean and sharp like the edge of a knife.

"do you want answers, songbird? because you keep asking questions. and quite frankly i'm tired of the constant prying from all of you."

he walks around the table, slow, like a predator toying with its food. it makes your breath catch in your throat, especially when he comes to a stop beside you, leaning forward and crowding into your space. the brush of his lips against your ear brings goosebumps to the surface of your skin, and you suppress a full-body shiver.

"i'll give you your answers, lovebird. but i'm going to fuck them into you, and you're going to take it and listen."

and he does just that; fucks you hard and deep, his grip on the back of your thighs unforgiving as he presses your legs to your chest, fucking you as thorough as he can.

"is this what you wanted?" he hisses, venom dripping from his words as he leers at you. "wanted to see what's got me so riled up? what happens when japan's number two gets fed up? tired of - fuck - tired of being used as a weapon? a toy?"

he raises a hand from one of your thighs and grips your face, his fingers rough against your cheeks as he squeezes.

"i'll show you exactly how i'm feeling, sweetheart. you'll see exactly what it feels like to be used - spread thin and fucking spent."